Thursday, June 26, 2008


It was early morning when the whining of tiny wings woke me. They were invisible, somewhere in the vicinity of my ears but because of my cursed cataracts, or perhaps simply the dim light of dawn, I couldn't glimpse them. Despite my lethargic attempts at swiping them away the sound stayed constant.

It was a few seconds later that I realised the fuzziness of my vision wasn't clearing, and a short while after that I realised it was in fact midday, not dawn, and that I was somewhere in the jungle.

The jungle, fantastic.

At least Galen had been considerate enough to drape a thin mosquito net over me before running off to god knows where - although in a few hours, I would know where. Here in the heat of central Africa the mosquitoes were perhaps the least of my worries, but it would be unfortunate to have to add some new disease to my repertory, and so while I tried to shake the last of the sedatives off, I was careful not to move enough to shake the net away.
Secobarbital is useful in treating insomnia - and a tasty addition to martinis I now know, but the side-effects I would probably be feeling that afternoon were not pleasant, and I would only be around to experience that if I was lucky enough to make it to some water before then.

Eventually I rolled over and was able to stand - albeit slowly - and the mosquito net finally fell unceremoniously to the forest floor. With a squint, I then noticed the dark liquid smeared on the fabric. Attractant. Thankfully it had rained in the early hours (as my socks attested), and the scent had obviously failed to bring an audience. Still, a quaint thought. My vision still hazy and the balance not quite it's best, it was time for some deep breaths and a strain to listen for anything remotely recognizable; cars, voices, water. Much to my chagrin there was nothing except the rustle of the canopy in the warm midday breeze... and apparently some creatures somewhere being tortured if their screeching was anything to go by.

I hate the jungle.

The forest floor was littered with leaves and organic detritus, which obscured most of the soft soil beneath and devoured my feet with each movement, and yet there through the clutter I noticed slight impressions. They soon proved to be footsteps. At least there was an indication now of where Galen had come and gone..
With the loping hobble of a wounded hyena, I followed them slowly into the surrounding forest, however not a couple of steps later my mistake became clear, and it was an about-face to begin walking in the opposite direction. Sure enough the real set of footprints that Galen had failed to hide soon appeared. Inwardly my grin was wide, Galen was as predictable as so many cheap paperback novels.

Within an hour my vision had improved noticeably, and by chance a small stream then appeared from which I drank and filled my canteen, and then pressed on. Never think you are better than the jungle. Anyone foolish enough to stumble around this mass of glorified protein strings with no direction is bound to meet suitable demise. I had lost the footsteps that ran along the floor a while back, but looking for a way out was not my main priority now, instead I was looking for a gap in the canopy. Blythe would be found soon enough, but calling for assistance came before any of that. Soon a hole large enough for a decent signal came into view, and reaching for my ankle I retrieved a small GPS locator. Extending the oversized antenna and switching it on, the wait began for the small green LED to blink in readiness.
Orange. Orange. Orange. Green. Excellent, it was time to exit this screeching, damp, virescent hell. This had been an amusing diversion, but Galen had once again failed to appreciate and foresee my-


The locater suddenly flicked off, and as my eyes narrowed in confusion the device suddenly grew hot in my hand, much hotter than it should have been. I tossed it into the underbrush just in time to see it burst into flame and the batteries explode out the metallic backing with a sharp and deafening pop.

That explained the soldering gun.

With a sigh and a glance at the fading daylight, I traipsed back into the jungle to renew my search for the first set of footprints, bowing for a moment to expel the water I had just imbibed thanks once again to the secobarbital. His turn had been amusing, but his mistake as usual was trusting his own ingenuity and not being strong enough to get his hands dirty. My turn would come next, and would not be fraught simply with ways to slow him down.
Finally finding the trail, it became clear that I hadn't lost it due to carelessness, it ended quite suddenly, and what I had missed the first time was a small wooden box sitting in the dirt after the final print. I bent to pick it up and cautiously opened the weathered lid, readying myself for a jet of some corrosive liquid or some kind of diminutive poisonous forest inhabitant to leap free. Instead, out tumbled a small, inflatable travel pillow.
Under my breath, I cursed Galen Blythe.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

iWitches, Tiki Parties, and The Happening

Well! Let me simply begin by saying that every performer in Cirque Du Soleil is an iWitch. Seriously, no human should have the abilities these people possess, I don't care how much you practice. Tonight Tim McK, Troy and myself had the pleasure of attending Corteo, and true to my preconceptions it blew me away. I had seen Saltimbanco years ago, and... well let's just say these people know how to put on a freaking amazing show. Anyone that's even considering going to see a 'Cirque' production, stop considering and buy the darn tickets. (A brief recommendation, don't sit right at the front, the tix are expensive and you get a better view of the production from half-way back.)

Anyway speaking of funness, Friday night saw the second annual Tiki Party take place at my pad (yes, it's an annual thing ;) ). It went really well, a great crowd of peeps turned up and there will be pictures. We even had sunlight that evening... I know! Oh and no people were harmed during the routine sacrifices.

Finally, if you're considering of going to see 'The Happening', you may also want to think about a molotov cocktail, some tap-shoes and a bottle of vicodin. The molotov is for throwing at the cinema screen, the tap-shoes are for dancing in the fiery hell-storm you subsequently create, and the vicodin is to stop the pain in your head after sitting through more than eleven seconds of the film... and the burns.
Yes, it's that bad. It's worse than seeing Oprah in real life..

... without makeup.

Not only did the plot make very little sense, it was painful because what could have been a good idea (plants developing a compound that kills humans as a defense mechanism for us abusing the planet) was just terribly, horribly executed. Tim even went so far as to re-dub M. Night Shaymalan 'M. Night Shamble-plan'. You know it's got to be bad when Tim renames someone.

Anyway that's all I have this week, something small and multi-faceted to let you know what's going on. I left a gap in between posts to keep you all on the edge of your seats too. (Yes - that's why..)
Peace, love and half-baked cookies to all!

Jimzip :D

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