Saturday, October 22, 2016

23 Flavours of Freedom

Renowned Heritageville restaurant “The Gristle” is duly celebrated for such culinary creations as the “Molten Bowl” (sautéed soy product) and the “Gristle Staple” (glorified beans & rice).
  But now The Gristle has taken a bold leap into the 21st century with a virtual menu featuring the Orville Corporation’s Praise,™ the “New Food Substitute,™” — a soy-lentil confection that can be enjoyed both in meatspace and in online soyspace.
  Praise™ is such a versatile foodstuff that the The Gristle has developed 23 unique flavour combinations thus far — including local favourites “Fudge Howdy” and “Unagi Tartare” — all of which can be sampled at the restaurant or on the World Wide Web,
  Visit today for a delicious feed!

1. ‘Fake Woke’
2. Praise from Caesar
3. Rhesus Pieces
4. Synchysis
5. Tedium Vitae
6. Calamitous Intent
7. Psychic Albino
8. Asia Minor Style
9. High Kudos
10. Fake Craig
11. Bro-Nega
12. Caffè de Gallina di Cacao
13. Yellow Sauce
14. E Flat Minor
15. Unagi Tartare
16. Spectrum Salad
17. Fudge Howdy
18. Byo-Byo Nilla
19. Rendered Hatchling
20. Irish Meadows
21. Anole King
22. Scotch Vindaloo
23. Lemon Tabasco

Upcoming flavour combinations: Parkaire Breeze, Frog Nut, Rotting Carapace and Alfredo Achaar.

Sunday, October 09, 2016

Ein Abend in der Allerberger

DATELINE: Old Salt Town, Stratum XI-XII — Those furley seniors really thought they were pulling one over on the chaperones.

  It was a rustic tavern at the inn with stony walls and raftered ceilings. The chairs and tables were hewn from sturdy oak with Old World charm. It was here that the underage students had snuck out to for a few steins of lager. That there was no drinking age here bolstered the young Seppos to step out on their own.
  Mirth and camaraderie ensued.

  But the jaws of the lads dropped when “The Iron Maude” and Radulphus walked into the bar.
  Were the guys going to get in trouble? Detention abroad? Sent home from overseas? A semester failed?
  They were sweating it out.

  But the two chaperones simply ordered beers and nonchalantly joined the young men at their table, treating them as fellow adults. Which they practically were.
 It was implicit that as these young men were the oldest of the tour group, they were the most responsible ones; the chaperones could afford to give them the longest leash. After all, these students had the best grades, had jobs, and had already come halfway around the world.
 Bright kids, but the mischievous spirit lurks underneath — and they all know it.
 The barkeeper brought the beers to the two chaperones.
 “Vielen Dank,” said Iron Maude.
 Soon enough the mirth and camaraderie had returned for the entire table.

Monday, October 03, 2016

Ditching Downers in Himeji

Under an azure May sky, Himeji-jō stood majestically in the centre of the city. It was Stratum XVII, and Stoddard, Aliyah B., and Tài Lè made their way through the gates up the walkway and to the keep to find the castle’s interior to be no less majestic.
  But Stoddard noticed that the travails of far-flung travel were taking its toll on his companions. Incessant bickering and snotty sarcasm were blinding them to the centuries-old marvels before their eyes. Plus, Stoddard found it taxing on his own enjoyment.

 Time for a bail-out plan.

 Whilst the trio walked through one of many covered shopping arcades (this one strangely deserted), Stoddard slowly lagged behind the squabbling duo and ducked into a 100-yen shop. He pretended to browse as he whipped out his JR map and timetable.
 Stoddard strode back out into the arcade and looked both ways with a deep breath.
 The shopping street extended at least a kilometre in either direction, still deserted.
 Stoddard breathed again and smiled. The burden of downer company had lifted — he felt like a free man — free to explore, free to get lost in an alien city, free to take it all in one step at a time. And he did.
 Buying paper lantern gifts, a happi coat, some conveyor belt sushi, enjoying conversation with some lovely bijin.
 As the afternoon waned, Stoddard made his way to the Limited Express Railway Station for the trip back to Kobe.
 Sitting alone on the train, he stared westward and savoured a Déjà Vu of gazing at a similar sunset six strata prior, from a train going from Napoli to Roma.
 Solitary travel can sometimes seem the most satisfying.

Il-Passaġġ Magħżula: The Chosen Path

I had the focus,
You gave a slow kiss,
Spotlight’s callin’ you
Listen, my girl!

Follow that footpath,
Ignore any aftermath
Fame is beckoning
Give it a whirl!

Hear the fanfare blow!
See their interest grow!
Who knows what
You're heading toward!

You can’t hear what I‘m sayin’
Over the sound of what you’re doin’
You can’t pick up a thing of what
I‘m puttin’ down...

That validation
A vital appetition
Just like a hamster
Waiting to be fed

You made your bed there
Under the hot glare
Bail out of the scene
Afore it leaves ya dead

©MCMLXVIII WBLO-TV, Happi-Time Productions

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Slumming It at Hashtain Park

One warm Stratum XIII evening the Technicots [sic] had scored tickets for a table (!) at the renowned Hashtain Park amphitheatre, courtesy of one of their millionaire fathers. They were excited to be at a concert featuring the Master Songster. Most tables were occupied by gentried season ticket-holders, replete with fancy linens, the occasional candelabrum, fusion finger food, and flavoured wine coolers. A “Yuppie Picnic,” if you will.
  The Technicots, in high contrast, sat at an unadorned folding table (the natural state of all unoccupied tables). Atop the table sat a six-pack of cheap brew that was supposed to last the endurance of the concert for the handful of fellows. (The venue had a BYO policy.)
  The concert began and the Master Songster was cranking out his hits one after another, including “Stuck Inside a Mobile Home with a Memphis High School Band.”
  But the Technicots noticed a disturbing fact — not once did the Master Songster look up from his guitar to make eye contact with the audience. One Technicot swiveled his head, taking in the crowd. Aside from a few die-hard fans down front, all of the tables were engaged in idle chatter whilst nibbling on balsamic munchables. That a world-class musician there upon the stage was being treated as “background music” was certainly dismaying. Philistines, the lot of them.
  But the Technicots enjoyed the concert nonetheless.
  At the close of the show, as people were packing up, a prim and coiffed woman at the next table leaned over to the Technicots and sniffed, “Do you want the rest of our paté? We were going to give it to the dog.”