The Sport of MEATBALL, Chuck

MEATBALL is to be played with 1 sphere of raw red meat, with the sphere’s radius coming as close as possible to 7 Spaniards’ inches without reaching or exceeding said 7 Spaniards’ inches. Raw red meat sphere should be as close to perfectly balanced as possible without being perfectly balanced. Raw red meat sphere should contain the flesh of as many different species as possible without exceeding too many, not including insect species or made-up species. Raw red meat should be ground, Chuck. Area of play is to be an unnatural pit with a minimum diameter of 35 Spaniards’ inches. Maximum diameter must not exceed span of the contiguous 48 states of the Union. Natural sinkholes are not to be used as pits of play, and the Transnational Executive Commission of Sport of MEATBALL Commissioned Executives Spanning the Nation does not condone the use of unsanctioned natural pit formations for the conduct of the Sport of MEATBALL’s execution.

The conduct of the Sport of MEATBALL is as follows:

  • The game is to be played by 7 teams.
  • Possible winning combinations of teams include not less than 1 and not more than less than 3.
  • The number of players on each team shall be between 5 and 7 but shall not be precisely 5 nor shall not be precisely 7.
  • Game begins as Meatball is tossed vertically into pit of playfield. First team or teams to gain possession of Meatball are to take a number of not to be non-standard bites equal to the proportion of an inverse relationship between the bites taken and the bites not taken by the teams currently in place to take possession after possession is given freely to them. End of Round 1, Chuck.
  • The total weight of players is to be measured. Measurements are to take place at the beginning and end of each round and periodically through each round and throughout each round.
  • Begins Round 2 Beginning Ceremony and Feast, followed by Round 2 Beginining. Wild dogs are released, Chuck. Total number of wild dogs to be determined on a game-by-game basis as laid out by the Number of Wild Dogs Subcomittee and Special Executive Committee of Wild Dog Number Determinations. Upon the vanquishment of final player by wild doggery, winning team or teams is or are determined by total time spent standing and or exclusive or by total raw red Meatball meat weight gain. Dog meat weight and or uniform meat weight gain not included in victory condition but added to total overweight time.

The Sport of MEATBALL Etiquette (SportoMeatibequette) is as follows: Played correctly and thoroughly, game should consist of oozing and sliming, as well as boozing and grinding. All men, women, and children can and should play. The sport shall be played only. Muscles should begin oozing various plasmoids about a third of the way into the match, and should continue through all sets and games. The bigger the muscle, the more purple and green the ooze can and should be. In order to more thoroughly enjoy the Sport of MEATBALL all participants shall ensure that oozing is a hindrance to enjoyment.

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On Location Reporting: The North American Hypernormal and Pararegular Fair

The North American Hypernormal and Pararegular Fair is put on every total-eclipse-of-the-sun for the five days leading up to the eclipse and the day of the eclipse. It is a time when the enthusiasts of the hypernormal and pararegular communities come together to celebrate the blotting out of the bright spot in the sky called the “Sun” by the Frisbee-of-cheese-like spot in the sky called the “Moon.”

This is a tradition that dates back to the European total solar eclipse in 1961, when the two communities decided to set aside their differences and come together to form a stronger coalition against the paranormal community.

At that time it had become clear that the so-called paranormal community would completely shadow both the hypernormal and pararegular communities. It was causing the few who do hear of the communities to instantly form misconceptions, which was perhaps the worst part of all.

“We just want everyone to know how normal we are,” said two young women named Jessica, amongst attenders on the first day of the fair. They wore identical “hypernormal” tea-shirts, tight pony tails, pink laced sneakers, and gray sweat-pant-legging-things.
“You could almost be identical twins!” I told them.
“Identical twins would be more pararegular actually, we just look a lot alike because we’re both so normal.”
“Okay. So, this is something we’re all a bit confused about that we’d like to get straightened out here today. Do you believe in ghosts, Jessicas?”
“Well,” they started, taking turns with each sentence in voices so identical I could not tell which sentence came from which person. “That is often a tricky question, but by most polls it is actually true that it is normal to believe in the existence of some kind of afterlife spirits, but to be honest we don’t believe in anything more specific than that.”
“Okay, so have you seen a ghost?” I asked curiously.
“Oh, heavens no!” Jessicas said. “That would be unbearably unusual.”
I finally noticed a difference in their appearance and said, “honestly, the only way I can tell you apart is that she has a  freckle on her temple,” gesturing to the young lady on my left.

As she began to blush Jessica hugged her, covering her face, and turned her head to me to say “you don’t have to point out her abnormal quality! Do you want me to start telling you everything that is abnormal about you!?”

Jessicas

In another section of the fair, on the evening of the first night, I enjoyed a meal with Rond, the proprietor of the pararegular half of the fair.
“[The worst part] of all this is that since paranormal basically means totally not normal, everyone assumes that pararegular means totally not normal, but we’re not using the para prefix in that way. We’re more like what a paramedic is to a medic or a paratrooper is to a trooper.”
“So you just try to be regular before everyone else gets there?”
“Yeah that’s a really good way to think about it. For instance, my parents were also believers in the pararegular. They believed the name Ron and Ronda would merge into the unisex name Rond, and so that is where my name came from.”
“So you’re basically trend setters?”
“God dammit!” To make a long story short here, Rond was hoping for a “soy sauce burger” and the McDonald’s we were at had not complied, saying they “wouldn’t do such a thing.” “My apologies. What were you asking?”

You know how it feels super awkward to say the same sentence twice with the exact same phrasing even though the other person doesn’t remember or didn’t hear you the first time? Well that was one of those situations for me, and so I apologize, but I did change the phrasing of this question in a way that perhaps turned out more offensive than the carefully chosen original question.
“Would you say you’re trend setters then?”
“God dammit!” Rond looked at me furiously. “How could you even suggest that I would say such a thing! I will say no such thing just so you can get a little sound byte!”
“No, no, you misunderstand me…” but Rond had already left the table and headed across the street to a Chinese restaurant, presumably for soy sauce.

I finally got my question answered on the second day when I met Rond again by chance.
“Rond!” I shouted across the crowd, waving. “If you’re not a trend setter what are you!?”
Rond looked puzzled at first, but then came over and said, “Oh, are you honestly trying to figure out what we are about? Sorry, since it seems like inevitably human society will degenerate into perpetual gotcha journalism, I sometimes forget that is not already the case. Errr…what was your question again?”
Carefully choosing my wording this time, I said “if you are not a trend setter, what are you?”
“Oh! The difference is that we don’t try to ‘set’ anything, we are just following the trends of the future! We try to predict what is coming and we live as the first ones in that new regular.”
“Aren’t you worried that you might mispredict the future and accidentally set a trend that shouldn’t have happened otherwise?”
“Not at all, we are nowhere near popular enough for that to ever happen.”

Not a trend setter

So that just left me with one question, which I had answered on the day before the eclipse started. At a panel titled “Dealing With Paranormal Enthusiasts Directly,” I cut to the front of a line to ask my question.

“Hi everyone, I am Allen, as in the Allen from the Wilderness of Mirrors Blog,” at which point everyone in attendance got up and cheered with thunderous applause for what seemed like a minute and twelve seconds. One panelist said “may I just say, that even though I don’t like much of your content, because everything you say on your blog is very abnormal, your blog is still so popular that liking your blog is one of the most normal things a person can do. It is so fantastic…besides for all the content.” Another replied, “well this is where we of course differ. I don’t care for the blog, but the content, especially the content brought back from the future, is so valuable that I absolutely love your content, despite the current popularity of your blog. Anyways, Allen, please continue.”
“I am just trying to figure out what any of this has to do with a solar eclipse. I have to fit it into a single blog post you know, and so far I’ve wrapped up all the other threads but I don’t see a way to wrap up that one yet.” A silence fell over the crowd as they looked at one another in puzzlement. An elderly man came to the front of the line and took the mic. “We had hoped no one would ever notice this when we started the fair…but the magical black cat is out of the bag now.” He drew a long breath, sighed so deeply there was feedback in the mic, then took another long breath and continued. “The eclipse is actually very popular among the paranormal crowd, and we were doing this fair for centuries before you guys. This was all a practical joke that got entirely out of hand.” At that time a bunch of witches descended onto the scene and flashed everyone with some kind of spell that knocked them out. The elderly man and I were the only ones left standing. “Well I guess this will be the last fair then,” said the elderly man, drowsily.

The next day I celebrated the solar eclipse with the paranormal crowd, who, unlike Jessicas and Rond, agreed with me that the moon must be some kind of hoax, making the eclipse that much more mysterious.

Wait a minute… is the moon actually a gigantic eye!?

A witch kindly offered to send me back in time when it was over so that I could get this scoop in before any of it happened. I explained my trepidations about time travel, given our previous adventures. But she assured me it would be safe in small doses, so I accepted, and thus you are reading this before any of it transpired.

Unfortunately the witch was not entirely right. After I came back several fresh new particles of light came with me, and are now sitting in a jar in my laboratory under lock and key. Heaven help us if they are used again.

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Letters From Readers: Pope Francis

We are delighted to reveal to you a particularly revelatory revelation, courtesy of long-time reader, first-time writer, Pope Francis, the Current. P-Franks, as his nearest and dearest confidants call him (us being they), is a self-confessed super-fan of the blog, and its contents, and has been for many Moondays. Recently Funky Fresh Francis penned us with some annotated exaltations.

We will spare you the lion’s hair of his letter, which spilled all over the floor when opened and could not be recovered, and also the lion’s share, which turned out to be a disappointing pile of fawning, obsequious lickspittle horseshit. But there was one redeeming annotation. In a clear bid to win the favor of us cool kids, Triple F McPope threw in an extremely old papyrus napkin on which was scribbled, framed by several fertility glyphs (also known as ejaculating dick-and-balls doodles, in the modern parlance), a lost book of the Bible. Below is a small fragment from the book of Pontius Pilate, which we translated from the ancient pig Latin:

Finally, just as the crowd was beginning to disperse, Jesus emerged from the bathroom and washed his hands of it. He turned unto them and said unto them: “Do not enter that place for forty days and forty nights.” Among those gathered there was much confusion. A Chaldean elder then stepped forward, addressing Jesus.
“Hi Jesus, my name is Joephat. I’m a long-time follower, first-time speaker.”
Among the crowd was much speak of “Hello, Joephat.”
“Jesus Christ, my problems are numerous as the stars in the heavens,” spoke Joephat. “Can you help me?”
Jesus was silent for some time, gathering his patience. He then spoke, “for each heaven I shall aid you in one problem. Since by my last count there is only one heaven, you must choose wisely.”
Joephat said “I have two daughters, each fit to marry. Both love the same man. With my approval, this man would gladly buy both. Would this be sinful?”
Jesus massaged his temples, and then spoke unto the crowd in answer:
“Two fishermen were rowing their boat to shore. The one lost his balance and fell into the water, but he was fortunate to fall in such a way that his head remained dry. The other did not notice and continued toward shore. The one in the water called out to him, brother, I have fallen into the water but my head is dry. The other cried back, swim to me. I am trying, replied the one, but you must stop paddling ashore. The other laughed, saying, surely it is not I who should slow but you who should hasten, for your head is dry with lack of effort. But I am swimming as fast as I can, cried the one in desperation. Thoroughly irritated, the other redoubled his efforts, saying, everyone knows that swimming necessitates wetting one’s head. Therefore, as your head is dry, you must not be swimming. The one, now confused and quite tired from exertion, asked of his brother, but if you know that I am not swimming, and I know that I am not drowning, then what could I possibly be doing outside of the boat? The other replied, quite adamantly, there is nothing you could be doing outside of the boat besides swimming or drowning, both of which would wet your head. The one, now at peace, said, I suppose you are right. The two paddled to shore.”
Among the crowd there was much murmuring and many unanswered questions. Joephat opened his mouth to speak, at which point Jesus abruptly and rudely proclaimed “I tell you the truth, it is a long way to the top, if you want to rock and roll. Meeting adjourned.”

More fragments will be published as they are translated. Thanks again to Freaky Francis way up there in his Crystal Palace at 1 V-Town Lane, Holy See, for the papyrus and nothing else. Better luck next time, Fisty Boy.

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Pope Francis “the Fist”

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Baboon Hits The Road

Baboon hits the road

BABOON

Baboon floats down Boulevard Street to the 24-hour store. He’s just been released from the Fransdorf Community Hospital, admitted for immune system complications after eating a maggot-infested Meatball Serenade™ sandwich. It is 5:05 a.m. and Baboon’s ecto-rectum is still stinging from ejecting a piercing stream of many meaty maggots. The ghostman finds himself in the 24-hour store, where he browses the racks for a salty snack. His stomach rumbles, so he decides to leave the store.

Outside, Baboon floats alone on a bench, staring off into the great phasmic expanse. Suddenly, a red Corvette roars up next to the bench where Baboon sits. A balding man wearing a grey flannel suit revs the engine for a minute or two, only to drift his eyes over to Baboon. The man gets out of the car and runs at Baboon, screaming at him. The man grabs Baboon and yanks him into the passenger seat of the Corvette. The man yells “Casper the fuckin’ ghost” over and over until getting in the car. He starts the engine and blasts off into the fog-laden highway of Route 66…

“We’re gonna get so fucked up, man,” says Dupree, the Corvette driving bald man. It is now 3:30 p.m. and he and Baboon are flying down the highway at 120 mph. “Malpractice my ass, man, those clowns don’t know shit,” says Dupree as his eyes grow wide. “You and me, we’re goin’ to Vegas, man. Veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas!!!!!!” Dupree opens a vial of cocaine and tries to pour out a line on the back of his hand, only to have all of it blow away in the wind. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!!!!!” Dupree cries out. He yanks the steering wheel right and stops the car in the desert next to the highway. “It’s fine, it’s cool, it’s fine, it’s cool,” says Dupree with unease. “Gotta find a song, man, a song, man!” he says, pointing at the radio. Baboon tinkers with the radio until pausing on one quiet station. Out of the silence slowly comes the opening Latin-flavored rock and roll of “Tequila” by The Champs. Dupree yells out “FUCK yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!” He then looks seriously at Baboon, a wry smile slowly coming over his face. Dupree pops the trunk and pulls out an unopened bottle of tequila. He opens the bottle, pours tequila down his gullet for six seconds, and tosses the bottle to Baboon, who does the same. Then they both yell “Tequila!” in accordance with the song, dancing and drinking in the hot desert of the American West. When the song ends, the sound of Baboon’s “tequila!” cries still echoes audibly in the air, a noise which occupies multiple realms.

On the road again, listening to the song “On The Road Again” by Willie Nelson, Baboon and Dupree speed down the highway, the sun beating down, getting ever closer to Las Vegas. Dupree sweats profusely in the heat, while a gooey substance forms on Baboon. Dupree smokes three cigarettes simultaneously, periodically taking them out to tell Baboon about his “bullshit legal practice” and, much to the interest of Baboon, the quandaries of working against the powerful owners of the sandwich named the Meatball Serenade™.

Approaching evening, the duo sips on another bottle of rare tequila secretly pulled off the shelf of one of Dupree’s many wealthy clients. Off yonder, in the sky, Baboon shifts his gaze from the highway to glimpse his Uncle Pat way out there in the deep dark abyss of space. As the desert sun sets in the distance, they see the sign, the glorious mark of a night brimming with wild possibility. It reads “Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada.” Baboon and Dupree howl, a deep howl, one that could rouse even the wariest of Western spirits and lift them out into a neon-lit wilderness forged for those who were born to be alive.

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Baboon will return in “Baboon Does Vegas”

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The Moon Landings: Where are your tax dollars really going and did the government know the whole time!?????

Many cycles of the moon have passed since Luke and I first embarked on a mission to understand the moon and its so called landings.

What on earth is going on here!  Is the moon a perfectly tossed Frisbee? If the moon is a perfectly tossed frisbee why doesn’t it appear to spin?  Is it because it spins so fast that the motion blur makes it look like a stationary object to the human eye?  Then why does it have spots?  And by the way, what is the crescent moon?  And can you eat it?

Our conclusions: Still confused about it. No. The condition does not hold. The condition does not hold. Uncertain. Uncertain. And hopefully.

The “Swiss Cheese Model” is the popular theory that the moon is actually a wheel of cheese placed in low earth orbit several millennia ago by the scientists of Atlantis in case of global famine.  And it will descend to earth only when all hope is lost.  This model was popularized by Nick Park and remains one of the leading models among moonologists, however it took a blow in 2010 when SpaceX showed that a wheel of cheese in space actually looks a lot smaller than a moon. See here: https://www.space.com/10459-wheel-cheese-launched-space-private-spacecraft.html

We here are the Wilderness of Mirrors Blog originally hypothesized that the visual effect called the moon was a perfectly tossed Frisbee.  But, after many years of perfecting our Frisbee tossing technique, we have not managed to duplicate the effect.  We will continue to investigate it but we can now say quite conclusively that no human could so perfectly toss a Frisbee that it would appear to be a moon.  There must be some other explanation.

The good news is, many moons have passed since we started, and moonology has expanded quite a bit.  Nowadays the field of moonology agrees with us that the moon is a hoax.  So there are a lot of great theories being tested.  The truth is out there, and it is only a matter of time before we know it.

About the moon landings, we are still unsure what to make of it.  Obviously those astronauts went somewhere but since the moon is believed to be a hoax, many moonologists today suspect that NASA constructed an artificial spherical rock in space for the landings, in order to perpetuate this myth that there is actually a moon.  If that is true we think they would have left the artificial spherical rock there so that the Chinese Yutu rover could land on it in 2013.  We hereby announce that we shall reward $3.50 to anyone who can locate the artificial spherical rock in space that was used to conduct the “moon” landings.

Fuck off for now, everyone!

P.S. I have come to realize that there is no overlord in this timeline.  It was quite an adjustment, but now that it has sunk in I am actually relieved.  The overlord used to require a monthly team building retreat for randomly selected members of the human horde and it was really getting on my nerves. I’m sure glad I don’t have to deal with that anymore.

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MEN RECORD GRAPES WHILE BIRD LOOKS AWAY DISINTERESTED by Don Blue

Note: This photograph, taken by Don Blue while on holiday, was the only photo we could use as all others were full frontal nudes of himself. Those not familiar with Don Blue will be able to read more about him in the upcoming book BLUE GLOW by Luke William Collard.
Don Blue can be found here.  

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Top Speed Tomorrow, OR, The Car That Almost Wasn’t, Scarcely Was, and Certainly Might Have Been: A Product Review

Greetings, fellow gear-heads! Evan here, alive and typing, which can only mean one thing: it’s time for my much anticipated review of the TomorrowCar V1, a currently nonexistent car from the fabled yester-future. As far as tech news goes, this is as cutting-edge as it gets, so all you drooling garage sluts, hot rodders and drag strippers out there better open your lusty grease-caked gossip gullets and prepare for my sticky hot shaft of red-blooded all-American automotive reportage! As I have often said that I should start saying more often, less talkin, more gawkin. Check this shit out. Bitch.

TomorrowCar V1 technical specifications

Dimensions: 12′ long, 7′ wide
Weight: 76 metric tonnes
Ground clearance: Variable. Vehicle is capable of stationary flight.
Primary engine: Unholy Monstrosity™ 3rd generation mass blasting energizer unit, powered by premium unleaded anti-energy stabilized fission granules (commonly known as particles of light).
Top speed: Tomorrow
Acceleration: Cubed
Quarter mile time: 0 seconds
Turn radius: The least
Body material: Hard light construct
Interior scent: Arousal™ by Seduction

The TomorrowCar V1 is not your grandfather’s manure sled. This apotheosis of automotive technology took 400 years of research and development to create, and it’s spirit screams “I’m better than you.” Allow me to briefly describe the experience of simply entering this vehicle. You walk up to the driver’s door and it de-materializes, sizzling back into existence as you climb into the seat. The luxury smart gel re-forms to your body, pushing all your buttons. The audio beams start pumping a solid stream of cosmic party music known as Flub Jams into your ears. You tense up, knowing full-well what is about to happen, and then the scented atmosphere hits your nostrils, slithering its pleasure tentacles through your olfactory bulbs and into your brain. That’s it; you have only been in the car for 5 seconds, and you’ve already reached an intense sexual climax, the first of several that you will experience through the course of driving this magical machine.

Take it out on the track and prepare to blow your competitors away, literally. The V1 is capable of defying physical laws that we don’t even know about yet; it plays by its own rules. In an atmospheric environment, this hot tamale is liable to set fire to the air, and you can forget about speeding tickets–it’ll pull 50 light-speed donuts around those fat pigs before they have time to say “well, shee-it.

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Keyless ignition system

Performance and handling aside, the V1 does have some serious drawbacks. The main thing is the chronal locomotion capability. Now, don’t get me wrong, time travel presents some awesome opportunities for road trippers, but its tendency to tear at the fabric of the multiverse is a bummer. After the couple of hours I spent joyriding through space-time, popping sick wheelies in the space between existences, driving all the ladies wild and leaving a wake of causal destruction, I can definitely say it’s not worth it. You learn a lot of stuff about theoretical physics, which is cool, but there are some weird multi-dimensional bugs in the design that are super uncool. as well.

Another uncool thing is the layout of the dashboard. This thing makes no sense, and I had a hell of a time figuring it out. A lot of crazy linguistic stuff must have happened in the 400 years that TomorrowCar Inc. spend designing this car, which renders it totally unreadable. Various parts of the console were probably designed at different times in the development history, so the whole dashboard is almost like a geological layer cake of incongruities. Some of the systems added in the later 2300’s require advanced cyborg neural networking technology to operate and are clearly weapon systems, which leads me to believe that the whole program was probably hijacked for nefarious purposes as TomorrowCar Inc. gradually became more evil. There is a lot of shit stuffed into this car, and I probably didn’t even scratch the surface in the few hours I had with it.

climate control panel

A portion of the climate control panel

Anyway, here are my final scores:

Driving capability—A+
Exterior design—A+
Interior design—B
Chronal mobility—D+

Overall experience—unforgettable

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