Periodically.org

I'm not sure why a title in ebonics is that much funnier in ,what I call perhaps unpolitically correctly, REAL english, but there it is (why is ebonics funny to me, who lives in a part of the world where only the truly insecure highschooler, or delightfully ironic hiptser, uses it?). Waking up at Fo Fitty in the mornning is a delight. Mainly because it feels like I'm using 'free time'. Get to work at six, leave at 2:30, 3ish. Feels like getting off work early it does. (Waking up this early also brings back those halycon days of yore when I'd wake up real super duper early to go skiing. Not a lot mind you. Never the sportsman. But enough so that everytime I wake at a demon infested, ungodly hour, like 4:50am, I remember skiing. ) Never mind that I have ot take naps as soon as I come home. I got off work at 2:30! I'm beating the system, or, more appropriately, The Man. It's nice having the flexibility to come in early, or a bit later. There is a downside to ch...

== Origins == Of Gaelic and Micronesian origin, the term for a flightless albino bird standing 3 meters tall which killed its prey with a prehensile tail. Specifically, it was in reference to both the bird, as well as the bird's method of killing (to pete, or peteing). Over time, it has also taken on the following definitions, depending on the context, tone, and the speaker's preference to the colour blue: flailing during a Siberian Autumnal Feast thinking that one was under the power of the hallucinogenic and sacred mushroom Halafrestum. When in fact the one has only eaten a dried up and slightly trodden upon oyster. singing out of tune in jest. walking. a mulit-tiered, fully automated gun turret defense system that was officially designed and implemented by the Nazis late in WWII. It fell out of favour when "fully automated", meant it shot and killed everything in sight until it ran out of bullets. the definitive clicking sound made by Master Lock combination locks ...

"A word warning, some of the images you are about to see. Are, awesome."

if your group shares anything in common with a particular Group that has aliens, volcanoes, dc-70s without propellers, and spirits that must be cleared from the soul. you have a section in your seminar that specifies "This is why we are not a cult" if the volunteer to paid employee ratio is greater than 2:1 if recruiting people is the most important goal at the end of your seminar(s) if on googling the group, in addition to your corporation's site, you get hits on cult debunkers, Skeptic's Dictionary and Apologetics Index. if your wikipedia page has a "The neutrality of this article is disputed." warning. if your founder is a disgruntled higher up from aforementioned Group that features aliens, volcanoes, etc. if your group has the nasty habit of drawing many national investigative reporting specials on your cult-like behaviour, and/or governments denounce you as a cult. if you actually pay cult experts to say you are not a cult if while your informing peo...

Mmmmmm , rackets , delicious , formulaic , stand taking , distinguishing itself thorugh language , vicious circle avoiding , rackets .

It has been my ambition to never go to an office soiree, dinner, coffee house, charade tournament or anything that falls into the purvey of the Workplace Forced Socialization Event. Mostly because I have hermetic tendencies. And also because my work never involves me saying anything to anyone. In my early years, I could go days without ever saying an actual word to anyone. It was bliss. It just seemed to me that with work that is primarily analysis and thinking and stuff, to go to some function every seasonal period to chat it up, as it were, with coworkers I don't even know, is just farcical. But, over my many years at employment, and perhaps, in some way, due to my affinity for the sitcom "The Office", I've started attending. My work pals tell me it's all about the free meal. I don't call sitting through what seems like literally geologic eons of speeches from the higher ups we never ever interact with 'free'. The funny thing about these meals is th...

Well, back in the nether reaches of time, back when yesteryear was naught but yesterday, back when men were men, women were women, and anyone else were locked good and tight in their respective closets, Canadaland had something called ThoenkaGavin. Of Dutch and Denmarkian origin it refers to the celebration following a heroic defeat of any number of small, marauding, and disturbingly fast rodents known as the Hanckel Smithin (Hanckelious Smithinourien). Now legend has it that the Federali Guv'mnt of yesteryear were facing a very stiff uprising of sorts from the western and praire Constitutionalities (now known as Provinces) with regards to payments owed for constructing the first Dirigible Waypointing Flare System. As back in those days, Canadaland was determined to become the foremost dirigible passage this side of India. Although the only spices we had at the time were Salt and Bacon, our nation was of the most optimistic variety, never guessing that a fashion craze for hats from...

I'm getting ready to send out my submission packet. Send my baby out into the big wide world to be rejectamacated. A bit light at first, just two: one to a publisher and one to an agent. I'm planning on having this baby go through about 75 or so rejections before I shelve it. I've read the same 50 or so pages like five times already. After a while, all the jokes kinda fall flat. I don't even know what the hell I"m reading and why I'd be bothering anyone with it. Yeah, I know, angst angst, slit slit. It's kinda like video games. After a while, the neat little graphicy explosions and stuff just fade away, and all you really experience is the gameplay. I call it my Tetris theory. And if any of that made sense, congrats, you are a nerd. After reading the same stuff over and over again, you actually sort of memorize it, and your brain just glosses over it. I think that's natures way of telling me to just send it off already. Why nature would butt her nosy li...

Telemarketer + Guy With Moxy = Hilarity

I realize that some of have no idea what my novel is about. That's probably because I haven't told you combined with the unfortunate fact that you most likely don't have ESP. My main reasons for not talking about it was because it was mind-bogglingly silly. It still is. The more tangential reason was because I wanted to finish it first. Well, it's done (sorta). So, without further adieu, here is my pitch: What is the only thing that a menacingly artistic panda, a suicidally brave boy hunter, and an unconventionally gadgeteering gnome have in common? The Faire, an annual festival in the Land of Ga for just about everything. "Dance Panda, Dance" is a mildy humourous novel written with obsequious adulation to Terry Pratchett, Michael Ende, and Douglas Adams. Set in the fantastic and wonderously absurd Land of Ga, where Cheese Pirates and Dagger Dwarves roam. It is the story of Steve, a panda, Patrick, a gnome, and Enkidu the hunter, who want, more than anything...