Dawn of the Eventide

 Greetings! To mark the rebirth of this Blog, I bring you Brand new writings from my Fevered Brain!

Note before we start: 

Funky Monkey (me) speaks in GREEN.

Sursum Ursa (Awesome person you probably already follow) speaks in BLUE.

Happy Viking (Metal Dude you should be following) speaks in RED.

Our villain (Ze Maven of ze Eventide) speaks in PURPLE.

So without further ado, I present: Dawn of the Eventide! (Chapter 1)

An ordinary day, at the World-famous House of Love, headquarters of the Heroic Legion of Positive Reviewers. Sursum Ursa and her cats (twin black Tigers) John & Sherlock are out in the back garden, enjoying the sun. Funky Monkey is down in the Training room, taking target practice (gotta keep them twin gun skills sharp) and Happy Viking is Jamming in the Great hall, blowing out a Maxi-stack of amps with the latest Metal craze.

Like I said, an ordinary day. What is not so Ordinary are the dark stormclouds rolling across the horizon, like the beating of a thousand pairs of wings. An army of bats, enough to block out the sun.

Thus begins a tale of invasion!

“Oh man, Again?”

Yes, again. Look, I know. But this time there's vampires!

“Vampires? Sweet. Nothin' better'n crushin' a few suckheads of an afternoon. Plus we got one o' the almighty's own on the roster, makes for a hell of a ride! Tell your tale, O scribe of legend! And omit not the mighty Hammer of the Happy Viking!”

Okay...

So, it was another seemingly ordinary day, when a thousand bats flew from the eastern coasts, to bring pain and panic unto the Legionnaires. Their Mistress, the until-that-time-decidedly-nonchalant Maven of the Eventide, had tired of the constant attacks against the Nostalgia Chick, a close Personal friend, at least in a previous life. To this end, she had sent this wave of her messengers to blot out the sun, and facilitate her conveyance.

It was unfortunate then, that none were in the Briefing room to see this. Of course, what with Ursa being outside and playing with her cats, she was the first to notice. She glanced up at the sky. “Weird,” she commented, “the forecast didn't say anything about... Bats?” Surmising that something was wrong, Ursa presently made her way to the Briefing room.

“Main screen!” the Mainscreen flickered into life, showing a view from above. There was no mistaking it, a Thousand bats were hovering in unison about the House of Love. This was not good.

Thinking quickly, Ursa hit the silent alarm. In the Training room and the Great Hall, the others immediately got the signal, and made their way to the briefing room.

Funky was first to arrive of the two. “So what's the situation?”

“We seem to have a Bat infestation.”

“I told you, I'll clean out my Batman back issues when the pile reaches the line.”

Ursa snerked. "Not what I meant. Take a look at the mainscreen."

Funky glanced toward the screen. “Yup, they're bats alright. So, what's to do?”

“About what exactly?” Viking always liked to make a grand entrance.

“We appear to have a bat infestation, Mister Happy Viking.”

“Dude, you forget to clear out your Batman comics again?”

Ursa rolled her eyes. “One would think you'd tire of that joke.”

“You been bitin' my material again, Funkster?”

“Just direct your attention to the Main Screen, Mr Viking.”

Viking looked over the screeching cloud, as it edged past Camera 107, the western tip of the complex. The view automatically switched to Camera 448, The Overground mansion.

“Bats, man. Bats mean either trouble, or Vampires.”

“Vampires?”

“Damn suckheads were all over back in 1886. And boy howdy do they love the Frozen North!”

“None of which, I fear, has anything to do with our current predic-”

Ursa was abruptly cut off when the Main screen inexplicably flickered and flashed to a familiar image, That of the Maven of the Eventide...

“Zo, you sink to sprread lies and half-truce about my dear friend, ze Nosssss.... Talgia Chick, eh? Ve shall jussst Ssee about Zat!”

“And just what in the name of that little blue box that is bigger on the inside do you mean by THAT, Madame Maven? Why, I'm quite certain that none of us have ever-”

“Actually...” Funky admitted, Sheepishly.

“Tell me you haven't...” Viking shot him a glance that almost screamed “You DENSE MotherF**ker!”

“Sorry guys...”

“Well Frak,” Ursa cursed under her breath. “Oh, dash it all, let's just deal with this. John! Sherlock! Yip Yip!”

With that, the Twin tiger forms swirled and coiled, becoming Twin Armoured Bracers for Sursum Ursa. “By thunder, let's do some damage to this godless suckpuppy!”

End of Chapter 1.

Because Poetry is Awesome.

“So What *About* Me?” By Simon J Broome.

“So what about me?”
I’m British, y’see.
And Born and raised male,
Still living off parents at 32. Fail!

Hiding behind a shield of Fears,
It’s served me well for 20-odd years.
What’s a Funkyman to do?
“This world was not meant for one such as you…”

Do I want a job?
Do I want love?
Do I want to bond to the heavens above?

Terribly sorry, I only know me.
But part of my pain is in Kyriarchy.
Disdain for the world, sown from school.
5 years of hell, because I couldn’t play it cool.

And then there was IT.
the Terrible tale of a singular shit,
Whose life I would gladly end.
Or the nerve of the Scar-maker that though to call me “Friend”.

Grudges and bitterness colour my view,
If you have problems, then I feel for you.
Though my prosaic inelegance doth show,
If e’er you met me, a Gentleman you would know.

So what *about* me?
What quality to see?
I’ll do what I must,
And protest I’m not controlled by lust.

Since I’m called away to lunch,
I’ll eschew the traditional punch,
and End by simply stating,
Much as I can…
“I AM A MAN!!!”

Crossposted from my comment at NSWATM, a fine masculism Blog.

Po-faced lefties

I have an elder brother (by 3 years, ask no further), and on saturdays, we go to the local mall's food court and have lunch. Oftentimes I try to explain to him my view of a better world, and occasionally on one point or another, I get through.

More often than not though, the fact that there's a word for a specific behaviour or idea is met with the criticism of it having been created by "Po-faced pseudo-intellectuals". This infuriates me.

What madness is it to brand every new Idea an invention of "Po-faced Pseudo-intellectualism?" This is why I hate the anti-intellectualism of these times. I'm not looking down my nose at anyone in particular (well, maybe a few hate-filled Daily Mail columnists, but that's allowed) just because I have a word for the feeling you get when someone makes a homophobic/femmephobic joke in your presence. (mostly I just call it awkwardness and move on)

I entirely despise the role of Hypermasculinity in the modern world. Yes, HYPERmasculinity. Ordinary masculinity, be strong, don't go to pieces over the slightest thing, shed a few tears for the fallen, generally go around and be approachable, exchange a few words about the local sports team (usually Football for me), that's fine. I suppose it's a kind of central European masculinity.

Now, HYPERmasculinity, be THE STRONGEST, don't go to pieces over ANYTHING, shed NO tears for the fallen, generally go around AND DESTROY ALL WHO DISRESPECT YOU, DEFINE YOUR EXISTENCE about the local sports team, that I can't be doing with. It's a very American form of Masculinity, though I suppose the next few generations will oppose it.

I want to know, what's wrong with being weak? The strong will crush you? In the days when the whole world is watching, any move they make will be seen by millions, maybe billions across the globe. And if it is just one man, who would damn the consequences and plough through, he will meet the resistance of a thousand or more, and then all his rage and power will be for naught, as he is contained and left to stew. And nobody is strong enough to stand against what's right.

But this isn't about that.

This is about how Leftyism isn't "Po-faced". I don't think for a microsecond that this planet is doomed. I want everyone to be happy (well maybe not everyone, see my "Hey You" post), to live in a world without discrimination, even against the majority. I want a world of quiet clean cars (maybe even ones that fly, but that's another post), of quiet clean trains, of quiet clean everything.

I believe we can get there.

So why do you think I'm po-faced? Because maybe you're not as funny as you think you are. It's like, once you start noticing discrimination and bias against things, you can't unsee it. It's everywhere. In every facet of our daily lives. I don't laugh at your joke about the blind lesbian in the fish market, because it's ableist and homophobic. Don't think for a second that I have no sense of humour. I know funny. And it doesn't rely on your outdated stereotypes.

I can laugh, I can smile, I'm not entirely serious. I love fantasy and explosions as much as anyone, more than most in my own case! Just don't take me for a "pseudo-intellectual" because I can shorten a rambling description down into a single word. Conservation of Ninjitsu, folks. I haz it.

Hey you!

Hey!

Hey you!

Yes, you. No, not the stranger on the corner. No, not the dude with the bible. No man, not the woman with the blonde hair in the cute hat with ears. I'm talking to YOU.

Do you know who you are? You're the guy that fucked over my mind. You're the guy who mocked me in school. You're the asshole who's responsible for my view of all your kind. And you know what? I'm not okay with that.

You think I want an apology? I wouldn't accept it, even if I thought you were sincere.

You think I want blood? I'd just end up as another crazy serial killer, or the subject of some TV real-life drama.

You think I want to destroy you utterly, because I'm jealous that you made it, and I didn't? How did you make it? How's that millionaire thing comin' along, sport? Oh right, YOU'RE NOT A MILLIONAIRE. You're just as much of a screw-up as I am. Maybe more of one. I'm not jealous because you grew up and I didn't. I'm not jealous because you're waist-deep in the varying grotesqueries of this world, and I'm not. I'm not even jealous that your job brings you money. After all the bills, I'm surprised you have any left!

So what do I want? Why am I writing you, this anonymous gestalt of all my secondary-school tormentors, an open letter on the internet? Because it's been 20 years. 20 years ago, my first term of secondary school was just about up. And I learned the harsh lesson that I know to this day. People suck. And you taught me that. You taught me that the vast majority of this planet isn't fit to lick the dirt from my shoes, though they think precisely the opposite.

You taught me that there is no intrinsic value in trying to gain friendships, because I'll always be betrayed.

You taught me, that knowing words, and having feelings, and being who I am, is a waste of time. You taught me that the gays are reprehensible, and football is king, and that cars are all there is.

You taught me that my voice is stupid, and that my mannerisms are comical

You taught me that all my coping mechanisms were fodder for your amusement.

I'd say Fuck you, but that Isn't strong enough. Hell, I'd TAKE the blood, but it'd never be enough. And when you, my gestalt secondary-school adversary, were gone, what would stop me from going after the trolls of the internet that taught me that I can't escape dickishness? And from there, anyone who'd ever shouted at me in the street? Anyone who looked at me strangely? Anyone who WASN'T ME? No, If I start down that road, I'll never stop.

So take a look. I have a heapin' helpin' of forgiveness on this table right here. But this is as close as you're ever going to get to it. Because I'm paying it forward. Instead of wasting my forgiveness on you, who'd do it all over again in a heartbeat, I'm giving my forgiveness to teenagers who ended up outside school.

So enjoy your life: Screaming kids, demanding boss, nagging wife. I wish you a long and prosperous working career. I got off lightly. You're gonna suffer way more than I ever did.

A rambling rant about nothing...

*blows dust off of blog*


Now then. I've got something to say. No doubt you've heard of This happening that happened.


Not being an American myself, I can't say that this is a typical or an Atypical thing, but I DO know that whatever went down at Occupy LA/Wall St./City of London/WHERETHEFLYINGFUDGEVER was NON-VIOLENT.


I don't know much about much. I don't know why I got banned at NSWATM, a masculist blog that I found, but that's a whole different rant. I don't know why it's so hard to find work that won't send me insane, or subject me to the worst excesses of human grotesquery. I don't know why so many rich unscrupulous bastards, WHO THE GENERAL PUBLIC OUTNUMBER BY MILLIONS TO ONE, are screwing over the planet for a quick million or two. It's an absolute bloody disgrace. It is! I don't even know why America's Republicans are so damnably shonky and stupid. Because they are, don't deny it.


But why should I care, eh? I'm not an American. I'm not from the Good ol' US of A, Land of the Free, greatest country in the world, I'm just some limey, with my bad teeth and grating Mockney accent!


Yeah, NO.


Look, like I said, I don't pretend to be a great reserve of knowing the way the world works. I'm a terrible firebrand lefty. I'd blow all the buggers up and let God (or whoever) sort 'em out. What I know for sure is that something, Dear pineapples and lychees Something, is not right. A very small minority of very rich people, a kind of new aristocracy that created a web of finances and investments that may actually be inherently flawed for all we know, is semi-secretly running things. This isn't just some paranoid fantasy, there's no "Collusion with shape-shifting reptiloids", "grey aliens with black tar cancer" or other such implied machiavellianism. It's just a bunch of very rich old white men (or Middle-aged at the youngest), whose greed and stupidity created a hole that shouldn't have been there. And now a lot of people are very angry at them, and they don't know what they did.


But we know.


They might actually be financially psychopathic, or they just lack human empathy. Either way, their money infects politics, which means the rest of us poor buggers in the trenches (and we are in the trenches now) don't give a Rodent's hindquarters about politics.


But we should.


And if we can't take TO the streets, should we TAKE the streets? Should we work within the system, bring it down from inside? Power corrupts, operatives go dark, operatives go native...


Sorry, I have a Barbarian mentality. If there's badfolk needs smashing, then pick up the biggest axe/sword/battlehammer you can find and bust some heads. But this is the civilised world, and that don't work.


Or does it?


Maybe if that's all there is left for us. The problem is that these rich badfolk have BILLIONS between 'em, maybe even Trillions. Is there anyone out there that can resist that kind of money? Could we ever get a fair trial for the frauds that some of 'em have committed? Would they get off scot-free and do it again?


Or do we cross the Moral Event Horizon and subject them to the ultimate punishment?


I don't suggest we go around euthanising anyone who ever worked in a bank. As with the Occupy Movement, and all that associated... associatedness, 99% of people who work in banks are honest as the day is long. And I don't lightly suggest capping Bankers. Not their Bonuses, but they themselves. But they are SO rich, and quite possibly provably immoral, there's only 2 options. Lock 'em up and throw away the key, or let 'em argue fiscal policy with a Bullet.


 I'm not saying it's right, or even sane, but what else can we do with someone whose sole skill is with an ethereal system? They've gutted first-world Manufacturing for daring to want to treat workers like human beings, and when the next lot decide they want human rights, will they move production to Africa? And when Africans want Human rights, where then?


All I know is that Something is rotten in the world outside our windows, because of bad decisions by greedy old men. And they need to be held responsible for their actions, and suitably punished. I don't know what that punishment is, but I do know that it needs to happen. And they can't be allowed to call "Screw The Rules, I Have Money" either. And they'll try. But if we let them get away with it, they'll do it again.


And we can't afford that.

The History of Turrican (Omnibus Edition post)

Goodness, it's been a while since I posted here!

Oh well, I have something to show you. I've been working on the History of Turrican, because nobody else has. And I think that it needs to be chronicled.

Jump Break!

On Abortion (Caution: Swears!)

Y'know what? I'm tired of *BOTH* sides using Ad Hominem and emotivity on Abortion.

So, I'm gonna break it down for ya.

Pro-choicers: "IT'S A WOMAN'S RIGHT TO CHOOSE! WOMEN DON'T OWN THEIR OWN BODIES! BAWWWW!!!"

So you got knocked up, and Baby-daddy's all "F**k this noise", and he ups and goes bye-bye. Well grow some damn Eggs, Drop the Sprog, find the b*st**d and wring him dry because he couldn't be bothered to stick a condom on it. Or did your pill fail? Either way, Double the Contraception, improve the chances of not getting pregnant.

Pro-Lifers:"GOD HATES ABORTION! ABORTION IS MURDER!!! MURRR DURRR HURRR DURRR!!!"

Get a f**king life. Sure, Abortion is the termination of an innocent life. But then again, think on this.

Ain't cows innocent?
Chickens?
Sheep?
Pigs?
How 'bout Ostriches/Emus?

Yeah, "Food" animals. They're innocent. Ya don't see them killing each other, rolling around in tanks, settin' up makeshift bombs in the cattleshed. And you eat their flesh. Way to go, Hannibal Lecter! You don't have a leg to stand on. So either go veggie, or clam the hell up.

As for me? Well, I think it shouldn't get to a point where abortion needs to come into the picture in the first place. More and better sex ed, More contraception, and let's lose the "No sex please, We're British" attitude.

Think of it like this:
Less teen pregnancy = Less wayward chavs.
Less wayward chavs = better Britain.
Better Britain = Profit!

(this space to clear your mental palate for the next part of the blog)

Also, today was my 30th Birthday. Not bad eh? Considering I never thought I'd make it to 20, I'm doing pretty good to get this far. Then again, I still don't expect to reach 40.

Oh well. Here's to me! Cheers! :)