Long Odds Crab

Many a night was spent with the fire crackling merrily in the hearth and the griffinhound gnawing determinedly on bone both large and arbitrary on the stained, scorched and once luxurious rug. Smoke rings would float bouyantly around the room as the two old friends palavered idly from their grandiose armchairs, as they often did.
This night was like no other, and for no reason other than “as if felt like the kind of thing one would like to do with their time this eve” is being shared with you in the comforting glow of your monitor.
The door opened with a creak, and the dogs attention was instantly at it.
“Good evening Captain” exlaimed the Queen of Confetti, announcing her arrival. The dog went back to its bone.
“Ah Jessibel, Your Majesty, welcome. What news do you bring me this evening?” I enquired as Her Magesty took her seat and I relit my pipe.
“Not much worthy of note, I’m afraid. Although I do seem to be suffering from another mild migrane.” she replied, most regally.
“Oh? Sorry to hear it. Do you know what is behind it at all?”
“Haven’t the foggiest I’m afraid.” Jessibel divulged, “They have been becoming more frequent of late alarmingly enough.”
“Perchance some small malicious arthropod has been laying its eggs in your cerebrum as Her Magesty slumbers” I suggested, half in jest, yet was received all to realisitically.
“What you propose, Erasmus, is most alarming and all too possible. Assasins employ all manner of techniques nowadays, each more subtle than the last!” exclaimed the young Queen, as casual enough that one might think she was discussing anothers neural invasion.
“Oh ho!” I chortled refusing to take this seriously. “It would allow a bit of sporting fun in the court. They could wager as to what order of arthropoda the fertile formentioned belonged to!”
“Sounds like woefully macarbre fun!” asserted Jessibel, a sneer of disgust creeping across her face.
“Hrm yes, crustraceans would have rather long odds.”

Richard Owen: Comparative Anatomist, Palaeontologist, Necromancer

For those of you who aren’t familiar with Richard Owen I will fill you in quicky and give you a link to his wikipedia page.

Died in 1892, he was probably most famous for coining the term “Dinosauria”¹
He also argued with Darwin for being to simple with his evolutionary mechanisms, and was also a driving force behind the British Natural History Museum.
He was also rather creepy looking.

Anyway, I was looking at some stuff about him last night and I stumbled upon one of the many pictures of him looking creepy. And that weird little light went on in my head. Below is the forementioned picture.

Now dear readers, you will have to honestly answer something for me.
Does the above pictured Richard Owen look like a necromancer about to bring the Moa skeleton on the right and set it upon an unsuspecting public?
I thought so. And seeing as this is what this blog is for, I would like to share this mental image with you.
Without further ado, Richard Owen: Comparative Anatomist, Palaeontologist, Necromancer

TYFYT

¹FUN FACT: “Dinosauria” means “Terrible Lizard”. Many see this as a reference to the fact that at the time dinosaurs were viewed as enourmous, ferocious reptiles, but this is not true. The “terrible” is actually a reference the fact that their flesh was most distasteful.
This is why most predatory dinosaurs do not have tongues, as being able to taste the flesh of their titanic bretheren would severely cripple their will to carry on their carnivorous way of life.

Mmmm Humbug

Hey everyone!
Hope you had a great christmas, or if you’re pastafarian I hope you had a happy holiday.
I was planning on having this up yesterday, but that didn’t happen. Oh well, you’ll all be ok.

Trust me, those bugs are tasty

TYFYT

Zombie Ibis

In the spirit of christmas, I give you an undead waterbird

The story behind which is as follows:

it was nearing the end of last summer
and there was a odd, rather rank smell appearing occasionally over the course of 2 days or so in the far shadehouse
it wasn’t there all the time
over the two days
nobody really gave it much attention cos we were all busy as fuck and it wasn’t that bad
third day ken brings in their dog to the nursery, as happened often in those days, most on whims
i was getting stuff out of the far igloo and i hear this crunching noise
i’m like “what the fuck is that?”
look under the benches to see what it is
its kens dog chewing on something under the benches at the far end
walk up the other end of the igloo
look under the bench
the dog had a dead ibis
quite a large one
and by the state of its decomposition
it was what the odour had been emenating from
hollywood couldn’t have more artisically zombishly decomposed this ibis
it was amazing
its tattered feathers were smeared with mud
the bottom half of its beak was broken
it was great
we buried it in the riplines
it came back every lunchtime begging for scraps for the next three weeks

Christmas from TYFYT

“Pirate Santa? Thats amazing!“ I hear you say. “But we want more! Not only do we want pirates and santa. We want lego and rap thrown in to the broth, all tied together in a story of how it is futile to rob immortal holiday deities”

We’ll your an odd and greedy bunch, ain’t ye.
But I, alas, am a slave to my audience. So, alas, I must obey.

Here is the lego animated filmclip for the song “It’s a Pirate Christmas” by Captain Dan and the Scurvy Crew

Hope all my avid readers have a wonderful christmas!
Thank You For Your Thyme

What “mp” REALLY stands for

This is an old joke from youth band that I made into a tshirt all those years ago.
The conductor was trying to teach dynamics to the anklebiters and posed the question “Does any of you know what ‘mp’ means?”
Some smartarse from the tuba section replies “Mmmm piano!”
And there was much rejoicing.

Found an explanation of allopatric speciation in a childrens christian propaganda book yesterday. I LOVE it when that happens.

Thank You For Your Thyme

Mango Trypping: Chapter IV

In association with Widely Regarded as a Bad Move

Chapter 4 – Sneak Attack

In which the plot inevitably commences

“What was that…?” Captain Halloran was wide eyed, and spoke softly. The deep echo of the noise had faded, and everything was still and silent. The helmsman tapped the captain on the shoulder.
“I reckon you should see this, Cap’n.”
Joseph followed the man to the lower deck and saw it immediately. There was a hole the size of a beach ball in the iron hull. The rim of the hole was glowing white hot, molten iron dribbling down the side of the Skysnail. The crew had gathered, shaken by the thunderous crash that had hit the ship along with whatever had punched the hole.

“The starboard power wheel is down, Cap’n. The blast took out the main feeder.”
Joseph growled, furious, and scanned the sky for the attacker. There was nothing but clear, empty blue as far as he could see.
“Did anyone see where –” Captain Halloran’s question was cut short by another crash, bigger than the first. The Skysnail was tossed to one side. The two rear sails were suddenly aflame. The flame retardant envelope, thankfully, withstood the heat until the sails had dropped, like leaves curling up as they blazed. The smallest sail was ripped off intact by the blow, and tumbled lazily like a poorly made paper plane through the thick cloud, toward Earth. Four crew members followed, though their landings would not be as gentle.
Joseph was clinging to the metal guard rail on the now much higher port side of the deck. He saw Julian struggling to hold the door frame to the cabin.
“What’s happening!?” yelled Julian over the metallic wrenching and cacophony of shrill grating as pipes and cables twisted against each other.
“Someone wants us out of the sky!”Joseph yelled back.

A third blast punched through the deck, and this time, Joseph saw the projectile. Except, it wasn’t exactly a projectile. It was something long and writhing and as thick as a tree trunk. Joseph’s eyes widened as he watched the fleshy, pink tentacle wrap around one of the cables that joined the envelope to the hull. Julian yelled as a second tentacle scraped past him and plunged into the cabin, sending splinters and sparks flying. Thick slime dripped from the tentacle that was snaking deeper into the cabin, pools of the liquid settling on the deck.
“Oh, hell no…” Joseph whispered as the smell of burning metal washed over him. The slime was eating through the hull, like viscous acid.
“Don’t let it touch you!” he yelled to Julian, who had already torn off his coat and thrown it across the deck. It shrivelled up and thick smoke rose toward the envelope. The Skysnail rocked back; it was level again. Joseph took this as an opportunity to run to the gun deck and grab a blunderbuss. Julian was soon behind him.
“If that thing touches the envelope, we’re done.” He panted. “It’s fire-proof, but not acid proof.”

As he said this, at least four more tentacles suddenly appeared, looming over the deck. One grabbed another support cable, and began oozing acid along it. Two more tentacles swept the deck, as though they were searching for something. An unfortunate crew member was knocked over by the rubbery, pink assailant, and began to scream as the slime burnt his skin. Joseph fired into the tentacle nearest to him, but there was no effect. A drip of slime fell onto his shoulder and he immediately felt the burning. Tentatively, Joseph and Julian looked up, and saw the final tentacle wrapping around the envelope, tightening its embrace on the Skysnail. One support cable finally broke, and the hull swung sharply. The companions were thrown violently into the guard rail.

Then, the Skysnail began its rapid and destructive descent.

* * *

Peregrine heard a rustle in the canopy of his boiled lolly forest. A giant purple fan seemed to have alighted in the treetops.
What a kite! Lord Lamont thought gleefully.

Mango Trypping: Chapter III

In association with Widely Regarded as a Bad Move

Captain Halloran’s Magnificent Ship

In which Captain Halloran’s mode of transportation is described

Joseph Halloran was the captain of a stereotype, but one he loved. The Skysnail was an epic creation. The hull of iron, coated with a shimmering layer of Helionavitas, was covered with snaking cables and pipes. Several of these cables ran into the hearts of two huge, steel wheels, one on either side of the vessel. These wheels would spin slowly, making about one rotation every 24 hours, giving the ship its name. While the movement of the energy turbines was snail’s pace, the ship itself could approach supersonic speeds on sunny days. Joseph loved the irony of a metal snail moving almost as fast as sound. The Snail had four sails that opened like fans. They decreased in height and breadth from the back of the ship to the front, and glimmered violet and blue thanks to the Helionavitas threaded into the canvas. At night, the whole vessel glowed. Any mission requiring a level of stealth had to be carried out with the sails lowered and the hull covered with black, oiled canvas. One drawback in exchange for limitless fuel and a constant supply of hot water.

Every morning, Captain Halloran would order the two largest sails to be fanned out, charging the heavy mechanisms that would drive the vessel on its voyage that day. When maximum capacity was reached, the two large sails would be closed and withdrawn into the hull, and the two smaller ones opened. They provided a constant refilling of the power cells without the drag caused by the wider sails. The streamlined hull cut through the air, surging across the swell of clouds, following the warm currents that helped maintain altitude.

Captain Halloran would stand at the nose of his magnificent craft, flying goggles on and coat pulled tight against the chill of the mountain-top air. Julian often complained about the cold in the cabin, so Joseph imagined him a heavy, fur-lined jacket and some thermal underwear. Julian was grateful, but wished that the underwear didn’t have to be so pink.

Thank You For Your Thyme

A Winning Combination

Scurvy Joe and Grnash find the true meaning of friendship in a difficult period.

Australia is a little piratically lame unfortunately.
Its good to be able to pick up an instrument you haven’t played in a little over 12 months and play a gig with the band like you never put it down. It feels good. Sometimes I even surprise myself by how good I am. Does anyone else ever get that?

…anyone want to fund a trip to New Orleans in march next year?

A Lesson

The following, my disciples, is what happens when one is a little bit bored.
Study carefully now.

I apologize that they are not coloured in. I felt it would take away from what they are.
Not anything to be slaved over or flecks of stray elbow grease, just quick drawings done when vacant of mind with little else to do.
Enjoy.

Quite surreal it is, when peering into the window in the front a washing machine to see a sepia tone world of churning water, metal and pants.