Infinity, and Beyond

To usher in what will no doubt be another sporadic year of blogging* (though I hope to considerably beat the three posts I managed in 2014), I'm bringing you for the first time online a very silly and not entirely un-amusing tale I wrote back in 2002 at the tender age of 12 and the height of my 'random = hilarious' phase (featuring even more excessive usage of parenthetical statements than I am guilty of currently).

This story has a great deal of meaning to me, as I received some very wise input from my older sister Inger while putting it together. Inger always supported my creative projects, and was a constant source of constructive criticism and inspiration. If I ever manage to publish a book, it will be in large part thanks to her teaching me that my own weird voice was worth writing down.

As with all the childhood stuff I've uploaded, I've made only minor edits for spelling and grammar with editorial comments in [square brackets]. Please forgive the juvenile humour of my youth as generously as you forgive the juvenile humour of my adulthood.

*Do people still say blogging?

Infinity, and Beyond

by Austen Erickson

Prologue - The Joruney Begins

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away (well, actually it was a few hundred years in the future, in New York, New Jersey)...

STAR BUCKS

Outlet LCXIIXIVLLCIXX

The gazillionth Starbucks outlet opened to the horror of earth's citizens; now every car dealer, clothing warehouse, fast (and slow) food joint, and 70% of every other franchise (not to mention coffee), was under control of The Evil Star Bucks Empire (R). A brave rebellion led by Global-Omni-Time-Warner-McMicrosoft was beginning in the far north, but the citizens of New York, New Jersey (New York, by this time, had encompassed the entire Eastern coastline) had had enough. The citizens of The Far North East part of New York, New Jersey decided to form a union and leave the earth in search of a new, pristine world, to colonize and exploit.

They broke open all their piggy banks and somehow managed to raise enough money to build a spacecraft for the interstellar journey. It was called the A.Y.T. (As Yet un-Titled) Spaceship. It was fitted with a cyro-sleep system, which put the user into a state of suspended animation; it looked like a soda machine for no discernable reason [haha 'soda machine' so random... stupid young Austen]. The outside of the ship was painted in a sort of eight-week-old-banana color. It was as large as the Statue of Liberty and had the most sophisticated light drive system available. All in all it should have taken them about twenty years to complete their journey to the sun's nearest neighbor, Alpha Centauri,where it was believed there was not one, not three, but two habitable planets. They had already established a system of government: all the rejects, criminals, and lawyers [haha lawyers are bad... shut up kid] would be sent to the second, less inviting planet, named Centuri Secundus. Everyone else would be on the first planet, Centuri Prime.

Unfortunately, the people who staffed much of the crew neglected to appoint anyone who could use the light drive system. This was discovered slightly after they left the solar system, but before they sobered up from the celebrations. Thankfully, a car enthusiast rigged a makeshift engine made of pinball machine parts and a stripped down Subaru Outback. Just before they went into cyro-sleep the First Mate approached the Captain, "Sir, there is a problem with the new engines."
"What is it Number One," the Captain slurred his words, still tipsy from the party. [haha a drunken Patrick Stewart... actually, that is still quite funny - well done] "Make it quick, I'm going to have a hell of a hangover when I get out of cyro-sleep."
"They will take us a little longer to get there."
"How much longer... exactly?"
"About 100 times the original projected amount," the First Mate mumbled meekly.
"Oh good," the Captain's brow furrowed as he attempted the complex arithmetic, "Let's see, two and one are three, carry the one, divide by the square root... or is it multiply?"
"Actually sir, it will take us roughly 2000 years."
"Oh good," repeated the captain, and he toppled backwards into his cyro-sleep pod

Chapter 1 - Just a Minor Setback

1999 years 11 months and 30 days later...

As the ship tumbled onwards into space, a red light began to bleep on the cyro-sleep control on the bridge. No-one heeded it, there was no-one to see it, but ass it blinked, it was joined by others until the entire bridge was covered with lights and huge alarm signals began to sound.

The Captain awoke to the sound of commotion on the deck, "What's happening, where am I?"
The First Mate ran over to pull the Captain out of his pod, "There has been a problem, and the crew was automatically awakened. We found out the extended warranty on the ship ran out several hours ago - it's falling apart!"
"Bugger. Awake the citizens and bring them to the briefing room."
The First Mate turned to leave. "Wait," exclaimed the Captain. The First Mate turned back. "Get me some aspirin, I have a hell of a hangover."

The Captain faced the crew and civilians. He calmly explained the problem and gave instructions on what to do next. His exact words were "THE SHIP IS FALLING APART!!! EVERYONE GET TO AN ESCAPE POD OR WERE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!" as an afterthought he added "CHILDREN AND CAPTAINS FIRST!!!!!"
He then shoved the First Mate aside and sprinted down the hallway to the escape pods.

As the last escape pod broke away from the ship, the First Mate turned and inspected those on his pod. There was the man who had designed the M.P.S. (Makeshift Propulsion System), the ships' cook, and the martial arts instructor and her assistant. He decided to debrief those in his pod:
"As you know, the mission has been split men." The martial arts instructor, Kara, cleared her throat loudly. "And women," the First Mate corrected himself. "We must work together if we hope to reach the new planet alive and build a civilization. We have lost radio contact with the other ships, we are on our..." his words were cut short as the A.Y.T. Spaceship exploded loudly.
Before the First Mate could gather his wits to continue, Joe, the car enthusiast who designed the M.P.S. spoke up, "How exactly, does something make noise in an almost complete vacuum? And how come our ship had gravity? And why exactly is our ship filled with stereotypical characters and bad cliches..."
"Shut up!!!" blurted out Enrico, the cook, "I wanta to know how long it's gonna takes us to get there, please, what about you, please, yes?"
"How come you talk like that?" asked the First Mate.
"Yes, my English is not good, please"
"That's what I mean!" interjected Joe.
"Now that you mention it," the First Mate continued, ignoring Joe, "it should take us a few hours to get there."

As the crew of Pod 389 gossiped, the Captain was similarly examining those on his pod...

Chapter 2 - Hangover

"Row, Row, Row your boat, gently down the stream! If you see a crocodile, don't forget to scream. AHHHHH!!"
"SHUT UP!!!" the Captain bellowed. "Can't you see I have a hangover???" The singing was emanating from two brothers sitting in a larger corner of the escape pod, taking up most if it. The ship's doctor, along with the Captain, were huddled on the other side. Fred, the doctor, finished examining the Captain and began his prognosis.
"Through a freak co-incidence resulting from cyro-sleep, it appears that your nausea, headache, and sensitivity to visual and auditory stimuli will not improve in your lifespan."
"Wha..??" burbled the Captain.
"Your hangover is permanent."
"Damn," cursed the Captain, "We're going to need more aspirin."
"Oh, I've got stacks," came a quiet voice from a pile of empty milk cartons, "You could have some of mine for a price, uh, I mean, that is, you can have it for free if you let us stay."
"Who are you?" inquired the doctor suspiciously.
"Actually, I'm a stowaway, but my friends call me Mick. Everyone else calls me Douglas J. Trenton, although I haven't the faintest idea why. I'm what some people call an opportunist. I co-founded my small, and perfectly legal, I assure you, business."
"Who is your partner? And why are you here?"
Mick looked somewhat sad. "Actually, the answer to both questions are the same." He gestured to the pile and everyone noticed a pointy hat protruding. It abruptly rose and revealed a small, rather dazed, and smiling man underneath. "He thinks he's magic," whispered Mick helpfully.

"Hello," said the new arrival. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm being pursued by a flock of cucumbers." He sank to the ground and started muttering to himself, a smirk on his face all the while.
"What's he talking about?" demanded the Captain.
"Actually, that's about as coherent as Mr. Stadler gets." Mick said with a sigh.
"How on earth did he make you come here?"
"Well, it's a long story, and it doesn't really take place on earth."
"We do have time, you know. Say, did I hear you mention aspirin a minute ago? I have a terrible hangover."

Mick chose to ignore this, and started his story:
"It all started some time ago, and before we begin, I should tell you I'm not human. At least not in the strictest sense of the word..."

Chapter 3 - Mick's Story

"As you might already know, my companion Mr. Stadler perceives reality in a rather different way. Some might even venture the word 'crazy.'  Nonetheless, he had money and wanted adventure, and I wanted money and had enough adventure for anybody. We eventually came to an agreement: he would provide funding for my research and I would find a way to get off our home planet and take him with me, exploring the galaxy.

You would probably be interested to know that several million years ago your moon was teeming with life. That's what we called home those days. Anyway, I set up a research center in one of the craters and began trying to find a way to travel through space at high speeds. Eventually I did,although not in the way you might expect. One day I was trying to find a way to make a liquid that my equipment suggested had an enormous amount of potential energy into fuel. I tried again and again to find a catalyst when suddenly, wouldn't you know, Mr. Stadler dropped a bottle of aspirin into the liquid 'Just to see what would happen' as he said later.

After the dust settled we found the testing chamber completely demolished. It turns out that my partner had finally discovered a way to efficiently produce enough energy to travel across vast amounts of space in seconds. After further, more careful experiments, we - well mainly me - discovered that a drop of liquid mixed with one aspirin tablet would produce enough energy to travel at six times the speed of light for a minute - that's six light years in a minute! [NOTE: I was aware that this was nonsense when I wrote it, and wanted to convey Mick's utter incompetence, but in retrospect the 'joke' might have been too subtle.]

We got a prototype ship working in a few days and took off. We traveled the galaxy until we reached the center. Our scanners picked up a subspace fluctuating anomaly, which is the fancy way of saying that they hadn't the faintest idea of what it was. We got closer to what we now know was some form of black hole. Unfortunately we didn't know then, and so we ventured just close enough to get sucked in. We were spewed out through a white hole, quite near our own solar system. What most people don't know is that for every black hole there is a white hole, and anything sucked in through the black is shot out the white one. Anyway, we crashed onto our home only to find it a barren and unforgiving landscape.

In desperation we made a small pod out of the debris and managed to launch ourselves into orbit around your earth. When we reached the surface we found it quite a long time in the future. I hypothesized that traveling through the black hole must have caused this jump into time. I think that what we saw in that hole may have some significance, it was..." [Aaaaand just about now I believe that the assignment deadline was looming so close that I abandoned my unfortunate foray into science fiction, and dove headlong into the absurd.]

Mick's words were cut short as a blast rocked the pod. Everyone peered out the windows.
"What is it?" asked the doctor in awe. Everyone stared at the black and white ship, somewhat avian in appearance, as it finished strafing the fleet of escape pods and turned back for another run.

Chapter 4 - The Penguins Attack

"Battle stations!" shouted the First Mate.
"What battle stations?" complained Joe, "That line is just another cliche!"
"SHUT UP!" shouted everyone.
"What I meant was," explained the First Mate, "find something to do that will help us!"
"Yes! Man the cannons! Please!" suggested Enrico, sprinting to one of the Laser control booths.
"Woman the cannons!" corrected Kara with equal enthusiasm, as she took her place at the other contorl booth.
"Power up the shields!" exclaimed her assistant, as she did just that.
"Take evasive action!" blurted out Joe, finally getting into the spirit of things.
As the crew bustled around getting ready to fight, the First Mate stood in the center of the deck shouting directions.
"We're being hailed on the radio, all ships are receiving the same message," said Kara.
"On screen," said the First Mate.

The screen crackled to life. A penguin appeared with a Napoleonic three-point hat and an array of medals attached to his chest. As he quacked, the universal translator took effect.
"Greetings, weak humans. We are the Galactic Penguin Empire, and we hereby declare you our prisoners."
The Captain's response could be heard over the radio "Over my dead body!" The Captain's pod swooped towards the Penguin Battleship, lasers blazing. The penguin general paused only momentarily before saying, or rather quacking, "Your offer is acceptable."
An icicle shaped projectile fired out of the enemy ship's beak. It streaked towards the Captain's pod and hit it straight on. The ship froze solid and began drifting away.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" screamed the First Mate.
"Yeeeeeeesssssssssssss!!!!!" mocked the penguin.
The First Mates face hardened and he switched to a friend only frequency. "All ships attack full firepower, on my command. I'm going after the captain. NOW!"

The entire fleet of escape pods flew in towards the Penguin Mother Ship simultaneously. The Penguin Ship's beak opened again and waves of smaller penguin fighters launched out [Trust me, this looked really cool in my head]. As the firefight continued, the First Mate and his crew sped toward the Captain's crippled ship, hoping they could get there in time.

Chapter 6 - The Battle for Centauri Prime

As lasers and icicles streaked across space, immobilizing dozens of ships on either side, the First Mate sped toward the Captain's frozen ship. Once they arrived, they docked their ship to the Captain's and boarded. They peered around, expecting to see devastation. Instead, they found the crew huddled around a campfire coming from a tin can in the midst of the ship. Two people who the First Mate did not recognize were sitting around the fire. The one with the pointy had walked up to them.
"Well pickle me tink!" he chuckled, "If it isn't my old pal Mr. Groucho!" He collapsed to the ground in a giggling heap.
The second stranger came up to them also, "I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive Mr. Stadler's behavior. I'm Mick, pleased to meet you." He thrust out his hand.
"Er... nice to meet you too," the First Mate tried not to look surprised. "Say, you aren't the one's who set up that campfire are you?"
"As a matter of fact I am, I call it the 'Campfire-in-a-Can.'"
"I see."
At this point the Captain interjected, "I hate to interrupt the festivities, but it appears we're winning."
Once again all eyes peered out the ice-covered windows.

Several penguin ships were forming a pyramid shaped formation and charging up, but a single escape pod ran headlong into the first one, sending them all flying in different directions. More penguin ships surrounded and converged on the escape pod, but it merely sped off in a different direction causing a spectacular traffic jam. It was obvious that the penguins had lost, their battered ships flew back into the open beak and the mother ship turned and sped off into the distance until it was merely a distant receding dot, and then nothing at all.

Epilogue - Ever After

The Human Colony on Centuri Prime was prospering well, with a second colony being built not far away. Although the Penguins frequently attacked from Centuri Secundus, with the aid of Mick's technology they drove them off easily every time. The doctor found a good suppressant for the Captain's hangover made with native plant life. The First Mate was elected the Planetary Governor. News reached the colonies that the Starbucks Empire had been defeated and the world was a democracy once more. More ships were on their way with more building materials, a much needed soda shipment, and due to a typographical error, fourteen cats and a Scottish terrier. It seemed a bright future for humanity, and Joe, by now having embraced the spirit of cliches, stepped into the alien sunset to utter those famous words and thus end the story:

"And they all lived happily ever after, The End."

Cold War Beer Pong

Cold War Beer Pong
I got a chance to design this game for a Cold War themed shindig, and I'm too proud of the rules not to share it. Please drink responsibly (or don't, I'm not your real dad).

• SUPPLIES NEEDED:
•  2 players = 16 cups, 3 beers (1 for proxy wars, 1 each side for Homeland and NATO/Warsaw)
• 4 players = 32 cups, 7 beers (1 for small proxy wars, 1 each side for large proxy war, 1 each side for NATO/Warsaw, 1 each side for Homeland)
• 8 players = 48 cups, 12 beers + 8 shots (or 8 more beers) (1 each side for each proxy war, 1 each side for NATO/Warsaw, 2 each side for Homeland, shots/extra beers for presidential/secretarial cups)  
• HOMELAND: Your final Homeland cup can't be sunk until all your other cups are lost (a hit still counts for Espionage)
• NATO/WARSAW PACT: Can be placed anywhere on your side
  
• PROXY WARS: If you sink a cup on your own side, it is still removed (and does NOT count for Espionage)
• NUCLEAR WAR: When your last cup is removed, your team launches a first strike on the opposing team, each of you shooting until you miss. Each cup sunk removes all adjacent cups as well. If the opposing team runs out of cups, victory is settled by one cup sudden death
• ESPIONAGE (4/8 Players): When all members of your team sink cups in a round, you may 'steal' any non-presidential/secretarial cup from the opposing team and add it to your Homeland rack OR remove one use of the opposing team's presidential/secretarial cup (opposing team must drink it)
• ASSASINATION/SUCCESSION (8 Players): Each team picks a presidential/secretarial cup in their Homeland. This cup contains either a shot (bourbon for USA, vodka for USSR) or a full beer. When this cup is sunk, it is drunk but replaced as long as your team has remaining leaders (4 total, suggested lists below)
  • USA: Truman → Eisenhower → Nixon → Reagan
  • USSR: Stalin → Khrushchev → Brezhnev → Gorbachev
     

4-Player Setup

2-Player Setup 

8-Player Setup

 

Final Thought: WOLVERINES!

An Occurrence at Coogee Beach

I wrote this moderately fictionalized 'descriptive personal narrative in my Year 10 English class. I think its an (albeit primitive) example of my 'silly' voice which I tend to use fairly frequently - its a lot of fun to write in, and hopefully at least comparably enjoyable to read.

The day started like any other summer day in Australia. I awakened from my log-like slumber and yawned. Pulling myself to my feet, I peered out the window and was greeted by the inviting sight of the ocean. Still partially asleep, I called my friend Dimitri and mumbled something vague involving the beach. Obviously just having woken up himself, he grunted in return, expressing his reaction, possibly positive, to the idea. An hour or so later we met at the nearest beach, Coogee, clad in bathing suits and ridiculously oversized wetsuits.

It was early in the day, so the water was still a little cool for swimming in. Instead we proceeded to cover every exposed square inch of skin with at least a tangible layer of sunscreen. After this ritual had been completed, Dimitri suggested we build a sand castle. I agreed, all the time knowing full well that our own feeble attempts of constructing a sand castle could be more adequately described as 'digging a rather large hole' or possibly 'building a big mound.' Following the completion of our veritable masterpiece, we assessed our efforts. "That thing there looks a bit like a wall, and that hole could be a moat," Dimitri stated.

"I think it sorta looks like when they blew up New York in Independence Day, only messier and less organized," I replied. Dimitri indicated his approval of my appraisal and we decided it was tiem to enter the water. Little did I know what a terrible fate awaited me inside the murky depths of the ocean.

We experimentally waded into the water, it was warm enough to satisfy us, and so we jumped in and started splashing around like enraged hippos. We were in the water for less than fifteen minutes when an unthinkable calamity occurred.

A lance of agony shot up my leg as the horrid monster struck. I gritted my teeth and, showing calm cool judgement in the face of danger, screamed like a baby. Hobbling back to the shore, I grabbed a handful of sand, using it to rub the fiendish aberration's groping arms off my mutilated shin. As the creature expired form the exposure to the alien environment, I sighed in relief. Peering down at my vanquished foe, I paused to think of how dire the situation could have become had I lost my head. Then I remembered my crippled leg and resumed my frantic spasms.

Looking back, I may have overreacted slightly, considering that my enemy was a three-inch long bluebottle. It may actually have been dead before it latched onto my leg, but it still burned like hell. The best way I can describe the pain is like having a line of beestings wherever its tentacles touched my bare flesh. The 'bluey,' as many Australians call it, had become wrapped tightly around my right leg from the knee down; its body was trapped between my toes. This was the first, and last, time I have experienced pain to this extent, but the occurrence will neither be forgotten nor, I hope, repeated.

The pain continued in full for about half an hour. I spet this duration with my leg buried underneath the sand, as this is supposed to help relieve the suffering, but if it did I could not tell. The area soon after subsided into a dull ache, and by that evening it was gone, replaced by a persistent itching sensation around the affected area. The next day my leg was criss-crossed by a series of reddish welts, lined up wherever contact with the devilish beast had occurred. The welts became scabs, the scabs become scars, and eventually these too disappeared.

Soon after the fiasco was over, I looked up the Bluebottle on the Internet and found out some interesting facts, not least of which was that I had done everything in the situation wrong. Rubbing the area will actually cause the pain to increase, as will attempting to remove it using wet sand, both of which I performed under the ever helpful instruction of my friend's mother, who claimed to be an expert in the area of Bluebottle Sting Treatment.

Today I am left with no visible physical signs of the event, but it will be seared into my memory as one of my most intense experiences ever.

What fun we have together, you devoted readers and I. Join me next time when I reveal which House I have been sorted into (HINT: Its Slytherin)

Chess

'

Chess was, without a doubt, my elementary school magnum opus - and though the original document is still in my possession until a sufficiently sophisticated collector makes me an offer, I have reproduced it as faithfully as possible here to share with my fans - who are as adoring as they are figmentary. So while reading keep in mind that the genuine copy is adorned with word art and exciting fonts (Comic Sans! Papyrus!) - now let a young Austen take you on a journey of adventure!

 

 [Ed. Note: My handwriting has not improved since I scrawled out these maps]

 

  

Prologue - "To Arms"

"But you know I won't win, why do you keep playing me?"

"Well Andrew,"  answered Paul "I just like winning against you."

"One of these days I'm going to beat you Paul."

Paul laughed, "Of course you will Andrew, but anyway, lets play." They took out the chessboard and began setting up...

Meanwhile in a distant land, two armies, Wite and Blac, prepared for battle, suddenly an urgent cry of "To Arms" broke the peaceful silence of the countryside.

"Call it," said Andrew "Heads or tails."

"Mmmm... Heads."
Andrew flipped the coin "Yes, it's tails, I go first. I'll move here." Andrew moved a pawn forward...

The Wite army stepped into battle first. A lone peasant received his orders and began to advance.

 

Chapter 1 - The Battle Begins

For many cycles in the Island of Ssehc (pronounced Sek) the Wite and Blac kingdoms had lived in peace. Then, as if being controlled from above, war broke out.

All the peasants seemed to be the same, all except one, Shawn. Shawn was a peasant from the Wite kingdom, on the outside he seemed the same as the others, but he had noticed something different. All the others seemed incredibly willing to sacrifice themselves just so a knight or a priest could survive. But Shawn thought differently, he was incredibly independent. Although sometimes it got him in trouble, he thought it was for the best.

As Shawn marched forward the first word he ever read popped into his head, they were the lyrics to a puzzling rhyme:

When the Queen has been captured

And all hope seems gone,

Steps forth a lone traveller

A brave peasant named...

The end of the poem seemed to have been lost somehow. When he found the book the corner of the page was torn out.

"Oh well" Shawn said aloud "I guess it really doesn't matter."

"What?" asked his friend Jonah from the neighbouring field.

Startled, Shawn replied "Huh? Oh, nothing. Sorry, I didn't see you come."

"Yeah well, you oughta' pay more attention if you want to make it through this war."

"Hey, lay off. I was just thinking out loud!"

"OK, OK, I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm sorry; I guess the war is getting on everybody's nerves."

"I know how you feel."

"So, what were your orders?"

"Never mind."

"C'mon tell me."

"No really, it doesn't matter!"

"All right, all right, so..."

Shawn's words were cut short as a messenger on a beautiful white stallion rode by. He reared to a halt in front of Jonah.

"Urgent message from the King, I'm afraid your moving to the front."

"What?" A surprised Jonah exclaimed, "I was told I was backup."

"Well, orders have been changed, you gotta' problem with that?"

"No," Jonah said defensively "Not at all, I was just surprised."

"Good; now move out!"

As the scout rode back to the main city of Bordsege Jonah sighed. With unexpected anger Shawn exclaimed, "Why did you let him push you around?"

Sheepishly Jonah answered, "I didn't want to get into trouble."

"That's no reason why you should go and willingly sacrifice yourself!"

"Look, just because I'm going to the front doesn't mean I'll get captured."

"Why else would they send you, think about it!"

"I...I...I don't know."

"Exactly, so why didn't you ask instead of blundering right into it?"

"Stop it, I can control my own life you know, I don't need your help!" And with that, Jonah stormed off, fuming.
"I was only trying to help..." Shawn's voice trailed off into nothing as the swirling mists of the swamp surrounded Jonah with emptiness. As he turned away a strange voice drifted over to him through the fog, "The poem."

 

Chapter 2 - The Crazy Hermit

Shawn ran fearfully through Sentersquare desert. It was incredibly large, covering most of the centre of Ssehc. Many strange creatures lived in the desert, like the quetzls and the quogs. They left you alone for the most part, but if you got one angry you were in deep, deep trouble. That was why Shawn was running; he had accidentally stepped on the tail of a quetzl while he was pondering the words he had heard in the swamp. Eventually he outran it and sat down by a tree. Suddenly a strange high-pitched voice filled the air with song:

Slippery, Slippery, find,

I seem to have lost my mind,

Diddily, Diddilym, dumb,

An oak tree bit my thumb,

Loppity, Loppity, ding,

My cat knows how to sing.

Wobbly, Wobbly, daisy,

I've gone the slightest bit crazy.

In wonder Shawn gazed upon the colourfully dressed figure approaching him. As he came to his senses he realized whom it was; "The Crazy Hermit" his true name was Yldarb (pronounced yuldarb) Notlim, although everyone called him the crazy hermit, even to his face. It was rumoured that he had psychic powers; of course Shawn didn't believe a word of this. He had a pet quetzl and it was said that it taught him his psychic powers (it was a well known fact that the stalk on its head acted as some kind of psychic transmitter/receiver).

"Hello Shawn." Yldarb said quite suddenly.

"Hey, I thought you were crazy, and how did you know my name?"

"I know everything and no, I'm not crazy, I just sing that song for atention."

"I can believe you're not crazy but I don't buy that you know everything."

"Well, how could I sway your opinion?"

"Prove it!"

"All right, your name is Shawn and the first words you ever read were a rhyme with a corner torn off. Your best friend is Jonah, who you just had a fight with."

"Wow, I guess you really do have psychic powers."

[Ed. Note - assume non-italics inside brackets are written in Papyrus font for the full effect. I beat Avatar by at over a decade]

[Well, I could have told you that.] A third voice joined the conversation, although rather than hearing it through his ears, Shawn heard it inside his head.

"Who was that?"

[It was I.] An orange and white striped quetzl hopped out from the scrub. Of course, thought Shawn, Yldarb's pet.

[Not pet, companion, you better gets that right if we're coming with you.]

"Hey, how'd you do that?"

[I'm psychic, haven't you already guessed that?]

"Well yeah, but... Hey wait a minute, what did you mean when you said 'coming with you'?"
The previously silent Yldarb spoke up, "If you must know we are here to help you wiht your quest."
"What quest?"
"All in good time Shawn, but first you must train to become a warrior!"

Several weeks after their first meeting Shawn had progressed greatly under the instruction of Yldarb. He was even being trained in the art of pschic powers by Waldorf (the name of Yldarb's 'companion'). By now he could speak in people's heads and was beginning to study mind reading. He had asked many times about what his so-called 'quest' was but his only response was the cryptic 'the poem.' One day exactly one month after their first meeting Yldarb spoke. "You are well trained in the art of the warrior, and are also well accomplished in mind reading; you are now ready to begin your quest."
"But what is my quest?"
"Well..."
His words were cut short as a piercing shriek echoed from inside the forest!

 

Meanwhile...

"Oh no, you captured my queen, I have absolutely nil chance of winning."

"Don't quit now Andrew, it's no fun playing with a sore loser."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Anyway it's your turn, move."

"I don't see any good moves I can do."

"Heh, heh, that's too bad, I guess just this once I'll let you forfeit."

"Weeellll... wait a minute, I'll move here."

Andrew moved a single pawn, capturing the horse that captured his queen.

"Drat, oh well, it's my turn now" [Ed. Note - bonus original Comic Sans text in this section's illustration!]

Chapter 3 - The Dying Queen

Shawn rushed into the forest. With horror he gazed upon a knight preparing to kill a wounded queen.

"NOOO!"

Shawn's cry of anguish caused the knight to look up. With uncontrollable rage Shawn drew his sword and rushed into battle.

For a few seconds it seemed the knight would win, but Shawn got a sudden rush of adrenaline and made one quick thrust forward. It was not very strong but it worked. The knight fell off his horse. He was dead even before he hit the ground. Suddenly from the scrub rushed Yldarb and Waldorf.

Seeing the knight Yldarb shouted "Good job, your first battle"

[Yes, three cheers for Shawn!]

"HOORAY, HOORAY, HOORAY!"

"Uunnnhhh!"

A sudden moan broke the celebrations. Through his happiness Shawn had forgotten completely about the queen. He rushed over and kneeled by her side. Weekly she said in a voice hardly above a whisper, "Is it you Shawn?"

"Yes it is me, how did you know my name?"

The queen coughed, "You were born to a royal family, your destiny was to save the kingdom. A soldier from the Blac kingdom took you away; if it were not for Yldarb you would have been killed. Not recognizing you he brought you to a peasant village and left you on the steps of the town hall. THankfully a passing couple who had no children adopted you."

"If they weren't my real parents who are?"

"Your father is the king and... and I am your mother."

"We have to get you to a doctor."

"No, no, it's to late for me, you must save the kingdom."

"No, I have to stay with you."

"Listen to me Shawn my son, you must save the kingdom or all will be lost."

"I can't do it."

"Yes you can, listen," with the last spark of life in her, she recited the poem from Shawn's youth:

When the queen has been captured

And all hope seems gone,

Steps forth a lone traveller

A brave peasant named Shawn;

Then the queen died.

"Mother" Shawn said, his voice barely above a whisper.

It had been three days since they had found the Queen. The party of friends moved in grim silence through the forest of Draob. Suddenly Shawn's voice broke the awkward silence, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry Shawn, I just didn't think you were ready, I was just trying to help."

"Fat lot of good that did me, in fact, I think I could do better without you!"

"Yeah well if I didn't save you as a child you wouldn't even be here!"

[Please you two, do not fight, we will need all the energy we can get for the coming battle.]

"I'm sorry, I guess I'm just edgy today."

[We all are, Shawn.]

"Oh well, we've got a long walk ahead of us."

They exited the forest only to come across a barren snowfield that stretched as far as the eye could see.

[Well boys, welcome to the northern ice flats.]

His voice dripping with sarcasm Yldarb cleared his throat, "Hooray."

 

Chapter 4 - The Mysterious Rider

The sun beat down upon the tundra. But even this did not change the temperature of -7C. The three weary companions were down to their last food supplies. To save energy they had begun to talk only with their minds. It was the worst for Waldorf who was used to hot desert conditions, [I'm so cold, I don't know how much longer I can stand it.]

[Don't worry Waldorf, I'll carry you.] Shawn, as helpful as ever; hefted Waldforf upon his back.

[Thank you Shawn]

Suddenly, the sound of hooves filled the air. Yldarb, forgetting the no talking policy, shouted, "Quickly, hide." They all dived into a snow scrub and peered out with anxiety.

"Its no use hiding from me, so come out."

Silencing the others, Yldarb answered, "Who is it?"

"A nameless friend"

"Why should we, uh I mean I believe you?"

"Because I have a sword, and you dropped yours on the way under the shrub"

"Oh"

Yldarb ushered them out of the bush. The mysterious rider laughed, "I thought there were more than one of you."

"Why are you here?"

"To help you of course."

"Help us? I think you've been misguided"
The rider frowned, "You are Shawn, aren't you?"
"No, he is" Yldarb stepped aside and gestured at Shawn.
"But, but, he's so young."
"I'm old enough to beat a Knight"
"I'd like to see you try it."
[Both of you stop fighting. Shawn, be less boastful. And you, mysterious rider, take off your helmet and tell us your name.]

The rider took off her helmet and her hair swirled about her head like a fire, "My name is Eleanor."
Yldarb coughed, "Well Eleanor, it's very nice to meet you, now we must go and save the kingdom."
"What, so I suppose you're just going to go up and knock on the gate. Fat chance your going to get in that way."
"Do you have a better plan, Eleanor?" He said Eleanor as if it were a swear word.
Shawn jumped to her defence, "I'm quite sure she does, and I propose for one that we hear it."
"Thank you Shawn, I like you already." Shawn blushed as Eleanor continued, "If you go up straight ahead and turn right you will come to a secret entrance that leads to the armoury. Once in there we can go directly to the main chamber. The only hitch is that only one of us can go through, the rest will have to distract the guards at the gate. I propose Shawn does it."
[I second that.]
"I'm for it, what about you Yldarb?"
"Fine, but remember what I taught you, OK?"
"All right, let's do it!"
Slowly, the intrepid travellers, now with a new friend, prepared to storm the castle.

Chapter 5 - The Final Battle

 
'KNOCK' 'KNOCK.' Two dark figures stood at the door of the castle. A face appeared in a small hold in the door, "Who's there?"

The first figure answered, "Well, um, you see,"

"Well, um, you see who?"

The second figure elbowed the first in the stomach, "It's Pizza Hut Delivery."

The surprised guard answered, "That's not funny at all. Besides I didn't order no pizza."

"I'm afraid you did sir."

"No I didn't!"

"Well... What's your favourite type of pizza?"

"Mmmmm... I hate pepperoni," the guard said helpfully.

"But what do you like?"

"That particular question requires some thought. Cheese is good, but seafood's better."

"So it's seafood?"

Ignoring them, the guard continued, "Although on the other hand my mother wanted me to be a vegetarian. So I guess it'll have to be vegetarian supreme."

"What a coincidence, that's what we have."

The guard looked around suspiciously and snatched it out of their hands and closed the hole.
Outside the doors Yldarb and Eleanor threw off their robes and gave each other high fives.

Inside the castle Waldorf broke out of the pizza box and gave the guard a thud. He soundlessly fell to the floor, [Diversion time.]

Shawn crept silently through the tunnel leading to the armoury. He reached the end and opened the trap door. After silencing the lone guard he peeped out the doorway. A long hallway stretched out to a set of big doors, 'The throne room' thought Shawn. On his left was a staircase. Suddenly several guards burst out of the throne room and began to run towards the armoury. With no choice Shawn doubled back into the armoury. Thinking quickly he put on the guards armour and tossed his body down the secret trapdoor. Just as he had done this the guards burst in, "Where is he?" the leader said breathlessly.

"Down there." Shawn gestured to the trapdoor.

"Charge!"

As the guards ran down the trapdoor Shawn closed it and dragged a crossbow rack across it. As he grabbed some weapons he heard angry shouting from below. With no time to lose he ran up the staircase he had seen earlier. At th e top was the queen's chamber. Thankfully she was not there. He ran to the balcony overlooking the throne room and peered cautiously over the edge. The King sat there but he was surrounded by at least five guards of various ranks. He was pondering what to do when a shout came from the other room. Almost on cue all but one of the kings guard rushed to the courtyard. Shawn lifted his crossbow to his shoulder and targeted the king.

"Uuuuuhhhhh!"

Suddenly Shawn heard a voice come from a cage in the corner. At first he thought it was an animal but then he realized it was Jonah! The king raised his head, "Ask him one more time, if he refuses to answer, kill him."

The soldier answered, "My pleasure, so where is your friend, Shawn?"

Suddenly Jonah peered up and caught a glimpse of him. With a start Shawn realized he had been promoted to a Duke.

"I don't know," stated Jonah defiantly.

The soldier advanced menacingly upon him. Shawn readjusted the sight on the crossbow and fired. The guard fell to the floor with an arrow in his back. Shawn leaped over the balcony and tossed a spear to Jonah whose cage had been opened by the guard.

"So, you're a bishop now."

"Yeah, when I got to the castle I found out about my promotion."

"Lucky you."

Suddenly two more guards burst through the door carrying Waldorf. The king's voice sounded, "Ha, ha, ha, I have finally defeated you both, guards, get them!"

[On the count of three: one, two, three!]

The 'guards' lifted their helmets to reveal Yldarb and Eleanor, "Thought you might need some help Shawn."

"Thanks, Jonah, meet my friends."

Jonah gawked and answered, "The duchess, your friend?"

"Eleanor, the duchess?"

"Sorry, I didn't want you to think I was too stuck up to want to help you."

Suddenly the kings voice broke up the reunion, "You can never defeat me!"

He leapt at Shawn, knocking him to the ground. The sword fight was short and swift. The king had no chance. As he fell to the floor a vocie from above uttered a single word, "Checkmate."

Epilogue - The End of the Beginning

"Yes, I win, hooray!"

Paul sulked, "I would have won, if I hadn't let you win."

"Hey, I won by myself. Remember, nobody likes a sore loser."

"All right, all right, you won fair and square..."

The celebrations had lasted one week. His friends had all been given medals for their feats. Although the war was over he knew his adventure was just beginning...

"Oh well, it was fun while it lasted."

"Yeah, now I'm bored."

"Hey, I've got an idea, let's play Magic!"

"Yeah, good idea..." 

The Culinarian IV: Apocalypto Cookies

As most who know me can tell you, I very poorly attempt to follow a bastardized version of paleo/intermittent fasting. Part of my plan (see if you can spot the flaw) is to eat my way through all the food not on my diet in my kitchen - so I'll only have good stuff left! Smart!

Unfortunately, I've got a whole tub of flour to get through, and baking isn't exactly a piece of cake for me. Its a very precise art where ratios are super important and cooking times need to be exact.

But the Culinarian doesn't play that game. Welcome to baking freestyle.

1. Preheat Oven to 175 C
2. Measure out 1 cup of flour into a bowl - then destroy your measuring cup*.
3. Mix the following into the bowl. The order probably doesn't matter.

• Eggs (2)
• Brown Sugar (about as much as the flour)
• Butter (a few spoonfuls)
• Hot Chocolate Powder (as much as the butter)
• Salt, Nutmeg, Cinnamon, Cloves (until it tastes good)
• Cayanne Pepper (until it burns just right)

 Just look at those smug ingredients

4. Put dollops of batter onto a baking tray covered with tinfoil

5. Cook for ~10 min or until awesome

6. Eat cookies while warm, with milk! Yum!

Serves 4, or me.

NOT SO SMUG NOW (but very tasty)

* It may be more prudent to merely discard temporarily.

A Most Noble Quest!

Journal of Austen Mendel Erickson chronicling his expedition up the Anzac and the adventures & tribulations faced therein

March 15th, the two-thousand and thirteenth year by the common reckoning, 6:12PM
I have awaited the opportunity for this journey with such anticipation that it seems strange that I am finally embarking on one. Upon receiving my commission to find an overland route from the University of New South Wales to Potts Point, I straight away leapt into action preparing my route and collecting supplies.

I will be taking the great Anzac Parade far up to its source, and then must blaze my own trail to my destination. Though I am no stranger to hardship, I would prefer to travel comfortably as long as possible, and have thus packed supplies sufficient to overcome any obstacle:
-(1) Hydration bladder
-(3) Bricks
-(2) Big Macs - these wonderful comestibles have enough caloric quantity to sustain me for days, properly rationed!

6:16PM
Big Mac supply completely exhausted, morale low. To compound the situation, my water valve seems to be leaking - a curse be upon insufficient engineers.

6:17PM
Upon further inspection, water valve was not closed - a curse be upon insufficient operators. Leak repaired

6:20PM
Waylaid by rapscallions awaiting a bus - one youth had the nerve to blow smoke in my general direction. I fired off a dirty glance as a warning shot, only to find with dismay that I had neglected to pack extras! I must remember to stock up dirty glances at the next available supply station.

6:33PM
Weather excellent. Though my hunger is growing - I am confident I can soldier on until I happen upon some game or edible foliage. My faith in my purpose and knowledge of my ability shall sustain me!

6:34PM
 Though my faith and knowledge are strong, I would prefer more Big Macs.

6:38PM
My helpful guide Tanto has offered to show me a short-cut known to him! An excellent fellow, I shall have to recommend him for a commendation once we arrive.

6:39PM
Tanto, the treacherous snake, has made off with all of my pack animals. This is made more worrying by the fact I cannot recall ever owning any such animals nor ever knowing an individual named Tanto. This damned trail is playing tricks with my mind. I am now hopelessly off course, and must attempt to find my onward without the Parade to guide me.

6:45PM
Though I remain quite lost, I have been reflecting, and I wonder if perhaps the real journey is not one of mere geographic transversal, but in my soul. Perhaps I should see this not as a chance to best nature, but to become one with it!

6:50PM?
[Illegible] sing with all the [Illegible] mountains!
I can [Illegible] colours [Illegible] wind!

Dusk
I write this in a rare moment of cogency - my mind is slipping further away from me, and I fear soon it will be gone entirely. First my spirit, then my mind - it is only a matter of time before my body too succumbs. I debate leaving my bricks behind, but they have been my stalwart companions through all of this. They are all I know is real. See to it they are given a proper burial if this journal, and my remains, are ever found.

???
I have lost the reckoning of time. Weeks? Years? I know nothing but thirst, hunger, and pain. Tanto has returned - a figment of my own madness taunting me with his very non-existence.

[Page torn out]

Time is but an illusion
[Illegible] the signs point the way! I was a fool [Illegible]. Learn from my folly!!!

[Multiple pages torn out]

7:12PM
I write this while convalescing at my destination. As any fellow seasoned explorer will tell you, an expedition such as this is necessarily fraught with danger- yet it is that very perilousness that drives us to achieve. An adventure without risk is hardly an adventure at all! Carpe Diem, my dear readers!

Join me next week when I circumnavigate Australia by foot!

Austen the Humourist: Through the Years III

Time Enough... for MURDER
Part of my Creative Writing portfolio from my final year of High School - my teacher's comments: "Very entertaining piffle... subtle hyperbole - possible?"

Throughout his six years on the police force, Detective Philip Cosgrove had been in many uncomfortable situations, but this certainly beat them all. Unlike some of the other uncomfortable situations, this one ended well, with the proctologist announcing that he was quite fit. "As fit as a fiddle, you might say," Philip Cosgrove replied, mentally commending himself for his cleverness. Whenever he managed to apply a witty witty saying like that he felt smart, like one of those real detectives on TV. His wide face would break into a crooked grin, like a Halloween pumpkin carved by a demented four-year-old, and his bushy black eyebrows would curl up at the edges.

This happy feeling stuck with him all the way to the station, when he realized with an unpleasant start that he had forgotten something important, a date of some sort. He came to the conclusion that it was his father-in-law's birthday, and he had completely neglected to purchase him a gift. Ever since the old man, Chief Inspector Harold Jenkins, had gotten him this job, it was as though he had expected Philip to be thankful, or something, as if Cosgrove couldn't have procured it himself. Cursing his "dad," Philip tried to think of a solution as he nibbled at the tuna sandwich he brought in every day for lunch. It wasn't until he was heading to the recreation room on his second mid-morning break that a single idea managed to burrow its way through his sparse covering of wiry black hair and a skull thick enough to sink in concrete.

Once again put in a good mood, this time by his resourcefulness, Cosgrove rummaged through the various boxes in the small windowless room marked, "Evidence & Confiscated Goods: Employees Only." He tossed aside a child's doll with some questionable red stains on it, a single orchid encased in glass, and a crime scene photo of a ramshackle red barn, one entire side peppered with bullet holes. Suddenly he saw it, the mother lode. It was a pocket watch, but not just any timepiece. This watch was special somehow, even Philip could tell, or perhaps that was just indigestion. After all, the tuna had tasted a little funny today.

Prize in hand, the Detective strode purposefully down the hallway towards the corner office of Chief Inspector Harold Jenkins. Peering through the door window, Philip noticed that he was not the first one to arrive; two others, ordinary policemen, were standing beside the large desk. He had never seen his father-in-law so red in the face. "Must be something important," the portion of his brain devoted to reasoning suggested, "maybe we should come back later." "Ha!" shouted the majority of his synapses, "what's more important than my gift?"

Without a second thought, Philip strode in purposefully, cutting off the stranger in mid-sentance, "We have some leads on the Peterson murder but until we can find that watch..."

"Happy Birthday Harold!" Cosgrove ejaculated, plopping his sizeable buttocks down upon the desk. There was a sickening noise, that of breaking glass and rending metal, followed by a rather awkward silence. "Ah..." Philip looked at the stricken face of the shorter intruder, "Are those your glasses?" The man just nodded mutely. At about this time, the young Detective noticed the look on Jenjins' face. Cosgrove's mind tried to comprehend why the Chief Inspector didn't look happier, but all it could think was that the sky had never seemed so blue as it did now out the window, and how nicely it contrasted with the mauve of Harold's face.

"Son..." Harold began, spitting out each word. "Would you mind explaining just what the hell you are doing in here?"

"Well... you see..." came the halting reply.

"SPEAK!" thundered the man behind the desk, like an angry and vengeful demigod, albeit with more spittle projection. Neither of the two guests had spoken yet.

"I just thought that I should give you this..." he handed over the pocket watch, noticing for the first time the initials stencilled on the back: "J.P." By this time he just wanted to leave and go back to his sandwich, maybe even open a bag of chips, but he knew that he wouldn't get off so easily.

To Philip's surprise, Harold didn't seem any angrier. In fact, his mood seemed to brighten a bit. "Where did you get this, son?"

"Its... its..." Cosgrove stuttered, not believing his good luck. "Its your birthday present."

There was silence around the table, and Philip got the horrible feeling that he had said something wrong. Suddenly the Chief Inspector smiled, and then grinned, and then... he began laughing. The two policemen looked at each other, and then they also laughed. Cosgrove, always hating to be the last one to get a joke, which happened far more frequently than he would like, also joined in, making sure he laughed louder than the others.

"That's my son!" said Harold, "Now that we have the watch, we can really make some headway on the Peterson case. Let me tell you, you almost had us fooled with the birthday routine. But thank you, I had almost forgotten my daugher's birthday, clever of you to remind me like this. Say, what did you get her?"

Cosgrove turned green and rushed out of the room, stopping only long enough to retrieve his sandwich on his way to the mall.

The End

Thanks for reading my recycled rantings! Next week I describe how I conquered the crab people.

Austen the Humourist: Through the Years II

Quomodocunquize: Man or Myth?
I believe the goal of this Year 9 assignment was to write a definition essay for some word or concept. But that seemed boring so I wrote this instead. According to this source its even a real word!

Many nights I have lain awake in bed, pondering the secrets of life, the universe, and everything. Many nights have I asked myself the great questions: Why are we here? What's life all about? Is God really real, or is there some doubt? [A Douglas Adams and a Monty Python reference in the first paragraph - CREATIVITY!] What exactly is quomodocunquization? "Ah yes," as some great Greek philosopher may have once thought, "to quomodocunquize is indeed a great and mysterious ting." This was made even more amazing in that English was not even a language at the time. After grueling minutes of study, I have finally unlocked the secrets behind the word that has puzzled generations of scholars and theologians, kings and saints, and driven many more mad in its pursuit: quomodocunquize.

In its simplest form, to quomodocunquzie is to make money in any way possible. The first aspect of this is basically the idea of money. The evolution of money begins with the birth of humankind. Originally, humans utilized a barter economy, in which 'money' was not currency, but actually various goods themselves. For example, in order to purchase an ancient soft drink (historians call this "water"), one would need to pay three sheep and a half-chicken. Naturally, this sort of exchange made drive thru restaurants very inefficient, not to mention messy. For this reason, early peoples began using objects like shells or rocks as currency, which in turn bred metal coins and paper money through a process known as 'meiosis.' Obviously, money can refer to any material good, but in today's day and age, and for all intents and purposes it means currency.

Since the dawn of time, humans have been developing more and more sophisticated ways of relieving other humans of the uncomfortable burden of too much money. From the time honoured "hitting-over-the-head-with-big-stick" method to the modern and genteel "corporate fraud" method, moneymaking strategies run the gamut for profitability, morality and legality. Typically speaking, profitability is inversely proportional to morality and legality, unless one is a politician, when morality loses all meaning. Essentially, any sort of activity wherein a certain amount of money exchanges possession can be classified as a moneymaking venture, the core of quomodocunquization.

However, there is one thing that separates the everyday businessman from the dedicated quomodocunquizer. Although both make money, hopefully in vast quantities, in order to truly quomodocunquize, one must in addition be willing to sacrifice all that is good and holy for the sake of cold hard cash. Making money in any way possible means just that. If an activity will be profitable, it is fair game. For example, although many businessmen would not sell, for example, their eternal soul, to someone as unscrupulous as Satan, the Lord of the Abyss and Devourer of Souls or a law firm, if the quomodocunquizer thinks that he or she can come off with some capital, they would not give it a second thought.

Sure, many would argue that quomodocunquization is unethical, even downright immoral, and true, they may be completely correct, but in the end none of them will ever become wealthy enough to leave golden likenesses of themselves as tips. To sum it up, to quomodocunquize is to perform any activity, without caring about the consequences regardless of how far reaching and terrible they might be, for the sake of currency. Remember, quomodocunquization is not just a way of obtaining gargantuan quantities of wealth; it is a way of life.

Austen the Humourist: Through the Years I

This week I've collected three works of 'humorous' writing that I wrote at various points in my life- no promises in the quality of the jokes. I notice that the younger me found quite a lot of funnies in non sequitur and 'lawyers are greedy/immoral' quips. Of course today my sense of humour is considerably more mature and focuses exclusively on puns (my favourite type of bread - hey-oh!). The next two entries will be up Wednesday & Friday.

The Bear and the Three Goldilocks: A Fairy Tail
Originally written in Year 6, I believe I intended this to be a part of a series of revisited fairy tales and then promptly forgot about it. I believe Mozart was already composing at this age, and I'd like to think that this holds up at least as well as his early work. I can't, but I'd certainly like to. Its worth noting that the original piece had a WordArt title, was written in Comic Sans, and contained a beautiful hand drawn illustration.

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Goldilocks. One day through a bizarre incident involving a berserk photocopier, half a salami sandwich and a rabid weasel flying at terminal velocity, Goldilocks multiplied three times. Her clones had the names of Big Goldilocks, Medium Goldilocks and Small Goldilocks according to their sizes. The original Goldilocks was so surprised she ran away and became an image consultant. The remaining Goldilocks bought a house in the middle of the forest for a very decent price. Every morning they would eat some cereal. Big Goldilocks had a bland non-flavoured oatmeal. Medium Goldilocks had some Sugar-coated Chocolate Bombs in chocolate milk. Small Goldilocks had Honey Bunches of Oats. Since they all liked their cereal soggy they would first go for a walk. The story begins here...

The Three Goldilocks had just left for their morning walk when a burglar bear came to their house. He immediately broke down the door and went inside. The first thing he saw was The Three Goldilocks' breakfast. He tried Big Goldilocks' oatmeal but it was too bland. Then he tried Medium Goldilocks cereal but it was too sweet. Finally, he tasted Small Goldilocks' cereal and it was just right so he ate it all up. As he was no longer hungry he walked into the living room to try and steal something. The first thing he saw was Big Goldilocks' Wide Screen Colour TV. He tried to lift it but it was too heavy and it fell to the ground immediately, fortunately it was strong enough to withstand the blow. The next thing he saw was Medium Goldilocks' 12" Black & White TV. He picked it up but put it on the floor as soon as he realized it was too inexpensive. Finally he moved on to Small Goldilocks' 17" Colour TV - he lifted it into his sack because he knew it was just right. He hefted the bag over his shoulder and moved upstairs to see what he could see. When he reached the top he saw three beds. He went into the one belonging to Big Goldilocks' but it was too hard so he smashed it to bits. Then he went to Medium Goldilocks' bed but it was too soft so he smashed it to bits. In a temper he ran to Small Goldilocks' bed and smashed it to bits. Then he went through a rampage and destroyed most of the house. By the time The Three Goldilocks got back there was practically nothing left.

What followed could only be described as chaos. The Three Goldilocks angrily chased the bear around the forest. After about an hour of sweating, running and panting they managed to catch him. They were about to force feed him a kilo of mixed vegetables when a finicky Forest Ranger stopped them and gave them a long lecture about treating endangered species with care. During this time the bear escaped only to fall into the arms of the police. Both of the parties went to court and the bear was sent to jail. Unfortunately  The Three Goldilocks were fined for harming an endangered creature so the only ones who lived happily ever after were the lawyers.

The Culinarian III: Silence of the Lamb Roast

In the shadows, he waits - foodstuffs everywhere whisper his name in fear. A legend stalking the supermarket shelves. And tonight, he's hungry.

That's right, its time for a dark gritty reboot of...

...featuring Austen 'Lambo' Erickson.

What you will need:

• Slow Cooker
• Lamb Half-leg Roast
• (1) Can Soup - preferably lamb based
• (1) Soup Stock Gel Thingy - preferably beef based, because consistency is for chefs, not the Culinarian.
• Frozen Mashed Potatoes
• (1) Beer
• (1 bag) Cauliflower you found in the freezer
• WILD CARD*: Leftover beetroots that you need to get rid of

What you will not need:

• Roads
• Electric kettle (that bastard photo-bombed my ingredients)

Lets Fucking Cook

1. Drink the rest of the beer you bought. You should probably start this dish in the morning so this will get your day off to a good start.
2. Place lamb into slow cooker
3. Place everything else except the mashed potatoes into the slow cooker
4. Turn it on low and wait for 7 hours or until you get too hungry to keep waiting
5. De-bone the meat and chop it into stew sized chunks
6. Microwave the mashed potatoes and then serve as a base for the stew

CONSUME
The final product should look something like this:

Enjoy!

Culinarian's Coda
Thank you all for coming on this magical journey with me. I think we all learned a thing or two about life, love, and cooking.

Join me next week when I teach you how to build a homunculus servant.

*Improvisation is key to any dish - I recommend adding whatever you've got in your fridge until the slow-cooker is full

Austen the Author (Year 5 Edition)

 Austen (Age 35): Welcome, my dear readers. My illustrious authorial career has its roots in the romantic realist tradition of...

Austen (Age 10): Shut the hell up - I was writing before you could even spell "pretenshun." Let me show you some of the great shit I wrote in Year 5. Its fucking aces.

 Austen (Age 23): I think I better act as an editor - at the very least to remove all the profanity. I'm pretty sure I didn't even know what most of those curse words even meant.

 Austen (Age 10): Whatever. I grew up on the streets, bitch.

Austen (Age 23): That's not even remotely true.

Austen (Age 10): [Unpublishable]

Austen (Age 35): Seriously 23-year old Austen, stop being such an [unpublishable] and show the damn story.

Austen (Age 23): Without further ado:

 Portal to Lorrad
Introduction:
"Slight chance of earthquake," that's what it said on T.V. [Said no one on television ever] [I'll fight you] Now after the 7.8, the nearby volcano had begun erupting. My cat, Tiger, and I were running down the main street away from the lava. Suddenly we had to stop! There was a deep crack in the ground, and I saw a blue-green glow towards the bottom. I turned around and, seeing that there was no other choice, I leaped off the edge, and was engulfed by darkness... [Hold up you daffy old man, this is the first draft - if you insist on mocking my writing at least mock the right version] [Fine, we'll start again]

Introduction:
As Patrick tramped through the tall grass, he thought again why he was doing this. He had been dared by his friends to take a picture of the pond in the middle of the supposedly haunted grove. He passed through the ring of trees and saw the pond. [You actually have no idea what a grove is, do you?] [I do too - apparently I grove up into an insufferable [unpublishable] - how's that for use in a sentence? Dick.]

"All I have to do is take a picture," he thought, but something about the pond - perhaps the stillness, or maybe a slight feel of magic in the air - made him go in closer for a better look. As he peered into the un-rippling waters he thought he saw the slight outline of an island.

Patrick leaned in closer. Suddenly, it was as if an invisible hand pushed him. He tumbled forward and landed in the water with a spalsh [Spalsh? Seriously? Even I know how to spell that] . He tried to swim to the surface, but it seemed as though he was made of lead! He sank deeper and was engulfed in darkness.

Chapter 1:

When Patrick opened his eyes he found himself lying on a beach. He tried to move, but as soon as he stood up a shooting pain went through his body and he collapsed to the sand, and fell into a deep sleep. [Not every scene has to end with your protagonist blacking out, you know] [Shut up and finish the story] [That's all you wrote! The rest is just a list of characters and synopsis of the unfinished first chapter!]

Austen (Age 10): Seriously? You never even finished it? What about Niksor the Froggle? Frax the Lizard-Man!? HIGGLE THE GOOD WIZARD!!? I give you literary gold and you just squander it. What a dumbass. I'm gonna go play Pokemon. Peace.

Austen (Age 35): I wrote a novel! Didn't have much to do with this story though.

Austen (Age 23): We'll just see about that. You don't own me, future me.

Austen (Age 35): Whatever, I'm gonna go play Pokemon. Peace.

Austen (Age 23): ... I guess that's all for this week, dear readers. Next time, my Misadventures on Mars!

How to Rule: A Statist's Guide

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NOTE: This post was re-blogged by the Australian Libertarian Society and Menzies House, published in The Gold Standard, and published in abridged form in Liberty 2015.

Congratulations on obtaining your new country! Whether you were elected by a majority of citizens who could be bothered to vote, appointed by the previous (and outgoing) party elite, or you have just staged a military coup, be assured that you have not only the power to rule – but the right to do so! The people – your people – have implicitly agreed to a social contract listing you as the ultimate authority, so be confident in your reign!

However, ruling a country is a difficult task; radical, anti-social, elements will always exist at the edge of society seeking to criticise or even undermine your administration. Its important not to pay any attention to what they have to say, since self-doubt is the most poisonous affliction for any sovereign. After all, if they know so much, why are you the one sitting in the driver's seat while they clamour for attention at the back of the bus?

This guide will teach you how best to quash these dangerous dissidents, so that you can more easily realise your utopian vision for the nation – your nation. The techniques here are presented in an order that our experts think will be the simplest for a first time ruler, but feel free to improvise! Jump around a bit as circumstance demands, or just to watch those fringe elements squirm. Even someone as dedicated to advancing the greater good as you deserves to enjoy themselves every now and then.

Remember, the most important thing while you build the great society – your society – is to have fun!

Step 1 – Disarm the Dissidents

An armed population is an unruly population! Just like a de-clawed animal makes the best pet, defenceless people are the easiest to domesticate. Obviously, you'll have to take away their guns – but don't be afraid to go further! Knives, axes, scissors and knitting needles – all can be used against you or your agents.

Start by outlawing dangerous weapons in public places, and when this proves an ineffective deterrent to criminals you can push for more regulation and registration. Ideally you will end up with a list of every legal gun-owner. Don't worry about the illegal owners, they will always be around and are such a small minority that they don't pose a threat to your regime.

Timing is everything when you are finally ready to start taking weapons away – statistical evidence and rational argument will not be on your side, so wait for a tragedy before you make your move! Declining crime rates are no match for a pile of bodies – so stand atop it with pride while you paint your opponents as heartless.

PROTIP: While you gradually reduce the power of people to defend themselves, take the opportunity to more heavily arm your own forces in the name of “public safety.” Every local police force should have assault weapons, and at least one tank, if possible! (Armed drones are also a great idea – see Step 5)

Step 2 – Seize the Schools

Children are the future – your future. A young mind is fertile soil for growing the followers of tomorrow, and as any good farmer will tell you – if you want a good crop come harvest, nationalise education!

Its no secret that all children have the same needs and capabilities, and that's why a national curriculum is so important to your success! Of course, funding schools can be difficult with all the other great projects you will be working on – so don't be afraid to cut programs that won't serve your goals. Art, economics, mathematics and science are all fat to be discarded if necessary; but never, ever get rid of history. The social studies classroom is your arena! Its a sad, outdated notion that history is an objective study of the past. Those of us in the know are aware that its actually a perfect medium for selling ideology to impressionable youth.

PROTIP: Remember to tack these three magical words onto every educational edict you issue “...for our children.” No one can argue with that – it would mean that they were anti-children. Its just logic.

Step 3 – Bolster the Bureaucracy

Depending on your predecessors – your rightfully unlimited power may be unfairly constrained by silly things like constitutional law or other branches of government. But modern science has given us a fantastic tool to overcome such hurdles – the bureaucrat!

A simple rule of thumb: if you can't legislate it, regulate it! Is an impasse among underlings getting you down? Create an entirely new agency to bypass the whole process! Between the Department of This and the Agency of That (not to mention the Board of the Other), there will be dozens, if not hundreds of different subordinates who you can instruct to pass any given order.

PROTIP: People love wars and they provide a great opportunity to expand the scope of state power! But sometimes a war on a neighbouring country is impractical – which is why its such a good idea to declare war on more nebulous, abstract foes: “War on Poverty,” “War on Drugs,” “War on Terror,” “War on Obesity,” “War on Badwrongness” – be creative!

Step 4 – Neuter the Newspapers

[CENSORED] (Ed. Note: Good job! You are catching on!)

PROTIP: A great way to get started on this is to establish an 'independent' agency to monitor the press – it can all be done in the name of “creating and maintaining a balanced and free media.” We couldn't have any private parties injecting their agenda into the news.

Step 5 – Surveil the Citizenry

Its no coincidence that The Police sang “Every Breath You Take,” because they'll most certainly be watching you (or rather, your subjects)! By now you might have upset some of the coarser plebeians, and the first step to removing a cancer on society is detecting it.

Thanks to the marvels of technology, its easier than ever to keep track of the average Jane or Joe Citizen. Who will complain about wanting “a chicken in every pot” when you give them “a camera on every street corner?” No one – at least not for long!

Don't forget to keep up with all the new-fangled gadgetry either – phone-tapping, internet data retention, microwave scanning, mandatory blood and saliva testing; the possibilities are just endless. The best part is, it can all be done in the name of “national security!”

PROTIP: Before you take the reigns, be as vocal as possible in your opposition to a surveillance state – then your supporters will take for granted that anything you do must be necessary, since you oppose it so strongly on principle!

Step 6 – Jilt the Judiciary

To paraphrase the great thinker and statesman, Benjamin Franklin “People... deserve neither liberty nor safety.” Truer words have never been spoken! You've accomplished a lot so far, and its OK to congratulate yourself for a job well done. In fact, why not declare a national day of celebration in your honour? We'll still be here when you come back, champ!

We bet that was fun! The hard work is almost done – if you haven't already all you need to do is to start enforcing your laws as arbitrarily as you create them. The notion that everyone has to follow the same rules is a ludicrous relic and has no place in an advanced society.

Besides, if you've completed Step 3 odds are everybody is guilty of something. You may as well pass sentence now and define a charge later. In fact, you can probably just drop the pretence of charging people with crimes altogether. You are the state and if you say someone's guilty, that's the way it is!

PROTIP: Setting and expanding precedent is key here! If you can get away with something once, you've proven that its always acceptable. Use a missile strike on foreigners yesterday to justify an assassination of one of your own citizens tomorrow. Dream big!

Step 7 – Profit!

Congratulations on completing the guide! You should now be in a great position to enforce your policy whims, whatever they might be! Soon your world-view will come to its full fruition. You may be interested in our companion work – How to Cope with Societal Collapse: A Statist's Guide. Until then – all hail the glorious leader!