Mound of Hostages

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!

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.

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.

/ . . . later . . .beddie-byes for me . . . it's almost 1:30am EST Canada/US
\
/
\
/ . . . woke up @ 7:13 . . . over an hour ago . . . I read amanfromMars' work here and here, then cerfed a little

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
\
/
\
/ . . . 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
/

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 . . .

/
\ . . . pause @ 11:41 pm
/

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
\
/
\
/ . . . 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)
/

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
/

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
/

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.

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!

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.

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:

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.

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!

[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: 7-3

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!

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Add-on posted 12/20/2012 @ 7:30 pm EST US/Canada

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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.