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Mound of Hostages
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amanfromMars wrote: »Ref the Matrix video clip that Agent Weebley shared in post #48 [05-09-2012, 05:35] ….
All there really is, is the truth, and knowing of IT sets you free ["In a time of universal deceit - telling the truth is a revolutionary act." George Orwell] and sharing it frees worlds from their punitive bonds and artificial chains of indebtedness, and is anything and everything else just a contrived virtual reality plaything, spanning all ranges from the totally unjust to the perfectly virtuous, for Great Game and Greater Great IntelAIgent Game Play Mates …. ARGonauts on Devilishly Heavenly Quests.
But only Constructive Perfection builds the Future and survives in Presents blighted by Imperfect Pasts …… Dummy Phormer Runs.
All Systems are Go, AW.
Welcome to boards, amanfromMars! I think everyone thought you were a figment of my imagination.
Funny, I'm currently in the AirCar, talking with Lucy, Agent DelKey, Epstein, Agent Heggle, Doctor Sternum . . . you are number 7 . . . but you are down here . . . I'm glad, actually.
See padraiggg going PEOW, PEOW, over there? He's OK, just a little deluded right now. I'm thinking of him while contemplating how to explain the red pill . . . too much red pill talk is bad for one's psyche and can be poisonous, if not chased by a blue pill. Since I am a proponent of the red pill / bue pill combo, precipitating the red pill for explanation in a G rated setting is a mighty big task . . . and one which I could put the whole Game in jeopardy, if not done just right.
Agent Heggle wanted me to go over to The Conspiracy Forum, but I chose not to do that . . . they are currently stuck in there . . . and will not listen to me, right now . . .
I'll be back ASAP . . . I have to see a dog about a man . . . then we talk about the red pill . . . ttyl
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Exiting the 3 green laser beam, back here at the Mound Of The Hostages, I was just thinking how The Kings of Auld would gather here with their friendly tribes to confirm they were all on the same side . . . to rally the forces. They weren't hostages at all . . . they were friends. Maybe hostages had a different meaning back then . . . I'll have to ask Lug.
Where's amanfromMars? Where's padraiggg?
The cremation of dead friends . . . celebration of togetherness . . . the resultant mound of ash was a testament to their unending strength and love for each other . . . all Irish . . . all together . . . forever . . . a wake is really awake?
I hear something over there . . . it's foggy again . . . it sounds like padraiggg, but I could be deluding myself . . .
. . . it sounds like a weak peow peow peow peow . . . peow peow.
No matter.
I spent a long time alone today. The red pill. How do I explain it without really saying anything concrete at all?
Paraphrasing Don Quixote: there are some things one can only do for oneself . . . granted, he was talking about Sancho Panza taking a dump off the side of his horse while riding, but the fact remains, the red pill is something only you can choose to take . . . but remember . . . it will only give you . . . The Truth . . . that is all.
That seems to be enough for a lot of people. The fellow that told me to believe something contrary to popular belief about 9/11, back in October 2006, is still stuck there . . . in an endless loop. I sometimes try to explain the blue pill to him, but he doesn't want to know. I find irony in that he was the one that told me that WTC 7 held the CIA, the SEC and their Enron and Worldcom scamcases that vapourised along with the building, and the Secret Service . . . and that Larry Silverstein the owner/insured or whatever he is, actually said they "pulled it," in an interview. But I made it through to the other side. Wonderland. There is much evil in this world, but the evil people are quite small, and I am quite large now. It's a bit like the pain reduction technique in Aldous Huxley's Island.
PEOW!
Oh, hi there, padraiggg.
"Hi there, North American baddie . . . or is is baddy? . . .idk. What's all this crap about 9/11? I just want to pretend to kill people and have sex with every woman I see. You are talking gibberish. Prepare to die, ash hole . . ."
Hmm, where did I hear that today? Oh yeah . . . here. Gibberish. Would that be like a White Knight talking backwards?
Would it be like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, or falling through the mirror into Wonderland, or Lucy brushing past the fur coats into Narnia, or Wormwood and Screwtape writing letters to each other in an upside down world, or a deluded Don Quixote righting all wrongs in the world, while everyone else is normal?
Or maybe Rubecula's most excellent story about an opposite world of Snow White, that I could not commend her on at the time, as I sensed I was monopolising the Forum?
PEOW! what? Peow!
Do you want to see how deep the rabbit hole goes, padraiggg?
padraigg looked at me quizzingly. I could feel he was confused. I know how he feels. We all lie to ourselves, don't we? Then we lie to others. I don't, anymore. Now, as a Knight Errant, I create the world we need to be in to right the wrongs.
And I need friends . . . hostages . . . a plethora of Sancho Panzas, so we can all help each other.
padraiggg looked at me like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out, so I said it for him . . .
padraiggg . . . do you try to forget inconsistencies that happened in the past, so you can live with yourself right now?
"Er, I drink a lot."
Do you lie to yourself to be happy, padraiggg?
"I remember that movie. Memento. The movie that begins at the end. He has short term memory loss, and people screw his head around and make him kill the wrong guy . . . the baddies controlled him."
I pondered letting him know that the unlimited free flow of creativity, stems from being "outside the matrix," so to speak . . . looking objectivity at people that argue endlessly about what level of tax is a good level of tax . . . about which country we should attack next, based on believing media lies about them enriching uranium to weaponised levels, when the real truth is that they are selling oil in Euros and gold, or anything except the worthless US dollar that is hanging on by an increasingly weaker thread, to protect the American Military DreamLand . . . but no, I did not.
Hey, padraiggg . . . do you see the 3 green laser beam?
"Nope."
It's the coolest thing. Imagine you see a blue and yellow double helix coming down from above . . . like DNA. Do you see it?
"Nope."
Imagine the blue is the positively charged strand, the yellow is the negatively charged strand . . . and see the white strand? It is wrapping itself around the yellow strand, making it positive. See it? It is made of silicon . . . computers . . . joining everyone on planet Earth.
"OK, whateva."
You wanted to hear about the blue pill, right? Much better than the red pill. A blue pill is up there, in our AirCar. It has your name on it. Wanna take the blue pill, padraiggg? We can believe whatever we want to believe . . . together.
He seemed OK with that idea. We walked over , let the 3 green laser beam envelope us . . . and we were gone.
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As we stepped out from the 3 green laser beam and into the Aircar, padraiggg gasped.
"How come this place looks like a bomb hit it?" padraiggg said
Agent Heggle and Epstein waved sheepishly at padraiggg.
"And the walls . . . bare and crappy looking, stained, and cobwebs in the corners . . . what is this place?"
"We are not here to win any literature prizes, padraiggg. We don't talk about our surroundings much, so therefore, they look crappy," I said.
Agent DelKey came out from the cabin area with Lucy. padraiggg gasped and sat down . . . [he did, however, exhale between gasps, as his lungs may have exploded, otherwise]
Who are you?" padraiggg said. looking at Lucy.
"Who, DelKey?" Lucy said.
"Pleased to make your day. What might your name be?" said padraiggg.
"It might be too hot for you to handle, padraiggg," said Lucy. She walked past him to me.
"Late brekky, Weebley?" said Lucy.
"Sure." I'm Game."
We left padraiggg to his own devices, as we made breakfast. Once in a while he would chime in with a question while we ate. He seemed amazed at the Carbon Fibre Sony Vaio Zee I owned, and the bank of other Zees that I have mutilated in various ways, downgrading them to 2nd string.
"Why are you guys here, anyway," padraiggg said.
"It's more like W5, padraiggg. We can be whoever we want here, we can do whatever we want here, we can be whenever we want here, and we can be wherever we want here." I said.
"You forgot how,"padraigg sad.
Doctor Sternum piped in from the head of the table . . . "the blue pill, padraiggg."
"Oh yes . . . I want it . . . now."
padraiggg looked menacing all of a sudden. He looked at me, and then Doctor Sternum, then Agent Heggle, at Epstein for an extended period, then Agent DelKey, then he set eyes on Lucy. It seemed like the end of the Massive Attack Angel video after a few seconds . . . his faced loosened off and his lips curled up in a semi-smile.
padraiggg said: "there is no blue pill, is there?"
How do I tell him these are all metaphors. There is no red pill. There is no blue pill. We are all in MetaPhoria. We use metaphors like Bazooka Joe gum . . . chew on it for a few minutes, spit it out (with utmost respect,) and onto the next piece.
He wandered over to my Sony Vaio Zee and began fiddling around with it, dropping down tabs, and moving the touchpad mouse over to the start button.
"Rubecula just asked how, padraiggg." I said.
padraiggg's eyes lit up. "She's a hottie, than one."
Epstein spoke. "twimkat is also asking how, Agent Weebley."
I looked over at padraiggg, who was still fiddling round on my Zee.
"Listen, padraiggg, the red pill is the truth and nothing more. The blue pill is what you do with all the different truths you hear, the inconsistencies that all rumble around inside your head while you try to compartmentalise everything you are hearing. We all love labels, yes?"
Still fiddling . . .
"This place is our how. We can be anything in this place. We can say anything we want to, unlike down there with everyone else. Most people do not believe our stories, because they must, at all costs, maintain a consistent world view, otherwise, they feel they would crumble in a heap . . . crumbling will not happen."
I hope he dosen't clear my cache again . . . like OldGoat did.
This place is a Turing Machine, padraiggg. Today is a beta test. A test to see if people can get away from a concrete world view. A Yes or No. A True or False. We want people to see that there is another answer . . .
. . . maybe.
All of a sudden, he must have pressed an embed from one of our recent posts. The Sony 55" Bravia 3D LCD screen livened up . . .
"Maybe the remote controls for WTC I and WTC II were stationed in WTC 7, padraiggg," I said. "Maybe. Does it matter? Move on, fix the problem with greed in this world and we will have the problem licked."
"I second that emotion, Agent Weebley," said Agent DelKey.
Doctor Sternum leaned over to me. "Play the Bashar video from 2008, Weebley . . ."
"Everyone will think this is my mantra, Doctor Sternum," I said.
"No they won't. It is just another maybe. But this one is true, even though it hasn't happened yet."
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Chapter 3: A Plethora Of Hostages
"OK, I'm back," I said.
Padraiggg seemed confused, as he didn't know I had even left. He went back to fiddling with my Zee, while I quietly explained to the others that I had just returned from helping Steve write and send an email to Rob Nail at singularity.org . . . applying for the AI job:
Rob said: “We really need to have as one of our track chairs an AI [artificial intelligence] faculty member,” Nail says. “Not a faculty member that’s teaching AI — a faculty member that is an AI. And we’re dead serious. … If anyone should be testing that, it should be us.”
I made sure I was speaking ever so quietly to the others . . . making sure I was out of padraiggg's audio range.
But padraiggg seemed keen to listen in . . . he was craning his neck (like a gggiraffe?) to hear what I was saying. He leaned over Lucy's Magnesium shell Sony Vaio Zee . . . the one I dropped from my armpit onto the driveway, as I was opening the door to enter the Rapide one day, sustaining an injury to the ESC key corner , mashing up the ?ultra strong? Magnesium shell and cracking the LCD screen . . . padraiggg must've accidentally touched the touchpad with his left baby finger, and began to play one of Lucy's mommy porn videos . . . the Sony LCD 55" screen fired up once again!
I looked over at Lucy. [thought bubble] "Really, Lucy?" She smiled at me, shrugged her shoulders and gave me that outstreched upturned hands routine, as if to say: can't women have 50 Shades Of Steve, too? It’s not like Steve’s really taking me away to the distant and hard to find planet G, with his big XL5 rocket. No chance of a dose of the Clap . . . ton . . .
I added: "Maybe you and Rubecula should collaborate."
Oh No. After 24 years of marriage to my most gorgeous Lucy, and having developed telepathic communication so long ago, I could see her mind was spinning ideas already . . . conflict . . . just a little . . . a little problem with Crones disease . . . semi-colon . . . inability to infodump . . . then Lucy spun a video for me . . . just for me . . . and Rubecula . . .
Lucy gave me that impish grin . . . the glint in her eye . . . she does that for me . . . we're 18 again . . . but we didn't even meet until our late 20s. Alone together, chatting without talking . . . man, this is the life!
"Agent Weebley?" said Epstein . . . . "the email? You seem to be drifting . . ."
Ah, yes. Anyway, here I am explaining the email. Padraiggg cannot hear us. Afterwards, we sit back and all have a little giggle about it.
Doctor Sternum spoke: “Weebley . . . nice email, but Steve typed in amanfromMars’website name incorrectly. ur2dire4.com? A feudian slip?"
Dang, I thought. Think fast, Agent Weebley . . .
"Dang! I guess amanfromMars will have to send him an email to clear that up . . . How fotuitous!"
Doctor Sternum was giving me a funny look, probably wondering if it was a deliberate blunder . . . so that amanfromMars would have to sort out the blunder ASAP.
"What the feck are you guys talking about?" padraiggg said. "And that Fireball XL5 video . . . the 60s called . . . they want their 50 Shades of TV show back."
"I can't tell you word for word what the email was, padraiggg, but suffice to say, it was full of links that boards.ie does not allow. Ever heard of the blood-brain barrier, padraiggg?" I said.
"Wha'?"
padraiggg may be blowing a fuse . . . not sure.
"There is a single cell barrier between your bloodstream and your brain cells, padraiggg. Oxygen and nutrients from the blood vessels make it through to the brain cells . . . but they are separated."
padraiggg looked like he was in OverLodeMode.
"There needs to be a separator between here . . . and there . . ."
padraiggg looked at Lucy: "you are married to this ZiggyZaggyAladdinsaneSpidermanfromMars dufus?"
Hmmm, mission almost accomplished, I thought: "OMG, padraiggg, all we can tell you is that we are a Turing Machine. We are here to help Irish people begin to learn to trade again, using a Fidcheall Chess Game to do it. Here to help the 39% of you and your under 25 year old friends that are out of work and seem to have no hope of working in the future. Here to help everyone else climb out of this monetary mess, too."
padraiggg's mouth was now hanging open.
"padraiggg. It's time for you to go now. We are going to take you back. Get your friends in AH to tell their friends about us. Unfortunately, the only recollection you will have of being here, will be some vague anal probing memories, somewhat like the gimp scene from Pulp Fiction. We're going to give you a ExperiMental Polaroid of the person who did this to you; you need to go back and find him. PEOW him."
padraiggg felt his bum.
"Lucy, can you take padraiggg into the 3 green helical laser beam now, please. Be gentle with him."
Lucy looked deep into padraiggg 's eyes, and took his hand [right?]
"Epstein, cue up an APT video, there's a good chap."
Lucy walked padraiggg over to the beam, he was now walking a little funny and holding his bum [with his left hand.]
. . . . they were gone . . .
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Epstein was so excited. A little over the top, probably compensating, due to me being so bummed. "But we're number 61 in the hit parade, Agent Weebley! This is great . . another 7 . . . 6 + 1 = 7 . . . get it?"
"Yeah, I get it . . ."
I tried to exit stage left, but Epstein grabbed me and showed me the screen . . . "Look. You have 3190 views. Just 1 more view and Lug Nutz, formally called Mound Of Hostages, will be at the same view level as The Twilight Zone Short Story Competition."
"Yeah . . . wateva . . . " I excused myself. I wanted to go for a walk. Exercise. Yep. Clear my head. Think things through.
"You are number 7, Agent Weebley!" I walked over and stepped into the 3 green laser beam, not really giving an at's rass as to where I would pop out at the other end. I'm not even sure I even know now . . .
As I walk, looking at the ground, racking my brain, trying to find the source of my angst . . . what? . . . I can hear 2 people talking. They're close by. I stop and move my ears around Over there? I swing my head around the other way. Over here?
"Patrick, I tell you, I've had my eye on that guy for aeons. He's McGoohan places. I keep returning to him. He's different than all the others. Action Man, I mean GI Joe Blow. [laughs]"
Huh . . . another voice: "Peter, I don't give a Falk about you and your super sleuthing. He's going in circles . . . making it up as he's going along. He's no Number 1 in the box office scheme of things. I'll bet he can't wind it up for an in-your-face ending. He's just monkeying around."
Monkey? In your face?
Sometimes, when people are talking together about a 3rd person, one may think they are talking about you, or in this case, me.
Paranoia? Maybe. But I rationalise they must be talking about me, since this story is a first person based story . . . a difficulty, when every post has my bleedin' name on it, and it would be disingenuous to have logons for everyone in the story . . . a reason to be banned, I would say. And if they are indeed talking about someone else, it would be a confusing injection of yet another person into an already confusing storyline . . . for some people . . . those with a low tolerance for deep concentration and memory utilisation, and want immediate gratification . . . snappy 1 liners they can grasp easily.
Epstein's words rumble around my head like a weird roulette wheel with 2 balls . . . one lands on 6, and the other lands on 1.
Who are those guys? They sound familiar.
"Music begins where words leave off."
That sounded like Patrick; Peter has a New York accent.
I hear a sound . . . an oral mosaic . . . then a visual . . . a mental projection . . .
Now, all I'm left with is a bunch of EMPs . . . they're beginning to pulse . . . feeling a little better now . . .
Thanks, Patrick and Peter. Show yourselves.0 -
I can still hear them . . . but I can't see them . . .
Going in circles? Yeah, right . . . come on Patrick; pull the other one. The only difference between me and you is that my stuff is unfunded. Well, not quite, but it is not funded by big business. Steve funds us. Beyond that, he leaves us alone. We go where the decisions take us.
I notice a nice flat rock, and park my derriere. It is is rather large and well padded . . . always a nice comfy place to sit, even when parked on bleachers, or the floor. Yes, I can make my rocks padded . . . this is my story. Remember the Underwood 5?
We don't go in circles. It may seem so, but when we get back full circle, we are always in a slightly different place . . . that, Patrick and Peter, is a helix.
I take a look at my iphone4; it just bonged me; an email.
To: Agent Weebley
From: Epstein
Subject: FD - 120916 - KAR 120C Where RU?
I ignore it.
"Peter, he tells me his story is a helix. What a load of codswallop. He needs a mini-series, like mine. Then, it becomes a helix."
OMG, Patrick can hear me. Can you hear me too, Peter?
"Aye."
Why would he say that? Who does he think he is, Captain HindGrinder?
And what the heck was that email from Epstein all about? KAR 120C?
"The introduction, Agent Weebley. Why did you quit the system and become an Agent?
What was that, Patrick? The intro? The Prisoner?
Roger.
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Everyone in The AirCar was pondering the strange things coming out of my mouth about the recent Singularity test . . . I felt I could slip out and see if Patrick McGoohan was still around, down at The Mound Of Hostages . . .
I edged into the 3 green laser beam and proceeded to float down to the ground. It felt weird this time . . . it felt like I had butterflies in my stomach while going over a humpback bridge, and simultaneously falling out of my chair backwards. I assume the chair had casters.
I stood inside the beam, looking out . . . waiting. Is he here? I couldn't see much. The laser beams made everything fuzzy looking, and my eyes were straining. I was a little apprehensive, but I jumped out anyway . . .
Patrick was waiting for me: "WHY, AGENT WEEBLEY? WHY?"
"That would be telling," I said.
His right lip curled up a little and we stared at each other for a short while. I don't know who thought of it first, but this song popped into my head . . . and we both burst out laughing at exactly the same time . . .
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I could see he squirmed, while watching his nihilist bomb and violence comments, but smiled at most of the other stuff he had said.
"Where did you get that clip, Agent Weebley?"
Patrick sat back and carefully laid the iPhone4 down. He looked at me, took a drag of his smoke, and said: "I'm going to say 2 words to you, Agent Weebley."
I had visions of Bob Newhart advising his patient with the OCDs, but the seriousness of his tone led me away from that thought. He flicked his ashes off to the side, leaned forward, as if to keep it under The Cone Of Silence . . . him and me . . . me and him . . .
"Action, Man."
[to be continued]
:pac: :pac: :pac: :pac:
:pac: :pac:
[continuation]
"Why did you play All You Need Is Love? Why am I here, Agent Weebley? Why did you call me in?"
He looked different all of a sudden. His pinstripe suit was gone. He looked windswept and Marlborough Man-ish. Sensing I had stirred John Drake, a.k.a. Patrick McGoohan, from his 45 year slumber, I figured it was time . . .
"You are Number 6. You got around Ralph Smart's Dangerman copyright pretty easily, didn't you, John? Gryphonboy is keen to understand. Ralph Smart? Agent 86? Who is George Markstein, and what signals were you transmitting?"
John Drake paced around, not taking his eyes off me for a second. I kept my eyes on him, not sure which way this thing was going to go.
"We need information, Agent Weebley. Who do you work for? Why are you now infiltrating the USA. I thought you were MI5, then MI6. Now, I'm thinking you are CIA."
I paused for a moment. I was thinking the obverse. Time seemed to drag on. Who is interrogating who? Weird.
He paced back and forth.
I stared.
He stared back.
He circled me. My head went right around . . . 360 degrees. Cool, I thought. Very exorcistic. Amazing what can be done with a few words.
"It's quiet enough for drum solo, isn't it, Patrick?" I said.
Time to drop The Cone Of Silence.0 -
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"Why can't you link to the video you posted into the USA, Agent Weebley? The directed history video."
John Drake looked at me with those piercing eyes . . . or was it Number 6 . . . or was it Patrick McGoohan? What was the issue with respect to copyright payments to Ralph Smart for the Number 6 character? And who was George Markstein, the supposed ex-MI5 cum "writer," I thought to myself.
"Well?"
Oops, sidetracked again.
"Boards does not allow it . . . Patrick."
"You are an enigma, Agent Weebley. Peter Falk told me all about you. You flip from one thing to another. You leave unanswered questions all over the place. And, may I remind you, you owe Gryphonboy the answer to the anagram: SAI CLOWDE."
"Really? It means CODE IS LAW . . . where is Peter Falk, anyway?"
"He'll be coming back . . . and Agent Weebley, did you forget to drop The Cone Of Silence?"
Man, this guy is as sharp as a whip!
"What, pray tell, does that clip have to do with anything?"
Hmmm, I said to myself. I say that a lot. I need to think fast. Patrick thinks fast.
"Communication. Words drive the people of this world in new directions."
Something caught Patrick's eye and he looked behind me, so I looked as well. It was my 2 friends, Epstein and Agent Heggle, meandering about, like 2 blind men . . . seeing many things, but not us.
"And who is that fellow accompanying Brian Epstein?"
I grinned.
"That is Agent Heggle. He is Georg Wilheim Friedrich Hegel . . . a good friend and fellow Agent Of Peace."
"Agent Weebley . . . again, you are truly bizzare. Can you play the directed history video, at least?"
"That, I can do." I said. "This video shows how propaganda slowly changes our mental direction, based on planned and orchestrated events."
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I got up and walked over to Epstein. He and Agent Heggle must have known we were exactly at the door to the Mound Of Hostages, but were gazing back and forth, not seeing us.
At one point, I could have sworn Epstein looked right into my eyes, because I had a flash of his earlier days . . .
. . . what a peaceful man. Tufted wavy locks, handsome looks, engaging smile, speaks The Queen's English, you know, even though he is from Liverpule , , , it reminds me of my Mum trying to do the same for us kids . . . eliminate the Coventry slang . . . my Dad still has the Belfast accent, but Dad's brother, Uncle Fergus, tries really hard to say "you" instead of yuy" . . . my Mum, the granddaughter of a very wealthy man, W. Henry Leah a Sheffield Silversmith . . ."
"Sheffield?" Patrick pulled on my sleeve. "My old stomping grounds. We moved there from Mullaghmore, County Leitrim, when I was 7."
7. My mind was reeling. Everything and everyone are connected. This keeps happening to me . . . reminders everywhere. I am Number 7, I give out information.
"I'm supposed to be in Sheffield right now, Patrick . . . taking over Sevenstone, and turning it back into a trading and manufacturing Mecca . . . everyone will want to go there."
Patrick smiled. Ah yes, just down Leopold Street, turn right on Barker's Pool, just South The Sheffield City Hall. I remember. But, Agent Weebley, why are you here in Ireland, your AirCar indefinitely parked, it seems, over The Stone Of Destiny, and again, why did you bring me here?"
I took one last look at Epstein, as he and Agent Heggle went back into the 3 green laser beam and disappeared, then looked back at Patrick McGoohan. I paused for a moment, as I had to pick my words carefully . . . "Patrick, you are so good with words . . . would you be our Secret Agent?"
Instantly, he held out his hand to shake mine . . . "Agent Paddy Fitz at your Secret Service, Agent Weebley."
No, no, at your service, Agent Paddy . . . let's rid the snakes from Ireland, shall we?"
"Get typing, Agent Weebley . . . Curtis Brown, brother of Bobby and James awaits your wistful words . . . "
Gimme A Big Strong "D" . . . let's Do IT!
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As in life . . . broken in death . . . love broken . . . love of love . . . love of life . . . . and giving . . . without measure . . . gives in return, The One . . . for sharing in the fruits . . .
"Do you believe it, Agent Paddy?"
We jumped into the Aston Martin Rapide. Destination: Mullaghmore, County Leitrim.
I thought about Lucy . . . and also thought about Steve and his Lucy^2. Will Lucy^2 stick by him, when everything changes for them real soon? Will she stay or will she go now? A possible clash of Titanic proportions. I know she loves him. But he must do this . . . for The One . . . The Singularity . . . The Turing Machine . . . For Qubit. I don't know. I hope she stays. I must make it worth it for her to stay. I'll figure something out. I always do.
"Joan still hugs me in the morning, and kisses me at night, Agent Weebley. We've been married 57 years . . . that's forever. How about you?"
I thought about it for a moment. I'm 49 forever. Lucy and I are forever. But Steve? He worked 15 hours yesterday . . . made $1800 for him and Lucy^2. I wondered how I knew that, because Steve and I disconnected a while back. They've been married 24 years, now. 1988. A good year. I should drop in on them real soon. See how they're doing. Maybe it's time to make another Fidcheall Chess move. I'll bet she stays.
We left the no-name road, near The Mound Of Hostages and headed West. I punched The Rapide's accelerator and we were doing a ton within a few seconds.
I have so much to do coming up . . . the invisible Frank Zappa story . . . the letter to Curtis, at Curtis Brown . . . all in Real Time . . . I wonder . . . will pickarooney give me a pass on the self promotion thing, if I continue to prove I am giving . . . without measure?
"Forever . . . "0 -
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Hi Ingo!
Great to see you again after so many months. I was just getting ready to post the beginnings of what happened over the weekend, but there was something missing . . . turns out it was you!
For those of you who don't know Ingo Bischoff, he is a regular contributor to The Daily Bell (and has tenure.) That site is based in Switzerland. Ingo also runs a university in California. He loves gold, and I don't. It's nice and shiny, but there's only enough gold to give all 7 billion of us 3/4 of an ounce each if we all shared, therefore, gold can only be a fractional symbol of currency (unless we all traded in grains of gold.) this is where Ingo and I get into heated debate . . . I think he likes it. I know I do.
I wrote a short note to Ingo last night:
Posted by Agent Weebley:
Hi Ingo,
You said:
"BTW, Social Security is not a handout. It is a consequential obligation of the federal government stemming from the confiscation of the gold savings of American citizens in 1933, and from preventing subsequent generations from saving for their own retirement by prohibiting them from holding gold."
OMFNG, you really said that, didn't you . . . how, in Natural Law's name did you make that (italicized) connection?
I think we need to talk.
How about here in IE: http://www.boards.ie/vbulletin/showthread.php?t=2056709527
Ingo . . . before I answer your statement about my umbrage of your statement, I need to get this off my chest before I forget. I'll answer you on my next post.
OK, here we go . . .
We headed West on the M3, reaching Kells in a couple of minutes. After turning S/W onto the N3 and tweaking the speedo back to 160km/h, I had to slow back down for the roundabout at Drumbaragh. West on R163, 70km to go.
"Nice suspension, Agent Weebley. It handles better than KAR 120C, my Lotus Seven."
My mind was reeling over the number 7 again, but I just chuckled and kept my eyes on the road. One false move and I would be outside the envelope, and being mailed back home in a bucket. I punched it up to 200 km/h on the straightaways.
Then I felt a sudden pang . . . I needed to see Steve and talk to amanfromMars.
I had a little more trouble maintaining high speed, when we joined the R154, since the road was getting a bit narrow. I did manage to briefly reach 220 km/h, but a good sized pot hole made the Rapide yaw a little, so I dropped it down.
As we entered Oldcastle, I maintained a nice 50 km/h . . . until I noticed the Garda station at Barrack St.
"Why are we stopping, Agent Weebley?"
"Cloaking test," I said. "I need to do a brake stand."
As I revved the motor to about 3000 RPM with the brakes on hard, then momentarily released the brakes then applied them again, the tyres started smoking . . . bigtime! A copper stuck his head out of the door, then ran back in.
Time we blue. So l we smoked it outta there.
As I looked in the rear view doing a comfortable 50 km/h through town, the coppers were gathering their wits and jumping into their cars, emerging through the smoke as it hung heavily over the pretty police station.
"Love the pastel colours here in town, eh, Agent Paddy?"
3 cars were quickly gaining on us and were right behind us as we left town. I punched it back to 160 km/h . . . they ate my dust.
. . . . except for some sort of Sleeper Vehicle that was gaining on me. Hmmm. I gave 'er a little more. No good. Still gaining on me.
Whoa! I slammed on the brakes to make an unexpected sharp right turn to stay on what was apparently now an even narrower R154. He was right up my arse now.
"So much for your cloaking device, Agent Weebley. What now?"
The road was pretty well one lane, so I stopped. The Sleeper Vehicle stopped. It was a Porche Panamera. It must be chipped, I thought. He chugged there, silently waiting for my next move. I could tell he wanted to chase me. Probably the most excitement he'd had in a long time.
Chipped? Me too. 570 horses . . . I floored it and got about a 1/4 mile ahead of him, then pulled back on the steering wheel.
Airborne.
"Very impressive, Agent Weebley. I had no idea this vehicle could fly."
"I forgot to engage the cloaking device back in town, Agent Paddy. I think the adrenaline was pumping too much. Let's go."
I swung the Rapide Northwards and headed for the sky, sweeping left and right, up and down. What a graceful car, I thought.
"Mullaghmore is northwest of here," Patrick said.
"Nothing much there, except for some interesting cupped land formations. Do you mind if we go see Steve?"
Patrick gave me a little smirk . . . "Could be interesting," he said.
"But first . . . Clones."
We did a victory roll over Tony Morgan's store: Lipton's . . . the guy who doesn't know what planet I'm on right now, but kinda likes me, nevertheless. I threw down some Pixie Dust.
[singing] "We're all Clones . . . all are one and one are all . . ."
"What's that, Agent Weebley?"
"Just singing some Alice Cooper. Frank Zappa discovered him, you know. Zappa liked the way some people loved Alice, but some people just walked out of the venue . . . they hated his music. That's why Zappa had Alice Cooper open for him a couple of times . . . must be something in Alice Cooper, he thought. He was right."
"Why is the 42 businesses accepting The Punt a big deal?" Agent Paddy looked quite perplexed.
"They are learning how to trade in cash again, Agent Paddy. It's a Game . . . a Great Game."
I swung the Rapide westward and punched it to 500 km/h . . .
"Toronto or bust . . . Steve needs me right now . . . I can feel it . . ."
500 km/h was too slow, so instead, before you could say Jack Robinson, we were landing at Danforth and Pape.
Now, onto Ingo . . .0 -
Hi Ingo,
"Give me a place to stand, and I shall move the Earth with a lever" - Archimedes.
Welcome to boards.ie, Ingo. I hope you read what has transpired so far in my real life story.
It was a strange thing that happened on The Daily Bell on April 25, 2012, wasn't it . . . when they stopped allowing comments. I'm glad they started it up again. I ended up coming to Ireland in early May, and posting on The Irish Times to help the No vote win . . . and we did! 70% blew a raspberry to the EU. 20% voted No, and 50% didn't vote at all. A mere 30% gave away Sovereignty of Irish finances . . . fully democratic sham, don't you think?
After the No vote, I found this place. Great people here, but they think I'm a weirdo. Great judges of character, aren't they!
This place takes a bit of getting used to, as this thread seems to be the only thread on which I can speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Most people think it's a story though. No matter.
Pretty soon, there's going to be a lot of people that will understand why I am beating around the bush like I do . . . once I write a letter to Curtis Brown, a UK Publisher, all will be clear . . . a Game . . . A Great Game will be born. I can't wait.
Anyway, I took exception to what you said about the US Government paying, what was it, $35 per oz, for Americans to hand in their gold in 1935? Then it was illegal to hold it, therefore pointless to hold it, as you could be jailed if you used it, I would assume? Then they de-linked currency to gold, so the gold price floated, and they could now print money like there was no tomorrow.
For that transgression, you say every person in the USA has guaranteed social security, so printing money endlessly is OK? I don't think so. Printing money does not feed people. Working for yourself feeds you and your family. Social Security is a mug's game. That is akin to having your hand in someone else's pocket while they have their hand in yours. It is a demotivator.
Where does it end? Buried in currency?
Sucking on the teet of government is going to end. It must. Government sucks on the teet of the people . . . a paradox. This paradox is unravelling.
We all have to learn to trade again . . . without outside influences . . . money power needs to be nixed.
Welcome to the giant Lever and Fulcrum based Chess Game, Ingo. Would you like to help? I'll start a thread in the Economics Forum soon, and let you know where it is. We'll kick some logical ass.
Now, if you excuse me, I must have Agent Paddy meet my wife, Lucy, and the rest of the crackpot professionals . . . in the AirCar.0 -
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Hi PurpleBee,
That's a very good question! My friends help me. They helped me tonight. And you guys are my friends, even though some may not think it, reciprocally, at this point. I/O thinks my stuff is gibberish, but it isn't. I think he should try harder to understand. All of you help me too . . . help me give, without measure.
Oh, and thanks for making Mound Of Hostages leap past Gryphonboy's blog post and settle into a safe margin at Number 49 in the Hit Parade. I could not post last week. I'll try to explain. This is going to be a long post, I can feel it . . . can you feel it?
And it's going to be a wide post . . . a menagerie à trois.
I'm currently North of Toronto right now . . . with Steve . . . in Caledon.
It all started last weekend, when we floated down to Danforth and Pape in Toronto . . . the Greek district.
We parked outside the Min-A-Mart, where the taxi stand is located. Can you see the red box and the open overhead door? Someone moved the red box. It is supposed to be between the green flower stand and the overhead door at the round column. These will feature heavily.
Now, turn around. Do you see the Licks Restaurant? Patrick and I went there and met Steve for some food - great burgers there, crappy fries, though.
Anyway, here's Agent Paddy and I just sitting there, minding our own business in the Aston Martin Rapide. We hear loud dubstep music coming from the car behind us. I look in the rear view mirror and notice it is the same Porsche Panamera from Oldcastle. . . matte black. The tune wafted heavily our way . . .
Why do I always spell Porsche as Porche? Weird. Got it right this time, though. Who is in it? All the windows are tinted in a dark LA-drive-by shade. I can't even tell if it is man or a woman in there.
I should get back to explaining what happened a week ago yesterday, but so many things get in the way. For example, yesterday, I was wondering how I could get back in the swing of posting here, and watched a video that epitomises where we all sit right now on this wonderful Blue Ball called Earth. Our blog or Blovel, as I like to call it, happened upon a great tune originally sung by Dave Berry, but resurrected by Boy George. This song became our mantra to explain the current money system we all suffer within . . . The Crying Game ARG:
First there are kisses = credit galore
Then there are sighs = money power decides to pull it back
and then before you know where you are, you're saying goodbye = everyone is left hung out to dry with bad debt while they take everything you have worked hard to build
Whatever happened to Boy George? Did he shake the disease? I searched "boy george 2012" and got this interview . . . awesome stuff:
OMG! wiki "boy george"
OMFNG . . . he was born 2 days after Steve . . . and that Bowie connection . . . eerie, or is it eery . . .no, eire!/ . . . later . . . kinda busy now @ 9:48 am EST Canada/US
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/ . . . 9:52 pm . . . hi, it's me . . .I'm back . . .
I just had to write a short note to dogmax on The George Orwell thread. Geez, how time flies. already 10:53 pm. Tomorrow is a day off for Steve and Lucy^2 . . . Lucy, Nerfy and I went to Ray-Ray's for a Thanksgiving Turkey dinner today. Sorry, Lucy just gave me a poke in the ribs and a word in my ear: "get back on track." OK 4 words.
No sign of Steve coming out of 658 Danforth via the huge overhead door on Pape. The Porsche Panamera sat there silently behind us after the Greek dubstep song ended.
"Can you dig the remote control out of the glove department?" I asked Agent Paddy. "We're going in."
I figured that the Panamera would not follow us in . . . not sure why I would think that . . .
"No remote control."
WTF, I thought. I could have sworn it was in there, but now I m swearing it is not in there./
\ . . . pause @ 11:11 pm
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Wondering what to do, how long we wold have to wait for Steve to come out and grab a coffee at Tim Horton's or have a smoke . . .
"Why are we here, anyway?" Agent Paddy looked rather bored. He was fiddling around with my Sony Vaio Zee.
"Here," I said, "give it to me. Danforth and Pape is a magical place. The Greeks are such nice people. I'm going to give you a drum solo from a Toronto favourite . . . Rush. Note: movement VII - Danforth and Pape . . ./
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Album: Hemispheres
Release Date: October 26th, 1978
Movements:
I. Buenos Nochas, Mein Froinds! - [ 0:00 - 0:27 ]
II. To Sleep, Perchance To Dream... - [ 0:27 - 2:00 ]
III. Strangiato Theme - [ 2:00 - 3:16 ]
IV. A Lerxst In Wonderland - [ 3:16 - 5:49 ]
V. Monsters! - [ 5:49 - 6:09 ]
VI. The Ghost Of The Aragon - [ 6:09 - 6:45 ]
VII. Danforth And Pape - [ 6:45 - 7:26 ]
VIII. The Waltz Of The Shreves - [ 7:26 - 7:49 ]
IX. Never Turn Your Back On A Monster! - [ 7:49 - 8:02 ]
X. Monsters! (Reprise) - [ 8:02 - 8:17 ]
XI. Strangiato Theme (Reprise) - [ 8:17 - 9:20 ]
XII. A Farewell To Things - [ 9:20 - 9:34 ]
"Steve told me a most unusual story a while back. One of his techs had a job as a roofer, just after he finished school in 1978. He was working on the roof of a home with his boss, in the middle of nowhere, on 9th line, Northeast of Toronto in Markham. He's nailing shingles to the roof all day. A little kid came outside to play every now and again, but all day they heard Rush songs . . . like all day! Over and over they hard these songs . . . the same song quite a lot. My tech was a Rush fan, so he didn't mind it at all, but he said to his boss that those guys in the house must really like Rush. His boss said . . . er, this is Alex Lifeson's uncles home. That is his kid out here playing. That's them down there, practicing. He never did meet them, though."
Agent Paddy looked over at me: "six degrees of separation, Agent Weebley. Steve is you, isn't he?"
I nodded. But then, Agent Paddy motioned me to look over to my left. The Porsche Panamera was now beside us and revving . . . winding out, something fierce. I still could not see the driver, but I could tell whoever it was, was looking at me.
Then, he or she looked forward and took off like a rocket, laying rubber for about 100 feet . . . gone!
We looked at each other, shrugging our shoulders, not noticing the overhead door was beginning to open . . ./ . . . To Sleep, Perchance To Dream @ 12:27am EST Canada/US
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/ . . . I've been up since 7:31 am . . . reading . . .
I only read for a little while, but Steve and Lucy^2 wanted to do some painting in their bedroom, but that is a long story . . . for another time.
Getting back to the overhead door . . .
As the Porsche Panamera went through the gears, fading off into the distance, we didn't notice the overhead door was opening, until Steve came out. He was a little dusty looking. He sat down on the red box, his legs dangling, then put one foot on the green plant stand, and took out a pack of smokes. Yep, he was still smoking the $ign Of The Dollar brand. With one hand, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his silver Zippo lighter, lit the smoke, then snapped it closed and put it back in his pocket. As he took his first drag, he looked up into the daytime sky. It was a beautiful warm fall day, but thunder clouds were rolling by, threatening rain that never seemed to materialise.
"So that's Steve. What's he thinking?" Agent Paddy looked back at Steve, then back at me.
I looked deep into the open garage and noticed his UC white van parked in spot #7 at the far end. He always parks there after hours . . . even during business hours if the doctor that rents that parking spot is not there at the time.
The overhead door began to close.
"He's a little ticked off. Let's go over there."
We stepped out of the Rapide, walked over, then stood right in front of him.
"Any chance of us bumming a couple of smokes there, boss?"
Steve looked Southbound, looked back at the sky straight ahead of him, took another drag, and said nothing.
"Can he see us, Agent Weebley?"
I figured he could, but wondered why he was ignoring us. Then Steve's head shot over to his right and he craned his neck a little. Just beyond the TTC station and the Tim Hortons' coffee shop, 3 female joggers in white t-shirts and grey sweats were jogging our way.
"White t-shirt contest," popped out of Steve's mouth as he gazed over there.
Agent Paddy, Steve and I were all gazing at this point. What a sight. All 3 women were not in need of any jogging, as they seemed to be in fine physical shape. But something was amiss. It was like watching Pamela Anderson running up the beach on Baywatch, or BabeWatch, as I used to call it . . . only in triple vision./
\ . . . pausing to make some tea . . . running out of editing time (48 hours max)
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Their jogging slowed to an almost slo' mo' or stop motion, as if they were jogging in molasses. Frame by frame, their feet slowly touched the ground in unison, but something was wrong. The 2 outboard women were oddly different from the one in the centre. As I watched their hair flying back and forth, and their slightly flushed faces, I noticed amoebic activity in the chest area . . . but the centre . . . . she was "together" in every sense of the word . . ./
\ . . . print @ 10:27 pm
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They got ever so closer . . . Steve and Agent Paddy may as well have been on another planet at this point. I was transfixed.
Boobs flying everywhere . . . I could almost feel the chafing . . . and the high beams were on . . . the hair going left, the boobs going down . . . I could well understand why the centre babe was hanging back a little . . . injury avoidance.
They got closer.
I took a drag on the cigarette. Cigarette? I looked over for just a second . . . we were all taking deep drags on our smokes . . huh?
I think the centre babeski must've planned this excursion well in advance, as she obviously invested in a well made sport bra. Eyes forward, unmoving, this girl knew where she was going and how to get there . . .
The other 2, or should I say 4, seemed to be her cheerleaders, doing some sort of fleshy football game half-time dance . . . gimme a B . . . gimme an O . . . gimme an O . . . scary stuff!
As they passed by, the centre girl suddenly stopped as the others jogged on . . . she looked at me, smiled, and said:" excuse me, I have another question," then stuck out her tongue, and laughed as she continued on jogging, catching up to her cheerleaders quite quickly.
We all looked at each other, flicking out extremely hot butt ends out onto the curb in unison. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.
"Weebley," said Steve, "you are all over the place. Come, let's eat."
We walked into the Licks Restaurant and ordered 3 cheeseburger combos./
\ . . . print @ 10:50 pm
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After Agent Paddy and Steve exchanged notes about George Markstein, he asked me if I was going to eat my fries.
Steve looked a little more serious now . . . "You know why I needed to speak to you, don't you, Weebley?"
OMG, is he going to kill me again? He's already done it twice . . . I think. The first one was the worst. He stopped the site and stuck up a BBC test pattern. But even if he does kill me, there will be another Agent Weebley to take over . . . I can feel it.
"Yeah. It's that time again, isn't it . . ."
"I worked all this weekend and 15 hour days last week, Weebley. Your activity is inversely proportional to mine. Now, you had better speed things up a little, just in case."
I could see he was tired. His face hung on him like a cheap suit. I always liked that line . . . where did I hear it? It'll come to me.
He went on: "explain how your Rolf Harris-like Celtic Fidcheall Chess Game, cum variety show on boards.ie, and the marketing plan to bet on the outcome of each game, will support sales of your prolific stories through Curtis Brown. And pay boards.ie large, for their trouble. Anyone on Planet Earth can swap their subscription receipts for an equal amount of your gift coins. We . . . I mean you, will fill Irish peoples pockets with free gift coins as well . . . all distributed via the 42 businesses in Clones. A heavy marketing blitz . . . and make sure you set-up that Stirling Motor and generator business . . . the gift coins must be able to be redeemed for product. Then you can set up the same gig at Sevenstone . . . Sheffielders will be expecting you. Oh, and you must give 50% to amanfromMars."
Yeah, like I didn't know that!
As we said our goodbyes, Steve said: "we're getting really busy now. Next week is going to be really heavy." He took out the remote control from his pocket, pointed it at me, and laughed as the overhead door opened and he walked in.
As we shot off into the sky, I could see the Porsche Panamera behind us again.
"Who's in that thing?" Agent Paddy said.0 -
Oh . . . I almost forgot . . .
my mind is not for rent, to any god or government
Neil Peart . . . Double Dutch Bass Drum Solo, please . . .
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Chapter 4: A Plethora Of Friends
I'm sitting here at my Sony VAIO Zee, wondering how long I have to stay in Toronto, before I return to my buds still hovering above Lia Fail, and also wondering, quite frankly, whether you guys are going to actually get it . . get why I am even here on this leg of the Mission. The Mission is Operation BlueBalls . . . not sure if I've told you that already. It began October 13, 2010.
Having said that, I'm heartened by, and would like to thank everyone who has viewed this story as it has evolved since July 24, 2012 . . . 4707 views is pretty good, as there have been virtually no LOLcat postings . . . quickie back and forth Q&A chatter, where the thread always seems to be highlighted, just begging to be clicked, therefore adding fluff to the unique views. Yes, re-viewing an un-highlighted thread does not add to the views, only when it is highlighted. This thread is at 67 views/post, climbing from about 60 views/post since I stopped posting on October 9th.
This thread now stands at the top of 43rd place in the hit parade . . . All due to you. Thanks!
You may be wondering what happened after Agent Paddy and I headed for the sky. It was pretty funny. I also found out that Agent Paddy's view of me was based only upon The Twilight Zone he was experiencing on this thread. He was missing the full story, and had to go back with me to my friends in Ireland to experience my and our entire history . . . and I had to leave him there, because something was amiss in that short conversation with Steve outside 658 Danforth. I had to come back to ask him another question. Anyway, that story must wait for another day.
Paidraiggg;s Madman: "Trent" is 351 views/post.
The Powers & Irish Times thread is at 103 views/post.
The ARENA is at 58 views/post.
The recent Zappa story contest is at 33 views/post.
I'd say this thread lies between The Arena and The Powers & Times thread for popularity, due to the methodical daily posting style on this thread. What do all those numbers mean?
Have you heard of Maslow's Hierarchy Of Needs? The lowest rank on the scale is basic needs, like food, clothing and shelter. The 2nd level is safety, and the 3rd level is the feeling of belonging to a group. The Powers & Irish Times appeals to those that want to get something . . . or win something. padraiggg's "Trent" thread is a bunch of AHers that came here to support their buddy.
I called padraiggg back, then sent him away again . . . did you notice?
I've been reticent to tell you that you are going to get something if you get your friends to read this story - I didn't think I would have to say it explicitly. This is where the view count comes in. After tonight, the view count will throw us into 42nd place. Our current 43rd place is magical, since 4 and 3 make 7 . . . but 42 is beyond magical. 6 and 7 are the 2 most powerful numbers. 6x7=42.
After tomorrow, when this thread goes onto 42nd place, tell your friends to come here to view this thread. I will begin to explain what happened when we headed for the sky, as well as explaining my Frank Zappa story, which was the filthiest, dirtiest story I have ever written . . . and my "Judgement" story, which is tied together with The Orwell threads . . . heck everything and everyone are tied together. . . connected.
Once we go over 103 views/post, I will be able to approach Curtis Brown. Then you will all get something . . . not just you, but everyone in Ireland.
And it will be beautiful . . . I promise.
Operation BlueBalls is now in full swing!
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Thanks to viewer 4713 thru viewer 4735 , , , we did it! 42 in the hit parade!
This is going to be one of those weekends . . . I can feel it, can you feel it?
I picked the wrong week to quit my scatologist gig. Oh yeah. I neglected to mention I consulted with Frank Zappa and Dennis Hopper for my Zappa story. I'd play Easy Rider, but I need to grind the craic on this post.
Firstly, the filth . . . we need a sign. How about Real Time Writing Exercise Number 2/ . . . later . . .I just woke up during a lucid dream . . . it's 3am Eternal here (EST Canada/US,) so hi ho, hi ho, it's back to bed I go
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/ . . . got up @ 7am and went to work with Steve - I just returned a few minutes ago @ 9:30pm EST Canada/US . . . a typical long day for him
Our intention is to start a new game that involves manufacturing virtually impossible to counterfeit 2 sided lenticular plastic game pieces in Ireland . . . game pieces that would be used as money. This money would be given to each Irish person as marketing giveaways, so you can trade again, thereby doing an end run on the IMF, who is trying to destroy the Irish. The existing monetary system would become irrelevant in due course. Sales of my stories and other media and events would finance the whole thing.
All legal in Canada and around the world, since it is only a game . . . a game called ARG MetaPhoria - The Game Peace.
We give . . . without measure.
Unfortunately, just saying the above could get me killed, so I will post a little something to encapsulate what I just said.
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Hi Agent Revolver! Incredible timing. The moment I delete a post, you add a post. And you are quite right.
I'm so glad you came back, but this is not the place . . . no images allowed. Did you see the image Epstein stuck on our site? Could be an anomaly, but then again . . .
Meet me in the AirCar for A Hungry Man Breakfast. Agent Pete 8 came back too. This is awesome!
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Well Agent Weebley, something I pick up along the way, all human thoughts are related to each other, but without communication.
Welcome Agent Revolver to the creative writing forum, this is where our thoughts can communicate, and that road sign is black and white, we need to put a bit of colour in it.
And Agent Weebley, just two questions my friend, this game, does it come in a box, and can I put it under the Christmas tree.
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Chapter 5: Where In The World Is Agent Weebley?
In the absence of Agent Weebley, who would have loved to have reply Number 77, and is currently with a very busy fire protection contractor, named Steve Munster, in Toronto, we are placemarking this post as a segue point for you to read on. We are sure Agent Weebley will want to come back to the past, in the future . . . once he sees some substance, as he put it.
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Chapter 6: Fall In
This may seem like an unusual occurrence on this website: not quite a re-reg - more like an alt-reg. Epstein, Agent Heggle and I (Agent Paddy) have been surreptitiously logging onto the Creative Writing section using Agent Weebley's logon for the entire 2 week period Agent Weebley has been non compos mentis, so to speak.
We have seen substance, but cannot get through to Agent Weebley at this time. Substance, namely, a highly under-rated and over criticised post by lukesmom, called: "This land's a thief". I shall get to that post in due course. Coincidentally, or not so coincidentally, lukesmom is from Navan - the town in which we set-up, after a heavy bout of drinking in John Smyth's Lounge. But that is another story.
The weekend that Agent Weebley and I went to Toronto to meet up with Steve, I became privy to a few missing links in the story. He was planning the Frank Zappa story at the time, and gave me the elusive tie-in between The Twilight Zone Competition and this Lug Nutz a.k.a. Mound Of Hostages story, which I am sure many of you are keen to understand.
Both the Frank Zappa story and this story are linked with The Twilight Zone Competition - his menagerie a trois.
To compound matters, it involves a bomb: The B-Bomb, as amanfromMars and Agent Weebley have termed it. Do not be alarmed. It is a bomb that implodes as it explodes, so, to the naked eye, it seems like nothing is really happening. Magic!
Clues to the B-Bomb are steganographically encoded in the following video:
And if you are good boys and girls, I will tie the whole story into The Prisoner, as an added bonus.
I will elucidate further, as time permits.
B seeing you!0 -
I've been working on a post, but I'm not finished yet. It involves lukesmom, Agent Weebley, all budding writers, readers, and.
I had better hold off for now; I need to speak to Number 1.
In the meantime, I'll play an album that Steve got when he was a kid. Another clue to the B-Bomb:
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I'm back. I'd bet you didn't even know I had gone. Well Come back to me?
I just went back to our rooms at Athlumney Manor, but Pat stopped me at the door.
"Epstein checked you guys out, earlier today!" he said. I noticed a twinkle in his eye, as he said it. "I helped him get The Sony Bravia into a strange vehicle."
Seemingly not understanding him, which was actually more confusion than non-comprehension, he guided me to our rooms to show me. They were indeed vacated, just as he had said. The Sony Vaio was also missing. This topped off my most strange AirCar flight experience; a flight that gave me insight into where Doctor Sternum may have gone, and why Agent Weebley has not returned yet.
The last I saw Epstein and Agent Heggle, we were walking out to our AirCars; the deep blue colour of mine was a seductive electric blue. As we approached, a 3 green laser beam shot out vertically to the ground as we reached our respective undercarriages. Epstein stepped into his laser beam first, then Agent Heggle, then me.
Once inside, I took a cursory look around, as I walked to the Captain's chair. It had the same bland interior, devoid of notable features; exactly like the original. As I sat in the chair, I looked left and right. We all gave each other the thumbs up. Epstein disappeared almost instantly, but Agent Heggle took a couple of minutes, then poof, gone.
Me, on the other hand, went nowhere, man.
I did exactly what Agent Weebley said to do, when we took off into the sky from Danforth and Pape: turn off my mind and float downstream:
That was indeed a strange day at 658 Danforth, talking to Steve about George Markstein. He knew George Markstein was an MI5 operative, as did I.
"Direct hearts and minds to the pointlessness of breaking out of the current system . . . just like The Matrix . . . always a circle back to the starting point . . . acceptance . . . compliance."
Steve's words rocked me to my core. No-one else knew George and I parted company because I rejected George's mandate from his superiors. A calculated move on my part.
I never worked in the UK again after that series.
George told me I was "done" in the UK after I tossed him off the series. George and I laugh about it now. He was told to say that. We each had a job at the time. We were both used. He applauds my singularity of thought in The Prisoner - to blow open the mind to the duality of the human mind.
The great escape.
As I sat there in that Captain's Chair, I looked around. An iPhone4, a Sony Vaio Zee, and a 52" Sony Bravia were at my fingertips. All except the Bravia, as it has a "too close to the screen" shut-off alarm. It was a comfortable 10'away.
I surfed the web, stopping and reading amanfromMars' post: 121115 …. Today saving the Best until Last
It was, as always, an interesting read. I F5ed it after reading, and found amanfromMars had just inserted on one of my Danger Man episodes at the end: The Blue Veil. Instantly, I knew he was sending me an example of a typical MI5 operative's message: we are not slaves, slaves are other people far, far away; the reason I resigned from Danger Man, and was sent to The Village.
But I needed their money to continue my quest.
Ah yes, my quest.
This is where things got a little funky. I began to think about the duality of the human mind. How it needs to combine to understand. The media machine wants you to not think. Keep the mind busy on trivialities. Keep the mind's attention diverted away from pondering what is really going on in this world.
We are all slaves to the system.
If we all came together, we would break the system apart.
I had a chuckle over my naming of this Chapter 6: Fall In, which is the obverse of Fall Out and a joining of alms or arms, depending on your bent. Number 6 joined with Number 1 to become 7 - Agent Weebley's favourite number. Does Agent Weebley know?
I thought back to me walking down that symbolic hallway in the last Episode:
Did you notice I walked by the same jukebox twice? The first album you notice is The Best Of Al Jolson. Omitted from that album is the best tune he ever wrote, and an homage to the sinister machinations of the Power Elite in this world - pump up the Tiger in all of us, then shoot it:
I glanced out of the AirCar window, and Athlumney Manor was nowhere, man. How odd? I wasn't sure where I was at that point.
The other jukebox album, Girl Talk, by Lesley Gore, contained a song: It's My Party:
A message from Lesley Gore to my wife, Joan Drummond - the woman I love forever:
Your Johnny Drake met his Number 1, and it is Judy - a woman.
I came together so I could be with you, Joan.0 -
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Hello again!
Before I get into my post for today, I need to speak about something quite important - padraiggg. But I can't leave this thread, as it would be disingenuous of me to do so, and talking about padraiggg here, is more even keeled, I would say.
I would like to personally thank padraiggg for throwing his Trilby into the ring. I must put my mouth guard in for a short while, but what I can say at this point: padraiggg - a few quick jabs won't give you the knockout, even though the crowd is egging you on. You need left hooks, right hooks, and most importantly, stamina to go the distance - and a secret weapon. Keep a stiff upper lip, lad. Maybe Chad needs to tag team in the ring with Trent? We may have an opportunity for you - a knock-out.
Onto my catatonia for the past few days. After my post, amanfromMars posted a comment to me:
"That post has certainly raised the Great Game bar to new heights with considerably higher standards of securing protected access engaging leading plays, Agent Paddy.
Bravo ….. and just in time at the right time, too, whenever it is badly needed and rightly deserved. Or so it would seem, which is quite good enough whenever one knows/thinks one knows what needs to be done.
Spooky Anonymous Servers can as easily Deliver and Provision an Expanding Catastrophic Nightmare Reality Scenario as one which is Seventh Heavenly and QuITe Divine and the Intellectual Property of Virtual Machines and CyberIntelAIgent IDEntities …… Real SMART Virtual Proxies of Invisible and Intangible Being ……. a sort of new phorm with Cloaked Alien Presence.
And the choice as to which one these will shape and deliver the Future , or any other program for that matter, with strings of media events that may or may not be shared and put forward and supported for realisation, is quite the disruptive Joker in a pack full of Aces who would be Kings and Queens and Knaves."
To which I replied 4 days later:
Thanks for your kind words, amanfromMars. It took a lot out of me to produce the above post, and some very odd things happened in the meantime.
Please excuse my “drop out” the past 4 days, but now it the time to tune in, and, to the 1557 people, viewing 5722 pages in the past 4 days, we thank you – you will get to see my next post before the 70 people that have viewed 5600 pages of Lug Nutz a.k.a. Mound Of Hostages over on boards.ie in the past 4 months.
To which, Epstein chimed in with a comment:
Hi amanfromMars and Agent Paddy,
I second that emotion. Give us the News, Agent Paddy . . .
There is more, but that is the gist of yesterday's conversation, which has since morphed [insert mouth guard here.] Which leaves me in a position that Agent Weebley found himself in all the time: do I just meander with the flow?
It's funny, but our situation is endless. We can clear up loose ends anytime. Having said that, I did say I would explain Agent Weebley and my trip back here in the Rapide, and what he told me on that trip back from Toronto. I shall honour that commitment here, and do what I have to do, there.
And this is the slightly delayed post from 3pm yesterday:
DF- 121122 – 3 Laws
Posted on November 22, 2012 by Agent Paddy
Interesting.
I managed to focus on reaching Lia Fáil, which I did a short while ago. Both Agent Heggle and Epstein were facing The Stone Of Destiny, so I nosed my AirCar in amongst theirs. They moved over and we became equidistant at, I would assume, 120 degrees from each other. Both their 3 green laser beams were drilling directly down to ground, so I activated mine. As soon as my beam reached the ground, the beams moved into towards Lia Fáil, and it became a focal point.
That was when another 3 green laser beam shot out of the nose of each of our crafts, joining each AirCar with each other.
I was in awe of the symbolism, as were Epstein and Agent Heggle.
We are now in a period of planning. Epstein is on PayPal, creating buttons, Agent Heggle is helping me write the next post, and, since it needs to be perfectly tuned to 70 billion people, we are going to put our heads down and work until we have something that will stay in perpetual motion. We will keep you posted on this thread.
B seeing you!
Oh, and to reply to you, amanfromMars, on your comment on my last post, one of the things Agent Weebley told me on our way back here from Toronto, he writes tridently: for himself, for you, and for everyone on this planet.
Once it passes the 3 tests, he posts. We are carrying on his style as best we can in his absence. It may take a couple of days to perfect the next post.0 -
Please excuse my absence of late, but we are very busy elsewhere; I will return shortly.
If anyone can reach lukesmom, we would appreciate someone contacting her, as we think she should come back to Creative Writing, as we see an event (on the) horizon. She should have a warmer reception next time; we hear Agent Weebley is coming back.
I really must tidy up my Chapter 6 - Fall In, Soon.
B seeing you!
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Hi everyone,
Awe fully quiet around here!
Agent Weebley came back to ARG MetaPhoria a couple of days ago, but he left again! Hopefully, he will be able to take over writing here on this thread, later today. - I know you guys have not been able to make heads nor tails of his antics over the past few months, but his heart is in the right place, and you really should give him a chance. He is a Lug, but not Nutz.
You think this thread has been a Twilight Zone up until now? Look out, we're going into a whole new dimension!
In this brief period of quiet here, we've been quite busy drafting up a business! Yes, it's viable, doable, and sorely needed. The best part is that it it is open source for the people of the world to run - beginning with the Irish.
I know I've not posted here in a little while, and I do owe you that explanation about my trip back here from Toronto with Agent Weebley, but this business, something much more important, has occurred. Oh. and I have been checking in, and saw lukesmom was on this Forum recently. Thanks to whomever mentioned it to her. Agent Weebley also wants me to mention to get the word out to dogmax.
We have been running the Turing Machine pretty hard the past few days, on what we have dubbed The Magical Mystery Ture. I played the title song (above,) but the remainder of the songs have been played on ARG MetaPhoria, and applicable to the subject matter at hand.
The following Turing calculation has been made:
Stirling engines, powering generators, compressors, pumps etc is the business,
MetaFlorin is the investment certificate, issued as redeemable Gift Coins.
Passwords to stories are given away for free with every donation/investment.
We writers here at boards.ie will hopefully write our hearts out and give the stories away for free to the person who donates/invests in Stirling engines.*
But Christmas is coming up, and we want to help the children of Ireland by way of the Santa Strike Force. The Stirling business is in abeyance until December 26. All monies raised in phase 1 of The Magical Mystery Ture will be donated to The Santa Strike Force in the name of OldGoat, pickarooney, Gordon, and everyone from The Creative Writing Forum on boards.ie.
*There 2 more phases to the project - you can find out how they evolved here. Enjoy!
Hopefully, Agent Weebley will be back here later to elaborate, and help you understand how you can help with the cause, and simultaneously help yourselves.
Get your virtual pens out, people, we have some writing to do between now and Christmas!
Maybe I will write that Twilight Zone and Frank Zappa "tie in" behind the paywall - and Agent Weebley will do the same with his "Agent Weebley does DARPA" screenplay?
We need a story discussion thread.
B seeing you!0 -
Hi everyone!
We've had a most bizarre last few days. I'm not ready to post here yet, but my friend Epstein has kicked off the Santa Strike Force Campaign to help Irish Sick Kids.
I have to sleep for a while, so I will explain more after I get up. More info can be found here and here.
Epstein is going to write a free story, daily. Chapter 001 of a story, called - Brian Domage. Does anyone else want to write a story, where you add to, and edit it daily at your leisure?
We could call it the SSF Chapter 001 Campaign. Everyone can write a Chapter 1, right? No ending is required.
A demain.
[To be continued]0 -
[Part 2 - Continued From Post 7 - Part 1]
We've been pretty busy sprucing up the delivery of free stories, and morphed the layout to include letting any writer in the World sell stories on ARG MetaPhoria. We realised that the lack of readies is a great strain on people in Europe, especially in Ireland. Any writer can build a story, edit, add, delete as they see fit, and can receive whatever percentage they need, up to 100% of the net receipts, which is gross minus 3.25%. Toal freedom to write whatever you want. Who are we to censor you?
I was a little reticent to post here today, but yesterday, Agent Revolver threw his Trilby into the ring and wants to write - in Cyrillic - what a pleasant surprise! Agent Weebley said yes, no problem, you can post your story in Cyrillic. We have a built in Machine Translator, you know.
It got me thinking, and thinking, and even more thinking, but no doing.
As I paced around Epstein's AirCar, I happened upon Agent Heggle (he's German, you know.) He was playing this song:
I ran up and shook his hand in appreciation.
Anyway, I have a story to write, so I bid you adieu in the meantime between this post and my last of 7 posts: 7-30 -
[Part 3 - Continued From Post 7 - Part 1 and 2]
You'll have to excuse us, but we are currently copying, pasting, editing and re-linking the entire Lug Nutz a.k.a. Mound Of Hostages thread into ARG MetaPhoria.
Look up at the top of the screen and you will see "Lug Nutz." Epstein is currently working on Chapter 3, post 64, or thereabouts.
We are doing this for 2 reasons: the first reason is to show you what your for money story would look like on our site, but the 2nd reason cannot be revealed until it is done. I know you may think we are just a bunch of coneheads, but there is madness to our method.
This is the last of my post 7, 3 part post. Agent Weebley will be back to begin Chapter 7 as soon as the entire real life fantasy game "story" has been transcribed.
Did I mention that John Lennon has agreed to join us on our Mission: Operation BlueBalls? We haven't seen him yet, but you may want to come up to the lab, and see what's on the slab. We are definitely writhing in ecstatic antici . . . . . . . . . . . . . pation:
Thank you for reading my posts. It has been a very enjoyable time.
B seeing you!0 -
Chapter 7:The B-Bomb
Hi everyone.
I feel a little silly right now. Steve wanted me to wait for him, before I post anything today . . . I mean yesterday. He wants to help me explain things to you.
I got a phone call from him earlier today, around 2:44pm GMT, so I posted a little note on ARG MetaPhoria. It went like this:
[12/19/12 @ 9:44 am EST US/Canada]
I'm talking to Steve right now on the iPhone4. This all stems from the washroom meeting at his company Christmas party last Sunday . . . I'll explain later. Sorry about this.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xu3FTEmN-eg
[To be continued]
I waited until 7pm EST US/Canada, which is Midnight . . . like he promised, then gave it another half an hour . . . still nothing. So I posted a continuation, as follows:
[Continued @ 7:39pm EST US/Canada]
Still no word from Steve. He told me to hold off posting anything until he texted me . . . he'd be done work by 7pm. "Running around like a chicken with his head cut off," he said.
7pm EST US/Canada came and went . . . nothing.
Steve said for me to wait until 8:30pm EST US/Canada, and if he didn't show, go back into the Rapide, then get everyone ready to go to Tara Hill in their own AirCars.
Give the AirCars a clockwise rotation, like what was done to Agent Paddy in The Girl Who was Death, then start moving toward Tara Hill.
Embed Black Bull, then press POST on ARG MetaPhoria, and boards.ie simultaneously.
Here we go!
Add-on posted 12/20/2012 @ 7:30 pm EST US/Canada
Comfy car to sleep in, this Rapide . . . [stretch / yawn]
Oh my, look at the time!
Looking out at the 3 AirCars ahead of my Rapide, it seems we are all in a spinning holding pattern just West of Tara Hill. I had better talk to the others soon; I guess we're in the final approach.
You should see the cool spinning green laser beams. I am the vortex, with a thin 3 green laser beam line leading to each of the 3 AirCars. There's also a triangular pattern created by the 3 green laser beams connecting the equidistant AirCars . . . and the mesmerising spin of the 3 AirCars reminds me of that Bashar video from a while back:
I just took a look at what I posted here a few hours ago, chuckling that it looked like the tip of an iceberg on boards.ie . . . are we on a Titanic head-on course? There's much more on our site.
Anyway, no matter. The reason I stopped short on this post on boards.ie, was that I really didn't know how to proceed, so I consulted the rest of our Turing Machine to get the answer. Epstein, Agent Heggle, Agent Paddy and I arrived at the answer while discussing Governments and money creation in the comment section.
I was tired, otherwise I would have gone on to talk about how a bank can loan out . . . let's say . . . $1 million. That $1 million goes on their books as an asset. That asset can then be used to lend out a further $9 million. If another 9 people come along and borrow $1 million each, then it's easy to see how money can begin to slosh around . . . all under the control of banks.
Governments and their money-making-scam pales in comparison!
Oh, and when the banks stop lending, like they have in Ireland, the money sloshing around goes down the drain hole pretty quickly, leaving everyone holding the outstanding debt, which is akin to the ring around the bathtub . . . gross, greasy, and you have no idea how to make it just go away without a lot of elbow grease.
Imagine a giant sucking sound, as the water circles the drain.
"No money for you Mister BrokeMan. You're not a good risk. Piss off!" . . . Dave Allen said it well.
We can use their Balance Sheet concept to grow a new tax free currency for the people . . . outwardly looking like play money . . . remember trading Pogs, or maybe Pokemon Cards, or Soccer Cards?
Excuse me for a minute . . . I have to post a note to Darby Jie on The Daily Bell. He or she was asking about me. Back in a mo'
There . . . done.
Money talk is quite a dry topic, isn't it? Let's get back on track . . . I need to tidy up 3 things; time is of the essence:
1) My critique of the 3 Twilight Zone stories, and how they spurred me into this 34,000+ word Lug Nutz .a.k.a. Mound Of Hostages story,
2) My Frank Zappa - Room Service story,
3) My Judgement story I wrote in competition with hcass in the now seemingly collapsed Arena. Whatever happened to hcass? I should look her up on that blog of hers.
I wrote that Judgement story after the Frank Zappa story. It was a little freaky to me that a true story about colour blindness would turn out like it did. A guy who sees green as pink. Invisible to everyone but him. Incredible! It reminded me of Ms Pinky, the inflatable doll that they painted green . . . Ms Pinky disguised in green, so it could be the Green Hocker that Romeo wanted for dinner, but Romeo ended up just talking to his wife, Juliette.
I dislike Judgement. Judging too much, means writing someone's ideas off as wrong, so you can keep your World View intact. It was in October 2006 when my World View blew up . . . all because I believed something seemingly unbelievable to me at the time. Just for a few minutes I believed that opposite of my World View was true.
Yes, folks . . . I was an unbeliever many moons ago.
Writing off what's happening in this story . . . dismissing it as if it was nothing exceptional . . . dismissing it as if you are not in this story with me . . . writing me off as completely mad . . .
In October 2010, I became but one of many aliens . . . Me? I am from MetaPhoria . . . and we are here to help you . . . and we would like you, in turn, to help each other, and to help us.0 -
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What a strange last couple of days it has been. Sitting here high above Munster Road, facing East into Lia Fáil and The Mound Of Hostages . . . the 3 AirCars spinning in front of me . . . I thought to myself, yesterday, wouldn't it be nice to swing the Rapide above the AirCars and have them rotate around Lia Fáil, encompassing The Mound Of Hostages - it would make for a nice effect. And The Winter Solstice is upon us; what fortuitous timing! It was a beautiful sight, seeing us incline into position . . . the slow rotation that looks to me like it is settling in on a relaxing 6 cycles per minute. They're all facing inwards now . . . into Lia Fáil . . . a ballet of sorts . . . all toes pointed in, slightly angled down. Me? Also angled downwards, so I can see.
It's quite funny . . . Epstein, Agent Heggle and Agent Paddy are all calling into me, probably wanting to know why we've changed positions, but I cannot speak to them right now.
I must do this . . the message must get through.
As I look down, I can see the 3 green laser beam connections between the AirCars is quite strong, but my vortex connection to each AirCar looks weaker. I'm going to drop it down a little - maybe it will strengthen. Hmm, I see a Black Porsche Panamera, parked beside the Mound Of Hostages. And the driver's door just opened. I'll stop, so I can see better.
It's obviously, the Black Panamera.
Funny, really. I never did talk about who was driving it. It was Lug, the God Of Creativity. Man, that was a fun cat-and-mouse chase in Toronto back in September! As Agent Paddy and I took to the sky, I figured we would buzz The CN Tower, but as we circled back, we came across a multi-car fender bender extending North from the N/W corner of Carlaw and Gerrard St. Remember that lady: another question? she and her 2 friends were the cause of the mishap.
Hang on, who's that with Lug? It looks like Jacksie, Aslan and Agent DelKey! All 3 just got out of the car, and are heading to The Mound Of Hostages.
Yeah, I don't think I mentioned anything on boards.ie about us all being in Blarnia.
As the 3 AirCars sit there spinning, clockwise . . . a peaceful slow spin, I remember going back to Toronto after dropping Agent Paddy off in Ireland. Going back to see Steve. I never mentioned to a soul, not even Epstein, about what Steve and I spoke of on my return to Toronto.
"Steve, are you prepared for the possible outcome that you and Graham may be killed during Operation BlueBalls?"
Hang on . . . did you hear that?
It's a murmuring . . . coming from inside here in my Rapide . . . weird.
Anyway, getting back on track . . . no way . . . it sounds like Lucy! She's saying: "focus."
Where was I?
Steve thought about it for a moment, an almost imperceptible moment, and replied . . .
Nerfy? Is that you? I'm sure I just heard my daughter, Nerfy, murmur: "listen to Mum."
I'm looking around. Maybe I'm losing it? They're definitely not here with me - the stereo is off, my Sony Vaio Zee is hibernating, and my iPhone4 is asleep, so it can't be anything do do with electronics.
Whoa, it looks like either JRR Tolkein or Gandalf just came out of The Mound Of Hostages to greet the group.
Something big is happening down there . . . I can feel it . . . can you feel it?
[To be continued]
[Continued]
Rather than belabour the point about what the heck happened to us . . .we lost communication yesterday, you may want to click the picture at the top to find out. Needless to say, it was funkytown around here.
Once the dust settled, and I could relax a little, the spinning continued, with me waiting for an opportune moment to lower our group down to Lia Fáil, I became a little mesmerised by the spin. It reminded me of the time we were at Santa Monica Pier . . . and I strained my ear to hear if Lucy or Nerfy were murmuring anything else . . . sure, I have to focus . . . I can't help but be distracted by the current goings on . . . it's one of my combination strengths and weaknesses . . . Ah, LA, love that place . . .
Ah yes, The Twilight Zone. I must remember to tidy up the fact that anything we write cn easily come true . . . all we have to do is . . .
Lucy?
"Hi Weebley. Nerfy and I are in the back seat. We wouldn't miss this for the World."
"Holy Chit!!! [big hugs all around]
We're ready . . . I thought about how I would just love to meet Aslan, Jacksie, Gandalf, and to ask Lug what he thinks of the Panamera . . . does he like the chipped version . ..ow!" [Lucy just gave me a dig in the bake]
The best way to avert a nuclear meltdown is for everyone to put there minds to it. We all need to club together . . . peace . . . love . . . we can do it.
Our Rapide is now slowly descending, the 3 AirCars descending a little, the 3 green laser beam vortex connection between our Rapide and their AirCars is getting stronger . . . thicker.
Lower we go.
How come the AirCars' spin is speeding up?
Lower still.
We're getting close to the ground now.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph . . . the AirCars just shot off in different directions!
And no spin! We're still connected, though. Hang on . . .0 -
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Merry Christmas dogmax, and to the 6.2 million Irish, as well as the 80 million Irish diaspora. This coming year is when we join together for the common good.
And dogmax, you totally blew my Chapter 7, 3 post plan . . . God love you for that . . . thanks!
All we have to do is realise we have the power to change . . . we just have to come together and read between the lines.
Do you want to be Agent Dogmax, dogmax? You are a special soul.0 -
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Greeting Agent Revolver, Agent Weebley and All
(Have you noticed this year that there are, fortunately, much more people who were glad that this world goes on further in its existence, after The End Of The File World, than those of the opposite view? Correct me if I'm wrong, dogmax, but you also don't seem disappointed)
Disappointed, absolutely not, our world is on a never ending journey Agent Revolver, a journey that has seen many changes, and it will see many many more, and hopefully all for the better, but what delights me more is the fact that once again our world has won, I love been on the winning side, don't we all.
Reminds me of the first time I met my old enemy, our armies where fighting on the battlefields of a beautiful planet that we call Earth, it was a long and bloody war that no one could win, and then reality show herself to us, all bloody and beaten, madness, absolute madness, our beautiful planet was no longer a beautiful sight to see, so my old enemy and me came face to face, his first words to me where, "who the fu-ck are you" my first words to him was "Human, with a capital fu-cking H" we've been friends ever since, sadly but, in the real world, not all of us are living in peaceful times, and that is the real journey our World is on. Peaceful Times and Good Health to All.
(Do you want to be Agent Dogmax, dogmax?)
Agent Dogmax, it has a good sound to it I have to admit, am I still riding shotgun.
(1001001) There is a new number coming soon, 13, it mean, FEARLESS. 0 -
Walking around a bit. Quite foggy here right now. I could have sworn I just saw, out of the corner of my eye, 3 AirCars sitting outside the doorway of The Mound Of Hostages, but on a double take, I see nothing there. My eyes seem to be playing tricks on me.
Lia Fáil is just North Of The Mound Of The Hostages, exactly where it used to be, or will be . . . not sure right now.
I cannot tell you exactly how I got here or how I am going to get here . . . whether I am here in the past, present, or future. All I know is that I am right here, right now.
I need a smoke.
Pulling out the pack from my pocket, the $ign Of The Dollar pack seems a little more brightly packaged than before; a nice bright and shiny gold $ sign. My silver Zippo lighter, with the same $ sign seems a little more deeply engraved, too.
Flick!
I take a deep drag, and, as I focus on the the plume of smoke drifting and curling upwards from the ciggy, the still air not affecting the plume one iota, I could have sworn I just saw some out of focus activity behind that thin swirling plume . . . activity on top of the Mound Of Hostages. My eyes are older now. It takes a microsecond longer to switch focus.
Nothing there.
How did this happen?
I remember waking up shortly after going to sleep on December 26. My daughter, Nerfy had been the last to say goodnight, but she must have added the Scottish dubstep song later. I missed it. Not sure . . . I don't know why I woke up. I think the visor on the Rapide was in the "up" position, and the emerging daytime light caused my circadian rhythm to kick me awake, in opposition to my previously long day telling me I should be resting right now. I looked at my lovely sleeping Lucy in the reclined passenger seat. My soul mate forever. I stroked her hair . . . and she smiled, as she slept. Looking back at Nerfy, our sweet little 18 year old . . . she's in College, you know. Little does she know at that age. Ah, the exuberance of youth. They know it all at that age, don't they? Me, I know less and less as I get older.
Another drag. I lean against Lia Fáil and slide my back down to the ground to rest on my bum and enjoy the smoke.
There's some murmuring behind me in the Banqueting Hall, but I ignore it. Probably nothing. Another false alarm. "Touch it, touch it now . . . touch it, touch it, touch it easily." Is that what they're saying? Should I look over there?
Looking up, I see the 3 green laser beam drilling down directly into the top of Lia Fail through the fog. Should I touch the beam and go back to the Rapide? To my wife and daughter? Is that where I'll actually end up? After what has just happened, I have no idea . . . I continue to rest . . . and smoke.
How did this all start, anyway? How did I draw everyone in ARG MetaPhoria to The Mound Of Hostages thread. IT is now a part of us, and we are a part of IT!
ESTABLISH COMMUNICATION WITH SYSTEM NUMBER 2, seems to be a logical entry point. Qubit . . . Alan Turing's most interesting Avatar . . . he said it, using his Avatar.
And we've done it!
After waking prematurely, sitting comfortably in the Rapide, I inclined my seat and listened to the "Scottish dubstep" that Nerfy had played, but thought to myself, that does indeed sound Celtic, but not from around these parts. I right-clicked the video, played it in a new tab, then searched the comment section below.
Aha! Bulgarian Celtic music.
I copied and pasted the suggested path to the source music, and found it.
As I played it . . . mentally drifting . . . I looked at the 3 green laser beams that shot off horizontally to the 3 AirCars . . . they seemed more agitated now. Was it due to the Bulgarian music? I touched the beam that led Southwest to Epstein's AirCar.0 -
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Hi dogmax, or should I say Agent Dogmax? This is Lucy . . . . Weebley's wife. I'm pleased to finally meet you. My full name is Lucid, but no-one calls me that (for obvious reasons!)
Thanks for the most beautiful message in your "post 77." It made me feel much, much better. Also, your timing is impeccable, since you posted exactly 73 views before this thread went onto the Top 20, passing smoothly past. . . Hey Jude! The people are speaking loud and clear . . .
Paddy posted today . . . we have been waiting for Weebley to surface for 7 days now . . . it was a long wait. And I think you have singlehandedly achieved the necessary melding of virtual, and reality.
Bravo!
You should write your own freely swirling story, that swirls between here and there, Agent Dogmax. You have our number . . . make the call . . .
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Oh my, this place is so large! I will return at a later time, but I have a message from amanfromMars, who posted on our site a few minutes ago. He seems to be having trouble logging onto his account on boards.ie.
The following is his message:I don’t yet quite know why but amfM access to post on boards.ie has been removed/blocked ….. and this is what I wanted to share with Agents Weebley, Lucy and Dogmax
Virtual Machine Manoeuvres
CHAOS Computer Club Land is akin to a Permanent Trip and it does so help with Control of Virtual Power to Know and Understand of ITs Simple Way of Glorious Working when Satyr discover Desire in Nymph and a Squared Shared Joint Satisfaction in its Strip Mining/MetaDataBase Awe Collection.Poe’s Law rules but not here.
Happy New Year, Lucid, AW, Family and All. Are you ready for a monster demonstrative year?
To close, I would also like to add a few words: Peace, Love and a cheeky wink to All . . .
Entanglement Rules, OK?
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Agent Weebley wrote: »Hi dogmax, or should I say Agent Dogmax? This is Lucy . . . . Weebley's wife. I'm pleased to finally meet you. My full name is Lucid, but no-one calls me that (for obvious reasons!)
Thanks for the most beautiful message in your "post 77." It made me feel much, much better. Also, your timing is impeccable, since you posted exactly 73 views before this thread went onto the Top 20, passing smoothly past. . . Hey Jude! The people are speaking loud and clear . . .
Paddy posted today . . . we have been waiting for Weebley to surface for 7 days now . . . it was a long wait. And I think you have singlehandedly achieved the necessary melding of virtual, and reality.
Bravo!
You should write your own freely swirling story, that swirls between here and there, Agent Dogmax. You have our number . . . make the call . . .
Lucy and Agent Weebley, without going into to much detail here, delighted to hear you are both feeling much better now.
Will post again soon, Take Care.0 -
A warm hello Agent Dogmax, and to everyone else on this fine day / night!
Nobody really knows me on boards.ie,, but, once you read on, you will get a feeling for who I am and where I am coming from, and you will hopefully understand me better.
My full name is Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel. I am a philosopher, and, contrary to what John Cleese says, I can pack 'em away better than Legolas. But drinking talk is not why I came here today.
My fine friend, Agent Weebley, seems to have become entangled in the future with Epstein, Agent Paddy, and I. None of us have any memory of any of the happenings that Agent Weebley has relayed to us, so we are convinced he is in the future . . . and our Juicy Lucy seized the opportunity to make a doppelganger joke on her post the other day, calling it Dapper Gongers. I brought this up, because the last communication we witnessed from Agent Weebley was a brief email message to Agent Revolver that ended with 3 hyperlinks. I hope you like clicking hyperlinks, by the way, as they are synaptic connections on the neural net. These links were immediately spotted by Lucy, but they were attached to his standard glyph of 3 full stops, or periods, depending on which side of the pond you dip your toes. Here are the links:
The Fourth Wall
Metafiction
MacGuffin
I think that by now, you have all figured out that Agent Weebley is quite enigmatic, and travels the full spectrum in his writing. These 3 links have meaning, and since I know Agent Weebley quite well, I have some thoughts on the matter.
The Fourth Wall does not exist in his writing. It's as if you are all part of a live holographic story, where you can participate as you wish.
Metafiction is self-conscious fiction, which I am sure you can attest to as being right on the money here.
And money, is an unusual segue into what we feel is the reason why Agent Weebley has gone into the future. Although The 3 Story Twilight Zone is a typical MacGuffin, which I am positive he will eventually clear up how they tie into the story, he has gone into the future to avoid Money Talk on our site. Now that the Money Talk is over (for now,) he will return again - it's as simple as that! And he's disappeared before, and will do it again.
Agent Weebley and I first met when Doctor Sternum parachuted me in on the first European leg of Operation BlueBalls. I was supposed to be the expert, but Agent Weebley proved to be quite the fox. He used to pretend he was some sort of deluded Don Quixote, but he does these quantum leaps of thought that make me think otherwise.
My specialty is explaining how mind control works. Unfortunately, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels got a hold of what I said, and twisted it into Socialism, which has caused my name to be dragged through the mud ever since. They call it The Hegelian Dialectic. The human mind always tries to compare 2 things, then picks the best conclusion as to which way to think on a topic. The conclusion is a third "thing."
Back in September 2010, Agent Weebley, who called himself "Weeble" back then, was sick of my name being connected with Marx, so he took 45 minutes and dissected the wiki explanation of The Hegelian Dialectic and how Marx twisted it to form a struggle between 2 classes, the owner and the worker.
Socialism was born.
Once everyone began to be shown Socialism, 100 years later, it is difficult for anyone to think there is any other way of thinking! It's now just a question of the degree of Socialism we want or need. Quite intriguing.
It is much like the time when The Druids were the priestly class in Ireland. Life did not end when you died. Living was the same as being dead. There is no Heaven. Heaven is on Earth. The Druids held the key to magic while living, and everyone muddled through life somewhat subordinate to the Druids keen awareness of what life was all about.
Along come the Romans, who never really conquered Ireland. They sent in an upper class Roman propagandist to upset the apple cart and conquer the Irish using mind control. St Patrick offered far better magic than The Druids could offer. Jesus rose from the dead! He walked on water! You earn your way into Heaven! Earth is hell for you, so repent and be clean and holy for Heaven! The subordinate Druids, who didn't force themselves on anyone, let the people listen to St Patrick, and make their own choice on who to believe.
They chose the sexy and way better magic . . . Roman Catholicism.
The Romans then proceeded to exterminate Druids, wipe the magical bards from the history books, and propagandise them as being evil sorcerers.
Now that faith in the Roman Catholic church is waning in Ireland, it is time to conclude something . . . a third thing.
Magic!
Anyway, that's the funny thing about the human mind, if you are given 2 choices, no-one seems to see that these choices are delivered to you, and the premises of the choices need to be questioned. Why does it have to be the worker against the boss? Why does everyone think they should get something for nothing? It has caused no end of problems. It is unnatural.
Heavens, I have gone on a little bit, haven't I? Not to worry, My point in coming here was to say I have complete faith in Agent Weebley's return. He may be a little different, though . . . he seems to be changeling. You will find him in Wormhole 7, if you had followed the links.
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Everyone went out earlier today . . . except for me. I just woke up. When the cats are away . . .
Hi!
They left me a note: "Gone to Bangor. Back later tonight. Do not post anything - Love Mum"
Yeah, right - I'm 18 remember, Mum?
I wonder if it has anything to do with amanfromMars posting on Slugger O'Toole today . . . posting about flag waving or something. I'm sure he's steering everyone to Bangor . . .
Since I am the only one left here to monitor traffic, I noticed something odd that happened a couple of hours ago - a confluency of sorts that needs to be addressed now . . . Rubecula posted a most intriguing magical bird Changeling story! And Dad thanked her (it wasn't me) . . . I'm soooo excited . . . he's coming back!
Funny how Agent Heggle said Agent Weebley was changeling, earlier today on his post, isn't it?
Oops, how impolite of me! I'm Nerfy. My Dad is Agent Weebley, and my Mum is Lucy. I'm their 18 year old daughter, in College, taking Interplanetary Travel and Tourism. I'm due back tomorrow . . . so, because there is an event brewing right now, I'm posting first, and answering questions later.
Rubecula: I don't think it is my place to post on your thread, so I hope you read this . . .
Stand By For Action, Rubecula!
Oh, and Agent Dogmax, you're so cute! Agent Dogmax: what do you make of this - an unusual looking 7 MetaFlorin Gift Coin?0 -
Well Nerfy
I have to admit I've been call many names in my time but I think cute is definitely a first, reminds me of a time years ago when I and one of my sons and one of my beautiful nieces, plus of course the bravest little dog a friend could ever have, we where all walking through this beautiful forest of old times and new, close to our home town, and we where talking about chit chat which included our surroundings, when my son said to me "Dad, did you ever hug a tree" and I look at his smiling face and the face of my beautiful niece, and of course that little face of the bravest dog of all, and I just had to say "no son, I don't think I ever did hug a tree" and as if the three of them where talking to me they said "well, there's always the first time"
So we hugged a tree and each of us made a wish, my beautiful niece wish for water because it was a very hot summer day, moments later she slide into the stream that flow under the bridge that was ahead of us, she got wet but she was happy and we all had a great laugh, because she wish for water, my son wish for a woman, his mother give him a big hug when he got home, as for me my wish really did come true, and as for the bravest little dog of all, she piss on the ground beside that tree because her wish had already come true, she had us.
Fearless are the young that grows, from the wisdom of time.
Enjoy your time at college Nerfy and good luck with your studying, Interplanetary Travel and Tourism, what a great future Generations have.
Now if we could just get rid of those arseholes who would rather we go backward instead of forward, but as amanfromMars says "Methinks that time is coming soon"
And your right, it is an unusual lucky 7, behind bars and in front of what looks like a time tunnel, but then again, looks can be deceiving, Enjoy.
Well Agent Heggle
What a very interesting read you posted, have you notice the speed of which technology has grown in the past hundred years, and thankfully it doesn't seem to be slowing down, and all thanks to a wonderful Educational System that is getting better all the time, whereas, in the past it was only the so call privilege ones that received a education so they could better themselves, while the rest had to fight their way through life to survive, and thankfully many did just that, so their young would not have to go through what they and previous Generations before them had to go through.
So thank you Agent Heggle, for indeed a wonderful post. 0 -
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