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X-TREEEEEEME indifference.



Posted by Janus , Jan 10 2009 · 308 views
General Crazy
Two things right off the bat:

One: The Imagine title does not refer to my defunct BIONICLE: Imagine project. It was a cool idea, but it was undone by my desire to not do any work.

Two: FOR SCIENCE! Will be returning monday, I already have two seperate stories in mind for Monday and Tuesday. I will not be writing them until that day, however (Maybe I'll write Monday's on Sunday, as Monday is a busy day for me)

No, Imagine refers to the fifth part of an absolutely amazing series that has evolved beyond my wildest imaginings.

Allow me to explain.

About five years (Or more) ago, I discovered this hilarious little flash animation made by a group called SamBakZa, the animation in question was "There she is!!" and told the tale of a bunny falling in love with a cat in a society that did not look kindly upon this. It was hilarious because the cat resisted until the end, only giving up reluctantly--and then started to love her himself.

That was supposed to be it, various theories were thrown around the internet (Mainly that the cat and rabbit did indeed represent the Korean-Japanese relationships during the period of time when it was forbidden. I'm not really sure what period of time this was, but I would guess it was during the Japanese occupation of Korea and in the second world war) but aside from that there wasn't much to discuss, but is sure was funny to watch. I shortly after forgot about it (after watching Hot Fish Same but Different)

Later on I discovered that it was supposed to be a three-parter, and I watched the second part "Cake Dance" and found it both amusing and adorable. Incredibly adorable--then I again completely forgot about it.

Last night my gurlfren being the incredible person she is reminded me of this little comedic series, and in fact linked me to all the videos. Number three was just as adorable and funny. It was called "Doki and Nabi" (Doki is the bunny, and Nabi is the cat)

But number four was...well, it shocked me. Let's go with that. I was seriously concerned about the direction the series was going in and was not expecting it at all. Especially not with the name "Paradise"

But I gotta say.

It's rare that I feel as inspired and touched as I did when I watched part 5 "Imagine" It really was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, and the story it tells is amazing.

I'd suggest everyone Check them out




Hullo Again

Posted by Janus , Jan 08 2009 · 203 views
General Crazy
Hullo all,

As the incredibly well-written and intelligent entry below tells, I was taken in by the twin vixens of Gundam, and Gurlfren.

While Gundam held me only momentarily, Gurlfren held me quite entranced for the period of a week, and even now I am reeling from the lack of Gurlfren in my life. It is saddening.

But worry not, FOR SCIENCE! Shall return, in fact it will return with a story on this very subject.

Just not tonight, I need to make a one-minute speech and learn to sleep properly again.

Ah, how I miss being able to sleep in until 2:30 PM, comfortable in someone's arms...

Come back soon, Gurlfren.


Delay: The Sequel

Posted by Janus , Jan 05 2009 · 187 views

hi dis is janus i'm busy wit gundumbs and gurlfren and yes a guy can have both at the same time.

kay luv you bye wub.gif love-sign.gif picturetake.gif flag_canada.gif headbang.gif smile_lehvak.gif smile_tol.gif


Her Portrait

Posted by Janus , Dec 30 2008 · 122 views

Yep, new story time. This one's a single story, though at times while writing it I wondered it would be or not. It may stretch a bit and for that I'm sorry. This has gone through the usual editing process of mine (That being a quick read through) as I hear from most professional writers that you should wait a day before trying to edit your work--and I don't have that luxury.

Oh, and my 'editor' went AWOL.


Her Portrait

Fire raged all about him, the flames flickering brightly in the enclosed room. He was trapped now, trapped with his back to it, to her, to his precious thing. she was the only thing that had drawn him to this place.

The flames drew closer, their immense heat washing over him as the fire spread its tendrils, seeming like some sort of ancient monstrosity. Still he stood facing it with his back pressed against the rough fabric of his lovely thing. He would protect her with his very life if need be.

There was something like an explosion in the distance, and the fire seemed to gain sustenance from this, seeming to suck in a large breath and grow content; it swarmed forwards—leaving him with scant more than a few feet between him and the death he knew awaited.

Where once was fear in his eyes, now there was a hard edge. He stared at the raging inferno, hardly seeing it. Then, straightening his back and holding his body composure, he turned to face that what he had been protecting.

She was as beautiful as she had always been.

One hand lay abreast of her, leaning languidly on the chair in which she rested. The other hand, delicate, like a dolls; cupped her perfect face. Her eyes, even the painting were a brilliant sapphirite blue seeming to gleam with the beauty of the ocean, her lips were small and curved up in a smile. Even her nose was somehow elegant, the lines of it complimenting the rest of her already perfect face. But what most attracted him was her beautiful hair. From the very tips of her roots, spilling down her shoulders was blazing red hair, beautiful and intense.

For a moment these thoughts consumed him, seeming to distance him from reality. Then a stray ember from the mad blaze landed on the canvas, just above her left shoulder. He uttered a guttural scream and lightly smacked the flame with his hand, wincing as the fire licked his skin—but still, she was safe.

Then another ember singed the painting, this one below, on the chair where she rested. His arm acted of its own accord, lunging for the merrily burning flame and smiting it righteously. He hardly even felt the heat burn his skin.

He gazed lovingly at the painting, then sideways at the intensely raging fire, his face hardening and his eyes going grim. He knew that they would die together, but he would die protecting her. He smiled a soft smile before once again facing her, and the new embers that burned merrily on the canvas and danced in patterns across his skin. He thought of how it had all begun that morning, of how this had all come to be.

He stood in the garden of his mind, seeing the events of that morning as if they were real once more. There he was, his lithe body relaxed against the metal post of the city bus stop. All around him others were milling all about, going about their business in a desperate attempt at living.

He watched them all, his eyes taking note of each person, seeing their own unique struggle. He watched men, women, children, everyone fell under his gaze. He saw the pain and effort straining their face…saw the way they walked as though there was a huge weight on their shoulders. He felt moisture on his face and reached up to brush away a tear—but there was none there. A moment later the heavens split and a deafening downpour descended on the unsuspecting people below.

He curled inwards, his body going tense and his neck seeming to retract into his shoulders. Desperately he pulled his warm coat closer to his body and waited for the downpour to stop.

There was a mechanical screech and a hiss of pressurized air behind him, and the rain now had a different sound, faintly metallic, a deeper “plunk” sound than what he had heard before.

Allowing himself a small smile he turned and boarded the waiting bus, his eyes hooded as he gazed out into the rain.

The trip didn’t take long, an hour at most. Yet all the while the driving rain assaulted the vehicle, the rivulets of water streaming across its body.

He sat in the rear of the bus, his eyes averted from the rain and focused on the few remaining passengers. From their conversation he was able to tell that they were—or had been at one time, lovers. He smiled a thin smile.

At last the bus was empty, leaving him with no buffer against the driving rain. He closed his eyes and sighed, allowing his body to relax. He’d be there soon.

A high-pitched shriek woke him from his reverie, and opening his eyes he found that the driver was gesturing to the door—this was the last stop. He muttered a silent curse under his breath; he’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he had missed his stop. Thanking the driver he stepped out onto the wet pavement of the city. He knew where he was, and his destination wasn’t so far.

If only it wasn’t for the rain.

He sighed and began his tromp, the rain impeding his vision and dampening his clothes, which now hung on him like so much dead weight. A young girl on the sidewalk offered him company and an umbrella, but he waved her off with a smile and a thank you. He would be fine.

He walked down the sidewalk, listening to the wet thud of his footsteps on the concrete. Exhaling slowly he allowed himself to gaze at the others around him. Some reveled in the gaiety of youth, playing merrily in the rain. Others clung to their protection in the form of umbrellas, their faces weary and pronounced.

Finally he saw it, the steepled roof jutting upwards, as if daring the rain to assault it. He saw the white, smooth stone. Saw the clear glass doors, and the softly lit entrance. He saw it and he smiled, forgetting for a moment where he was. A stream of cold water dripped into his face, and he was rudely brought back to reality. Shaking his head to clear as much water as he could, he trudged onwards.

At last he was at the precipice of the entryway, the rain still driving downwards but now unable to touch him, he glanced through the clear glass doorways, his eyes wide with excitement. Then, with little hesitation he gripped the smooth metal handle and heaved it open, walking into the warm, elegant room.

He introduced himself, they knew him already. The way their lips curved at the corner of their faces he could tell what they thought of him. He didn’t care, he wasn’t here for them.

With the compulsory introductions out of the way, he moved down one of the many hallways, savouring the feeling of the warm air, the soft carpet, and even the gently lit walls.

He wandered throughout the many hallways, stopping occasionally to glance at one painting or another, his eyes drifting from one canvas to another as he continued his search.

He wasn’t truly sure what he was searching for. It was as hazy and undefined as it had been for the past week when he began frequenting the gallery. Various painters had works of high esteem here, many of them were beautiful, many tragic, some even enlightening—but somehow it was never what he was searching. Somehow that void had never been filled.

And so he wandered through the elegant and spacious hallways, from exhibit to exhibit, searching in vain for something that he couldn’t even describe. He smiled a thin smile at his situation, pausing a moment in his insatiable search.

He mentally went over the map in his head, scratching off every exhibit he had already visited. There was only one that remained—one that was often filled to the brim with spectators. He sighed a heavy sigh and trudged onwards, towards the next circular room, and the next part of his search.

Amazingly it was devoid of people, though usually hordes of men and women would throng to the room, it lay bare and empty. He stepped onto the smooth tile floor, and looked around. He could see now that there couldn’t have been that many people in here, as the room was smaller than the others. While the other exhibits had spacious rooms that stretched out, this was a smaller room, lacking even a second floor.

He began his search on the east wall, glancing from painting to painting: Seeing a wonderfully artistic interpretation of a shipwreck, seeing the bare flesh of a nude painting, seeing the intense eyes of a murderer drawn in charcoal. None of these were what he was searching for.

He looked without hope, his heart sinking with every painting. What was he searching for? Would he be searching through every gallery in the city? In the country? In the world? These thoughts ran through his head like pestilent flies.

Then he saw her. She seemed to be gazing directly at him, her calm blue eyes beckoning him to come closer. Somehow he knew she was it, she was what he had been searching for.

He gazed at her, drinking in every detail. Her smooth alabaster skin, her gently curving lips, her flaming hair, even the way she languidly sat in her chair. He stared unabashedly at her, at her green dress that seemed to shimmer and dance as the light hit it, at her small circlet around her wrist, and of course, at those entrancing blue eyes.

He moved closer to her, desperate to feel any sense of connection with this beautiful vision. And then he stopped.

She was a painting and nothing more. He had thought that someone else had come to observe the exhibit with him, someone that he could talk with and enjoy the art with. But he remained, as always, alone.

He sighed softly, glancing once more at her face, at the perfect curves that made up every element of her body. He saw everything there was to see about her, saw the beauty that resided within her.

He was now standing directly before her, gazing in rapt fascination at the sight before him. His mind was careening out of control, imagining possibility after possibility. Wondering how it would feel to brush his hand against her soft skin, wondering what it would taste like to kiss her lips, to brush that vibrant hair from her face, to hold her in the moonlight as her dress shimmered and the light danced across it

He gazed at her with sunken eyes, weary from a lack of sleep. He had been searching for a week and now he had finally found what he was searching for, he had found her…and the void had been filled.

But what now? Sinister voices whispered inside him, warning him that he could not have her, warning him that the search was not over. Warning him, always warning him.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the voices and gazed again into her tranquil blue eyes. He needed her.

He allowed his shoulders to slump as he leaned in as close as he could, his eyes studying every inch of her canvas, his hands resting lightly on the ornate frame in which she rested. He focused on her and only her, but still the voices broke through.

“You can’t have her” they said, their words twisted and vile. “They won’t let you”

He tried to shut them out, tried to force them to end their tirade—but he couldn’t, and the oily whispering went on.
“She’s not even real, and if she were, why would she want you?” they slithered through his brain, worming into his thoughts.

He needed to fight them, he didn’t know what to do. He let out a scream of frustration as he hurled something to drive away the voices. Too late did he realize that he had thrown his keys. Too late did he realize that they had smashed one of the many globe-shaped lights that were dotting the exhibit walls. Too late did he see the sparks as they flew and grew into embers that turned to hungry, angry flames.

Instead he saw only her, with her tranquil blue eyes and her brilliant red hair.

Only her.

Only her portrait.

Total Word Count: 2,085


Almost Beautiful/the Flamingo

Posted by Janus , Dec 30 2008 · 131 views

Well once again the week has come, and once again it is time for me to begin writing. 2,000 is the challenge and once again I've hit it.

Today is a little different, as, with some advice I split the 2,000 into two seperate stories. Both very different from each other--but it's up to you as to which you enjoy more.

Keep in mind that I will begin accepting challenges for Friday, and the vote will be held on Thursday night.


Almost Beautiful

It was almost beautiful that day. The snow fell in soft gentle flakes, and the dim lights of the city glowed; illuminating the falling snow and giving it some ethereal presence.

I saw all of this from my sentry post high above the city. Up here the snow was brighter, more beautiful—but also somehow tainted by the grime of the fortress. It was an odd contrast, the soft and pure snow that fell slowly onto the quiet city…while I sat watch, my gun safely stored in its holster.

It had been almost a year since war had rocked the inhabitants of our city, almost a year since we of Colth had formed an alliance with our neighboring cities.

I sighed and shook my head, less than a hundred years ago the idea of wars between cities would have been considered mad, and yet here we were; Once known as the Trinity, the cities of Colth, Haspen, and Talga were now in an uneasy alliance. While there had been no outright fighting for close to year, tensions were still running high, and the people of Colth demanded the military take action.

And so here I was—sitting atop the Fortress Halget: a monstrosity of iron and steel that stretched upwards and reared into the sky, daring anyone to challenge its might and attack its people. I stood on the third tier of Halget, the watching tier, with nothing but cold iron beneath my feet and a walkway that led into the warmth of the fortress’ inner sanctum. Directly in front of me was my OmNIS, a strange apparatus that seemed to be nothing more than tubes and a primitive gas engine—but for someone trained in the use of the system—someone such as myself, it was a valuable ally on the watching tier.

All around me were my fellow OmNIS operators, each pointing their apparatus in a different direction. Three systems to the North, three to the East, and three to the South—each pointed towards a different city.

The watching tier was the third of four tiers at Halget, each tier being assigned a specific duty that it must fill out. The first was Infantry and armory, the fourth was command—and the second lay a mystery to all but the highest ranking soldiers. It was rarely opened, and when it was armed guards were posted at every entrance, and a strange hissing sound could be heard in the corridors.

My thoughts turned to the second tier as I stood at the catwalk, gripping the metal bar with one hand as the other fumbled for my lighter—I didn’t smoke like some other soldiers, but the gently dancing flame helped take my mind off the bitter freeze of the wind.

I allowed my eyes to roam over what I could see of the third tier; the lighter casting a pale shadow on the dark metal of the fortress. Around me I could see my fellow operators, and my replacement sitting at my OmNIS system…I knew I had nothing more than a few short hours before I would again have my head inside the Oscillating Mirror Nagivation Intelligence System.

The third tier was a perfect circle, wrapping its way around the conical body of the fortress like a dog curled up around its master’s feet. I could only see the half that viewed the outside of the city walls, but I knew that the circle wrapped wholly around, and that three identical OmNIS systems were eternally aimed at the city of Colth—to ensure that no scouts from Haspen or Talga made it inside the walls.

I glanced skywards, amazed at the fact that light was fading so quickly, but already I could see the dim twilight taking over the sky. It would be another long night tonight, as the snow fell softly all around and the citizens slept, we, the soldiers of Colth would guard our proud city, and protect all those who lay within it.

But there would be time enough for those thoughts later. For now I ached, the heavy metal of the OmNIS shroud causing my upper back and neck to scream as they worked—now that scream had dulled to a gentle murmur, but the ache still remained. I needed to rest.

The light had completely disappeared by the time I entered the fortress, bleeding from the sky like ink from a ruined masterpiece. I watched it fade, allowing my eyes the gift of real sight, rather than the elaborate system of mirrors that made up the OmNIS, then I walked into the warm light of the corridor.

The corridor was dimly lit, with several small lights lining the metal near the top, next to each light was a small rivet and a patch of steel. We had all been told on our first day at Halget that these tunnels were meant to withstand an enemy assault, and that if worse came to worse we were to fall back to them and await orders. None of us had ever needed to.

I thought about my family—were they proud to know that I was up here risking my life? I didn’t know. I thought about my father, would he be happy know that his little girl was helping protect the city? Would my mother still treat me like her daughter? Or was I now forged of iron and steel, another component of the fortress?

I shook my head, allowing my thoughts to be clean of such mental cobwebs. I was a soldier, of that there was no doubt, but what did that really mean? I placed a gloved hand on the cold metal of the tunnel, allowing my body to lean against its smooth surface. Perhaps all I needed was a break.

There was a shout, a scream, and a cacophonous rumble. Without thinking I pushed myself onto the wall and ran towards the corridor exit. I needed to get back to my post!

Darkness greeted me as I exited the tunnel, my eyes adjusting to the sudden change in lighting. I looked around at my fellow OmNIS operators. They were all dead.

Even without my system I could see it, jutting into the sky like a great giant of old: A Talga Mekan suit. Its sensors focused upon the fortress ahead—fortress Halget.

I reached for my gun, hardly knowing what I was doing…and then I was surrounded by lights. The Mekan had spotted me, its baleful eye-like sensors aimed at me.

I did not scream, I did not cry. I aimed my weapon at the suits exposed engine and fired. I thought only of my parents—would they be proud?

And then the world exploded.

I lay on my back, my body in agony. The suit had fired and missed its intended target, but had shattered the bulkhead directly behind me, preventing me from escaping through the corridor—and almost simultaneously my shot had miraculously hit the exposed engine, holding just enough force to penetrate the engine and destroy the suit.

The explosion was immense, and my injuries severe—I couldn’t feel my body from the waist down, and I knew that my arms and torso were covered in burns. Movement was impossible, all there was for me in the minutes I had left was the sight of the sky.

Though dark, the snow still fell, its gentle flakes descending through the air like glittering sparkles. It was almost beautiful.


Total Word Count: 1,249

The Flamingo

“Hey, hey, hey did you hear?” A shrill piercing sound grated through my ears as the perpetrator danced in front of my eyes. His boyish face alight with glee
“Hear what, twerp?” I murmured. It was way too early for the brat to be bugging me already. In fact, I glanced at the alarm clock, it was only….Oh crud. It was two hours past my usual wake up time.
“Flamingoes, or, by their proper classification Phoenicopterus, eat upside down!” Clearly this was the most important thing in the world to my brother.

“I see, that’s fascinating. Really.” I yawned as I pushed myself out of bed. Talk about your rude awakenings.
“there’s more!”
“Yes, did you know that pale pink, or white Flamingoes are unhealthy? And therefore the most common interpretation in the media is completely incorrect?” His voice careened into the higher decibels as he practically shrieked the last part. Ow.
“Really? That is absolutely terrible, a true shame. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to actually get out of the house”
“But there’s more!” He shouted after me, his little feet scampering alongside mine as I made my way to the bathroom.

At the door to the bathroom I held up my hand, the palm just inches away from his nose.
“Nuh-uh, squirt. This is Mano-A-Mirror time. Flamingo facts wait until after I’m done. Go hang out in your room for a bit”

Finally, mercifully, he relented and retreated to the confines of his (Very pink) room, leaving me in peace to gaze at my handsome visage. What would the world do without more guys like me? Well, thankfully they’d never have to find out, because I was here, and I was always finding the best ways to make myself more beautiful than I already was. Quite a challenge, as I was incredible already, if I do say so myself.

I spent a good half-hour in the bathroom, curling my wonderfully silky, chestnut hair. Studying my reflection for any hint of an imperfection, brushing my teeth until my gums practically bled…and of course applying just a hint of make up—after all, Actors wear it, and what was I destined to be, if not an actor?

At the end of my regime I quietly opened the door and slipped out, having my brother none-the-wiser that I was managing to escape from his endless tirades about…you guessed it, Flamingoes. I had almost made my clean escape, when, at the top of the stairs my cell phone rang. I swear you could hear a sonic boom as my brother zoomed towards me. Luckily I had the excuse of answering a cell phone. After all, you can’t talk to two people at the same time, right?

I answered the phone
“Yo, you got me”
There was a sound, musical and high pitched, like a cross between a flute and a squawking bird. That was some weird interference. I tried again
“Hello, this is Dave.”
A pause, then a furious bout of that strange musical squawk—obviously they were either a complete lunatic, or they were going through some incredibly strange interference. I went with the latter
“Listen, I can’t hear you, try again later, okay?”
This time there was nothing but silence, obviously the interference had finally disconnected the call completely.

I turned to my brother, desperately wracking my brain for an excuse for why I couldn’t listen to another one of his silly Flamingo facts, when my phone rang again. Talk about saved by the bell!

I held up a finger, indicating the phone and that obviously I couldn’t talk again because…well, the phone.

“Talk to me” I said, unconsciously grinning. Undoubtedly it was one of my many adoring fans.

Squark squawk squaaawk.

Oh jeese, not this again.
“Listen, you’ve got a seriously bad connection here. Can you call back when your connection is better? I can’t understand you at all!”


Wait, what? Elliot? That was my little brother—was this his friends playing some sort of weird practical joke on me—were they all total weirdos about Flamingos?

Well, throwing caution to the wind I decided to play along with their little joke. I held the phone to my ear and said.
“Yeah sure, just a sec.” I then gestured for my brother to take it, all the while making sure to look as nonchalant as possible.

I gotta give my little bro credit, he could be an actor almost as good as me one day, if the look of fake confusion on his face was any indication of his talent. After all, I knew he had to be the mastermind behind this lame-brained plan.

“…Hello?” He murmured, all his confidence evaporating as he held the phone. On the other end I could hear the unintelligible squawks and squarks.

Elliot played his part to a T, looking completely confused and taken off guard by the whole situation. Then, when he thought I wasn’t looking I saw his eyes go hard as he nodded fiercely.

With a meek “Goodbye” he hung up the phone, handed it back to me. Muttering something about how it was a wrong number, but he realized I was in a hurry so he’d let me go if I promised to talk Flamingo when I got back.

I said sure, I mean, what was I supposed to say? “No, I know all about your secret joke with your friends and it’s totally lame?” Not when I hadn’t even figured out the joke!

With a smile he scampered back to his room, shutting the door with a loud bang…and because of that bang he never noticed that I was almost right behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief at not getting being hit in the face with a door, I bent down to peek through the cracks.

The room was completely empty.

Okay, this was impossible. Throwing open the door I burst in, looking in every direction for my kid brother—but he wasn’t there. I tore open his closet and rustled around in the junk he stored in it—but he wasn’t there either.

And then I heard it, a slight rumbling that I could barely feel in my feet. Rushing to the window I gazed outside at the strangest sight I had ever seen.

There was my brother in the cockpit of a bright pink (with black highlights) Jet…shaped like a Flamingo.

Nowadays I let my brother ramble on about Flamingoes, after all, if he ever actually reveals his secrets to me I bet there could be a sweet movie made about it.

Starring me, in the role of my brother.

Total Word Count: 1,110


I Lied

Posted by Janus , Dec 29 2008 · 98 views
General Crazy
Kay, scratch my entry down there. Scratch it good.

See, I'm usually doing stuff on the weekends. Fun stuff, party stuff.

Stuff that involves friends, and not computers.

THUS I will be doing FOR SCIENCE! on a WORK-WEEK Basis. 5 days a week, no more, no less.


See you all tomorrow. (This time I mean it!)




Posted by Janus , Dec 28 2008 · 98 views
General Crazy
'lo all.

I will be updating with TWO (That's right, two) stories tomorrow. I'm stuck at a friends and have only limited time and access. And also no ideas, and it's late.

And when it's late I maaek speallign aerrrors.

Okay, those were deliberate, but you get the idea.

See you tomorrow!



Home, Home On The Yukon

Posted by Janus , Dec 27 2008 · 118 views

Home, Home on the Yukon.

And here's Fridays. I totally admit that I do not know much about Moose, or the Yukon. I BSed half of this and then researched the last little bit. It's not a particularly good work. BUT IT'S DONE.


December 32, 2002
Mood: Moosey
Music: Moove it.
I first sprung into being in the wonderful process most people call ‘birth.’ Now while I can’t remember mine (I mean, who can?) I have since borne witness to many other such events, and so rather than use it’s proper name, I instead refer to it as “Whatno”
However, during my own “Whatno” I don’t think such thoughts were going through my head, in fact I’m fairly certain the only things going through my head were “It’s cold” and “I’m going to cry now.”
Obviously things have changed since then—or at least mostly changed, it doesn’t get particularly warm here in the Yukon—and I still do cry. Just not as much. My mom says I’m special.
Now no doubt you foreign beings will be wondering two things.
One: What am I talking about, and the ever favourite…
Two: How am I talking, period.

Ah, but all things in time dear readers. All things in time.

I was born in the Yukon territory in the dead of summer, naturally you’d think this make some sort of difference but that’s because you don’t live in the Yukon. The place is an icicle all year round.

Now don’t get me wrong, we have our flowers and crops—but primarily we have mountains, and snow, and ice. It’s wonderful. It’s also very cold.
I grew up in the Yukon, I dated my first calf there, I headbutted my first male there. It was my stomping grounds. Literally, you ever seen the hooves on us?
Now what I’m going to tell you is something that I beg you to hold secret for as long as you live. Or at least until you’ve purchased my best selling novel.
The secret is that I’m on the run from the Canadian Government—and that’s what ties this altogether.
You see, I remember the idyllic nights and days of my youth, I remember running with the fawns and I remember my mother, I remember the snow, and the ice, and the rocks, and the occasional flowers. I remember life in the Yukon
However I also remember others like me, I remember fake trees and pleasant humans with loaded hypodermic needles. I remember a man in a white coat with a blatantly fake moustache, and I remember the tubes.
You see, gentle reader. I cannot determine fact from fiction. Did I grow up in the Yukon proper, or were memories implanted into my brain? It is a mystery that has plagued me since…yesterday.
Irregardless of that, I remember my first winter spent in the Yukon, be it in a lab or otherwise, I remember.
The snow was falling heavily that morning, cloaking all of the earth in a blanket of purity—and more specifically coating the ground in a sheet of ice.
I know how you humans react to such things, you cower in your homes as the streets become frozen streams—but that’s not how a true moose reacts.
No, we play.
Oh yes. I remember the ground that day. Normally hard turf became a slick, slippery sheet of solid ice. And we enjoyed it. Moosen from all over, tribes from far in the mountains and closer to the human cities came to enjoy the ice, and the once-quiet valley of my youth was soon turned into a braying crazyhouse of fur, antlers, and of course, laughter.
Oh how we laughed that day. Specifically at Moosenfr, a friend of mine, you see he had decided that he would be the first to enjoy the ice—and knowing it was coming (as all moosen know when the ground will become frozen) he took a long bath in the cold stream (He didn’t want to be dirty with all the girls around. He finds them very judgemental.) and then found a comfortable place to stand, and wait. To mark his territory, so to speak.
Ah, Moosenfr.
The poor boy ended up with his hooves frozen under a layer of ice, as all the (jugdgemental) girls swooped around him, snorting their nostrils at him (This is one of the many ways female moosen flirt, you see. In this case they were being very mean, though) and all the young boys ‘accidentally’ rammed into his unprotected flank.
Eventually we managed to break him out of the ice, but as a result he had ‘ice clogs’ for the next week. Ah the comedy.
However here’s where it starts to become indistinct again.
Moosenfr was my friend from youth. This is what part of my brain is telling me. The other part of my brain is telling me that Moosenfr was what was written on the pen where the Canadian Government kept me. It was where the project began, the project to create super-intelligent moosen.
How should I know, they’re Canadians. Have you seen their military? We would have been an upgrade. I say we because I’m certain I wasn’t the only one there. I remember one girl, with the widest nostrils, and the most beautiful large mouth, and don’t get me started on her shaggy fur. She could drive a Moosen mad.
Her name was Moosefera, and she was beautiful. And she was my girlfriend.
Wait. Was she?
Please give me a minute, I need to think. While you humans are familiar with all this, with your VeeTee’s, and interweave, and paystation 340, but for me, a simple Moosen who was only taught how to disarm bombs, save hostages, and infiltrate enemy territories…
Wait, what? Is that what I was? Is that what Moosenfr was?
If that’s the truth then please, please make me this one promise (Aside from the one about buying the book.) Please, find the head of the research division in the Canadian army and give them a mandatory drug test. Or just tell them to get a life.
Urgh. The phone is ringing, and so is my head. It’s not easy to type with your tongue, you know?
I need to take a break, eat some grass. Blog at you later.

January 21, 220
Mood: Moosetacular

Ah, it’s me again. I never did tell you my name, did I? Well for sake of hiding myself (You’d be amazed at how hard it is for super-intelligent moose to hide in the city), I’ll simply give you a codename. Call me …fromones. It’s a combination of the Ramones and Frozen. You see, I always did like the Ramones. Except when I was in the womb, and of course immediately after my Whatno.
Well, I’ve done some researching into Moosenfr. I’ve come up with four possible results, only two of which make any real sense.
The name Moosenfr belongs to the following:
1. A moose on display in a New York Zoo
2. A clothing store located in East Norway
3. A strange, strange man who lurks on the internet
4. A top secret Canadian Government project started in the late 1990’s
And how did I find all this information, you ask? Why simple, I contacted one of my inside sources, and they pointed me in the direction of a hidden website, something that’s hard to find but contains a treasure trove of information. Now because you’re my loyal readers (And as we discussed in entry number 24, if you work for the Canadian Government, please stop reading my blog… And call me Tom) I’ll give you a hint. The name begins with W, ends with ‘edia’ and is a .org website.
This website will tell you all you need to know about anything, ever. But like I said, it’s hard to find. You’ll have to do some digging to discover it.
Anyhow, after I found out this new information, I called Moosenfr in Norway. Or at least I tried to. Picking up the phone was hard enough, and then speaking? I think they thought it was a prank call. I’m going to need to get some assistance if I’m going to discover what’s going on. Maybe I can get some kids to believe I’m in a costume or something. This is going to take some serious thought.
Well, I’ll talk to you another day.

September 13, 1882
Mood: Hungry
Music: Grumbling stomach.
I’m afraid to leave the house, even for food. I knew I shouldn’t have stayed in the Yukon, I should have relocated to somewhere more unlikely to find a moose. Like Hawaii.
As it is, though, I’m surrounded. Looking out the window (Don’t eat the curtains, don’t eat the curtains, don’t eat the curtains) I can see them now. Shiny Black Vans, several of them. They’re being driven by men and women in clean-pressed uniforms with a logo that I don’t recognize. They’re also unloading a variety of information from the back of the vans—some of which is downright scary. I don’t want to know what they plan to do to me.
Clearly I have to escape, I haven’t yet unraveled the mystery surrounding my life, and if I don’t do that…well, nothing really happens. But I want to, okay?
I’ll contact you again when it’s safe.

February 28, 2938
Mood: Cold
Music: Wind
Can you guess where I am? Can you, can you, can you?
If you guessed “in the wildness” then you’re exactly correct! I’m hiding in around my old birthplace. Naturally most of the others are either hiding or they’ve moved on. After all, we wouldn’t want you humans to figure out that we’re actually pack animals and somehow use it against us. If you work for the Government then please disregard that last bit.

Anyhow, nothing has changed. The mountains are still made of rocks, the water’s still flowing, the wind is still COLD, and the grass here still tastes like someone coated it in metal. You’d think it’d be nice like a popsicle, but noooo. We get some sort of metal grass.
Oh, you’re wondering what I mean by ‘we’? Wondering if I’ve found my much-needed assistant? Well, no. But I do have a rather large leaf who I can pretend to talk to when I’m really lonely. Don’t judge me.
Ah, you’re also probably wondering how I managed to escape from the Black vans that the government sent? Well in true genius fashion I kicked down the door and stampeded down the hall and out the front door. They were so shocked I’d try an upfront assault like that, that they weren’t able to rally the troops to chase me!
AND I got some more information for my investigation. On their uniforms it said their agency. They work for a “COIT” clearly this investigation is just beginning!
Well, I’m feeling lonely, and I realized that I don’t have to talk to my leaf! After all, I’ve got one of those magic wireless sticks that let the internet be anywhere, even the Snowy valley that is my home.
So in order to relieve my loneliness, I guess I’ll describe what’s going on.

The snow is coming down fairly hard, the flakes pinwheeling this way adnd that in their mad descent to the eath, while the wind rushes them along towards their eventual destination. The trees here are thick and brown, caked with age but still full of youth and vigor, they resist the pulls of the wind, but their snow-crested tops are not so lucky. Snow that had stopped in its tracks is sent careening outwards and downwards, destined to meet its fellows on the earth below.

The night is silent, it’s a good night for the internet.

Didn’t I sound intelligent there? Told you, super-intelligent moose. That is what I do…I think. I mean I just did it, so I guess I do it. But am I supposed to do it?

I just logic puzzled myself into a headache. I’ll let you know when there are more updates, dolks.

March 12, 1298
Mood: Stimulated
Music: N/A
I recently realized that I had an E-mail account, and realized that people were wondering why my dates were so messed up. To tell you the truth, I may be a super-genius, but I’d need to care about how you humans do things for me to bother learning your date system. It’s confusing, so instead I just randomly pick a month and string some numbers together, isn’t that more interesting anyhow? The Moosen one is still much better, though.
You see, we have the following basic concepts.
The Day it is today
The day it isn’t today
The day it will be

And with that we manage to keep track of everything quite effectively. Some Moosen have also designed their own system, based on what happened in their day. IE: The day I ate grass. The problem is, of course, that there are multiple days where the same events occur, leading these poor deluded mavericks to go senile at a young age.
But that’s not the reason I’m writing this entry, nope. I found it!
“What did he find?” You may be asking yourself, and if you’re not. Start.
I found the site of the Moosenfr lab. It’s a hidden area high up in the mountains and reeks of mountain dew and Cheetos. Oh, and Moosen—but we don’t reek, we…spread a distinctive aroma.
It doesn’t look like the facility has been used for the past little while, and there are no guards. But unfortunately it’s also half-collapsed. Enough so that all that’s left identifying it were the letters M O E N F R. I guess it was shoddy worksmanship.
I’ll try and see what else I can find out before I blog again. My battery is running low and unfortunately I don’t think there’s an outlet out here. That’s sarcasm for you humans, by the way. We Moosen don’t need outlets. Or Laptops.

I just like them is all.

April 39, 3980
Mood: Intellectual
Music: That one, you know that one? It’s all Dah, dah, dah, dananana, dah, dah? You know what I mean.
Get this. I’m typing this from the Moosenfr lab. Not only is it semi-operational (though abandoned. The Cheetos and Mountain dew are long gone), but they had broadband WiFi here. Whatever that means.

But hey, I’m here. And it seems that it was actually called MoosenFORTH. So maybe Moosenfr was my best friend. Until he stole my girlfriend, that is.

What, I didn’t tell you that? Yeah, Moosenfr had a brilliant plan. He learned it from last time the ground turned to ice. He went scavenging to find as many flowers as he could—covered himself in them. And then he did the same thing he did last year, he froze his hooves in the ice.

He made himself a living bouquet that he presented to my girlfriend. I mean, come on. Is that lame or what?

Needless to say I haven’t seen or heard from Moosefera or Moosenfr for some time. They left the valley together—though I hear Moosefera might be seeing someone else now. She always was a weird one.

Oh, right. The lab.

Well, it’s not that interesting. It’s cold, metal, there are various stacks of files on Moosen (And Seals, for some reason) and various strange tools and rooms. That’s why I talked about Moosenfr and Moosefera instead. At least they’re interesting!

I mean, seriously. If the Government is going through all the trouble of building a secret lab in the middle of the Yukon, you’d think they’d at least have the common decency to make it interesting. I guess not, though.

Oh, there is one interesting thing here. It says in one of these files that we’re supposed to have telekinetic powers. Or at least that’s what it says in this little booklet.

It’s certainly the most interesting file here. It’s all in colour, and it’s all in pictures. There was apparently a scientist here called Storm. And another one called Cyclops.

And he could shoot lasers? Man, that’s a cool scientist. Maybe I should become a scientist instead of a world famous author (but you still need to promise to buy my book, I’ll put one out regardless)
Anyhow, I’m not going to stay too long. The Government might realize I’m accessing their systems (and using it to download music) and come get me. I think I’ll head to the second valley, rumor is my mom Is staying there. Maybe I can get some information from her!
Blog at you another day.

Final Entry:
Music: Duel of the Fates
Mood: Brilliant

Aha! I finally understand it now! I understand the disparity between my memories. Between what I perceive as being real, and what actually was real. The answer?
They were both real.
Y’see, my mom was a genetic mutation, an amazing Moosen all by herself. She was smart enough to realize that the Canadian Government has absolutely no life, and so she sold me and a few other Moosen to them, they make us smarter by taking us to their lab every once in a while, but for the most part we hang around and play just like regular Moosen. The Government gets their project, and we get brains which we can then use to benefit the rest of the Moosen. And how do I know this, you ask? How did I piece it all together? How did I bring all of the scattered facts into one cohesive whole?
I went to talk to my mom.
She introduced me to Frederick J. Bumpis. He’s the head scientist of project Moosenforth. As in, the Moose shall go forth and lead humanity into the new age.

Yep, you heard right. I was taught to disarm bombs and save hostages because we Moosen are supposed to be the bosses of some new space colony that Canada has planned. I think they’re making out of tin.
Oh, and if you think that’s bad, you don’t even want to know what they dsid to the seals.
See you around, my adoring readers. Especially when I’m your boss.
And no. You’re not allowed to read blogs on the job.

An Addendum by Dr. Frederick Bumpis.
Hello, my fellow humans. I’m amazed to see that test subject M0053 was able to live undetected amongst us for such a long time, and even more amazed he was able to start a blog.
Now, having read through Test subject M0053’s blog, I cannot help but find myself displeased the way he has portrayed the Government in general, and project MoosenForth in particular.
The Canadian Government is quite the effective governing body, and it is due to this effectiveness that we are able to execute projects such as Moosenforth. You see, the government puts all their effort and time into running the country, and because of that they’re completely oblivious to whatever plans we feel like. Project MoosenForth is only the most recent of these projects, which have been stretching back as far as I can remember. In fact my Father Dr. Leonard Bumpis was the chief scientist on one of the original projects. As I recall it was one to make Chicken’s layeggs, rather than birthing their young in the traditional fashion.
So as you can see these projects are indeed beneficial to our world. And we owe thanks to the Government for being so busy running the country that they can’t tell us to stop. (Listen, I trust you, but you can’t tell this to anyone else. Most of these projects started out as the drunken ramblings of one intern or another at a Christmas party.)
As for more specifics on Project MoosenForth: Now that it has been declassified I have no problem giving away all sorts of sensitive details. Or as we say in the business: “Giving away the juicy bits.”

Project MoosenForth was my brainchild. I got….inspiration from my good friend Jack, and that got me to thinking. Moosen are hardy creatures that can survive bitter cold—and they’ve got almost no natural predators. Plus those antlers are really, really cool. So why not make them better?
We began work on MoosenForth in the late 1990’s, operating out of a toolshed belonging to one of my interns. Steve.
The plan was originally to use the Moosen’s antler’s to somehow channel electricity through them, essentially making them walking lightning clouds. We ran into problems when we realized that
One: This was impossible without killing the Moosen or replacing half of their internals with robotics
Two: While it was a really cool idea, it didn’t have much of a purpose.
And so the first iteration of Project MoosenForth was scrapped. We went through Various other iterations, including: Underwater Moosen, Flying Moosen, American Moosen (This was ruled out as being crazy), and my personal favourite. Miniature Moosen.
Eventually these all fell victim to the glaring flaws we saw in the first iteration and were all summarily scrapped.

And then it happened. Ever had one of those days when something absolutely amazing occurs? When some amazing woman comes striding into your office and tells you that your wildest dreams are in fact possible? I remember well that day. It was August 14, 1994 when she walked in. All 360 KG of her.
She told me her name was Moosaraf, what a lovely name. She also told me she was a Moose—as I hadn’t yet put on my glasses this was a bit surprising, but obviously true.
Moosaraf was an amazing specimen, displaying not only human-level speech and interaction, but also latent telekinesis. Most of which she used for stealing Cheetos…my staff never forgave her for that.
Moosaraf had heard of my ongoing research by posing as an intern and checking on the current “Crackpot” plans. You see, while the “normal” research is going on at any given facility, the staff will band together to create the “crackpot” file, where we put things such as MoosenForth. (How she managed to pose as a human is beyond my comprehension. I’m beginning to think she just threatened to trample people if they didn’t say she was in fact a normal human woman of ages 30to 38 with shoulder length blonde hair, green eyes, and impeccable fashion taste. And yes, this was all repeated to us, verbatim. She told everyone who had ears that this was in fact who she was. Poor deluded girl)
When she came to see me, she allowed us to study her abilities and then explained that she would soon be pregnant (Perhaps latent telepathy as well?) and discussed with us the possibility of having her child be one of the first of project MoosenForth. After all, it was possible that her gifts would be genetically passed on to the next of her kin.
It turns out she was right. Mooskinel (Test subject M0053), was in fact blessed with his mother’s abnormal intelligence. Unfortunately he was also a bit of a daydreamer—in fact it’s no wonder that he was so confused about whether or not his memories were real, half the time we were experimenting on him he was off in lala land, talking about flying on the clouds or something crazy like that. Of course when he would occasionally lift himself up (using telekinesis, of course), it was a bit difficult to say that it was crazy.
With Moosafara and Mooskinel’s help (When he wasn’t daydreaming, that is) we were able to recruit our test subjects, including his friend Moosenfr—unfortunately Moosenfr just took the enhanced knowledge and used it to become a Romeo—last I heard he’s selling “How to” books on romance under an assumed name.

Each of our test subjects was given their own pen, their own assistants, and their own assigned groomer. They were run through rigorous tests before any procedure, and then they were immediately given plenty of rest following a procedure.
As for the actual Procedure? Well I’m afraid I can’t reveal that, it’s not exactly classified….I just don’t really want to.
Okay, okay. You got me. I have no idea what they did.

I was too busy reading X-men.


A Night In The Chapel (aka: Toronto How We Hate Thee Pt. 2)

Posted by Janus , Dec 26 2008 · 87 views

A Night in the Chapel (AKA: Toronto how we hate thee pt 2)

That's right. Three nights in a row, go me!

However now's the time to introduce a little something new.

You may recall the original rules of FOR SCIENCE! but for those of you who do not, I shall repost them for your viewing pleasure--and add in the final piece (For now)
  • Every day I will write a minimum of 2,000 words. This can be about any subject.
  • Throughout the week I will collect comments on what people are interested in me writing about. Any subject that is BZP appropriate will be considered. Any subject I am not familiar with must be presented with enough information that I can have at least a loose understanding of it.
  • Every Friday I will randomly select one of the choices given and write 4,000 words on that given subject.
  • Lather, Rinse, Repeat.
  • I will accept additional challenges on an an occasional basis. This can include length, using certain words, using a certain style, or using a certain phrase--or anyything else you can think of!
However as an addition on to the last one. I will allow you to vote for the story I write on Friday! That's right, as soon as this entry goes up the voting willl begin. The two choices we have for this Friday are:

Makaru - Furmanisms. A candy store full. 5000 words or less, just to be nice.
Bossman - write about being raised by moosen in the Yukon Territories

So vote away, and the winning choice will be my 4,000 word story tomorrow!

I suppose the first thing I could say about the Toronto Airport (Pearson International, for those of you playing along at home!) is that.

Dude. Big.

I mean wow, talk about compensating.

But in all seriousness it's pretty enormous—and not particularly well staffed. Makes it fun for when you are trying to find out where to go. As a general rule of thumb, follow the SIGNS.

Ah yes, the signs. A rather prevalent feature in airports, signs advertising services, boards with flight delays and arrivals, signs that direct you where to go. Ah, Signs.

So I followed the myriad of signs to my eventual destination. Let's see…International Baggage, Departures, Baggage Claim, and International Transfers.

Ah! The last one, that's the ticket.

And so I went: Down the hallway, through the security guarded doors (Remember this, it'll be important), up a staircase, up another staircase, and finally over a bridge…like…thing.

Ah, at International Transfers I get to stop in at International baggage check. Okay!

Now I am a naturally observant person, so I see the people in line pulling out their boarding passes and their passports—and being the astute man I am I garner I am to do the same. No problem!

And so I reached into my pocket and pulled out my boarding passes and my…wait…wait….wait.



In a frantic scramble that was likely akin to someone with flesh eating ants on their skin I tore into every pocket I had on my person. No passport.

Oh man.

Well, first we gotta find out about the status of the flight anyhow, right? And when I check on that it's sure to turn up, right?

Yeah, not so much. Oh, and the flight's cancelled.


And thus began a desperate flight to my point of origin (in the airport, thanks. I have no intention of returning to the womb). I raced down the hallway, down the stairs and


Wait, what? I just needed to get through to get my passport. And so I attempted to explain this clearly and concisely, transmitting my urgent need and panic—after all, I could still catch another flight!

Instead it ended up more like verbal vomit, as I sprayed out "Ithinkmypassport'sontheplanecanIgetthrough?"

She looked at me with something resembling pity, and something resembling an eye-quirk. Like an odd mixture of sympathy and what-did-you-just-say-you-strange-strange-man.

However in the end I was strongly DENIED entry back in there. After all I might be a terrorist or something like that!

However, she did politely inform me whereabouts I could find the lost and found and report my passport as missing. Lovely.

So I strolled down another set of stairs, desperately trying not to hyperventilate (AND FAILING HORRIBLY) and walked through another set of security doors. Ah, the main foyer, crowded with bazillions of people—likely there to pick others up. Avoiding this throng of people I found the little hole-in-the-wall that was the Lost and Found.

It was quiet in there, which was nice—but of course it also allowed me to focus on my incredibly rapid heartbeat and utter PANIC. (For those of you wondering about my terror, International travel via air ==IMPOSSIBLE without a passport. To put it in mathematical terms Plane + America-Passport=NO). And I reported it to the man behind the desk. He had the people cleaning the plane check aaaaaand.



He then said gave me a number I could phone and told me to check Canada Customs which was just down the hall. HOKAYS.

And down the hallway I go to Canada Customs (Another hole-in-the-wall office WHICH HIDES A SECRET), and to make a long story short: There ain't no passport there for me. I get another number I can phone and the best words of 'comfort' I have ever heard.

"It really depends when they're handed in. It usually takes about two-three hours to clean the plane, but passports can come in as late as FIVE DAYS after that." (Emphasis mine)

Don't you feel so secure now?

Well, with that problem being solved (supposedly) I needed to fix the second one, mainly being stranded in an airport like a bazillion miles from home.

So just to complete my (first) circuit around the airport I dashed upwards towards the international baggage check, and went to one of the many "Help Phones" that were scattered around the airport.

Or rather I should say I joined the line for one of the many "Help" phones that were scattered around the airport. Because there were lines, oh were there lines.

Twenty miuntes ticked by, followed by forty, followed by fifty, and I engaged in conversation with my fellow stranded passengers, oh what a merry time was had by all!

And then glory of glories it was my turn to hold the phone, can you believe it? I dialed the requisite three digit number to call up my airline and glory be….I got to be on hold for another FORTY MINUTES.

(Protip: If you cancel a million flights, have your switchboard ready to receive A HUNDRED THOUSAND CALLS. Otherwise your customer service does indeed suck)

At last I got through, and was met with a REAL HUMAN VOICE. Truly an amazing thing. They informed me that they're very sorry but all the flights to New York were cancelled, however they could get me the earliest booking coming up very soon. The first flight left at 6:00 PM Sunday, what luck!

Well, I hung up the phone happy that my little situation was resolved, now all I had to do was relax, wait for my passport to be found, and wait a single night. I could wait a single night, right?

Cell phone rings, pick it up. Ah, it's my girlfriend. Lovely to hear from her, we chat, I let her know when the earliest flight is. She pauses.



"That's two days!"

"No it's not, that's only….wait. Today's Friday, isn't it?"


"…..I'm going to need to call them again"

And thus my wonderful call ended and the panic returned. However I felt that (having had a few hours pass) surely there would be some response from Canada Customs about my passport, right?

And so I bolted downstairs once more, one by one my mental strings beginning to detach.

To make a long story short: No.

And for those of you who are thinking of the lost and found: No.

Well, I guess it's time to wait in line at the phone again. But wait! The phone rings once more! Ah, it's my girlfriend again, informing me that if I BUS through the border I do not in fact need a passport. BRILLIANCE.

Well, I check customs, they say I'm good to go with the I.D. I do have on me. Awesome!

The phone rings.

I'm informed that someone's done some checking and that my I.D. might not be valid to get through the US Border (And Canada Customs may be wrong on this, after all, they're not immigration). Well, damper on the enthusiasm, but I may as well try, right?

All I need to do now I cancel that flight on Sunday, like heck I'm staying in the airport for TWO days. Ick.

Long story short again: Wait in line = 35 minutes.

Wait on hold = 1 hour.

Flight cancelled, money refunded. Delightful.

Awright, now all I need to do is get my luggage and I can catch that bus!

Problem: Luggage isn't in International Baggage claim. I wait for a good HOUR looking/checking at the front desk before any real help is offered to me. By this time it is dark outside and I have received several calls from various people.

Solution: Check domestic baggage claim!

Problem: Luggage isn't in domestic baggage claim

Solution: Crud. I got nothing.

Well, this is fun. I may as well check Canada Customs again, right? Still no passport. Oh what fun this trip has become!

Phone rings (By the way, this became a common occurrence), more checking has turned up the fact that I almost definitely cannot get into the states with the I.D. I have on me. Time to re-book that flight.

So I stand in line at the ticket counter (You really think I wanted to go back to that dang phone?) for a good…oh, two hours. Receiving phone calls and getting to know my fellow passengers. Why am I stuck in line so long? Well because there's a line of about 50 people and there are…2 service agents.

Wait, scratch that. One just left.

We now have one service agent and…oh, 60 people. The line's getting bigger and the people are getting smaller. Is this fun yet?

Someone complains, police are called, manager arrives and tells us that she absolutely WILL NOT put more staff on this desk, and instead invites us all to go to the ticket counter on the ground floor. There are complaints, grumbling (Who wants to lose their place in line?) but eventually compliance.

After a period of getting completely lost we finally find our way to the ticket counter, and surprise, surprise: we've all lost our places in line.

Ah, but there is good news! A young gentleman approaches from the counter and asks "Who is traveling to the states?" Many hands go up and he basically states the following: (Note this is not verbatim and may be tinged with bitterness)

"Sucks to be you, all flights are cancelled. Have a voucher with a phone number for how to get a discounted hotel room and a number for the booking phone number. Now get out of line"


There are several more check-ins at Canada Customs, none of which give off any result. Glee.

Finally I cave in and call the number, after all, who wants to sleep in the Airport?
Ring, ring, ring. Ah, there's a young man at the other end. He asks where I am, and I let him know.

"The discount tonight is at the Holiday in, the per-night cost is $99 dollars"

Excuse me, what? That sound you heard? That was my jaw dropping. This is a discount?

"Oh, and the last shuttle left ten minutes ago, I'm afraid you'll have to take a taxi. Will you be booking a room?"

Yeah, No.

Phone hung up. Begin operation: Wander Airport looking for good place to sleep!

Hours pass, finally a suitable location is found. The Airport Chapel's waiting room, in fact this is such a grand sleeping spot that someone is already sleeping there. Good thing there's enough room.

By now I'm exhausted and paranoid (After all it's almost certain my passport has been stolen rather than simply lost. Either that or the people looking are…incompetent to say the least.) so I pull out my heavy jacket and drape it over myself. Hiding my carry-on bag, and myself from view. I'm also keeping all my valuables as close to my person as possible.

I likely slept for about…oh, two hours. It's still dark, but I need something to drink.

Tim Hortons is open, there's a line…a massive line, but a line nonetheless. I secure myself a spot and wait…and wait…and wait. Ah, almost at the end now, only about 20 people left in front of me!

The manager comes out, they're closing.


Well, with nothing else to do I decide I should go back to sleep. But this time I'll sleep more comfortably—my back hurts from sitting up while sleeping.

I find an outlet to charge my cellphone (it's dying by this time), lay on the ground with it in my hand, and again drape my heavy coat over myself and all my possessions.

I wake up about two hours later (Total hours of sleep thus far: 7, and that's being generous)

I'm exhausted, it's not comfortable sleeping here and the feeling of utter terror of being completely isolated far from home is one that I do not look forward to experiencing again. I need to get out.

I call my parents and my girlfriend and inform them. They understand.

For sake of brevity let me simply say that after another hour on the phone I have tickets back to Vancouver, and an hour later I have established that the airport has indeed misplaced my luggage. My joy is boundless.

Needless to say my boarding pass doesn't print off, I get to wait in line for another hour (around 200 people, maybe 5 people on duty out of 10-12), but finally I'm confirmed to be going home.

And then my flight is delayed.

By an hour.


And that's about the end of it, now as I said, for sake of brevity I have not included everything (For example a report to the police, and said police acting rudely), however that's the jist of it.

My luggage was found, my passport was not.

I arrived safely in Vancouver, if somewhat exhausted.

Total hours slept over three days: 9

I have no desire to ever fly with that company again, and no desire to visit Pearson Airport ever again.

Hope you enjoyed my suffering.

Total Word Count: 2,211


Frozen Wings (aka: Toronto How We Hate Thee)

Posted by Janus , Dec 25 2008 · 118 views


Frozen Wings (AKA: Toronto how we hate thee)

Yes, you are seeing correctly. I am keeping some sort of a schedule. This is the SECOND night of FOR SCIENCE! And hopefully I will continue to be inspired enough to write MOAR AND MOAR.

However I will say that it is difficult to pull a subject out of my b….rain, every day. So PLEASE do submit ideas for what you want to see me write about, PLEASE.

Anyhow, this time it is a short story about a LOVELY TRIP I TOOK TO NOWHERE.


Our story begins, as most (not all, mind, but most) do: Somewhere around the beginning and the end—not quite in the middle, but certainly somewhere in the vicinity of the start—or so the rumor goes.

Now isolating the exact beginning of this sad, sad tale is difficult simply for the fact that most often when people are beginning a story they will begin with the dawning of a new day. Often drawing upon that most wonderful of plot devices, the blank space.

You know the one I'm talking on, the blank space that the main character sees just before their eyes snap open and their epic adventure begins!

Problem one: I didn't sleep at all that night. No, I don't mean fitfully, I mean I didn't sleep. The eyes did not close all night—why? Because I'm clearly insane, most of you pointed out this fact in my last entry.

Now I'll confess there is no problem two, but doesn't it look so much more impressive if I say "Problem one:" vs. just "The main problem:" That's what I thought, thank you for agreeing with me.

Now where were we? Ah yes, the beginning…or some variation thereof.

As I mentioned before I didn't sleep that night, not a wink. Instead I conversed most merrily with my friends and enjoyed the wonderfully seasonal cartoon: Batman Beyond (okay, so not so seasonal. BUT IT IS COOL SO YOU NOW SHUSH) In fact as I recall I had just finished the episode Earth Mover (Which is ridiculously creepy, by the way) before I looked over at my alarm clock and saw the emblazoned red numbers.

4:00 AM. Perfect.

With barely contained glee I sprung from my comfortable chair and tiptoed out of my room, sliding silently into the room of my parents and coughing politely to let them know that it WAS in fact TIME TO GO RIGHT NOW. My mother awoke almost immediately, my father took more convincing—ironically enough it was he who was supposed to be the easy one to wake up—after all he was the one who was going to drive me!

After roughly ten minutes he was ready, dressed and on his way. I grabbed all of my assorted baggage and met him in the darkened hallway…wearing my stylish shades. Why? Because they looked cool. Be quiet.

In another five minutes we were underway. Cramming the luggage into the car and sliding into our respective seats we were off.

The snow had been falling lightly for the past few days, so while the roads were not made any more difficult, there was a gentle frosting effect that was pleasant to look at. It helped me drift off slightly as we sped onto our destination. (Here drift off refers to the act of sleeping, rather than the act of slipping off the road and into one of the way ditches that would eagerly welcome our car)

Within a period of roughly 45 minutes we were there. I could see the nearly overwhelming glow of lights coming from the series of buildings, the many lights illuminating the tall shapes against the darkness of the night. We had finally arrived at the airport—and for once there was no line up, no crazy drivers, no insane rush. Can we say score? Yes, yes we can.

Anyhow, I slid from the front seat, grabbed my luggage and said goodbye to my dad. With that done I walked inside to go through BORING PROCESS NUMBER ONE.

For those of you unfamiliar with airports and air travel in general, there are a number of boring processes one must go through. I have compiled these into list form for your ease.


  • (As I am traveling to a foreign country, I must do this) fill out an American Customs form so that they don't arrest me upon entry into the country YAY.
  • Get my boarding passes printed off. Luckily most of this automated nowadays—though they make it a bit of a pain. It asked me to say EXACTLY WHERE I WAS GOING. I mean, country, city, street. Creeped out yet? Good.
  • Print out luggage tags. This is a surprisingly complicated process that will drive many full grown men to their knees attempting to get the blasted thing to stick properly. Naturally I was able to do it with skill and poise—and only printed off one extra tag that I got in trouble for. (PROTIP: Canadian airlines don't have a silly "Checked bag" cost. We get up to two for FREEEEE)

I suppose I should also mention that because I AM A SILLY FOOL (And Air Canada/United Airlines are CONFUSING) I arrived at the international departures gate and tried to check in with United Airlines. I got my boarding pass from a boarding pass machine, and I filled out my customs form. However as I went to enter the line a polite man asked where I was going to be flying, I told him and he looked at me strange (but still polite!) and informed me that so long as it was IN Canada it was still THROUGH Air Canada.

So I got traipse ALL ACROSS THE AIRPORT from International Departures to Domestic before I could move on to Stage three of BORING PROCESS NUMBER ONE. And that's not even mentioning the ten minutes I spent in line. AREN'T AIRPORTS FUN KIDS?

After all of that, I grabbed my luggage, exited horribly long lineup NUMBER ONE and entered into BORING PROCESS NUMBER TWO (and reasonably large line NUMBER ONE)

  • Walk through stage one security. This consists of giving your passport and boarding pass to the guards. Do not look at them cockeyed, do not yell at them. Chances are you will get through this stage of security unless you are hopelessly insane (Somehow I got through!)
  • Remove shoes, coat, PSP, wallet, boarding passes, passport, and watch. Stick in bucket. Place carry on bag on the conveyor belt.
  • Wait for security guard to stop talking to cute female compatriot, walk through metal detector.
  • Attempt to hurriedly grab items from bucket and put them back in their place before people in the line behind me get frustrated.
  • Find my departure gate
  • WAIT.
For those of you unsure about what I mean for number five and six. It's really quite simple. Each flight leaves from a particular departure gate in the airport. (That's why they're so massive—as for why they're so understaffed…no clue.) Now in order to ensure that you do not miss your flight, most major airports now like to make sure that you show up at least an hour early, and for most international flights at least two hours early. (I'm sure this has nothing to do with them wanting you to spend hours around the smell of their Starbucks, Tim Hortons, and various other outlets that will force you to spend money with their insidious deliciousness)

So, being the intelligent young man I am, I ensured I would arrive two hours early. Expecting that due to the winter season the lines would be insane and I would have plenty to keep my attention occupied until the plane arrived.


The airport was DEAD. It was DEADER than dead. I arrived at my gate before the STEWARD and STEWARDESSES. Let alone before the PILOTS.

Current time? Oh I'd say 5:00 AM—time my flight leaves? 7:00 AM. Oh joy.

So I attempted to help a fellow passenger find a Tim Hortons (There was none, by the way. She relented and gave in to the siren song of Starbucks) and then sat down for the long haul. I plugged in my PSP adapter and played some Earthbound (Everyone should play this game. It is crazy) until the time for boarding came. Yes, I played for two hours. Bite me.

The actual loading process is rather boring, but not really a process worth describing, so just make that fast forwarding sound (You know, from a VHS tape….you do know what that is, right?) and we'll skip along.



Okay so I was in the plane and we'd just taken off (After delays! YAY) and was enjoying a gorgeous scenery of mountains. A note for those of you who may one day fly with me: I WANT THE WINDOW SEAT. GIVE IT TO ME NOW.

Naturally the sun and the mountains and the snow all created a truly beautiful image—but unfortunately such beauty cannot last forever, and soon we were entering the cloud cover (Which is also incredibly cool, by the way. It's like you exist in a timeless space where you go neither forward nor backward, neither up nor down. You just exist. It's funky)

Now naturally, being that at this point it had been over 24 hours without sleep, I was getting a bit tired. However I resisted the spell of sleep. Why, you ask?

Because every seat had a built in screen in front of them—and on each screen (Touch screen, by the way. REALLY BAD TOUCHSCREENS) you had the option of various forms of entertainment. I perused the TV channels and upon finding nothing interesting I decided to check the movies. Hrn.

Mama Mia, Dark Knight, Some Christmas Flick, some other movie…interesting flicks no doubt, but not quite what I was looking for. Luckily enough for me there were multiple categories under the movie selection, and I had simply checked the Hollywood section.

Well for a laugh I decided to check out the Family movies, after all, couldn't hurt, right?

Hn. Some movie I can't remember and…wait. No, it couldn't be.



So I enjoyed my first ever viewing of Wall-E whilst soaring throughout the clouds on my way to Toronto. And then I passed out and slept for a bit.

I awoke to the sounds of them serving food and drinks, I purchased a chicken salad wrap (Actually it wasn't half bad!) and quenched my thirst with a cup of water and a can of ginger ale.

And then it was off again into the land of dreams. Or not so dreams. Sleeping with black space? Man, that sounded weird.

Anyhow, I put on some classical Mozart (Can you believe they had that in the entertainment console <3) and did the sleep thing as mentioned above.

Now it couldn't have been more than an hour before I felt the familiar "OW" in my ear of depressurization, and heard the wonderful crackle of the radio informing me of our descent into Toronto. They let us know that the conditions were…well, hectic to say the least. In fact we were dropping super slowly because the airport was so clogged up that we had to take a secondary route. Oh so comforting, yes?

Then finally we were below the cloud cover and could see the SNOW. Oh wait, that was Toronto airport? You're kidding me, all I saw was SNOW and more SNOW. Waaaait, that big snow lump over there kind of looks like a building. If you squint reaaaally hard.

Well, that was basically the condition of the airport. White. Very, very white.

Well we slowly descended, with the usual thump and bump of the wheels hitting the runway. Thankfully we didn't skid and slide into a snow bank (There were certainly enough!). But we sure did wait a good half hour at the gate before we were allowed off the plane. However I was in no real rush, my transfer flight didn't leave for another few hours. I dropped my sunglasses (Helpful for sleeping on a plane, by the way. Blocks out the BURNING STINGING SUN IN MY EYES AH GOD OW) but luckily a helpful passenger picked them up for me. Go him.

I said goodbye and thank you to the staff on my way off the flight, overall it really was a pleasant experience, albeit a pleasant experience on two hours of sleep (AT MOST). And stepped into Toronto Airport...


Neener, it's still over 2,000 words! HAH.



Like A Vast Predatory Bird...

Posted by Janus , Dec 24 2008 · 229 views


"Like a vast Predatory bird…"

H'lo all you gentlefolk. Some of you are no doubt believing that the world will end soon, given that I have updated not once—but TWICE! And in rapid succession (Well, rapid for me anyhow)

However I'm here to assure that the world is indeed safe and secure—well at least I pose no threat. Or not much of one—only a code yellow at the most

NEVERTHELESS, this entry does indeed serve a purpose—or rather, it serves a PROMISE.

Y'see, many of you might not know this, but for quite a few years I had aspirations on becoming an author (Instead I find myself as a Martial Arts Instructor. Talk about KICK BUTT HA HA JOKE), however I cannot let go of my author aspirations—why?

Quite simply it's a matter of efficiency. I spend at least 25% of my free time in a state of worldbuilding, this is a GROSSLY misappropriated time given what actually gets done. Thus I either figure out how to stop my brain from doing so* (Impossible, by the way) or I find a way to force myself into productivity!


It's a simple enough concept, really. My writing skills have dulled over time and I find myself struggling for words that once came effortlessly. This is uncool.

And so I've come up with this solution "FOR SCIENCE!" will be an ongoing series—possibly until the day I die (HA). There will be no set requirements for the most part, but the basic layout is as follows.
    • Every day I will write a minimum of 2,000 words. This can be about any subject.
    • Throughout the week I will collect comments on what people are interested in me writing about. Any subject that is BZP appropriate will be considered. Any subject I am not familiar with must be presented with enough information that I can have at least a loose understanding of it.
    • Every Friday I will randomly select one of the choices given and write 4,000 words on that given subject.
    • Lather, Rinse, Repeat.
    • I will accept additional challenges on an an occasional basis. This can include length, using certain words, using a certain style, or using a certain phrase--or anyything else you can think of!
Since the point of this is to help improve not only my SKILL in writing, but also my FREQUENCY in writing. I will accept crits and ENCOURAGE people to bug me on AIM/MSN if I have not updated on a given day. I am frequently a lazy butt.

So without further adieu, I present to you my first 2,000 word monstrosity.

Why I can never be evil

I think I first realized my ineptitude for evil at the tender age of ten. You see it wasn't just my penchant for alliteration, or my love of prancing and dancing and romancing. It wasn't even the fact that I was a blond haired blue eyed baby faced tinychild.

No, indeed it came about because of how I made and ate my food.

Undoubtedly some of you are wondering if that mean that I didn't viciously stab my food and then leap upon the still stabbed remains and feast on them—well you're bloody right. That'd just be weird. What do you take me for?

However I also didn't sit politely like a good little lad and smile eagerly waiting for the pot to boil (Protip: IT DOESN'T IF YOU WATCH), nor did I hum to myself as I gently poured in the spices. And I certainly didn't take even-measured mouthfuls and ensure that I chewed 21 times EXACTLY.

No, it was nothing that dramatic. In fact it was something rather trivial.

Now as I mentioned above I have a horrible penchant for worldbuilding at the worst times. Often enough this included when I was alone and making food, resulting in all sorts of strange voices and forced accents and epic battles before I sat down to eat…it was a good thing no one was ever home when I made food, huh?

Now to take a brief sidetrack, my favourite food, and the one that most often resulted in this strange story was in fact ramen noodles. For those of you unaware of what ramen is—go to your cupboard. Good, now open it up. Very good. See those little packets of INSTA-SOUP? Yeah, that's ramen. Horribly unhealthy and my raison d'etre in the days of my youth.

Now there was nothing particularly different about the way I made ramen vs. anyone else. I still filled the pot full of water, put the water on to boil, and then put in the noodles.

And that's where the problem came in.

All of a sudden it wasn't just noodles and water! No, it was either some sort of massive floating continent suddenly thrust into temperatures that were beyond their control! Or perhaps the water was fuel that had been contaminated by some strange substance! Regardless of the trimmings the result was always the same: OH NO SOMETHING HAS GONE WRONG!

And so it began. I would narrate the entire situation, often taking the place of the person or force behind the wrongdoing. In one example I was a corrupt executive who had determined that the floating continent had incredibly useful minerals, and thus had devised a clever plan to superheat it, and thus smelt the material into its rawest form—the fact that the inhabitants would die was of no concern to me! In the other I was an elite espionage agent who was tampering with the fuel supply of a mass conglomerate so that I could hold power over their holdings and force them to comply with my demands.

Sounds pretty evil, huh?

I thought so too. I even had the perfect voice for each of them. For one it was slightly haughty and arrogant, a blend of class and brutality that made your skin crawl, with a tinge of cold detachment. For the other it was smooth and silky, quiet but powerful. Frightening in its silence.

For a period of minutes I would have this dichotomy playing back and forth. Acting as both the cruel aggressor and the terrified inhabitants. Be they the peaceable folk of the floating continent or the highly intelligent scientists who had designed the efficient fuel. Clearly they just wanted to help people!

And then it happened. Then something inside of me went "Dude, what are you doing? Stop being so mean." And it all came crashing down.

Somehow the cold, detached, and cruel executive would have a change of heart and realize that there were PEOPLE down there! And while it was too late to stop the superheating plan, would send ships to rescue the poor people! And naturally the profits made from their continent's raw materials would go into purchasing a new, more elaborate continent that better suited them!

Somehow the efficient and deadly covert operative would relent and realize that these scientists had designed the fuel with naught but the most noble of intentions, and what kind of monster would he be to stand in the way of such idealism and hope for the future? Instead he would sacrifice himself to remove the contaminant, wishing only to be remembered.

Yeah. I know. What.

Even when at last the time had come to eat my wonderful splendor the stories would not stop. In fact the incredible rapidity with which the tales would transform themselves, essentially performing massive retcon, was astounding.

The most common story here was fairly simple. It was a mostly uninhabitable planet made of molten slag. However some settlers had managed to create basic shelters and had been living there for the past few years.


Not only was this thing cruel enough to eat the settlers, but it seemed to feast upon the planet itself! OH THE HUMANITY!

And then that little "Dude, stop being evil" would kick in, and the massive beast would in fact become a giant harvesting machine. Something that the settlers had originally had on their expedition to help create a hospitable place to live, but had for whatever reason been lost in the depths of space (or perhaps it was the settlers had been lost).

Regardless, the result was the same. While the harvesting machine would ingest both planet and inhabitant, the settlers were harmlessly placed in a comfortable holding area until the people in the machine's cockpit were informed that the planet was inhabited. While simultaneously, the molten slag would go into a storage pit to be used for raw materials at a later date.

By the way, just to remind you. THIS IS ABOUT MAKING AND EATING SOUP.

Yes, my imagination is incredibly overactive, of this I am aware. In fact this is likely a strong component of my inability to be evil—the tendency of my imagination to immediately go overboard would likely make it impossible for me to pull of any truly evil schemes. After all, it's hard to be the evil overlord when you're feeling bad about locking the hero in the cell—and oh jeese it could be cold in there! And when was the last time that poor person ate?

All of a sudden the PRISON CELL has become a comfortable lounge area with blankets and cookies for all.

Now this is not to say that I cannot create evil characters. In fact I pride myself on creating some heartless and cruel monsters—however I will say that almost inevitably they have a reason and are not ALL bad. In fact most of my "BIG BAD" characters aren't even characters—or bad. They're simply forces that do what they do regardless of outside influence or pressure. Perhaps this Is indicative of the way I view the world?

But enough of that tangent, creating evil characters does not make ones quotient for evil go up, nor does creating heroic characters make one's courage increase. They're simply behaviours that are observed and transcribed into stories. That's not the argument here.

The argument is the fact that left to my own devices, with no one around to judge me, playing in a world I created in two minutes. I was unable to be evil.

Now this is not to say I can't be a bit cruel, or even mean. I'm still simply human and have committed many acts that were invariably cruel and malicious—I am justifiably ashamed of these acts and try not to allow them to occur—but hey, life.

However evil and cruel/mean/butthead are two completely opposing things. To be mean is more of an act, likewise with cruel and buttheadedness. However to be evil can either be a single act of absolute depravity, or an existence of general buttheadedness. Evil is not what I do.

Y'see, the main thing I'm getting at here is not that I am a MORAL AN UPSTANDING YOUNG MAN WHO SHUNS ALL THE BAD THINGS IN THE WORLD AND STRIVES BE A WHOLESOME AND CARING PILLAR OF LIGHT AND JUSTICE—not to say that's bad. Just saying that's not what I'm getting at.

I'm saying the reason that I could never be evil (if it weren't apparent enough in the above stories) is GUILT. I have an incredibly overactive guilt complex—enough so that even those cruel characters acting on their own were forced to conform to the standards set out by my morality standard—why? Because they were acting in proxy to me and they were doing things that made me GUILTY.

Not cool.

So, really, I could never be evil simply because of that guilt complex. Remove that guilt and I have no idea what I'm capable of, but with it I'm pretty much harmless.

I want to give you another example. Think back to the last time you were angry. And I mean Angry. I MEAN ANGRY. I MEAN REALLY, REALLY PEEVED. Got it? Good.

Now obviously it varies from person to person, but when one tries to contain one's anger (Not suppress, mind you. Just contain until you can let it go) various reactions occur. As someone with a highly active imagination I tend to imagine things happening around me—and when I'm TICKED—and have nowhere in particular to vent my frustrations (You know what I mean, various things happen all after another and you have no idea WHAT you're supposed to be mad AT) I tend to imagine the world in a general state of panic—it really varies on multiple factors what the aggressors are, but the general rule is that the world is falling to pot and I'm THE EVIL MAN WHO WALKS THROUGH THE CHAOS WITH A SMILE MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

For example in some it's Mecha and armor troops blowing up everything all around, while I stride through the war zone in my trench coat smiling at the madness all around.

Sounds pretty evil, right?

Again, after a period of about 30 seconds everything changes. The Mecha stop dropping bombs, the armor troops stop firing. Instead they start to help rebuild, because you see I was only attacking so I could unify the world against a common enemy!

Yeah. I know.

Please do keep in mind, though. This doesn't mean I'm sunshine and candy all day long. I can be quite the cruel lad (as mentioned above), but inevitably I'll do something to make it up to you—unless you're a real butthead.

But I can hear some of you piping up
"But what about a minion, couldn't you be a minion?"

Ehn, that one's up in the air. I mean minions can be misled and believe that the Big Bad is in fact a beacon of hope and light and freedom—when in fact he's just kicked a puppy out a window and bombed an orphanage. So could I be a minion? Yeah, probably. So long as the guy was good in hiding he was evil. If he was openly evil then I'd have to say no. Unless I was a MiNO (Minion in name only) as in not really doing any work, just getting all the cool perks of working for an evil overlord—but even so I doubt I could do it. Some of you may not realize it was the GUILT complex that had me resign for Global Moderator…because I just didn't have the time to do the job I felt I needed to do.

So, really, that sums it all up. I can a butthead, (Heck, my title is "The Buttest" for a reason!), a meanie, and a cruel and malicious person, but not evil.

It's up to you to decide which is worse.


I'd like to take this moment to say that I have NO Idea what's going to come out my "FOR SCIENCE!" series. It could be short stories, it could be rambles, it could be essays, it could be...well, strange things. ENJOY =D

Oh, and SOOPER BONUS POINTS to anyone who can name where the title of this entry came from.

*Seriously, most of my MOCs came about by sheer fluke. Because I sat down, started fiddling with pieces and about an hour later had a fully operational world with various characters—AND NO FINISHED MOC. When I finished one it was a miracle.


Soaring Through The Sky

Posted by Janus , Dec 21 2008 · 120 views

Like a dove on broken wings.

Screw you, Air Canada.


Isn't It Funny?

Posted by Janus , Sep 15 2008 · 108 views
General Crazy
Isn't it funny how in the midst of tragedy you're still expected to smile?

How when all you truly desire is to curl into a ball and scream at the world. To hide, to dissapear.

You're supposed to show a happy facade to the world.

When darkness encroaches into your very being you're supposed to laugh and shrug it off. Pretend that nothing phases you.

Isn't it funny?


It never has been, it never will be. I'm not a machine and I'm not unfeeling. I appear standoffish and that's my curse.

But I do not expect this. I may lose someone.


Enough the smiling. Let me hurt.


Mistika Ii - Phantoka

Posted by Janus , Jul 20 2008 · 149 views
Yes, yes It has been forever since I wrote my Article Mistika I...why do you ask?

Oh, you say I'm due in for another article? Especially as everyone already has the Mistika thus rendering my thoughts null and void?

You also say you're just a voice in my head and I'm talking out loud?


Now then. Mistika II - Phantoka

You see, you can't discuss the Mistika without discussing their predecessors--in this case the Phantoka. Just as it's difficult to discuss the Nuva without the Mata, or the Kal without the original character. The first iteration of something will inevitably be compared to the second, third, fourth, etc.

Now in order to clarify, had the Phantoka and Mistika been released seperately, we would not see this--but as they have been clearly divided--well, the comparisons will be made regardless.


When we last left our article the intrepid hero (IE: ME) had just discovered that the Toa Nuva would be re-released in set form. Naturally as I said before most old farts like myself were squeeing in joy.

And then came that other nasty side-effect of joy. Disbelief. Y'see, we've been around long enough--we saw what happened with the Matoran > Inika Transformation--heck, we even knew what happened with the Inika > Mahri transformation. And while the fandom was primarily happy with them, there were those voices of dissent asking "Hey, would a little resemblance hurt?"

And so it was that doubt began to creep into our hopeful mindset. Lost was the vision of the Toa Nuva restored, modified Nuva masks on their faces and new poseability technology giving the Toa Nuva the flexibility we always desired--now we saw visions of Mahri/Inika clones with bizarre masks. (Or at least I did. I know there was a sentiment of doubt that seeped through the fandom as well)

So while most were actively looking forward to the Nuva, the fandom again began to experience dissent, with some people actively nervous about the Nuva--or some simply not caring and not believing that TLC could pull it off (That'd be me folks =B )

And then the first images of the Phantoka came out: What were the reactions?

Near-universally positive from the majority of the Fandom. Most people were genuinely pleased with them--however on my side, the side of the "Old guard" shall we call it, most people were actively displeased. And I was certainly among them. Upon my first viewing of the Phantoka I was quite displeased, and remain so to this day--however saying such a thing is pointless without reasoning. Please allow me.

The Toa Mata to Toa Nuva transformation was something that while not reviled was also something that had the fandom up in arms for a while (Mainly due to those godawful masks). But in the end it was almost universally accepted that the Toa Nuva could easily be recognized as their progenitors and the matter was dropped.

The Phantoka do not have this. They may be wonderful sets full of many interesting pieces but they do not have the most important thing in the minds of people like me. They do not resemble their characters enough.

Let's go over the changes, shall we?

Lewa Nuva
First and foremost one of my favourite colours has been stricken from the records. Gone is Lewa's wonderful vibrant green--instead he now has Lime all over. Now I do not dislike Lime, in fact I find it a wonderful complimentary colour--but with that much lime and no contrasting or complimenting colour (Just a neutral grey) he ended up looking washed out.

The Mask has clearly changed--but we'll get to that in Mistika IIII - Kanohi

However one needs only look at him to see the difference. Jet engines for a Toa of Air? Most things didn't bother me. In fact the Jet engines whilst confusing are hardly a deal breaker, even his sword (singular) wasn't that upsetting. What was most curious, though, was the absolute change.

Pull out your Lewa Nuva original (If you have him) Thick lower legs and standard arms. Were I to attempt to reproduce this in set form I would say something like Inika Legs for legs and Metru legs as arms--instead we see that this has gone directly inverse. Now he has massively powerful and bulky arms--with skinny (And I do mean skinny) legs. It's simply bizarre.

However one of the interesting things about the Toa Nuva was their armor. The first sets to have such a thing--before the silver influx became nearly unbearable. Naturally this has vanished without a trace.

However I will not deny that the sword is very cool, and even somewhat reminiscent of his original Air Katana. Which is more than can be said about Lewa to Lewa Nuva.

Pohatu Nuva
We've already heard enough about the Orange/Yellow/Brown debate. It's getting rather old--however I will say that as a member of the Old Guard Pohatu--and Brown, were always my favourite. It was quite a dissapointment to see this colour dissapear.

However unlike Lewa the bright orange does contrast nicely against the grey and thus I have no complaints in that regard.

Again, however, look at the the proportions: Pohatu and Pohatu Nuva both had shorter arms and longer legs (Nuva had thicker legs as well). However they also had an inverse body, meaning slimmer shoulders than the other Toa! Pohatu Phantoka turned that on its head, keeping the thick legs--but then giving him massively lanky arms, and a hugely broad chest with no hips to speak of. How does this guy run?

But once again there is no hint of armor on him. Thus erasing the 'nuva' from the equation (in my eyes, at least)

I will say good on the designers for keeping the claws around in one form or another, though.

(Again, the mask will be hit upon in Mistika IIII - Kanohi)

Kopaka Nuva
The colours have stayed the same and we all breathe a sigh of relief. However the bizarre inclusion of gunmetal is just a headscratcher. Why why why?

Proportions wise I have little to complain about in regards to Kopaka, he is the best out of all of them in this regard. The wings I won't take into account as this is meant to show what differs them from the Nuva--and frankly you could slap that same pair of wings onto Kopaka Nuva and there'd be a neglible difference. Are they what I would give Kopaka for a means of flight? No, but that's not the point here.

The biggest complaint with Kopaka is oddly enough something that they had some success with both Lewa and Pohatu on. Weapon recognition.

While both Kopaka and Tahu always wielded a sword people could always recognize Kopaka because not only did he have a shield--his sword was different. Especially in nuva form, a dual-bladed STAFF of a blade. It was a glorious weapon.

So how then do Lewa and Pohatu Phantoka end up with weapons resembling their Nuva forms, and Kopaka winds up with a butterknife? I'm sorry, it's a butterknife.

So let us add up the similarities and differences, shall we?
Similar: Lime green. Sword
Different: Grey. Proportions.

Well that doesn't sound so bad, now does it? This is of course not factoring in the mask, nor the main sticking point the NON-Old guard have about the Phantoka. More on that later.

Similar: Claws.
Different: Grey. Proportions.

I suppose I can offer Pohatu a slight bonus here in that his feet are vaguely reminiscent of Toa Mata feet with attachments. However this still fails to take into account the mask or the main sticking point.

Similar: White. Proportions.
Different: Weapon. Grey.

So for the most part they all seem about equal, or at least the similarities seem to be equal to the differences, right?

Not exactly. The simple fact of the matter is that many of those similarities are also common amongst other things. For example Toa Nuju has similar proportions to Kopaka Phantoka (Minus the stubby arms) he's also white and grey, and the mask looks similar to boot!

See the problem the old guard has? These sets have taken heroes that we recognized instantly--even in their first transformation (Minus those uncoloured, unfinished prototypes. Whoo boy) and has made them recognisable as other characters. Now while some may take this as a homage, it's clearly not meant to be.

As for the Non-old guard? The number one complaint from this group is the fact that the Phantoka are basically Inika/Mahri with new masks and weapons. That's it.

BUT hope was yet on the Horizon! We had seen that LEGO was okay at making Villains with the Phantoka Makuta. Perhaps the Toa Mistika would redeem our faith in TLC? Once again we dared to hope...but still looked to the future with skeptical eyes.

Coming soon:
Mistika III - Mistika


I Built Myself A Life

Posted by Janus , Jul 17 2008 · 78 views

Do I still love you? Absolutely. There's not a doubt in my mind. Through all my anger, my ego...I was always faithful in my love for you. That I made you doubt it...That is a great mistake of a life full of mistakes. The truth doesn't set us free, Robin. I can tell you I love you...As many times as you can stand to hear it...And all that does, the only thing...Is remind us...Love is not enough. Not even close.

It's a powerful message, and one I agree with entirely.

For those of you interested, the movie is Life as a House, and it's heartbreaking.


Bionicle: Imagine

Posted by Janus , May 27 2008 · 72 views
Well I must apologise for lack of living. Once again I was surfing along happily before the eldritch tentacle of real life clamped down and dragged me beneath the surface.

But once again I've managed to escape that hideous unnameable thing, so with luck I will---do stuff?

Really, my presence online is going to be decreasing because real life is consuming my very soul, however I felt it was time to put forth an initiative that I've been thinking about for a while.

You see, one of the reasons I haven't been active online for such a long time is because I've been planning with my top secret group. Planning for what? Why, my own version of the BIONICLE storyline of course! Currently the plans are running from 2001 to 2012--but really that's just the beginning.

However I figured that it's way too much fun to keep to myself, so with that said let's get to the main point of this entry...

UPDATED: Addendum added

Two armies faced each other across a trench, both resplendant in brilliant reds and firey oranges--on one side was the native people of the island of Mata-Nui; arrayed in front of the village-fortress of Ta-koro they nervously clutched their spears, perfectly aware that this day could very well be their last--and the end of Mata-Nui as they knew it.

On the other was the fearsome invaders, covered in gleaming armor their numbers seemed to stretch on into infinity--while they had thus far made no attempt to harm the villagers, they sought the destruction of the very island.

A Lone Tahnok-Va stepped forward, his crescent-shaped head aflame and his claws clutched tightly around a fire staff, rallying the rest of the Va around him he bravely charged forward...forward into the army of Toa that had them surrounded...

A bad example maybe, but that's a small example of what BIONICLE:Imagine is all about.

BIONICLE:Imagine is all about challenging yourself, about stepping beyond the creative boundries of the BIONICLE storyline as a whole and creating something new within it. It's about stretching your imagination to the very limit and enjoying BIONICLE to its fullest.

BIONICLE:Imagine is a very simple concept, and with all simple concepts there are simple rules--there are only two here.

Rule the First: BIONICLE:Imagine will accept only one-shot short stories. There will be no story threads permitted. There cannot be a sequal, prequal, or ongoing story--however you can re-use characters. Original characters are permitted, but keep in mind this is still BIONICLE, not a complete remake.

Rule the Second: BIONICLE:Imagine is all about challenging ourselves to step beyond the creative boundries of the canon storyline--for that reason each short story written for BIONICLE:Imagine must be a "What If?" Story. This can be as large or as small as you want, for example the one above would be "What if the Bohrok were the original inhabitants of Mata-Nui and the Toa the invaders?"
Some other "What If?" suggestions are:
"What if Makuta didn't exist?"
"What if Kapura never joined the Chronicler's company?"
"What if Takanuva wasn't Takua?"

ADDENDUM: What If's can be re-used and used multiple times, as nobody will write the exact same story. For example a "What if Kopaka got Krana'ed?" story is so generic and can go in so many different directions that it would be unfair to limit it to one person. However I reserve the right to reverse this if I find it's getting out of hand

Some of these I've already used, but the idea is just to Re-imagine key (or not-so-key, it's up to you!) events in BIONICLE, to take a brief glimpse into another world.

This will be an ongoing initiative with every story written for BIONICLE:Imagine going into a new content block in my blog--and later depending on the popularity we may introduce challenges and such.

For those of who wish to show support for this, here's a banner.

And the code...


Have fun writing!





Posted by Janus , Apr 17 2008 · 74 views

I dare you to find me a more beautiful song.

NOTE: This is taken soley from fansubs and may be incorrect--frankly I don't care because this version rocks the socks anyhow.

Sousei No Aquarion - Akino (Op version)

On that day the world began, under the tree of life
The two of us heard the distant reverberation of whales singing
Where do I wander off to now, embracing...
In my arms all the things I have lost and loved?

The answer lurks within the amber sun
Had I not met it, I would have been able to remain an angel of destruction
The soul which holds the twinkle of immortality...don't be hurt, my wings
For I was born to learn this feeling

For two and ten thousand years, I've loved you
As eight thousand years passed, I yearned for you even more
Though two thousand and a hundred million years may pass, I will still love you
From the day I learned of you, the music has not ceased in my suffering


Mistika I

Posted by Janus , Apr 10 2008 · 191 views
The Toa Mistika, the latest hot-button issue amongst BIONICLE fans. If you like them you're considered a noob who knows nothing or at best a supporter of the dreaded focus groups, if you don't you're clearly a purist who worships the very ground 2001 stands on.

So, what are my thoughts?

Well, I'm going to be misleading and cruel =D. Y'see, this is Mistika I, the first part of the article which deals with the setup and background for the advent of the Mistika. This will be a multiple part series and worry not, it will eventually get to my thoughts on the Mistika.

To understand my thoughts you need to go waaaay back into 2001 when BIONICLE was just beginning (please hang on before you yell OMG HE'S A PURIST GET HIM). The Strange and mythical Toa were first revealed and frankly...I was not impressed. In fact I was terribly underwhelmed and refused to have anything to do with it. The 'teaser' of Tahu and Vakama did nothing to whet my appetite and I just wanted this expected failure of a line to get on and die just like RoboRiders and Slizer/Throwbots.

But it didn't, in fact it was a few weeks later when a comic book detailing the lush world that these warriors lived in debuted in my very own mailbox. I read it from cover to cover repeatedly and instantly knew that unfortunately, I was hooked.

Gradually the story evolved, bringing in the mysterious Bohrok and even the ungainly BOXOR and EXO-TOA suits (They've always seemed like they should be in capitals. Deal with it) and with it came the promise of change--perhaps the Toa we knew and loved were destined for something greater.

2003 appeared with mixed sentiments. Most of us here on BZP and across the fan spectrum had been eagerly studying the leaked images of the So-called Bohrok/Toa hybrids, with their strange and rather evil looking "Kranohi," could these things possibly be our much beloved Toa, or were they yet another fearsome enemy for them to face?

Well as we all know now, the so-called "Kranohi" turned out to be the powerful Kanohi Nuva, powerful and mysterious artifacts and the transformation of the original Kanohi masks--but more than that, as was rather clear from looking at the new masks (Minus the Kaukau, but it was always kind of an odd duck out) they introduced something new to the BIONICLE mythos (Or at least the plastic) unlike the previous Kanohi they were organic.

Again fan reactions were mixed, some still stand by the fact that Nuva-ization was the worst thing that could possibly happen, some eventually (and grudgingly) accepted that it was bound to happen, and others loved the changes almost immediately.

I myself was between camps two and three. Upon the advent of the Nuva I proudly announced my disdain for them--minus Kopaka and Gali--and to this date I still regret not picking up a Tahu Nuva.

Like what many perceive the conflict over the Mistika to be, the primary conflict about the Nuva was those masks (some of which I will not deny were godawful). Very few had issue with the characters or their presentation in the storyline--even the basic construction received props in most circles I frequented.

It was just those masks.

Sentiments on the Nuva remain mixed, but the fact remains it was a key part of the BIONICLE franchise, the first transformation of our primary heroes. And I think that's something that's forgotten fairly often--especially here on BZP. Back in those days (Man do I sound old) the Toa Nuva were the only heroes we knew about. The Metru, the Inika, the Mahri, the Hordika. These were concepts we couldn't even begin to grasp because we knew in those days that the Toa Nuva were destined to wake up Mata Nui--how could the story be about anybody else? It would be like Spider-Man comics suddenly passing off a new Spider-Man and telling us to love him instead (Funny story about that...)

Naturally the move away from the 'main Toa' ruffled a lot of feathers, but most were content until it became apparent that the Nuva were to be shunted to the back of the story while more, newer, edgier, cooler heroes were pushed to the forefront (Jeese, am I writing this on Marvel Comics or LEGO?). And then there came that first hint of something wonderful. The word that the Toa Nuva were not only going to return to their place in the story--but that they were to be redesigned and re-released.

Try and imagine the joy that old fogies such as myself felt. Our heroes were not only taking back what we always felt was their rightful place--but additionally they were coming back in plastic! Of course many of us (including myself) were also rather hesitant at accepting this at face level--not only because people can say just about anything on the Internet (By the way, I'm really Bill Gates. Don't tell anyone) but also because we had seen how few similarities were shared by the Matoran > Inika > Mahri transformations.

but hey, a little hope couldn't hurt, right?


The Original...

Posted by Janus , Apr 09 2008 · 101 views
General Crazy
I am the original...

Mistaken Female

<3 Janice <3


A Profession Of Love

Posted by Janus , Mar 05 2008 · 86 views
General Crazy
Beards are hot and cool and funny
An' nobody's got a better one than my honey.

She twists her hair all 'round under her chin
An' everytime I see it I get a big silly grin

I love her beard so much, it I'd gladly marry
But If I told her that, things would get hairy.

June 2018

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