Ginkgo Blanket ’24

The auric shroud falls again...

Nagasaki Park Stroll

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Mr Calvin laying down gravel...
Mr Freeney and DZ banking in the dry...
Mr Kohl nightcapping at the Eberkopf...
Ms Indi celebrating Friday on Monday...
Mr Zack enjoying game from the skybox...
Mr Fanshaw picking up Johnny Drum...

Spring Preview: Slobby Sport Model

Languid totems overcompensate with armchair ardor...

Consulting the Thirsty Oracle

The modern consultant — that cloying dilettante whose ostensible hunger for wisdom has them conspicuously prostrating themselves before each and every perceived oracle — is not exactly the inquisitive and noble soul they portray themselves to be.
  Blind to their own Petrarchan conceits, they are the incurious who seek validation via placation by external parties telling them what they want to hear.
  Oblivious to their hypophorae, they micturate their empty questions into the mouths of thirsty oracles, awaiting some deep sagacity upon deglutition, but are only rewarded with effluvial splashback.
  They can then delude others with gnostic claims to revelation, but nowhere near as much as they delude themselves.

Menko 24: Nunchi Eopsi

Acoustic Hijinks at the Mapparium

DATELINE: Shawmut City, c. Stratum XX

On furlough, the ’Nuts happened across the headquarters of religious scientists in the high-toned neighbourhood of Back Bay.
  ‘How do you see the world?’ beckoned a sign at the end of a motionless reflecting pool.
  The quartet entered the great stained-glass sphere to view a globe outside-in. A glass walkway transversed the sphere’s interior from an area west of the Galapagos to the Indian Ocean’s Maldives. One could stand at the Earth’s core to see its crust and mantle in the heavens above.
  Jeck and the others stared around in amazement as did a tour group at the far end of the sphere. It dawned on Jeck that acoustic transfer functions within this enclosure would result in aural localisation illusions.
  With the mischievous spirit of Eris, Jeck quietly began the stridulating Song of the Gryllidae. The meek chirp crescendoed into a mezzo-forte trill. Whilst this went unnoticed to those beside him, the acoustic propagation found a focal point at the opposite side of the sphere, confusing the tour group. The flustered tour guide gazed around for an answer to the intrusion resonating within his world.
  “Guess we gotta call the exterminators,” he grumbled, his muted voice carrying around the inverted globe.

Mamonár Hladuje po Hmatateľnom

Winter ’24: Totemoj Ekviviĝas

Once-inanimate totems become flesh and blood...

Bebida de Bichos: Un Gran Refresco

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Mr Solar mopping floor at Cockled Burger... Ms Margo taking gameday break from Óir Studios... Mr Kohl gaining Men’s Lodge entrée... Mr Zack feeling woozy from mistimed gummy onset...
Mr Daystrom finding Depth Perception at Sawnothing Spirits...

Fúria do Compassivo

Menko 24: Shiawasena Katame no Saru

Menko 24: Sokuza ni Konran

Capezzoli di Ratto

Menko 24: Chikyū ni Konwaku

Coloquio de calidad bajo la luz de las estrellas

DATELINE: East Marthasville, Stratum XXVI
  The city streets were a dank smear of colour made sparse, it being la noche de acción de gracias. Stoddard and Veronique slowly pulled into the almost-deserted car park at the Autocine Starlight. They came to a stop as the enormous screen in front of them brightened, highlighting the rivulets of rain drawing down the windshield.
  “Hondonada Somnolienta” was about to begin, but convivial conversation — aided by a bottle of vino tinto — took precedence.
  No one remembers the particulars of the dialogue, but having thoughtful company in a dreary setting was certainly less cringey than the comically sad East Cobb eve one year prior, or even the discussion gone to the dogs back in Stratum XVIII.
  Aprecia tus amistades.

Qui se souviendra de RAIN?

Somewhere near the Irbyville Triangle the headlights reflect off the wet asphalt in a vivid blur as the evening traffic slushes by under the skyglow. Quitely stands there RAIN, with darkened interiors bathed in violet neon, projecting its beguiling presence into the damp night.
  Down the pike from Irbyville, the Elmgrove Square facility lords over the vast car parks of the area. On the upper levels, high above the chrome and plaster of the aires de restauration, stands RAIN. The picture window here is illumed in purple neon as well. Mysterious and inviting.
  The starkness of each botica lures the eyes of modes nouvelle vague devotees of the Stratum XI-XII timeslice, inspiring social opportunities to bedizen their own idiosyncracies for show, from Primavera Avenue to the Ponce and onward.

Menko 24: Triclops Omnivident

Applied Atavism for 2024

The Orville Corporation's Applied Atavism Programme for 2024 currently uses SARC proxy protocols from 2000 with updated frame codes for volitional physiotyping applications.

Le Mensonge 10

La tromperie continue dans le monde entier...

Bilious Bacchanal

Prosopsiblast ’25

Fibreglass Faerie Floss

Aerosolujte Zeleného Ďábla

The Aerosol Faction returns — and again the torch is passed.
Sentinel status is modified to Aerosolise the Green Fiend.

The Troublesome Keukegen

Glaucus and the Herb of Cronus

Papilio glaucus

Mantis the Third

Courageous yet merciless, the little ones return...

Kel̆d H̄ima: Il peso insopportabile della realtà

Tender sensibilities threatened at every step...

Orville Introduces SeniorLoaf™ — Nutritive Convenience for the Aging Demographic

As a significant nutritional provider to various demographics, the Orville Corporation is known for creating nourishing solutions with its specialised proprietary bio-products. Now tackling the complexities of crafting functional nutriments for persnickety pensioners, Orville’s foodstuff engineering teams have advanced a promising resolution.
  Orville offers SeniorLoaf™ Senior Nutrient Product, made with Praise™, the “New Food Substitute.” Praise™ is the fastest-growing food substitute brand in conventional global retail channels today. Now Orville is introducing a new variation, giving oldies another way to enjoy their favourite nutrient-packed feed sesh.
  SeniorLoaf™ plays a vital role in supporting the peptic needs of the elderly who are vulnerable to malnutrition by maximising nether tract health and efficiencies.
  “We’ve innovated a sustentative, high-caloric, and compact supplement. This product cleverly combines a pH-stable functional geriatrizyme concentrate with re-rendered organic naizõ, delivering a high-quality foodstuff for quicker nutrient release and gastric emptying,” says Dr Carlo Chángzi, a food research scientist at Orville.
  “Target acceptance is paramount; our goal is to create supplements that not only deliver on their health promises but are also effortless to consume and keep down,” adds Dr Chángzi.
  Orville’s SeniorLoaf™ will be available this fall in most domestic and overseas markets.

Inner Hatchling ’24

In a simple clutch, disparate outcomes span the freewill spectrum.
Potentials are evoked upon oviposition. The grass is always greener until that locus is reached; thereupon L’uovo di Colombo elucidates volitional options in hindsight. Those same choices hereafter lay ahead for deliberated consideration just the same.

Pungle Initiative, Stratum LI

With BBACBL interference a thing of the past, the blinkered impotentate is again his own worst enemy.
  Mule-Man sports a ponytail and shark’s tooth necklace, which don’t seem to impress anyone over ten years old. His spongy middle tests the pliancy of his spectrum-stained garments as his raised finger studies the sulfurous winds of fickle opinion he scampers to follow. Ever vigilant, his girth guards the bubbling Fountain of Selcouth that issues the Dew of the Mountain he finds so quenching.
  His affected piety to creativity boils down to name-dropping and coat-tailing perceived artiste-types for his own benefit. Watch him waddle in his favour-currying grift.
  Hear his important words before the maul of the pungle strikes the gavel block.

Der selbstgefälliger Fachidiot

The Besserwisser indeed lords over his campus fief captive audience, yet extrapolates his precociousness to global concerns with an air of fraught importance.
  In days of yore, he might dare write an op-ed in local media organs, risking criticism of his turgid bloviations. Today he plays it safe by sticking to 280-character social media posts where oleaginous persuasions are easily digested by puerile doddypolls who publicly regurge it all to impress the world with other people’s wisdumb.

Crisis of Competence

GS Special Forces

KulturFilter 3.0

Failektik Raksha targets:

• Discordant Hindi-Yoruboid fashion conglomerations
• Ginger Man-Buns and the scores they keep
• Rhetorical lip service to the Proverbial Other, and the distended egos that snub the ineffectual superego

Ozone Bouquet

The Final Recourse: Hansana!

Courage in a Clutch: The Inner Hatchling

Whate kind of straunge seed has’t thou planted?

Sergeant Major Skell cracked the door and slid silently into the darkened nursery.
  He strode over to a portable stereo, drew a cassette from his pocket and inserted it into the tape deck. He picked up the attached headphones and walked over to the cot. For a few seconds he looked down at Baby Kelvin sleeping quietly in the semi-darkness.
  Skell reached down and snugly placed the headphones over his son’s head. He went back to the stereo, pressed the ‘play’ button and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Kelvin was an academic whiz. After a mere two years of secondary school, he went off to uni for two years. He then briefly came back to secondary school to wrap up a few required courses.
  It was here that his musical project Tonos de Gris came to the fore. Kelvin was an outstanding musician, able to perfectly play back any song after a single listen. His prowess extended into the recording sphere as well, evinced by his helming of the ‘Guitarra Solitaria’ sessions at Cat Piss Studios.
  As affable a fellow as Kelvin was, friends who came by the house were often unnerved by the sharp glare of the Sergeant Major. Anyone who fell under the officer’s disdainful gaze could only help but wonder why.
“Yeah, we’re furley teenagers who play that loud rock music with your son. Are we a ‘bad influence’?”

In time, Kelvin’s friends all went their separate ways off to uni. Kelvin himself was a 19-year-old already finishing grad school.
  He went off to see the world, and for many years followed his guru around the Subcontinent — to his father’s dismay, no doubt.
  Today, Kelvin is a successful engineer, polyglot, humanist, and international problem solver.

O what kind of monster hath the Sergeant Major wrought?

Un baño al amanecer en la isla Maleia

Stoddard awoke before anyone else in the quiet beach house.
  It was his habit, whether the night before was silent and solitary, or a festive evening of wine, women, and song — in this case, the latter. He padded through to a glass door he slid aside to take in the sea breeze and breaking dawn.
  Through the sedge grass of the dunes Stoddard trod down to the deserted beach. The gentle surf lapped at his toes as he gazed at the horizon. A tangerine sun peeked through a smear of clouds amber, scarlet, and mauve. The redolent tang of brine and driftwood rode the breeze along with cries of unseen gulls.
  Into the breakers Stoddard strode, relishing the bath-like temperatures. Soon the swells were up to his midriff and he stopped to scan the horizon again. The colours had thinned to gold, peach, and lavender, reminiscent of the rainbow sherbet of Barone Biskin.
  To his left, Stoddard suddenly heard a disturbance in the water.
  Not far, the surface rippled and burbled with dozens of fish skipping through the tide, schooling in his direction. Following the restless fish were two dorsal fins flanking each other.
  It only took a second for Stoddard to recognise the undulating fins as bottlenose dolphins chasing their breakfast.
  The school of fish swam directly through him, tickling his sides as he raised his arms overhead. The two dolphins raced past him on each side as he spun around to watch the hunt carry on down the shoreline.
  Stoddard took a deep breath and made his way ashore with a slight smile.

¿Una amable bendición de Santa Petronila y Neptuno, tal vez?

Omuyingirira Squatters Ruin UAP Bungaloid

Squatters recently broke into one of the Ugandoid Autonomous Prefecture’s sacred bungaloids affiliated with Kanisa Fuju Temple, according to an Allied Pungeoning Front report.
  Mzungu parishioners who were out of town doing missionary work returned to discover the bungaloid festooned with atrocious neon colours and refurbished into a junk store called The Culture Vulture. Display Idol Assemblies and sacramentals had been defiled and slapped with price tags — an anathema in the eyes of many.
  The APF had called in PATU units to successfully secure the premises. None of the omuyingirira squatters were present at the time of investigation.
  In a press conference Tiki Prime spokesman Madoobe Oumee claimed, “The squatting interlopers from overseas are what we call ‘ababbi b’oku nnyanja ab’obuwangwa.’ They cause many zibbs. They have no culture, thus they plunder from all they consider exotic in an attempt to appear worldly, when they’re more parochial than anyone with their high omulokozi complex. This much we have gleaned from their social media blatherings.”
  UAP Grand Gouvernor M’bwe’bwe signed a bill that puts penalties on alleged squatters. The law, which has already gone into effect, gives the APF, PATU and other sanctioned UAP bodies the right to immediately commit squatters to local pungeonaries.
  Parishioners and citizens have spearheaded a “Restore the Bungaloid” movement to help revivify the temple extension and reinstate Idol Access. Soon enough people of the Ugandoid Autonomous Prefecture will again be able to commune together in a Kind Sesh.

The GTFO of Dodge Restorative

“Hit the road to clear those cobwebs,” Johnny Gutts once advised some surly furlies to shake off their lingering funk.
  “An effective remedium,” they learned first-hand.

Stratum XV: Vers l’ouest, maintenant!

Noach, Brojoe and Stoddard headed westward into the sunset.
  A night in the Alibamons was spent at The Fo’ screening Pénitencier Trois amidst the congregation’s raucous engagement.
  The next day the trio made it to the edgewaters of the Atchafalaya Basin by noon. A lone houseboat quietly creaked as Uncle Crowley stepped out onto the deck welcoming the guests aboard. The quarters inside were a time capsule: dingy wood paneling, yellowed contents of picture frames, and dusty tchotchkes.
  Uncle Crowley led the men to a small skiff with a trolling motor and they pushed off into the bayou. They silently glided through the cypress maze as the afternoon sun streamed through the leafy canopy. Visuals became chrono-enhanced upon shroomage eventuation. Lutetian flashbacks evinced the timelessness of the quags that were ever thus. Here and there mudbug fishermen were stationed in this impossible map of the dank morass.
  Hours later found the group back at the houseboat where they again hit the road.
  In La Faieta, Mémé Arcegno treated the fellows to écrevisse and live music at the Belisarius. A boudin p’tit dej fortified them for the day’s jaunt to the Vieux Carré.
  Arriving in the thick of Carnival, the clamouring crowds were a notable contrast from yesterday’s soundless swamps. The urge to mope at the nearest dive was soon quashed by icy ouragons and protoxyde d’azote.
  The cobwebs had finally been removed.

Other itinerant correctives of note:
• Pipo Spanno’s Stratum XXIII journey to Lago Plateado.
• Stoddard’s Stratum XXIII power tubing at 65 kph on Lac Ste. Clare certainly cleared some cobwebs.

“GTFO while you can,” Johnny Gutts well reminds us.

‘3-Year-Old with a Sharpee’: Heritageville’s Newest Tattoo Parlour

Heritageville’s newest tattoo studio has recently opened its doors to ink-savvy types looking to make an impression.
  “3-Year-Old with a Sharpee” Tattoo Parlour is located at 1300 Barney Scholls Rd. and aims to serve stigmatophiles and scene-clingers alike.
  The shop is the brainchild of Jared Gutts, who was inspired by a relative’s budding artistic sense.
  “Baby Eddie was scribbling on the rec room wall with a permanent marker. He was showing us his Art — nay, his Truth. I was very impressed with that.”
  Gutts charges by the hour and accepts both appointments and walk-ins.
  People with no imagination nor originality can browse the ‘flash gallery’ of popular images, or simply bring their own design scrawled on a napkin.
  “I usually just use black ink, but I have a full spectrum of coloured inks I can use if a customer really wants to get crazy,” Gutts said.
  “3-Year-Old with a Sharpee” Tattoo Parlour is open daily from noon to 5 p.m. and Mr Gutts has promised a big presence on social media “real soon.”

Cuori e fiocchi di neve di vetro

“I desperately need people to see that I’m ignoring them...”

Join us for a unique event where select members of the community can congregate in a safe space for calm and idle indolence!
  The Orville Corporation presents the Emotive Response System’s Asocial Hour — an event for local asocial folx and allies!
  The ERS Asocial Hour is a regular group outing for asocial people to dissociate, ignore social etiquette, and be seen without reciprocal engagement. It’s a way to herd like-minded individuals together to vegetate in a judgemental, deprecatory way. This is a gathering not for introverts, but passive-aggressive extroverts!
  Whether you’re looking to impress people without having to meet them, give complete strangers the stink-eye, or just listlessly take up space and oxygen, we hope you’ll stop by...

Date: Wednesday, July 24, 5:00-7:00pm
Location: APF Car-Vue/Q-Mast, Mezzanine 9, 6700 Barney Scholls Rd., Heritageville
Refreshments provided by Tauntini’s. ERS Digital Lifestyle Toolz™ and Hello Planaria™ phone apps are available to help ward off uncomfortable social interactions. ConGaijin-20 protocols including safe shunning distances will be observed.

Teléfono descompuesto en el bosque

On a sweltering summer eve deep in the Pinares Desolados, the young men gathered around a campfire near the Pavian Pavilion.
  The Vaughn wove a tale about a dilapidated warplane that rested on an abandoned airstrip in the wilderness not far from where the men sat.

“In the quiet of night observers from afar would see the glow of lights from the derelict aircraft. And always, closer inspection would reveal the rusting hulk in the dark, of course, with no power at all...”

  Malinconico’s search for the story’s provenance found conflicting results. He had heard of the hauntings at Batstow Village. And the ghost lights near Atco Stadius were well noted in the area. Those spectral illuminations were known to occasionally appear at the Carretera Molino Quemado. Which apparently was a different Carretera Molino Quemado than Malinconico knew from his days in nearby Crestamadera.
  So very confusing.
  But this is the nature of lore and legends spread by word of mouth — details shift and plot points wander, keeping the narrative alive underneath added shrouds of mystery.
  Tell the stories you hear, if you deem them worthy of recount. The imperfect haze of memory will always accumulate the patina of each storyteller upon the span of man’s grand recollections.

Promote the Josh

One must promote the affirmations one has defended.

Jiānchí Miǎnfèi Zèngpǐn

Ultion Obuvunanyizibwa

Where Dementia III saw peaceful benedictions, Dementia VIII atrocities force Incident Response Units to arbitrate with SIJACOPS demand for ultion redress.