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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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.
Music: Duel of the Fates
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.