Jump to content

TRF Prediction Thread and Roast: Rushgoober's 30,000th post


Tombstone Mountain
 Share

You know he's planning on something to document the occasion  

24 members have voted

  1. 1. What will his thread topic be?

    • A thanks to TRF for the years of support?
      3
    • Another malignant VT thread
      6
    • A thread asking the question "why do so many people here care what I think?"
      1
    • Why BU2B2 ruins Clockwork Angels
      2
    • Rushgoober's top 500 commercials off all time
      0
    • Rushgoober's top 500 recipes for hippies
      1
    • Top Ten Movies that make Rushgoober cry
      2
    • Pink Floyd: Overtaking Rush as my favorite band
      0
    • Why Krautrock makes me space out
      0
    • Headlong Flight, how it grew on me, and why people say dumb stuff
      0
    • Gerbils: Curiousity didn't just kill the cat
      1
    • I love how Neil describes wildlife, and here's why
      2
    • Rush concerts that live in my psyche
      0
    • Ben Affleck
      3
    • Behind the Candlabra—movie of the year
      3


Recommended Posts

I am writing this letter on a gerbil and smuggling it out of Larry Flynt's safe house with the hope that it finds you in time. I told the gerbil that you'd give her $50. Please see she is well compensated. I have been watching the events in the motel room on closed-circuit TV - I have been provided with a monitor to view the Emperor's conquest of the pathetic rebel band attacking the second Death Star and...oops, wrong channel...the Thistle Dew motel.

 

The Thistle Dew is a trap! Get out while you can! The pez dispenser, the Milk Duds, the little finger bells, the bar of soap in the dish in the bathroom; they are all ruses to entice you into complacency and distract you from Rushgoober's true goal!

 

I have it on good authority that Rushgoober and his legion of VIKINGS (Vapor trails Immensely Knowledgable and Irritatingly Nice Gnome Squad) have been secretly planning a clever takeover of the small persons acting industry. The VIKINGS are to replace the BRAWLRs! In a terrible tactical blunder, Rushgoober wrote his plans on a cocktail napkin in the form of a torch song which were then mistakenly used as lyrics on the latest Taylor Swift song. Attentive listeners will not be able to distinguish it from any other Taylor Swift song.

 

The motivation to displace the BRAWLRs with the VIKINGS is murky and surely Rushgoober will fail. As I am blessed with a sophisticated palate for wee person acting, I can definitively say that the quality of the VIKINGS does not approach the sheer perfection that we all associate with the BRAWLRs.

 

Rushgoober's plan is to destroy both the SCOG Dancers and the BRAWLRs at the trial and replace them with the hegemony of the VIKINGS. He must be stopped.

 

For the record, the issue that the SCOG Dancers had with the BRAWLRs looking up our skirts was that they were breathing on our kneecaps. Very annoying.

 

I have to go as I've run out of gerbil to write on...

 

RR

 

:whipgirl:

 

Uh oh...Vapor Trails vomit comet
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I have found another gerbil upon which to write this letter in order to try to secure Rushgoober's release. The only problem I've encountered is that one particular gerbil with the address to send the letter has scarpered. I have been scuppered by a gerbil.

Sounds like your kitty needs a scuppered gerbil snack
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Via Telegram from Europe - Dear friends - stop - Communication breakdown, it's always the same - stop - Computer problems here, hence the Telegram - stop - Online petition stuck - stop - No replies at all - stop - Uh, supper's ready - stop - Still learning about rhythm methods to guarantee an effective acoustic irradiation therapy - stop - It takes more time than expected - stop - Way too many songs to choose from - stop - Psychologist and me are thinking about an additional visual stimuli - stop - Conformable to the Clockwork Orange movie - stop - Working on an assessment titled COALNOVT (Clockwork Orange Angels Leave NO Vapor Trails) - stop - We need information about the trial - stop - Trying to be on the spot if the date is announced - stop - Good to hear that TM is on the way to Rome - stop - Hope the pope likes Disc-Golf - stop - Also good to hear from Lorraine and SWS - stop - Get out of the damn Dew - stop - Looks like Norman tries to euthanize you - stop - We need you both armed with full force on T-day - stop - That's all for now - stop - I'm very confident that everything will work out, if we stay tuned - stop - 29,999 must be eliminated - stop - Ahh, cigarette smoke in the eye, f**kin hell - stop - Hope to hear from ya' all soon - stop - Regards Herr Greyfriar - End

 

:LOL:

 

You'll get props in tonight's update, not that anyone will read it.

  • Like 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

The Yukon Blade Grinder

Going Papal Edition

 

11.24.13

Vatican City

 

Neverland Ranch is used to having vigils outside its gates. Back in the day it was a magnet for creepiness and hero worship. Even when Michael Jackson was alive, fans would show up to light a candle in honor of their beloved “Moonwalker”. Today, the Yukon Blade Grinder goes straight to the top in terms of vigils, votive candles, and the ultimate show of Vapor Trails support.

 

With the elements of the story changing every day for the worse, a cheerful outcome seems impossible regarding the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. Containing the most bizarre of cultic practices involving cannibalism, stone formations, and oppressed women on animals, one normally turns away from such evil. Not this media monolith! The Yukon Blade Grinder is fresh from an enthralling two-day interview with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, and now ready to get back in the game to confront reality.

 

Now dear readers, the story has reached spiritual heights. Truth be told after spending time with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, the YBG could use a little forgiveness.

 

Rarified Air

 

In most instances when dealing with the Yukon Blade Grinder, people adapt accordingly for a chance to share their story. However, when dealing with the most recognized living religious figure in the solar system, the Grinder will always make an exception.

 

Summoned to Vatican City by our German and Italian desks, the Yukon Blade Grinder is ready to report the news. Hundreds of thousands crowded St. Peter’s square, and waited for the word. Countless beach balls flew over the boisterous crowd. Flags from every corner of the globe were waving in anticipation of the day’s message. Even soccer anthems permeated the air. Spectacles become markers in history, always in the corner of our collective memories crying out “I was here” when Pope Francis brought the wood to Rush Goober. The Blade Grinder was on the scene as it happened.

 

The Seven Deadly Sins Revisited

 

Known as the “Peppy Pontiff”, Pope Francis has great warmth exuding from his soul. He’s a real people person. He loves his job and always ready to get out amongst the folks. As the doors opened from the papal balcony, he made his grand entrance. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, showing the love to the their leader. Calming the crowd the Pope issued the cue for the sounds of ringing church and tubular bells. It sounded awfully familiar.

 

“Today, I come to you with a message from the peak of Mt. Nerd. Listen well, my friends!” The Pope spoke with authority, then compassion.

 

“To the men who hold high places—you must be the one’s who start.

You need to mold a new reality, closer to the heart.

The blacksmith and the artist reflect it in their art.

They should forge their creativity, closer to the heart. YES!!! Closer to the heart.”

 

Those words hung in the air, creating a symphony of nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The Pope smiled and clasped his hands together. He continued.

 

“The philosopher and the plowmen—each must know his part.

Sowing new mentalities, closer to the heart, YEAH, closer to the heart.

Let me be your captain. I will draw the chart.

We’re sailing into destiny, closer to the heart.”

 

The crowd fed off his energy, rocking back and forth arm in arm, hanging on every word. “Listen. You’ve heard it all before. Wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, are sins that will bring you to your knees—like a Vapor Trail. Today, from St. Peter’s Basilica, I give you another. Cruelty to animals is awful and to endorse cannibalism is a shame. Brainwashing helpless strippers is deplorable. But this, this is where I draw the line. Thou shall not impersonate a Rush fan. To do so is an unforgivable sin. It’s a combination of all seven that came before it…plus it’s just mean.”

 

The Pope stared out into the sea of humanity and plowed on. “As I’ve said before, I’m not here to judge anybody, but to share boundless love. However, there’s a tipping point, even for me. These fans have endured decades of slander, bullying, and intellectual dishonesty from all angles of society. They’ve never been popular, and have always reminded of that fact. They’ve been the target of scorn and rage from those who think they’re “better” than everyone else. No more. We honor the Rush fan. Trolling Rush Fan websites, causing hate and discontent is banned. To the Rush fan, you are no longer detached, no longer subdivided. The dreamer. The misfit. You, who are so alone—come unto me and we’ll listen to Vapor Trails together.” The crowd then responded with their own version of YYZ, in a chant that would make most Brazilians jealous.

 

At that moment the Pope broke centuries of protocol, freaking out his collective entourage of cardinals, and began to rip off his vestments, including papal hat, to reveal something very personal to him. The crowd’s huge roar was an approval for his Vapor Trails tour shirt, and knock-off of a certain drummer’s signature hat. He then proclaimed, “Today Rush fans we unite!”

 

The Dawn of a New Day

 

No wonder this pontiff is off the charts with the common person. He’s a riot. He continued with his edict. “And those who transgress against the band, remember these words: You will burn in Hell! Before preparing this message I did some soul searching. I started in the Sistine Chapel, pacing back and forth. Searching for some inspiration. I got nothing in that dusty room. I then decided to go down in the Necropolis, among the dead bones of those who came before me.” The Pope then raised his hands and continued, “I spoke to them. I spoke to them words that would hopefully bring them to life, to give me some comfort and encouragement to deliver today’s message.”

 

He paused, the crowd mere putty in his hands. “Rising out of their crypts, the bones danced and spoke these words:

 

Jack, relax. Get busy with the facts.

No zodiacs or almanacs. No maniacs in polyester slacks.

Just the facts. You gotta kick some gluteus max.

It’s a parallax, ya dig?

 

When you move around the small gets big, it’s a rig.

It’s action—reaction. Random interaction.

Don’t be afraid of little abstractions. You can’t get satisfaction from the facts.

You’d better run homeboy—facts a fact from Rome to Gnome boy!

 

What’s the deal?

Spin the wheel. If the dice are hot—take a shot.

Play your cards. Show us what you got—what you’re holding.

If the cards are cold, don’t go folding. Lady luck is golden.

She favors the bold and that’s cold.

Stop throwing stones—the night has a 1000 saxophones.

Get out there and rock and roll the bones—Get busy!!!”

 

The Pope continued, “That doesn’t happen every day at the Vatican. Now. To my friend who is sitting in a jail cell on the far side of the world—repent, and denounce your trolling ways. Embrace BU2B2. Embrace Vapor Trails. Your soul depends on it!”

With that final statement, Pope Francis left the festivities to the chants of the crowd—“Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn!”

 

At that point this reporter, along with my friends from the German and Italian news desks, sat on the edge of a fountain, watching the crowd of people disperse. The wind whisked around us, spreading its cold chill and blowing litter hither and dither. Night slowly approached and we were alone, wondering how a tiny dwarf incarcerated in the Santa Barbara jail could manage to piss off the Pope. As it turns out there were many reasons.

 

Saying our goodbyes, we felt the same as before the Pope’s sermon. Confused.

 

Flying out of Rome, this Yukon Blade Grinder reporter was still scratching his head. Now, Judge Hhang M. Hi looms on the horizon. Goober better hope she’s in a better frame of mind than Pope Francis.

Edited by Tombstone Mountain
  • Like 8
Link to comment
Share on other sites

This is awesome! When will Charles Manson and his bride-to-be join the party? If we're going to have cult practices, we might as well take it as far as possible. :notworthy: :smoke: :codger:

Great question. Perhaps Lorraine will answer that one...she seems to attract the attention of those creepy criminal types
Link to comment
Share on other sites

The Yukon Blade Grinder

Going Papal Edition

 

11.24.13

Vatican City

 

Neverland Ranch is used to having vigils outside its gates. Back in the day it was a magnet for creepiness and hero worship. Even when Michael Jackson was alive, fans would show up to light a candle in honor of their beloved “Moonwalker”. Today, the Yukon Blade Grinder goes straight to the top in terms of vigils, votive candles, and the ultimate show of Vapor Trails support.

 

With the elements of the story changing every day for the worse, cheerful outcome seems impossible regarding the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. Containing the most bizarre of cultic practices involving cannibalism, stone formations, and oppressed women on animals, one normally turns away from such evil. Not this media monolith! The Yukon Blade Grinder is fresh from an enthralling two-day interview with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, and now ready to get back in the game to confront reality.

 

Now dear readers, the story has reached spiritual heights. Truth be told after spending time with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, the YBG could use a little forgiveness.

 

Rarified Air

 

In most instances when dealing with the Yukon Blade Grinder, people adapt accordingly for a chance to share their story. However, when dealing with the most recognized living religious figure in the solar system, the Grinder will always make an exception.

 

Summoned to Vatican City by our German and Italian desks, the Yukon Blade Grinder is ready to report the news. Hundreds of thousands crowded St. Peter’s square, and waited for the word. Countless beach balls flew over the boisterous crowd. Flags from every corner of the globe were waving in anticipation of the day’s message. Even soccer anthems permeated the air. Spectacles become markers in history, always in the corner of our collective memories crying out “I was here” when Pope Francis brought the wood to Rush Goober. The Blade Grinder was on the scene as it happened.

 

The Seven Deadly Sins Revisited

 

Known as the “Peppy Pontiff”, Pope Francis has great warmth exuding from his soul. He’s a real people person. He loves his job and always ready to get out amongst the folks. As the doors opened from the papal balcony, he made his grand entrance. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, showing the love to the their leader. Calming the crowd the Pope issued the cue for the sounds of ringing church and tubular bells. It sounded awfully familiar.

 

“Today, I come to you with a message from the peak of Mt. Nerd. Listen well, my friends!” The Pope spoke with authority, then compassion.

 

“To the men who hold high places—you must be the one’s who start.

You need to mold a new reality, closer to the heart.

The blacksmith and the artist reflect it in their art.

They should forge their creativity, closer to the heart. YES!!! Closer to the heart.”

 

Those words hung in the air, creating a symphony of nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The Pope smiled and clasped his hands together. He continued.

 

“The philosopher and the plowmen—each must know his part.

Sowing new mentalities, closer to the heart, YEAH, closer to the heart.

Let me be your captain. I will draw the chart.

We’re sailing into destiny, closer to the heart.”

 

The crowd fed off his energy, rocking back and forth arm in arm, hanging on every word. “Listen. You’ve heard it all before. Wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, are sins that will bring you to your knees—like a Vapor Trail. Today, from St. Peter’s Basilica, I give you another. Cruelty to animals is awful and to endorse cannibalism is a shame. Brainwashing helpless strippers is deplorable. But this, this is where I draw the line. Thou shall not impersonate a Rush fan. To do so is an unforgivable sin. It’s a combination of all seven that came before it…plus it’s just mean.”

 

The Pope stared out into the sea of humanity and plowed on. “As I’ve said before, I’m not here to judge anybody, but to share boundless love. However, there’s a tipping point, even for me. These fans have endured decades of slander, bullying, and intellectual dishonesty from all angles of society. They’ve never been popular, and have always reminded of that fact. They’ve been the target of scorn and rage from those who think they’re “better” than everyone else. No more. We honor the Rush fan. Trolling Rush Fan websites, causing hate and discontent is banned. To the Rush fan, you are no longer detached, no longer subdivided. The dreamer. The misfit. You, who are so alone—come unto me and we’ll listen to Vapor Trails together.” The crowd then responded with their own version of YYZ, in a chant that would make most Brazilians jealous.

 

At that moment the Pope broke centuries of protocol, freaking out his collective entourage of cardinals, and began to rip off his vestments, including papal hat, to reveal something very personal to him. The crowd’s huge roar was an approval for his Vapor Trails tour shirt, and knock-off of a certain drummer’s signature hat. He then proclaimed, “Today Rush fans we unite!”

 

The Dawn of a New Day

 

No wonder this pontiff is off the charts with the common person. He’s a riot. He continued with his edict. “And those who transgress against the band, remember these words: You will burn in Hell! Before preparing this message I did some soul searching. I started in the Sistine Chapel, pacing back and forth. Searching for some inspiration. I got nothing in that dusty room. I then decided to go down in the Necropolis, among the dead bones of those who came before me.” The Pope then raised his hands and continued, “I spoke to them. I spoke to them words that would hopefully bring them to life, to give me some comfort and encouragement to deliver today’s message.”

 

He paused. The crowd responded. “Rising out of their crypts, the bones danced and spoke these words:

 

Jack, relax. Get busy with the facts.

No zodiacs or almanacs. No maniacs in polyester slacks.

Just the facts. You gotta kick some gluteus max.

It’s a parallax, ya dig?

 

When you move around the small gets big, it’s a rig.

It’s action—reaction. Random interaction.

Don’t be afraid of little abstractions. You can’t get satisfaction from the facts.

You’d better run homeboy—facts a fact from Rome to Gnome boy!

 

What’s the deal?

Spin the wheel. If the dice are hot—take a shot.

Play your cards. Show us what you got—what you’re holding.

If the cards are cold, don’t go folding. Lady luck is golden.

She favors the bold and that’s cold.

Stop throwing stones—the night has a 1000 saxophones.

Get out there and rock and roll the bones—Get busy!!!”

 

The Pope continued, “That doesn’t happen every day at the Vatican. Now. To my friend who is sitting in a jail cell on the far side of the world—repent, and denounce your trolling ways. Embrace BU2B2. Embrace Vapor Trails. Your soul depends on it!”

With that final statement, Pope Francis left the festivities to the chants of the crowd—“Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn!”

 

At that point this reporter, along with my friends from the German and Italian news desks, sat on the edge of a fountain, watching the crowd of people disperse. The wind whisked around us, spreading its cold chill and blowing litter hither and dither. Night slowly approached and we were alone, wondering how a tiny dwarf incarcerated in the Santa Barbara jail could manage to piss off the Pope. As it turns out there were many reasons.

 

Saying our goodbyes, we felt the same as before the Pope’s sermon. Confused.

 

Flying out of Rome, this Yukon Blade Grinder reporter was still scratching his head. Now, Judge Hhang M. Hi looms on the horizon. Goober better hope she’s in a better frame of mind than Pope Francis.

 

 

:LOLsign: :ebert:

 

I knew impersonating a Rush fan was the worst of his crimes!

  • Like 4
Link to comment
Share on other sites

The Yukon Blade Grinder

Going Papal Edition

 

11.24.13

Vatican City

 

Neverland Ranch is used to having vigils outside its gates. Back in the day it was a magnet for creepiness and hero worship. Even when Michael Jackson was alive, fans would show up to light a candle in honor of their beloved “Moonwalker”. Today, the Yukon Blade Grinder goes straight to the top in terms of vigils, votive candles, and the ultimate show of Vapor Trails support.

 

With the elements of the story changing every day for the worse, cheerful outcome seems impossible regarding the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. Containing the most bizarre of cultic practices involving cannibalism, stone formations, and oppressed women on animals, one normally turns away from such evil. Not this media monolith! The Yukon Blade Grinder is fresh from an enthralling two-day interview with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, and now ready to get back in the game to confront reality.

 

Now dear readers, the story has reached spiritual heights. Truth be told after spending time with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, the YBG could use a little forgiveness.

 

Rarified Air

 

In most instances when dealing with the Yukon Blade Grinder, people adapt accordingly for a chance to share their story. However, when dealing with the most recognized living religious figure in the solar system, the Grinder will always make an exception.

 

Summoned to Vatican City by our German and Italian desks, the Yukon Blade Grinder is ready to report the news. Hundreds of thousands crowded St. Peter’s square, and waited for the word. Countless beach balls flew over the boisterous crowd. Flags from every corner of the globe were waving in anticipation of the day’s message. Even soccer anthems permeated the air. Spectacles become markers in history, always in the corner of our collective memories crying out “I was here” when Pope Francis brought the wood to Rush Goober. The Blade Grinder was on the scene as it happened.

 

The Seven Deadly Sins Revisited

 

Known as the “Peppy Pontiff”, Pope Francis has great warmth exuding from his soul. He’s a real people person. He loves his job and always ready to get out amongst the folks. As the doors opened from the papal balcony, he made his grand entrance. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, showing the love to the their leader. Calming the crowd the Pope issued the cue for the sounds of ringing church and tubular bells. It sounded awfully familiar.

 

“Today, I come to you with a message from the peak of Mt. Nerd. Listen well, my friends!” The Pope spoke with authority, then compassion.

 

“To the men who hold high places—you must be the one’s who start.

You need to mold a new reality, closer to the heart.

The blacksmith and the artist reflect it in their art.

They should forge their creativity, closer to the heart. YES!!! Closer to the heart.”

 

Those words hung in the air, creating a symphony of nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The Pope smiled and clasped his hands together. He continued.

 

“The philosopher and the plowmen—each must know his part.

Sowing new mentalities, closer to the heart, YEAH, closer to the heart.

Let me be your captain. I will draw the chart.

We’re sailing into destiny, closer to the heart.”

 

The crowd fed off his energy, rocking back and forth arm in arm, hanging on every word. “Listen. You’ve heard it all before. Wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, are sins that will bring you to your knees—like a Vapor Trail. Today, from St. Peter’s Basilica, I give you another. Cruelty to animals is awful and to endorse cannibalism is a shame. Brainwashing helpless strippers is deplorable. But this, this is where I draw the line. Thou shall not impersonate a Rush fan. To do so is an unforgivable sin. It’s a combination of all seven that came before it…plus it’s just mean.”

 

The Pope stared out into the sea of humanity and plowed on. “As I’ve said before, I’m not here to judge anybody, but to share boundless love. However, there’s a tipping point, even for me. These fans have endured decades of slander, bullying, and intellectual dishonesty from all angles of society. They’ve never been popular, and have always reminded of that fact. They’ve been the target of scorn and rage from those who think they’re “better” than everyone else. No more. We honor the Rush fan. Trolling Rush Fan websites, causing hate and discontent is banned. To the Rush fan, you are no longer detached, no longer subdivided. The dreamer. The misfit. You, who are so alone—come unto me and we’ll listen to Vapor Trails together.” The crowd then responded with their own version of YYZ, in a chant that would make most Brazilians jealous.

 

At that moment the Pope broke centuries of protocol, freaking out his collective entourage of cardinals, and began to rip off his vestments, including papal hat, to reveal something very personal to him. The crowd’s huge roar was an approval for his Vapor Trails tour shirt, and knock-off of a certain drummer’s signature hat. He then proclaimed, “Today Rush fans we unite!”

 

The Dawn of a New Day

 

No wonder this pontiff is off the charts with the common person. He’s a riot. He continued with his edict. “And those who transgress against the band, remember these words: You will burn in Hell! Before preparing this message I did some soul searching. I started in the Sistine Chapel, pacing back and forth. Searching for some inspiration. I got nothing in that dusty room. I then decided to go down in the Necropolis, among the dead bones of those who came before me.” The Pope then raised his hands and continued, “I spoke to them. I spoke to them words that would hopefully bring them to life, to give me some comfort and encouragement to deliver today’s message.”

 

He paused. The crowd responded. “Rising out of their crypts, the bones danced and spoke these words:

 

Jack, relax. Get busy with the facts.

No zodiacs or almanacs. No maniacs in polyester slacks.

Just the facts. You gotta kick some gluteus max.

It’s a parallax, ya dig?

 

When you move around the small gets big, it’s a rig.

It’s action—reaction. Random interaction.

Don’t be afraid of little abstractions. You can’t get satisfaction from the facts.

You’d better run homeboy—facts a fact from Rome to Gnome boy!

 

What’s the deal?

Spin the wheel. If the dice are hot—take a shot.

Play your cards. Show us what you got—what you’re holding.

If the cards are cold, don’t go folding. Lady luck is golden.

She favors the bold and that’s cold.

Stop throwing stones—the night has a 1000 saxophones.

Get out there and rock and roll the bones—Get busy!!!”

 

The Pope continued, “That doesn’t happen every day at the Vatican. Now. To my friend who is sitting in a jail cell on the far side of the world—repent, and denounce your trolling ways. Embrace BU2B2. Embrace Vapor Trails. Your soul depends on it!”

With that final statement, Pope Francis left the festivities to the chants of the crowd—“Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn!”

 

At that point this reporter, along with my friends from the German and Italian news desks, sat on the edge of a fountain, watching the crowd of people disperse. The wind whisked around us, spreading its cold chill and blowing litter hither and dither. Night slowly approached and we were alone, wondering how a tiny dwarf incarcerated in the Santa Barbara jail could manage to piss off the Pope. As it turns out there were many reasons.

 

Saying our goodbyes, we felt the same as before the Pope’s sermon. Confused.

 

Flying out of Rome, this Yukon Blade Grinder reporter was still scratching his head. Now, Judge Hhang M. Hi looms on the horizon. Goober better hope she’s in a better frame of mind than Pope Francis.

 

 

:LOLsign: :ebert:

 

I knew impersonating a Rush fan was the worst of his crimes!

Still pretty serous stuff according to Peppy
Link to comment
Share on other sites

The Yukon Blade Grinder

Going Papal Edition

 

11.24.13

Vatican City

 

Neverland Ranch is used to having vigils outside its gates. Back in the day it was a magnet for creepiness and hero worship. Even when Michael Jackson was alive, fans would show up to light a candle in honor of their beloved “Moonwalker”. Today, the Yukon Blade Grinder goes straight to the top in terms of vigils, votive candles, and the ultimate show of Vapor Trails support.

 

With the elements of the story changing every day for the worse, a cheerful outcome seems impossible regarding the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. Containing the most bizarre of cultic practices involving cannibalism, stone formations, and oppressed women on animals, one normally turns away from such evil. Not this media monolith! The Yukon Blade Grinder is fresh from an enthralling two-day interview with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, and now ready to get back in the game to confront reality.

 

Now dear readers, the story has reached spiritual heights. Truth be told after spending time with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, the YBG could use a little forgiveness.

 

Rarified Air

 

In most instances when dealing with the Yukon Blade Grinder, people adapt accordingly for a chance to share their story. However, when dealing with the most recognized living religious figure in the solar system, the Grinder will always make an exception.

 

Summoned to Vatican City by our German and Italian desks, the Yukon Blade Grinder is ready to report the news. Hundreds of thousands crowded St. Peter’s square, and waited for the word. Countless beach balls flew over the boisterous crowd. Flags from every corner of the globe were waving in anticipation of the day’s message. Even soccer anthems permeated the air. Spectacles become markers in history, always in the corner of our collective memories crying out “I was here” when Pope Francis brought the wood to Rush Goober. The Blade Grinder was on the scene as it happened.

 

The Seven Deadly Sins Revisited

 

Known as the “Peppy Pontiff”, Pope Francis has great warmth exuding from his soul. He’s a real people person. He loves his job and always ready to get out amongst the folks. As the doors opened from the papal balcony, he made his grand entrance. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, showing the love to the their leader. Calming the crowd the Pope issued the cue for the sounds of ringing church and tubular bells. It sounded awfully familiar.

 

“Today, I come to you with a message from the peak of Mt. Nerd. Listen well, my friends!” The Pope spoke with authority, then compassion.

 

“To the men who hold high places—you must be the one’s who start.

You need to mold a new reality, closer to the heart.

The blacksmith and the artist reflect it in their art.

They should forge their creativity, closer to the heart. YES!!! Closer to the heart.”

 

Those words hung in the air, creating a symphony of nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The Pope smiled and clasped his hands together. He continued.

 

“The philosopher and the plowmen—each must know his part.

Sowing new mentalities, closer to the heart, YEAH, closer to the heart.

Let me be your captain. I will draw the chart.

We’re sailing into destiny, closer to the heart.”

 

The crowd fed off his energy, rocking back and forth arm in arm, hanging on every word. “Listen. You’ve heard it all before. Wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, are sins that will bring you to your knees—like a Vapor Trail. Today, from St. Peter’s Basilica, I give you another. Cruelty to animals is awful and to endorse cannibalism is a shame. Brainwashing helpless strippers is deplorable. But this, this is where I draw the line. Thou shall not impersonate a Rush fan. To do so is an unforgivable sin. It’s a combination of all seven that came before it…plus it’s just mean.”

 

The Pope stared out into the sea of humanity and plowed on. “As I’ve said before, I’m not here to judge anybody, but to share boundless love. However, there’s a tipping point, even for me. These fans have endured decades of slander, bullying, and intellectual dishonesty from all angles of society. They’ve never been popular, and have always reminded of that fact. They’ve been the target of scorn and rage from those who think they’re “better” than everyone else. No more. We honor the Rush fan. Trolling Rush Fan websites, causing hate and discontent is banned. To the Rush fan, you are no longer detached, no longer subdivided. The dreamer. The misfit. You, who are so alone—come unto me and we’ll listen to Vapor Trails together.” The crowd then responded with their own version of YYZ, in a chant that would make most Brazilians jealous.

 

At that moment the Pope broke centuries of protocol, freaking out his collective entourage of cardinals, and began to rip off his vestments, including papal hat, to reveal something very personal to him. The crowd’s huge roar was an approval for his Vapor Trails tour shirt, and knock-off of a certain drummer’s signature hat. He then proclaimed, “Today Rush fans we unite!”

 

The Dawn of a New Day

 

No wonder this pontiff is off the charts with the common person. He’s a riot. He continued with his edict. “And those who transgress against the band, remember these words: You will burn in Hell! Before preparing this message I did some soul searching. I started in the Sistine Chapel, pacing back and forth. Searching for some inspiration. I got nothing in that dusty room. I then decided to go down in the Necropolis, among the dead bones of those who came before me.” The Pope then raised his hands and continued, “I spoke to them. I spoke to them words that would hopefully bring them to life, to give me some comfort and encouragement to deliver today’s message.”

 

He paused, the crowd was mere putty in his hands. “Rising out of their crypts, the bones danced and spoke these words:

 

Jack, relax. Get busy with the facts.

No zodiacs or almanacs. No maniacs in polyester slacks.

Just the facts. You gotta kick some gluteus max.

It’s a parallax, ya dig?

 

When you move around the small gets big, it’s a rig.

It’s action—reaction. Random interaction.

Don’t be afraid of little abstractions. You can’t get satisfaction from the facts.

You’d better run homeboy—facts a fact from Rome to Gnome boy!

 

What’s the deal?

Spin the wheel. If the dice are hot—take a shot.

Play your cards. Show us what you got—what you’re holding.

If the cards are cold, don’t go folding. Lady luck is golden.

She favors the bold and that’s cold.

Stop throwing stones—the night has a 1000 saxophones.

Get out there and rock and roll the bones—Get busy!!!”

 

The Pope continued, “That doesn’t happen every day at the Vatican. Now. To my friend who is sitting in a jail cell on the far side of the world—repent, and denounce your trolling ways. Embrace BU2B2. Embrace Vapor Trails. Your soul depends on it!”

With that final statement, Pope Francis left the festivities to the chants of the crowd—“Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn!”

 

At that point this reporter, along with my friends from the German and Italian news desks, sat on the edge of a fountain, watching the crowd of people disperse. The wind whisked around us, spreading its cold chill and blowing litter hither and dither. Night slowly approached and we were alone, wondering how a tiny dwarf incarcerated in the Santa Barbara jail could manage to piss off the Pope. As it turns out there were many reasons.

 

Saying our goodbyes, we felt the same as before the Pope’s sermon. Confused.

 

Flying out of Rome, this Yukon Blade Grinder reporter was still scratching his head. Now, Judge Hhang M. Hi looms on the horizon. Goober better hope she’s in a better frame of mind than Pope Francis.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

The Yukon Blade Grinder

Going Papal Edition

 

11.24.13

Vatican City

 

Neverland Ranch is used to having vigils outside its gates. Back in the day it was a magnet for creepiness and hero worship. Even when Michael Jackson was alive, fans would show up to light a candle in honor of their beloved “Moonwalker”. Today, the Yukon Blade Grinder goes straight to the top in terms of vigils, votive candles, and the ultimate show of Vapor Trails support.

 

With the elements of the story changing every day for the worse, a cheerful outcome seems impossible regarding the “Spirits of Neverland Ranch” case. Containing the most bizarre of cultic practices involving cannibalism, stone formations, and oppressed women on animals, one normally turns away from such evil. Not this media monolith! The Yukon Blade Grinder is fresh from an enthralling two-day interview with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, and now ready to get back in the game to confront reality.

 

Now dear readers, the story has reached spiritual heights. Truth be told after spending time with the Seven Cities of Gold dancers, the YBG could use a little forgiveness.

 

Rarified Air

 

In most instances when dealing with the Yukon Blade Grinder, people adapt accordingly for a chance to share their story. However, when dealing with the most recognized living religious figure in the solar system, the Grinder will always make an exception.

 

Summoned to Vatican City by our German and Italian desks, the Yukon Blade Grinder is ready to report the news. Hundreds of thousands crowded St. Peter’s square, and waited for the word. Countless beach balls flew over the boisterous crowd. Flags from every corner of the globe were waving in anticipation of the day’s message. Even soccer anthems permeated the air. Spectacles become markers in history, always in the corner of our collective memories crying out “I was here” when Pope Francis brought the wood to Rush Goober. The Blade Grinder was on the scene as it happened.

 

The Seven Deadly Sins Revisited

 

Known as the “Peppy Pontiff”, Pope Francis has great warmth exuding from his soul. He’s a real people person. He loves his job and always ready to get out amongst the folks. As the doors opened from the papal balcony, he made his grand entrance. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, showing the love to the their leader. Calming the crowd the Pope issued the cue for the sounds of ringing church and tubular bells. It sounded awfully familiar.

 

“Today, I come to you with a message from the peak of Mt. Nerd. Listen well, my friends!” The Pope spoke with authority, then compassion.

 

“To the men who hold high places—you must be the one’s who start.

You need to mold a new reality, closer to the heart.

The blacksmith and the artist reflect it in their art.

They should forge their creativity, closer to the heart. YES!!! Closer to the heart.”

 

Those words hung in the air, creating a symphony of nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The Pope smiled and clasped his hands together. He continued.

 

“The philosopher and the plowmen—each must know his part.

Sowing new mentalities, closer to the heart, YEAH, closer to the heart.

Let me be your captain. I will draw the chart.

We’re sailing into destiny, closer to the heart.”

 

The crowd fed off his energy, rocking back and forth arm in arm, hanging on every word. “Listen. You’ve heard it all before. Wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony, are sins that will bring you to your knees—like a Vapor Trail. Today, from St. Peter’s Basilica, I give you another. Cruelty to animals is awful and to endorse cannibalism is a shame. Brainwashing helpless strippers is deplorable. But this, this is where I draw the line. Thou shall not impersonate a Rush fan. To do so is an unforgivable sin. It’s a combination of all seven that came before it…plus it’s just mean.”

 

The Pope stared out into the sea of humanity and plowed on. “As I’ve said before, I’m not here to judge anybody, but to share boundless love. However, there’s a tipping point, even for me. These fans have endured decades of slander, bullying, and intellectual dishonesty from all angles of society. They’ve never been popular, and have always reminded of that fact. They’ve been the target of scorn and rage from those who think they’re “better” than everyone else. No more. We honor the Rush fan. Trolling Rush Fan websites, causing hate and discontent is banned. To the Rush fan, you are no longer detached, no longer subdivided. The dreamer. The misfit. You, who are so alone—come unto me and we’ll listen to Vapor Trails together.” The crowd then responded with their own version of YYZ, in a chant that would make most Brazilians jealous.

 

At that moment the Pope broke centuries of protocol, freaking out his collective entourage of cardinals, and began to rip off his vestments, including papal hat, to reveal something very personal to him. The crowd’s huge roar was an approval for his Vapor Trails tour shirt, and knock-off of a certain drummer’s signature hat. He then proclaimed, “Today Rush fans we unite!”

 

The Dawn of a New Day

 

No wonder this pontiff is off the charts with the common person. He’s a riot. He continued with his edict. “And those who transgress against the band, remember these words: You will burn in Hell! Before preparing this message I did some soul searching. I started in the Sistine Chapel, pacing back and forth. Searching for some inspiration. I got nothing in that dusty room. I then decided to go down in the Necropolis, among the dead bones of those who came before me.” The Pope then raised his hands and continued, “I spoke to them. I spoke to them words that would hopefully bring them to life, to give me some comfort and encouragement to deliver today’s message.”

 

He paused, the crowd was mere putty in his hands. “Rising out of their crypts, the bones danced and spoke these words:

 

Jack, relax. Get busy with the facts.

No zodiacs or almanacs. No maniacs in polyester slacks.

Just the facts. You gotta kick some gluteus max.

It’s a parallax, ya dig?

 

When you move around the small gets big, it’s a rig.

It’s action—reaction. Random interaction.

Don’t be afraid of little abstractions. You can’t get satisfaction from the facts.

You’d better run homeboy—facts a fact from Rome to Gnome boy!

 

What’s the deal?

Spin the wheel. If the dice are hot—take a shot.

Play your cards. Show us what you got—what you’re holding.

If the cards are cold, don’t go folding. Lady luck is golden.

She favors the bold and that’s cold.

Stop throwing stones—the night has a 1000 saxophones.

Get out there and rock and roll the bones—Get busy!!!”

 

The Pope continued, “That doesn’t happen every day at the Vatican. Now. To my friend who is sitting in a jail cell on the far side of the world—repent, and denounce your trolling ways. Embrace BU2B2. Embrace Vapor Trails. Your soul depends on it!”

With that final statement, Pope Francis left the festivities to the chants of the crowd—“Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn! Turn or Burn!”

 

At that point this reporter, along with my friends from the German and Italian news desks, sat on the edge of a fountain, watching the crowd of people disperse. The wind whisked around us, spreading its cold chill and blowing litter hither and dither. Night slowly approached and we were alone, wondering how a tiny dwarf incarcerated in the Santa Barbara jail could manage to piss off the Pope. As it turns out there were many reasons.

 

Saying our goodbyes, we felt the same as before the Pope’s sermon. Confused.

 

Flying out of Rome, this Yukon Blade Grinder reporter was still scratching his head. Now, Judge Hhang M. Hi looms on the horizon. Goober better hope she’s in a better frame of mind than Pope Francis.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

THE THISTLE DEW: Day 10

 

-Jorge was no help

 

 

Dark days have descended on the Dew, folks. I fear Lorraine and I may have to go shopping for pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce.

 

We should never have pinned our hopes on the Pope. Late word came from the Vatican that Jorge had not only refused to come to the aid of Goober, but took the opportunity to denounce him in his Sunday address. Unbeknownst to us, His Holiness is a huge Rush fan, apparently even of Roll the Bones (there's no accounting for taste). I suspected his worst crime may have been impersonating a Rush fan; today my suspicions were confirmed. Not only do we have to worry about his possible extradition to Canada should he miraculously beat the rap in California, but he may also pay for his transgressions for an eternity in the hereafter. . . and he was so proud of his 'Vapor Trolls" moniker.

 

We received a curious communique today from Greyfriar via Western Union (if there can be a Hungry Jack's outside of Australia, Western Union can still be in the telegram business). It was rather confusing and fragmented, but we were able to decipher that he was still feverishly working with the psychologist on Goober's insanity defense, and that his petition drive had garnered no interest at all. It did end rather cryptically: smoke in eyes, f***ing hell. We're still working to interpret that one. It's at least some comfort to know that someone in Europe other than H.P.L. is concerned with Goober's fate.

 

This morning Lakeisha graced us with a visit. She said that she knew someone who had a vast collection of Pez dispensers, and would be willing to part with the sought after "Vapor Trolls" model, for a price. What price? Lorraine would have to give up her precious Michael Jackson action doll. Knowing how much Goober would appreciate such a gewgaw, Lorraine reluctantly packed up Michael and left with Lakeisha. She's been gone all day. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I think she likes spending time with Lakeisha. I don't blame her for wanting to get out of the Dew.

 

I had a taste for smoked emu tonight; fortunately, I was able to find where Tombstone obtains this delicacy. It's a place called Brisbane Bottoms Bar and Grill. They deliver, and imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find little Warwick holding a bag of the bird in question. Not surprisingly, his recollection of our previous meeting was hazy, but he did say that he was working to raise money for airfare back to England. It seems he's fallen on hard times since he's no longer employed by a comedian named Ricky. You meet some strange characters out here.

 

Our lonely, and possibly misguided, quest to free poor little Goober is about to enter it's eleventh day. With no help coming from the heavens, our only hope is the legal wizardry of Mr. Grisham. I think I'll light a stick of incense and play Interstellar Overdrive while I wait for Lorraine to return.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

"Wake me when I should give a shit." -Lost In Xanadu

 

Perhaps the most insightful post made in this thread.

  • Like 5
Link to comment
Share on other sites

What a weird weekend this turned out to be.

I was looking for some deserved R&R with the family and ended up springing to Rome on Saturday afternoon to meet Tombsone Mountain (from now on: Tom), all the while, unbeknownst to me, the Vatican engine was working full cylinders.

That's why me and Tom, while on a conference call with Greyfriar, were approached by a white limo, which spawned two big, intimidating men all dressed in white! They looked like FBI agents of the movies, except they were all dressed in white! White jacket, white shoes. Heck, even their sunglasses were WHITE!

Tom, American pragmatism firmly in hand, took it for a tourist scam and was going to dismiss them. I had to take him by the arm and say: "Tom, this is serious".

"Are these what, secret service italian style?"

"In a limo? No way. They could barely afford a 500".

"So who are they, Berlusconi's men?"

"Nope, he would have sent a couple of amazons, and we would already be on rolling on the floor with our testicles in our throats".

"So who ARE they?".

"You wouldn't believe".

Thus saturday afternoon slowly crawled, while we, trapped in the limo, strolled through Rome ancient cobbled streets. Soccer superstar Francesco Totti (ANOTHER Francesco? Is there a design to this?) was downtown, creating a ruckus. But no way could we check the hot girls cruising Trinità dei Monti. We were due to a place where art and history loom, but where "sexy" is not a word well tolerated.

 

That's right: we ended up in the Catacombs of the Vatican, reeking with chilling cold, spiritual enlightenment and the the dust of millennia.

"Oooh, this is so Dan Brown!" giggled Tom. Rome turns everyone into a f*cking tourist. That's the power of the Urbe Aeterna.

"If you value your life, Tom, you're not gonna utter the D.B. word in front of HIM".

"HIM? Are we meeting the band HIM down here?"

"No, not the band HIM. F*cking glam metal. I meant HIM!"

"Yeah, HIM, the guitar player is Tony Iommi's son in law..."

"I know that, you crazy woodcutter from Yukon. But this is Rome, buddy. Think: The Borgias!"

And so, in the dim light, we came to a place where a simple throne of stone had been built. And on that throne, the Big Guy himself. The Pope that walks the walk and talks the talk. "Badass" Francis the First.

"This is the only place we can talk quietly" said Francesco.

The Pope turned out the be all they say about him, and even more.

Citing Beethoven and Mozart as his favourite composers, Big Guy Francesco is also at ease discussing early Sepultura: "Those Cavalera brothers, they always remind me of the Prodigal Son parable! I love Roots, by the way".

Tom had to pick up his jaw from the floor, but we tried to play it cool.

So you're not averse to Neil Peart's famously agnostic lyrics?

"There's a quest in there. If he is trying to find a meaning to life, who am I to judge him?"

What was your take on the Watchmaker charachter in Clockwork Angels?

"Oh, it just goes back to Isaac Newton and Descartes, doesn't it? If there's a watchmaker in the world today is hardly God: it's corporate business. Banks. Companies. They are the watchmaker. That's the way I read CA, which is awesome by the way".

And what do you think of Vapor Trails Remixed?

"It has given me so much strenght. It's their most spiritual album. Truly, it makes my soul soar. When the Remix came out, it was like a gift from God, truly. We've been getting them a lot, lately. Ayreon's new album is another".

And that's when Tom had to play jackass and tell the Pope about Goober's reaction to VTR, and the infamous "polished turd" words surfaced once again in the Holy Underground.

"He didn't say that" went Francis. In a split second, you could see why this guy used to intimidate street thugs back in Buenos Aires. His face turned to molten steel.

"I'm afraid he did, Sir" was all I could say.

"Let us pray" He said.

For what seemed like a dark eternity, we stood in silence. I tried to find shelter singing "The Garden" to myself, while Tom kept on making the worst impression of himself trying to make a "selfie" with the background of the Catacombs.

"This is were we part ways, brothers" finally said the Big Guy. "Trust in God to find a way. As for me, I know what I will say tomorrow!".

 

So finally we went out a rimirar le stelle, like Dante goes. Contrary to my advice, Tom treated himself with a triple dose of code alla vaccinara and passed out, all his blood converging to digestion functions. I barely woke him up in time for Sunday mass.

And that's what happened before the now infamous "Rush Speech" in Rome. How will it go down in History? How will it change the world? How will it affect RushGoober's fate? Now, this is a guy who could piss of THE POPE, for saying it out loud. Whose patience are you gonna try next, Goober? Ghandi? Buddah? Lord Jesus himself? Just one word of advice, Gary: don't pick on Shiva! That guy's got the third eye beam thing. I mean, you're playing with fire there.

 

H. P. L. out (for the moment).

Edited by H. P. L.
  • Like 5
Link to comment
Share on other sites

What a weird weekend this turned out to be.

I was looking for some deserved R&R with the family and ended up springing to Rome on Saturday afternoon to meet Tombsone Mountain (from now on: Tom), all the while, unbeknownst to me, the Vatican engine was working full cylinders.

That's why me and Tom, while on a conference call with Greyfriar, were approached by a white limo, which spawned two big, intimidating men all dressed in white! They looked like FBI agents of the movies, except they were all dressed in white! White jacket, white shoes. Heck, even their sunglasses were WHITE!

Tom, American pragmatism firmly in hand, took it for a tourist scam and was going to dismiss them. I had to take him by the arm and say: "Tom, this is serious".

"Are these what, secret service italian style?"

"In a limo? No way. They could barely afford a 500".

"So who are they, Berlusconi's men?"

"Nope, he would have sent a couple of amazons, and we would already be on rolling on the floor with our testicles in our throats".

"So who ARE they?".

"You wouldn't believe".

Thus saturday afternoon slowly crawled, while we, trapped in the limo, strolled through Rome ancient cobbled streets. Soccer superstar Francesco Totti (ANOTHER Francesco? Is there a design to this?) was downtown, creating a ruckus. But no way could we check the hot girls cruising Trinità dei Monti. We were due to a place where art and history loom, but where "sexy" is not a word well tolerated.

 

That's right: we ended up in the Catacombs of the Vatican, reeking with chilling cold, spiritual enlightenment and the the dust of millennia.

"Oooh, this is so Dan Brown!" giggled Tom. Rome turns everyone into a f*cking tourist. That's the power of the Urbe Aeterna.

"If you value your life, Tom, you're not gonna utter the D.B. word in front of HIM".

"HIM? Are we meeting the band HIM down here?"

"No, not the band HIM. F*cking glam metal. I meant HIM!"

"Yeah, HIM, the guitar player is Tony Iommi's son in law..."

"I know that, you crazy woodcutter from Yukon. But this is Rome, buddy. Think: The Borgias!"

And so, in the dim light, we came to a place where a simple throne of stone had been built. And on that throne, the Big Guy himself. The Pope that walks the walk and talks the talk. "Badass" Francis the First.

"This is the only place we can talk quietly" said Francesco.

The Pope turned out the be all they say about him, and even more.

Citing Beethoven and Mozart as his favourite composers, Big Guy Francesco is also at ease discussing early Sepultura: "Those Cavalera brothers, they always remind me of the Prodigal Son parable! I love Roots, by the way".

Tom had to pick up his jaw from the floor, but we tried to play it cool.

So you're not averse to Neil Peart's famously agnostic lyrics?

"There's a quest in there. If he is trying to find a meaning to life, who am I to judge him?"

What was your take on the Watchmaker charachter in Clockwork Angels?

"Oh, it just goes back to Isaac Newton and Descartes, doesn't it? If there's a watchmaker in the world today is hardly God: it's corporate business. Banks. Companies. They are the watchmaker. That's the way I read CA, which is awesome by the way".

And what do you think of Vapor Trails Remixed?

"It has given me so much strenght. It's their most spiritual album. Truly, it makes my soul soar. When the Remix came out, it was like a gift from God, truly. We've been getting them a lot, lately. Ayreon's new album is another".

And that's when Tom had to play jackass and tell the Pope about Goober's reaction to VTR, and the infamous "polished turd" words surfaced once again in the Holy Underground.

"He didn't say that" went Francis. In a split second, you could see why this guy used to intimidate street thugs back in Buenos Aires. His face turned to molten steel.

"I'm afraid he did, Sir" was all I could say.

"Let us pray" He said.

For what seemed like a dark eternity, we stood in silence. I tried to find shelter singing "The Garden" to myself, while Tom kept on making the worst impression of himself trying to make a "selfie" with the background of the Catacombs.

"This is were we part ways, brothers" finally said the Big Guy. "Trust in God to find a way. As for me, I know what I will say tomorrow!".

 

So finally we went out a rimirar le stelle, like Dante goes. Contrary to my advice, Tom treated himself with a triple dose of code alla vaccinara and passed out, all his blood converging to digestion functions. I barely woke him up in time for Sunday mass.

And that's what happened before the now infamous "Rush Speech" in Rome. How will it go down in History? How will it change the world? How will it affect RushGoober's fate? Now, this is a guy who could piss of THE POPE, for saying it out loud. Whose patience are you gonna try next, Goober? Ghandi? Buddah? Lord Jesus himself? Just one word of advice, Gary: don't pick on Shiva! That guy's got the third eye beam thing. I mean, you're playing with fire there.

 

H. P. L. out (for the moment).

it was interesting to walk in the catacombs. Pretty f'n creepy actually. Apparently most italians are used to walking amongst the dead. There were people shagging, getting high, all kinds of activity down there.
  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

THE THISTLE DEW: Day 10

 

-Jorge was no help

 

 

Dark days have descended on the Dew, folks. I fear Lorraine and I may have to go shopping for pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce.

 

We should never have pinned our hopes on the Pope. Late word came from the Vatican that Jorge had not only refused to come to the aid of Goober, but took the opportunity to denounce him in his Sunday address. Unbeknownst to us, His Holiness is a huge Rush fan, apparently even of Roll the Bones (there's no accounting for taste). I suspected his worst crime may have been impersonating a Rush fan; today my suspicions were confirmed. Not only do we have to worry about his possible extradition to Canada should he miraculously beat the rap in California, but he may also pay for his transgressions for an eternity in the hereafter. . . and he was so proud of his 'Vapor Trolls" moniker.

 

We received a curious communique today from Greyfriar via Western Union (if there can be a Hungry Jack's outside of Australia, Western Union can still be in the telegram business). It was rather confusing and fragmented, but we were able to decipher that he was still feverishly working with the psychologist on Goober's insanity defense, and that his petition drive had garnered no interest at all. It did end rather cryptically: smoke in eyes, f***ing hell. We're still working to interpret that one. It's at least some comfort to know that someone in Europe other than H.P.L. is concerned with Goober's fate.

 

This morning Lakeisha graced us with a visit. She said that she knew someone who had a vast collection of Pez dispensers, and would be willing to part with the sought after "Vapor Trolls" model, for a price. What price? Lorraine would have to give up her precious Michael Jackson action doll. Knowing how much Goober would appreciate such a gewgaw, Lorraine reluctantly packed up Michael and left with Lakeisha. She's been gone all day. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I think she likes spending time with Lakeisha. I don't blame her for wanting to get out of the Dew.

 

I had a taste for smoked emu tonight; fortunately, I was able to find where Tombstone obtains this delicacy. It's a place called Brisbane Bottoms Bar and Grill. They deliver, and imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find little Warwick holding a bag of the bird in question. Not surprisingly, his recollection of our previous meeting was hazy, but he did say that he was working to raise money for airfare back to England. It seems he's fallen on hard times since he's no longer employed by a comedian named Ricky. You meet some strange characters out here.

 

Our lonely, and possibly misguided, quest to free poor little Goober is about to enter it's eleventh day. With no help coming from the heavens, our only hope is the legal wizardry of Mr. Grisham. I think I'll light a stick of incense and play Interstellar Overdrive while I wait for Lorraine to return.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

"Wake me when I should give a shit." -Lost In Xanadu

 

Perhaps the most insightful post made in this thread.

Lorraine. She's gotta be hanging with Norman in the root cellar.
  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

What a weird weekend this turned out to be.

I was looking for some deserved R&R with the family and ended up springing to Rome on Saturday afternoon to meet Tombsone Mountain (from now on: Tom), all the while, unbeknownst to me, the Vatican engine was working full cylinders.

That's why me and Tom, while on a conference call with Greyfriar, were approached by a white limo, which spawned two big, intimidating men all dressed in white! They looked like FBI agents of the movies, except they were all dressed in white! White jacket, white shoes. Heck, even their sunglasses were WHITE!

Tom, American pragmatism firmly in hand, took it for a tourist scam and was going to dismiss them. I had to take him by the arm and say: "Tom, this is serious".

"Are these what, secret service italian style?"

"In a limo? No way. They could barely afford a 500".

"So who are they, Berlusconi's men?"

"Nope, he would have sent a couple of amazons, and we would already be on rolling on the floor with our testicles in our throats".

"So who ARE they?".

"You wouldn't believe".

Thus saturday afternoon slowly crawled, while we, trapped in the limo, strolled through Rome ancient cobbled streets. Soccer superstar Francesco Totti (ANOTHER Francesco? Is there a design to this?) was downtown, creating a ruckus. But no way could we check the hot girls cruising Trinità dei Monti. We were due to a place where art and history loom, but where "sexy" is not a word well tolerated.

 

That's right: we ended up in the Catacombs of the Vatican, reeking with chilling cold, spiritual enlightenment and the the dust of millennia.

"Oooh, this is so Dan Brown!" giggled Tom. Rome turns everyone into a f*cking tourist. That's the power of the Urbe Aeterna.

"If you value your life, Tom, you're not gonna utter the D.B. word in front of HIM".

"HIM? Are we meeting the band HIM down here?"

"No, not the band HIM. F*cking glam metal. I meant HIM!"

"Yeah, HIM, the guitar player is Tony Iommi's son in law..."

"I know that, you crazy woodcutter from Yukon. But this is Rome, buddy. Think: The Borgias!"

And so, in the dim light, we came to a place where a simple throne of stone had been built. And on that throne, the Big Guy himself. The Pope that walks the walk and talks the talk. "Badass" Francis the First.

"This is the only place we can talk quietly" said Francesco.

The Pope turned out the be all they say about him, and even more.

Citing Beethoven and Mozart as his favourite composers, Big Guy Francesco is also at ease discussing early Sepultura: "Those Cavalera brothers, they always remind me of the Prodigal Son parable! I love Roots, by the way".

Tom had to pick up his jaw from the floor, but we tried to play it cool.

So you're not averse to Neil Peart's famously agnostic lyrics?

"There's a quest in there. If he is trying to find a meaning to life, who am I to judge him?"

What was your take on the Watchmaker charachter in Clockwork Angels?

"Oh, it just goes back to Isaac Newton and Descartes, doesn't it? If there's a watchmaker in the world today is hardly God: it's corporate business. Banks. Companies. They are the watchmaker. That's the way I read CA, which is awesome by the way".

And what do you think of Vapor Trails Remixed?

"It has given me so much strenght. It's their most spiritual album. Truly, it makes my soul soar. When the Remix came out, it was like a gift from God, truly. We've been getting them a lot, lately. Ayreon's new album is another".

And that's when Tom had to play jackass and tell the Pope about Goober's reaction to VTR, and the infamous "polished turd" words surfaced once again in the Holy Underground.

"He didn't say that" went Francis. In a split second, you could see why this guy used to intimidate street thugs back in Buenos Aires. His face turned to molten steel.

"I'm afraid he did, Sir" was all I could say.

"Let us pray" He said.

For what seemed like a dark eternity, we stood in silence. I tried to find shelter singing "The Garden" to myself, while Tom kept on making the worst impression of himself trying to make a "selfie" with the background of the Catacombs.

"This is were we part ways, brothers" finally said the Big Guy. "Trust in God to find a way. As for me, I know what I will say tomorrow!".

 

So finally we went out a rimirar le stelle, like Dante goes. Contrary to my advice, Tom treated himself with a triple dose of code alla vaccinara and passed out, all his blood converging to digestion functions. I barely woke him up in time for Sunday mass.

And that's what happened before the now infamous "Rush Speech" in Rome. How will it go down in History? How will it change the world? How will it affect RushGoober's fate? Now, this is a guy who could piss of THE POPE, for saying it out loud. Whose patience are you gonna try next, Goober? Ghandi? Buddah? Lord Jesus himself? Just one word of advice, Gary: don't pick on Shiva! That guy's got the third eye beam thing. I mean, you're playing with fire there.

 

H. P. L. out (for the moment).

It was cool of Francis to show me his Rush bobbleheads
  • Like 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

What a weird weekend this turned out to be.

I was looking for some deserved R&R with the family and ended up springing to Rome on Saturday afternoon to meet Tombsone Mountain (from now on: Tom), all the while, unbeknownst to me, the Vatican engine was working full cylinders.

That's why me and Tom, while on a conference call with Greyfriar, were approached by a white limo, which spawned two big, intimidating men all dressed in white! They looked like FBI agents of the movies, except they were all dressed in white! White jacket, white shoes. Heck, even their sunglasses were WHITE!

Tom, American pragmatism firmly in hand, took it for a tourist scam and was going to dismiss them. I had to take him by the arm and say: "Tom, this is serious".

"Are these what, secret service italian style?"

"In a limo? No way. They could barely afford a 500".

"So who are they, Berlusconi's men?"

"Nope, he would have sent a couple of amazons, and we would already be on rolling on the floor with our testicles in our throats".

"So who ARE they?".

"You wouldn't believe".

Thus saturday afternoon slowly crawled, while we, trapped in the limo, strolled through Rome ancient cobbled streets. Soccer superstar Francesco Totti (ANOTHER Francesco? Is there a design to this?) was downtown, creating a ruckus. But no way could we check the hot girls cruising Trinità dei Monti. We were due to a place where art and history loom, but where "sexy" is not a word well tolerated.

 

That's right: we ended up in the Catacombs of the Vatican, reeking with chilling cold, spiritual enlightenment and the the dust of millennia.

"Oooh, this is so Dan Brown!" giggled Tom. Rome turns everyone into a f*cking tourist. That's the power of the Urbe Aeterna.

"If you value your life, Tom, you're not gonna utter the D.B. word in front of HIM".

"HIM? Are we meeting the band HIM down here?"

"No, not the band HIM. F*cking glam metal. I meant HIM!"

"Yeah, HIM, the guitar player is Tony Iommi's son in law..."

"I know that, you crazy woodcutter from Yukon. But this is Rome, buddy. Think: The Borgias!"

And so, in the dim light, we came to a place where a simple throne of stone had been built. And on that throne, the Big Guy himself. The Pope that walks the walk and talks the talk. "Badass" Francis the First.

"This is the only place we can talk quietly" said Francesco.

The Pope turned out the be all they say about him, and even more.

Citing Beethoven and Mozart as his favourite composers, Big Guy Francesco is also at ease discussing early Sepultura: "Those Cavalera brothers, they always remind me of the Prodigal Son parable! I love Roots, by the way".

Tom had to pick up his jaw from the floor, but we tried to play it cool.

So you're not averse to Neil Peart's famously agnostic lyrics?

"There's a quest in there. If he is trying to find a meaning to life, who am I to judge him?"

What was your take on the Watchmaker charachter in Clockwork Angels?

"Oh, it just goes back to Isaac Newton and Descartes, doesn't it? If there's a watchmaker in the world today is hardly God: it's corporate business. Banks. Companies. They are the watchmaker. That's the way I read CA, which is awesome by the way".

And what do you think of Vapor Trails Remixed?

"It has given me so much strenght. It's their most spiritual album. Truly, it makes my soul soar. When the Remix came out, it was like a gift from God, truly. We've been getting them a lot, lately. Ayreon's new album is another".

And that's when Tom had to play jackass and tell the Pope about Goober's reaction to VTR, and the infamous "polished turd" words surfaced once again in the Holy Underground.

"He didn't say that" went Francis. In a split second, you could see why this guy used to intimidate street thugs back in Buenos Aires. His face turned to molten steel.

"I'm afraid he did, Sir" was all I could say.

"Let us pray" He said.

For what seemed like a dark eternity, we stood in silence. I tried to find shelter singing "The Garden" to myself, while Tom kept on making the worst impression of himself trying to make a "selfie" with the background of the Catacombs.

"This is were we part ways, brothers" finally said the Big Guy. "Trust in God to find a way. As for me, I know what I will say tomorrow!".

 

So finally we went out a rimirar le stelle, like Dante goes. Contrary to my advice, Tom treated himself with a triple dose of code alla vaccinara and passed out, all his blood converging to digestion functions. I barely woke him up in time for Sunday mass.

And that's what happened before the now infamous "Rush Speech" in Rome. How will it go down in History? How will it change the world? How will it affect RushGoober's fate? Now, this is a guy who could piss of THE POPE, for saying it out loud. Whose patience are you gonna try next, Goober? Ghandi? Buddah? Lord Jesus himself? Just one word of advice, Gary: don't pick on Shiva! That guy's got the third eye beam thing. I mean, you're playing with fire there.

 

H. P. L. out (for the moment).

Robert Langdon dreams of this kind of access to the Vatican
  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

THE THISTLE DEW: Day 10

 

-Jorge was no help

 

 

Dark days have descended on the Dew, folks. I fear Lorraine and I may have to go shopping for pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce.

 

We should never have pinned our hopes on the Pope. Late word came from the Vatican that Jorge had not only refused to come to the aid of Goober, but took the opportunity to denounce him in his Sunday address. Unbeknownst to us, His Holiness is a huge Rush fan, apparently even of Roll the Bones (there's no accounting for taste). I suspected his worst crime may have been impersonating a Rush fan; today my suspicions were confirmed. Not only do we have to worry about his possible extradition to Canada should he miraculously beat the rap in California, but he may also pay for his transgressions for an eternity in the hereafter. . . and he was so proud of his 'Vapor Trolls" moniker.

 

We received a curious communique today from Greyfriar via Western Union (if there can be a Hungry Jack's outside of Australia, Western Union can still be in the telegram business). It was rather confusing and fragmented, but we were able to decipher that he was still feverishly working with the psychologist on Goober's insanity defense, and that his petition drive had garnered no interest at all. It did end rather cryptically: smoke in eyes, f***ing hell. We're still working to interpret that one. It's at least some comfort to know that someone in Europe other than H.P.L. is concerned with Goober's fate.

 

This morning Lakeisha graced us with a visit. She said that she knew someone who had a vast collection of Pez dispensers, and would be willing to part with the sought after "Vapor Trolls" model, for a price. What price? Lorraine would have to give up her precious Michael Jackson action doll. Knowing how much Goober would appreciate such a gewgaw, Lorraine reluctantly packed up Michael and left with Lakeisha. She's been gone all day. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I think she likes spending time with Lakeisha. I don't blame her for wanting to get out of the Dew.

 

I had a taste for smoked emu tonight; fortunately, I was able to find where Tombstone obtains this delicacy. It's a place called Brisbane Bottoms Bar and Grill. They deliver, and imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find little Warwick holding a bag of the bird in question. Not surprisingly, his recollection of our previous meeting was hazy, but he did say that he was working to raise money for airfare back to England. It seems he's fallen on hard times since he's no longer employed by a comedian named Ricky. You meet some strange characters out here.

 

Our lonely, and possibly misguided, quest to free poor little Goober is about to enter it's eleventh day. With no help coming from the heavens, our only hope is the legal wizardry of Mr. Grisham. I think I'll light a stick of incense and play Interstellar Overdrive while I wait for Lorraine to return.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

"Wake me when I should give a shit." -Lost In Xanadu

 

Perhaps the most insightful post made in this thread.

Another stellar effort despite your circumstances. Hold on tight, every little thing gonna be alright.

 

I'm afraid Lorraine hooked up with Norman and Kato...bet she's having the time of her life. I aarived at the Thistle Dew only to find a note in the shower stating you went to buy some chocolate syrup. Cool, I'll just peruse Lorraine's luggage and she how she likes to travel. I keep hearing this vibrating noise and I can't seem to isolate its location

  • Like 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

THE THISTLE DEW: Day 10

 

-Jorge was no help

 

 

Dark days have descended on the Dew, folks. I fear Lorraine and I may have to go shopping for pumpkin pie and cranberry sauce.

 

We should never have pinned our hopes on the Pope. Late word came from the Vatican that Jorge had not only refused to come to the aid of Goober, but took the opportunity to denounce him in his Sunday address. Unbeknownst to us, His Holiness is a huge Rush fan, apparently even of Roll the Bones (there's no accounting for taste). I suspected his worst crime may have been impersonating a Rush fan; today my suspicions were confirmed. Not only do we have to worry about his possible extradition to Canada should he miraculously beat the rap in California, but he may also pay for his transgressions for an eternity in the hereafter. . . and he was so proud of his 'Vapor Trolls" moniker.

 

We received a curious communique today from Greyfriar via Western Union (if there can be a Hungry Jack's outside of Australia, Western Union can still be in the telegram business). It was rather confusing and fragmented, but we were able to decipher that he was still feverishly working with the psychologist on Goober's insanity defense, and that his petition drive had garnered no interest at all. It did end rather cryptically: smoke in eyes, f***ing hell. We're still working to interpret that one. It's at least some comfort to know that someone in Europe other than H.P.L. is concerned with Goober's fate.

 

This morning Lakeisha graced us with a visit. She said that she knew someone who had a vast collection of Pez dispensers, and would be willing to part with the sought after "Vapor Trolls" model, for a price. What price? Lorraine would have to give up her precious Michael Jackson action doll. Knowing how much Goober would appreciate such a gewgaw, Lorraine reluctantly packed up Michael and left with Lakeisha. She's been gone all day. Despite her protestations to the contrary, I think she likes spending time with Lakeisha. I don't blame her for wanting to get out of the Dew.

 

I had a taste for smoked emu tonight; fortunately, I was able to find where Tombstone obtains this delicacy. It's a place called Brisbane Bottoms Bar and Grill. They deliver, and imagine my surprise when I opened the door to find little Warwick holding a bag of the bird in question. Not surprisingly, his recollection of our previous meeting was hazy, but he did say that he was working to raise money for airfare back to England. It seems he's fallen on hard times since he's no longer employed by a comedian named Ricky. You meet some strange characters out here.

 

Our lonely, and possibly misguided, quest to free poor little Goober is about to enter it's eleventh day. With no help coming from the heavens, our only hope is the legal wizardry of Mr. Grisham. I think I'll light a stick of incense and play Interstellar Overdrive while I wait for Lorraine to return.

 

 

 

* * * *

 

"Wake me when I should give a shit." -Lost In Xanadu

 

Perhaps the most insightful post made in this thread.

 

Your ability to always see the bright side never ceases to amaze me, Orson!

  • Like 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

November 25, 2013: Electric Kool-Aid Acid Stomach Edition

 

http://www.digitaloperative.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/KoolAidMan_Fullpic_2.png

 

Several stories have broken in just the last couple of days regarding the Rushgoober scandal that has reached as far as Neverland Ranch and The Vatican. We now have confirmed video brought to us by a cult follower who claims to have ingested a Jesus Juice-like Kool-Aid mixture containing Holy Water and bathtub gin:

 

 

As you can see, the playing of Rush’s Vapor Trails album was necessary to induce vomiting in this case. The anonymous source says that other drastic methods used to remove said Kool-Aid mixture included massive doses of Dirxst fan fiction and some demo CD’s from a bad Rush tribute band called Hurry Yourself.

 

“We needed to take the most extreme measures we could think of.” Said the cult member. “Rushgoober doesn’t know we’re alive, so don’t post this online because he might be lurking.”

 

The source also claims that Rushgoober tried to win back favor from The Pope by imitating St. Francis of Assisi and removing all of his clothing in front of him to show his sense of austerity. The Pope could not be reached for comment, as his aides have told us that he’s currently holed up and saying The Rosary repeatedly.

Edited by ThatLightInYourEyes
  • Like 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
 Share

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    • No registered users viewing this page.
×
×
  • Create New...