Timeless Advice

Where In The Web

Top search terms finding Mini Nerd this week:

filth tube
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if you dig this then you dub this cause im all about the nerd fights
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if (e.row.rowtype == listitemtype.item | e.row.rowtype ==listitemtype.alternatingitem)
ambo 1000 years and 1 day lyrics
carolyn reese red tube

An admirable series of tubes!

Turn Turn Turn

The song, if you like, or the karmic wheel.

2007 is done now, and the long night is turning into day again for a spell. I was happy to achieve my goals for the year, even if a few came in past deadline. One such was a move back closer to where I was born, for purposes of helping birth new things, meeting recently-birthed things, and birthing one of my own (on paper, not in flesh). That latter is just about outta me now and into the harsh light of day, so it was time to shift the cycle from nocturnal back to diurnal and depart the lonely home/womb office (so essential to grinding out the novel) for one where a flux of people move all around me every day.

Last but not least (to the tune of 22 kilometers not least) was the half-marathon, which I've run three times now - not to my satisfaction, but run nonetheless. It took a year of training to get to that point in the first place, of course, and it'll take a year more, I'm guessing, to get the finish time I'm looking for. That's why, when I woke up this morning to the following animated .gif on Etherbrian's blog, I was tickled beyond 8-bit pink. It's a friendly reminder that it takes time to turn the wheel.

But if you keep moving, things do change.

To every season, then. Through every season.



P.S. Brian accomplished a goal of his own this month, too - breaking into the ranks of printed Threadless T-shirt artists. I've been a fan of Brian's for over ten years and was happy to pick up a design of his through Zazzle shortly ago. Now I'm even more thrilled to be one of the first to shell out for his Interloper From Beyond The Heavens on starburst orange. Join me!

Andy McKee

I don't have a lot of patience for guitars, usually because their players aren't doing much interesting with them. That's my bias and I'm sticking to it.

This fella, though, is an exception to the rule. And the music? Just gorgeous. A nice way to start the morning during this emotional June, our hinge of the year.



Thanks to Dave for the link! And Mike and Doug will probably love this, so I'm tagging those jerks too.

This Today

For me, May was a quiet month. But around me, things moved.

B's romantic journey cross-country has changed shape. K's journey out of country may help her shape-shift as well. Shan's too, I'd wager. Tans has a new home, and new work to give. Trevs finished his Chapter 11. My book did a dipsy-doodle on me. Rich Wilkins passed away. Sebastian Roberts was born.

In the wake of it all, I'm left feeling kind of raw, more emotional than I've been since...well, since last May - when I was the one in flux. At times like these, I don't have the right words. Thankfully, when words fail, there are sounds.

So here's a song that grew out of last month and came to its close at the beginning of this one. It's been a year since I smashed some musical notes together. About time, I say.

And to be honest, it doesn't look like the world's gonna stand still outside me anytime soon. Change is coming. Change is here. Change is eternal.

To This Day

Zeroes and Ones

...or maybe just Ones, 'cause there's a lotta firsts here.

Year Zero is the first Nine Inch Nails record I can listen to all the way through since Pretty Hate Machine in 1989. It's the first of Trent Reznor's "concept" albums I'd say works as a whole. And most enjoyably, it's the first time past 1992's Broken I've been able to shout along with NIN at the top of my lungs and savor the anger and aggression while keeping a straight face. Why come?

Mr Reznor's finally changed his topic. He's no longer sniveling about the girl or guy or God who's done him wrong. This time the schlep who got dumped and damned is the world, and we're the Ones (Zeroes, actually) responsible. I'd even venture to say Trent's found a place for the Almighty in his dirty little heart, and he's okay with being judged by a higher power that's likely a mite disappointed in what we've done with the gifts it gave us.

That is to say, I take Trent's "Zeroes and Ones" to mark something other than the bits and bytes usually serving as his musical instruments. Call a Zero, perhaps, those who haven't the inclination to help improve this mess we've gotten ourselves into here on planet Earth. And a One? Maybe that's somebody who can find a peaceful solution to our religious, resource and territorial disputes instead of taking up vengeful arms.

Anyhoo. Enough ballyhoo - I've already bitten off more than I have the chops to chew. Long-overdue political subject matter aside, there's some rather good old-fashioned industrial disco on this album. And I listened to it rather non-stop while driving my way around the United States two months ago (splicing in some cheerier bile from the adorable Lily Allen for relief now and then).

End result: a decent familiarity with Trent's new tunes. And a hankering to play around with them.

So here's minimixes fo' y'all - especially for Dave and Tara, whom I know dig this record as much as I do. These are sort-of-sequels to my Nails mixes from last year, though this time I didn't want to pair past with present (as I did on Pretty Hate Machine and With Teeth), because the new album, really, points only to itself.

My Violent God Given Heart
The Good Master
Me, I'm The Destroyer

Shame on us
We knew from the start
May God have mercy
On our dirty little hearts
Shame on us
For all we have done
And all we ever were
Just zeroes and ones

Nerd Summit

Site's been quiet, but the weekend was anything but.

Mini Nerd co-founder and Chief Technology Officer David Roberts was here visiting from Ontari-ario. We managed to cram in a business meeting and two family visits between excessive geeking-out, watching lots of Deadwood, cheering obnoxiously for the Leafs AND the Flames, playing multiple chess games (all of which I lost), reuniting with old friends on Facebook, checking in on Dave's wife (and the upcoming spawn in her belly that was responsible for Dave's quick visit here and now before it's born and prevents our hanging out for 20 years), plus the conspicuous consumption of fine scotch, beer and wine. I also drug Dave around Cowtown on foot while grabbing groceries, seeing the doctor, applying for a passport, and getting my rear bike wheel switched from Tacx-compatibility to road-readiness (of course, it's winter here again and snow now drapes the streets afresh).

Last but most notably, Dave (never a cook in the past) taught me his wife's pad thai recipe (which was delicious), got my wireless internet working (FINALLY), and helped me celebrate the first birthday of Mini Nerd (30 March, dontcha know). We've revamped the site's look for spring and introduced two new functionalities: a slideshow of Mini Nerdchandise available at Cafe Press (find it at the bottom of the sidebar), and the Monstermasher (up top).



The latter is a realization of randomized exquisite corpses for Mini Nerd readers courtesy of a classic illustration toy dear to dork chilluns of the 80s (including myself): the Mighty Men and Monster Maker. I bought a scanner specifically for the purpose of getting the wicked interchangeable art plates from the Maker into digital format for the Masher. Then Dave laid down some sweet code to build Vampire Ape Mad Scientist Superhero Mummies for us all.

Awwwwwwww jazzy.

Please enjoy the fruits of our labor, and if you're able, help support Mini Nerd in its second year online by picking up a Blorthos Cap, a Vampyric Horse Saddlebag, or a Mini Thong. We've also got t-shirts, bumper stickers, buttons, mugs and steins aplenty!

Here are photos from what was a great (if short) visit with my lifelong friend. I thank his wife, nascent kid, and cats for letting me borrow him a few days. Let's make it an annual tradition!


He cooks.




He codes.




He's a keeper.

The. Shillelagh.

Secret. Weapon.

Blood. Brawl.

Mini. Nerds.

Your. Rulers.

Tube. Time.

AWWWW. YEAHHH.

Cleanin'. House.

Full. Intrusion.

Let's. Roll.

[chicka-bzz] This the rumble ye're talkin' 'bout? [thunk-thunk]

[kzt] Yeeeeehaaaaaaa!!! [a-chicka]

::loyalty test::

DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE
DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE DAVE

:infiltrate_--_

__incident_

_interrupt__

Roll. Call.

Night Monkey.

David Roberts.

Pugvold Visigoth.

Mega-Nega.

All present and accounted for.

Vampyric Horse! Where are you?

Report your location immediately!

Your. Orders.

So.

They're "coming to get us", I presume.

Fools.

They can beat the walls, clash their arms, shout at the devil all they like. Without the codes to open the Sandbowl access tunnels, they'll never breach the interior.

To that end, let's get everyone home and safe indoors.

Minions: Night Monkey, Mega-Nega, David Roberts, Pugvold Visigoth, Vampyric Horse.

All of you.

Return to the Sandbowl now.

Reese. Defeated.

You see, Miniature Stephen Reese?

Your plea for assistance goes unheard, unacknowledged...

Unanswered.

The Code Baron David Roberts labors in my shadow now, and his continued obeisance assures an uninterrupted rulership for the minions of Orthos on this blog you once called home. His faithful service even guarantees us 99.99% uptime.

Now, if you'll kindly wither that pitiful Anonymous identity of yours off the Comments vine and into obscurity, I'll begin with the preparations for this weekend's Symposium of Slaughter.

Vampyric. Horse.

[k-chunk] When U saddle, I whole. [chikkity]

[zzzt] Before U, is nothing. [bzzt]

[zzt] Grip Ur legs, direct. [chicka-chicka] Together we one. [chunk-k-chunk] Between legs, power harness. Reduce I. Control. [chikkity chikkity chikkity] Ur right, rider. Make jump. Steer I. [zzt]

[chunk-chunk] If I balk, strike. Snap whip to rump. Drive Ur heels to flanks. [a-chicka-chicka-chicka] If I good, feed. Pet. [bzzt] Stroke long nose. Slap sides. Show I wanted. [chikkity]

[ker-thunk-thunk] Now. Mount pommel. Part of I. [bzzzt] Rest Ur center on. Feel rumble. Steady, steady. [a-chicka-chicka-chicka] I thud hooves. Roll back. Tense muscle. [zzt] Vibrate steady. [zt]

[chikkity] Now. Give Ur essence. Feel juice drain down. [bzzt-chunk-chunk] I drink deep, master. [chikkity chunk-chunk] I not empty U. Enough for all days. [bzz-zzt] This union. [chunk-chicka]

[zzz] The coupling. [tzz]

[ker-chunk] U ride. I suck. [chikkity chikkity chikkity]

[chicka-chicka] Give Ur energy, give U obedience. [chunk-chunk]

[chikkity] Fast and true. [a-chicka]

[tzzz-zzt] All days. [clunk]

Full. Emission.

Readers faithful and fickle, each take heed.

I am the Lord Blooddyke. This blog is mine. The miniature Stephen Reese is no more. My reign begins now and ends never.

Welcome to the Blood Caverns of Orthos.

As the Great Orthos made me, so shall I remake you, as I remade this host warren - in my stained, ribbed image. Your former self will lay forgotten as so much rubbled gristle beneath the glistening flood of my continued influence.

In the aeons to come, you will accept my ceaseless rule as your birthright. The minions of Orthos will tend to your initial misgivings like the nascent buds they are. Prevented from achieving full flower, they will be ground to wet sludge under the heels of my ever-present regime. You will know our number as siblings, and guard our existence as you once did your own.

I will feed your protective enclosure with steady suppuration.

Let the seepage begin at this moment. Let the nurturing code delineate the expanse of my domain.

This protean writ expresses in primitive fashion the greater truths of your world:

Dim i as Internet = !BigTruck

If i == BigTruck then
Dumpsomethingon()
Else
Console.WriteLine("It's, it's a series of tubes!")

Now I lift the waxen membrane of ignorance, exposing revelation:

Dim i as Internet = !BigTruck

If i == BigTruck then
Dumpsomethingon()
Else
Console.WriteLine("It's, it's a filthy tube.")

Feel it in your mitochondrial weave, to every limit of your venturing ganglia:

The internet is not a big truck. It is a filthy tube.

Not tubes. Not a series.

Just one. The only.

Myself.

Drink from the fleshy grail.

Know the burbling juices of your master.

The Lord Blooddyke is here to guide every atom of your filth.

F.O.R.G.E.ry

Regular readers of Mini Nerd may notice some new functionality in the navbar to the right.

Or maybe they won't see it at all, because it's not working.

In the latter case, the reason for the error is the URL you're using to link to Mini Nerd. From here on, please consider the address "www.stephenreese.com/blog" retired and out of service. The new URL is "www.mininerd.com". That's the one you need to type into your address bar for the site to work.

Right then. The first of the new functionalities is something called F.O.R.G.E. (Fantasy Object Random Generator, Eh?). It's the product of Dave's code and my words (plus some from Helms and Trueman - everyone else is welcome to suggest more). Also several hours of frustration and revision as Dave (primarily) and I labored to get the thing working. All you have to do is click the blue "I Dub Thee:" text and you'll receive a randomized silly-sounding fantasy weapon. With our current database of words, over a hundred million combinations are possible. Aww jazzy!

And hey - if F.O.R.G.E. is only amusing to that group of us who grew up together, or those nerds (mini or otherwise) who've played a Dungeons & Dragons campaign at some point in their lives, so be it. Everyone else can safely ignore the extreme geekery and perhaps make use of the new sections and links in the navbar, if they wish - these should make it easier to browse through the content stockpiled on the site so far.

Once again, regular readers: PLEASE change your Mini Nerd URL to "www.mininerd.com" and only use this address to reach the site from now on.

(Thanks to Lisa for the catch.)

Cheers,
Reese

Owwww

Dave climbed a volcano in Portugal with his wife and her relatives. He has an amazing tale to tell about it, involving the overnight survival of sub-zero temperatures when a tremendous storm traps his group at mountain-top.

Unfortunately, he won't let me say more than that until he records the story himself. I hope to offer it here at Mini Nerd soon.

In the meantime, I believe my subconscious was looking for something even slightly worthy of mention alongside Dave's extreme and extraordinary experience. Best I can do is neither unexpected nor uncommon: getting sick wasted on a Friday night in Cowtown.

It's been a hard week. But one shouldn't mix beer with gin with sake, only eating raw fish (which makes me gag ordinarily) at the end of several hours of this behavior. One also shouldn't try their first cigarette during such a marathon session, but I did all of the above and more and found myself hunched over a public sink purging former sea-dwellers, what was left of Sylvie's cake, and assorted/unidentified brackish sludge that could very well be whatever my unsuspecting lungs inhaled earlier - and I must say, nicotine produces a unique and satisfying buzz, sort of puffy and smooth in the head. I immediately wanted more of the same.

I write all this not to gross you out but because life makes for fun material and I process things with words. That said: though I'm not curled over a befouled sink any longer, my tingling hands, pasty complexion, and the unpleasantly throbbing gristle of my head and neck require more than paragraphs to be banished. So I'm off to the diner to do the deed with greasy sausage (always an effective hangover cure) and runny eggs.

Kind, kind thanks to Jon and Crista for sticking by me in extremis, talking me out of the baffroom and hastily-closing sushi shack, hailing a cab while I crouched, and showing an overall care and diligence with this drunkard I was most grateful to benefit from.

I'll get that Underworld for you by Tuesday, Jon, mark my words.

Lastly, apologies to Sunny - with whom I would have scaled my own excuse for a volcano out in Kananaskis this morning if I could have at least walked upright.

A distinguished start to the long weekend!

A Reminder

Look, one more thing here before I go to sleep:

Presume (you know why your life has gone this way)
Subsume (a new understanding replaces the old one)
Resume (continue onward, ready for new knowing)

As with Dave's code, which I post here for him usually as a reminder (and a preservation) of what he has realized and wants to protect (somewhere, somehow), the above simple "action-items" (to use the vernacular of the very cool company for whom I make sentences, and to whom I owe my hopefully continued financial stability) are a kick in the arse for me, a neon sign in the endless dark I can easily create for myself when I don't grok to whatever the universe is arranging at this particular point on the time object - and I would do well to heed it all, daily, ad infinitum.

Thanks again to the redoubtable Grant Morrison, my favorite living writer, who continues to make me quake in "presumption" (see above) of inferiority and inspire me to do something as lovely as he has done for me (and others) with his words and ideas. To paraphrase a certain movie: "I am not worthy. I am not worthy."

But I will try to be.

-Reese.

P.S. You'd be right to presume (haha) alcohol lubricates such a personal and confidential (trusting, really) post, but I've been closed/guarded for some months now (for obvious reasons) and often it takes a little judicious imbibing to exploit the chink in the armor and crack me open for sharing what I would like to every day, if not through personal interaction with each and every one of you whom I love, then at least through words, only words, which hopefully aren't taken from me as so many other things can be taken in this life. Et ceteri, et cetera and his brother Pete.

P.P.S. re: Grant, it's Animal Man I just finished reading, and it was just as wonderful as fellow fans told me it would be. I'm blown away and humbled. Again.

Enjoy This Internet

One last post from Dave before he heads off on vacation. Have a great time in Portugal, buddy, and thanks for everything.

Dim i as Internet = !BigTruck

If i == BigTruck then
Dumpsomethingon()
Else
Console.WriteLine("It's, it's a series of tubes!")

Over and out.

I Like Snakes

Guest writer Dave continues his welcome stint here on Mini Nerd, channeling Blorthos Malamakk - a dim (but passionate) barbarian who enjoys killing deer.

THE CHRONICLES OF BLORTHOS, CHAPTER 16

Blorthos addressed the smoky room: "I'll find this Chaos of which you speak. And I'll bring it to the pigs, whose snuffles and snouts amuse me so!"

Blorthos, in his mind, reviewed the type and style of headlock he would be applying next. Envisioning the next move was key to ensuring its happening.

Blorthos, a study in barely controlled rage, realized that his perceived toughness was being compromised by this little dragon-pansy. How could he continue the slaughter with this puff twittering and sparkling gloriously beside him?

Blorthos thought for a time: he really did like snakes.

Blothos regarded the pudding with disgust. He would not try that.

Blorthos pointed at the pig corpse. "I cannot refute the dying statement of this witness!" Feeling as though he had somehow won the day, he left the village.

The tusked pig squealed in agreement.

Blorthos watched the scantily-clad tavern dancer. He was certain. She too liked snakes.

Blorthos reddened under his antler helm. He had not meant to flatten the halfling at all.

Blorthos had a clear thought: he would open that sarcophagus!

"One day I'll have me own tobacco farm," annouced the cheerful halfling. Blorthos smiled. He liked this little man.

Blorthos handed the gloves to the spell lady. "What is?" he asked. Blorthos hoped they were fighting gloves, but knew they were probably another pair made special for Bards.

Blorthos decided. They had gone too far! The cocoons were going to get it!

Blorthos shook his head at these men, whose dreams were only of tilling the earth and living quietly.

Grol Hardslab looked into the dark eyesockets of the Stag Helm. There would be no challenge of this barrel-chested giant.

Blorthos crossed his arms and beheld the spectacle. He had performed a goodly and complete trampling of the halfling gathering.

Scratching wistfully, Blorthos wondered how all that information fit into those tiny little tubes.

Horns clattering, Blorthos tried in vain to fit his colossal noggin through the merchant doorway.

The three elves were disgusted. How could this antlered cretin have saved the Realm?!

Like a bolt fired from a crossbow, the gnome was fired through the tavern wall. Blorthos would not tolerate that kind of remark.

After standing motionless for an eternity, Blorthos finally called out, "I am stuck in this barrel!"

Summoned to a kindred spirit, the pixie was horrorstruck to discover it was adventuring with what could only be described as a club-monster of sorts, wearing a deer head.

One thing was for certain. This orc throne was going to get a beating (from Blorthos - Ed.).

The three badgers never knew what hit them.

When the brawl was over, only one was left standing. Blorthos Malamakk, and he was dead drunk to boot!

Blorthos understood death was expensive. But dammit, 3000 gold?

For the first time, Blorthos knew pause. The elves seemed to be...washing...

The sludge knoll beheld his opponent - who, despite his size and obvious girth, had managed to double himself over by tangling his misshapen helm in the thistlewart brush of the path.

The rot ogre brought his hammer-fists down hard upon the head of this annoyingly rotund barbarian. He was told, as response, to pray to whatever gods or somesuch.

Blorthos scraped the stuff from the bottom of his foot. The jellies disgusted him.

Blorthos tried again to hold both weapons, but instead just drew out his massive axe. Why wasn't it working?! He had seen other people hold stuff in each hand!

"HA! HA-HA! HA-HA-HA!" he yelled. Blorthos was happy.

Wrongly assuming, the goblin elite encircled the Stag-Helmed warrior who had managed to catch one of his antlers on a guttering torch within the warren.

For reasons beyond his own comprehension, Blorthos wept when he saw that dire boar charge.

"Alack! Alack!" cried the elves. "The giant is fallen! His antlers lodged fast in the pebbl'd earth!"

"Fey! Goodfellows, behold! The lummox doth todder through yonder marsh! Clearly the fool hath lost himself."

"'Tis a brute for certain. But friend or fiend, we've yet to discern his demeanor. Approach with care and ready your dart: his chest is ruddy and wide with untapp'd strength."

"Get big guy!" called the orc champion to his mob. His tactics were clear to all under his command.

Good grief. Things are looking grim for Blorthos! What lies in wait?

End If

Guest writer Dave chimes in while Big Nose Barney abandons hope:

Sub dlstArticleList_DataBound(s as object, e as DataListItemeventargs)
If e.Item.ItemType = ListItemType.Item Or e.Item.ItemType =
ListItemType.AlternatingItem then
Dim hplReadMore as Hyperlink =
CType(e.Item.FindControl("hplReadMore"), Hyperlink)
hplReadMore.Text = CType(DataBinder.Eval(e.Item.DataItem,
"ArticleTitle"), String)
End if
End Sub

If e.Row.RowType = DataControlRowType.DataRow Then

Dim hplReadMore as Hyperlink =
CType(e.Row.FindControl("hplReadMore"), Hyperlink)
Dim lblBody as Label = CType(gvArticles.FindControl("lblBody"),
Label)

hplReadMore.Text = CType(DataBinder.Eval(e.Row.DataItem,
"ArticleTitle"), String)

End if
End Sub

So it goes.

Make New Stuff (Part 2)

Other people are making new stuff too! How exciting!

Here's Dave's contribution:

Partial Class myMasterPage
Inherits System.Web.UI.MasterPage

public delegate Sub MasterPageMenuClickHandler(s as object, e as EventArgs)
public event MenuButton As MasterPageMenuClickHandler

Private _currentButton As String

Public Property CurrentButton() As String

Get


Return _currentButton

End Get

Set (ByVal Value As String)



_currentButton = value

End Set
End Property

Sub btnMenu1_Click(ByVal sender As Object, ByVal e As EventArgs)
' Assign value to public property
_currentButton = btnMenu1.text

' Fire event to existing delegates

Raiseevent MenuButton(Me, e)
End Sub

Sub btnMenu2_Click(ByVal sender As Object, ByVal e As EventArgs)
' ' Assign value to public property
_currentButton = btnMenu2.Text
' ' Fire event to existing delegates


Raiseevent MenuButton(Me, e)
End Sub

End Class

In this item's honor, I must point out that writing code is WAY harder than writing sentences. When I write a sentence, I can tell pretty quickly whether or not it's doing what it's supposed to do.

When I try to write code, on the other hand, it's more like: type, compile and pray it accomplishes its intended result. That's the beauty of the above. You struggle and struggle and struggle to talk the computer's language and when the computer finally goes, "Oh yeah! Sure, I can do that!", you bellow in triumph and lapse into total exhaustion.

Dave insists coding is not an art, because it expresses nothing.

I beg to differ. I say it expresses turmoil, patience, adaptation and ultimately - if you're lucky (in my case), or skilled (in his case) - achievement.

Pretty Hate Machine With Teeth

I've been listening to a lot of Nine Inch Nails since my return to bachelorhood (mainly because the circumstances of said return were not to my liking).

Yesterday I started singing "Something I Can Never Have" from Trent Reznor's first album Pretty Hate Machine while listening to "Beside You In Time" from his latest, With Teeth. I figured they fit pretty well together, so when I got home I mixed 'em up.

Here's In Time I Can Never Have You.

Enjoy, if you like this sort of thing.

NOW WITH MORE NAILS IN THE COFFIN! (thanks Dave)

Whaddaya know, it became a trilogy.

Here's If She Says I Have To Apologize.

And here's That's What I Get In The World.

Fighting Fantasy

Recently, my dear friend Mike gave me the smackdown for pointing to other folks' hosted images on their respective sites in this blog and on my own website. As always, his argument was well-reasoned and delivered with precision and tact.

Nonetheless, I felt crappy and was turned off posting for a while.

I plan to address Mike's comments in a future post, but for now (and to appease his misgivings), I present an IMAGE-FREE post with the help of my dear friend Dave.

It's more silly fantasy one-upmanship, so if that fails to crank your turn, do come back another time.

Below, Dave's bold and I, not.

Opening Swipes

REPLENISH YOUR MANA!

SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY APPLIED FORTITUDE.

MY VITALITY RATING ALLOWS ME TO DRINK AT THE BAR LONGER THAN YOU CAN!

CLEARLY YOU WILL CAPITULATE UNDER THE FORCE OF MY DESCENDING RAZORED PIKE.

AN ADDITIONAL STRENGTH POINT ENABLES ME 12 MORE POUNDS OF UNENCUMBERED LOAD BEARING!

FIFTEEN PENALTIES TO YOUR INITIATIVE ENSURE A SUCCESSFUL COLLISION OF MY BURNISHED STEEL WITH YOUR FILTH-PEBBLED CHIN.

YOUR MODERATE DEXTERITY IS NOT ENOUGH TO AVOID HURLED POISON DARTS TO YOUR LOWER ABDOMEN AND SIDE!

A SIMPLE APPLICATION OF MY ACCUMULATED AGILITY BONUSES AFFORDS ME AN EXCELLENT EVASIVE TECHNIQUE THAT STILL MANAGES TO EFFECT SIGNIFICANT DAMAGE TO YOUR AGGREGATE SELF-WORTH.

THE STACKING MODIFIERS TO MY DODGE MANEUVER ALLOW FOR A GRACEFUL BACKWARDS ROLL OVER YOUR CLOVEN HEAD TO THE RELATIVE SAFETY OF RESPITE CLOISTER.

MULTIPLE FLURRIES OF DAMNING BLOWS REVERBERATE AGAINST YOUR CRANIUM AS I UNLEASH "RAMPANT BLUDGEONING" WITH SAVING THROW.

I PERFECTLY EXECUTE THE "DOWNWARD SLASHING" TECHNIQUE, WITH MODIFIER, AFFORDED BY MY "RING OF AGGRESSION", SUCCESSFULLY ROUTING YOU BACK TO THE DURANCE OF BLOOD FLESH.

I TUMBLE TO THE SIDE WITH INCREASED ATHLETICS, SORTING OUT YOUR INNER ORGANS AS I PRY THEM ALL AT ONCE FROM YOUR GAPING GULLET, FOREMOST RUINED EFFORTLESSLY WITH A FEW FLICKS OF MY STILETTO DAMPENING HATRED PROTRUSIONS.

Reconsidered Tactics

FIVE ADVENTURERS MET A SWIFT END IN THE BLAUDDENS' EMPORIUM OF MEATS.

THE TROLLS DESCENDED AT MEANS END.

THREE UNWORTHY KOBOLDS BICKER.

SEVERAL FARMERS FARM.

A GATHERING OF ORCS WRESTLE WITH VARIOUS CONCEPTS.

FIFTY DRAGONS CONSIDER RETIREMENT.

THE YELLOWED CYCLOPS SITTING DEJECTED AND FORELORN; SNIFFLES SLIGHTLY.

PRINCESS ALLEMIEN FELT A RUSH OF PITY AT VIEWING THE DOMESTICATED BASILISK.

THE ORC LEADER WAS GIVEN PAUSE WHILE OBSERVING THE DEATH PIT FROM ABOVE. THIS WASN'T THE ANSWER AT ALL!

THE TIRED OGRE PERUSED HIS BOUND VICTIMS. HE REALLY WASN'T UP TO EVISCERATION TONIGHT.

THE GRYPHON PECKED LISTLESSLY AT THE CAPTIVE BUGBEAR. THIS REPETITIVE ROUTINE WAS ALL IT HAD LEFT.

AFTER A FORTNIGHT OF CAREFUL CONSIDERATION, SIR BALLYHOO TOSSED HIS GRAPPLING HOOK OVER THE MOAT AND ONTO YON RAMPART.

THE FOUR ORC CAPTAINS KNEW THE PRICE WOULD BE THEIR SCALPS IF EVER THEIR HAIKU CLUB WERE REVEALED TO THE TRIBE.

TAKING A DEEP BREATH, THE FUZZY BLOODWORM SLOPPED TOWARD HIS INTENDED MATE. WOULD THE EXPENSIVE EROGENOUS POLLEN DO WELL BY HIM THIS DAY?

THE OCHRE JELLY KNEW WELL THE REPERCUSSIONS OF DIGESTING ONE OF ITS OWN HIVE AND WOULD HAVE CURSED THE TRANSLUCENCY OF ITS OWN FORM HAD IT ONLY A MOUTH TO DO SO.

The Final Round

AS CLOSE TO FIERCELY AS POSSIBLE, THE UNDERAGE PIXIE LIFTED THE DOUBLE-HANDED AXE, CERTAIN HER INSOLENCE WOULD NOT GO UNPUNISHED.

THE MOVEMENTS OF THE CYCLOPS SLOWED, THE RUDE CLUB LOWERED AS HIS MILKY, CATARACT-ORB SCANNED THE ONCE BUSTLING GNOME VILLAGE. THE SMALL VALLEY WAS A RIOT OF TWISTED ABODES AND FLATTENED TINYLINGS. ONLY THE OCCASIONAL ONE TWITCHED STILL AND A TWINGE OF REGRET TICKLED AT THE MOUTH OF THIS BEHEMOTH. A SUBTLE FEELING HE COULD NOT PINPOINT NOR FINGER THE CAUSE OF. IT WAS OVER.

THE PROUD GRYPHON WOULD NOT STOOP TO CONSUMING THE POORLY-DRESSED NOBLE. TO HADES WITH THIS LOW-BORN SCHLEP. IT WAS BENEATH HIM.

THE BEHOLDER HOVERED QUIETLY IN THE GLOOM, KNOWING WELL HE WOULD NOT BE SPOTTED BY WARY ADVENTURERS INVADING HIS LAIR EVEN NOW! THE FIGHT HAD LEFT HIM AFTER NEWS OF HIS ACUTE ASTIGMATISM.

THE RAZORED TITMOUSE BURROWED UP SIR BALLYWOGGLE, MAKING THE TRANSITION FROM TROUSERS TO INTESTINES WITH A FAIRLY EXPEDITED SNIP AND TUCK.

Post-mortem: I'm not sure who won.

PRFDSR

Or, "parent reference from databound selection routine":

Public Sub BoundControlSelection(s As Object, e As EventArgs) 

Dim oBoundControl As BoundControl 'DropDownList, CheckBox, etc   
Dim oLabel As Label oDropDownList = CType(sender, BoundControl )   

oLabel = oDropDownList.Parent.FindControl("lblStatus") 


oLabel.Text = "Hello"  
End Sub

Go Cave

Now it's gone too far.

My friend Dave doesn't need me as accomplice any longer. This beast has found a shorter, faster route to its warren of origin:



Behold the filth that issued directly from my friend's contaminated brain, without my assistance:

Pugvold Visigoth slid sideways through the Primary Entrance of Blood Caverns of Orthos, his Bard's Jacket® already ruined by the viscid gut-dollops falling from this most feared grotto ceiling. The guttering hollow was a riot of glistening elf and orc commixture, steaming and burbling (only slightly) in the heady backdraft. "Othos has done well this day," the discerning Pugvol nodded ruefully to himself. "This ripe vista shall be detailed tonight in song at the Tavern." Harp at the ready, the stanzas, amplitude and timbre of his piece already taking form, Pugvold turned from the dusky massacre and began the long trek back to Town.

All right, I tweaked a couple sentences for publication. But still--

With only Dave as its instrument, the Lord Blooddyke may yet achieve full emission.

In Its Honor

My dear friend Dave has fallen ill, unquestionably due to the influence of this entity in his life:



Rising from a deep, reddening, swooshing and tingling fever, he mustered the energy to demand from me a description of the Blood Caverns of Orthos. I knew the words came from my friend's lips, but the command was clearly the will of this creature:



Mind you, I have no knowledge of a "Blood Caverns of Orthos", so I was a little puzzled my friend was asking this of me.

Still, within moments of the request's implications reaching the edges of my inner soul, the answer was there - twitching and hairy somewhere deep inside me. Unbidden, my fingers poised over the necessary keys and I began to type.

Malaprop Budsen trod beneath the yawning maw of the Blood Caverns of Orthos, his somewhat passable Adventurers' Sandals™ sinking immediately into a foot-deep mire of ground bones and seeping viscera, the mulched leavings of those foolhardy enough to attempt earlier excursions here.

The Filth Tube is pleased.

And now we are both in grave danger.

Intro

Gonna jabber here a bit. Thanks to Dave for helping set me up.