Spoken too soon

No, there's nothing wrong with all the technological gubbins that enabled me to come back to Blogland. Instead, the "imminent crossing over of a very close relative of SP's" as I mentioned in the last post, has happened. So, needless to say, I've been occupied with things other than blogging. However, we have had an unexpected trip over The Cusp and a couple of paranormal close encounters, so I shall be recounting those 'adventures' in due course.

In the meantime, I hope you are all well and firing on all thrusters. See you soon!

They're here!

Yes, we're back! All four of us - Thankfully, we managed to lose that interfering old baggage, Audrey, somewhere in the ether.
While we're pleased to return the realm of Blogland - via the wonders of a wireless router (that was surprisingly easy to set up once we got hold of an ethernet cable that actually worked) - it seems someone is even more pleased, eh Tim?



Ha!

Anyway, back to the point: This means, of course, that I won't have to surreptitiously blog from work - Although, never say never. Instead, I can blog from the uncomfort of my - sorry SP - our home. I say "uncomfort" because, as you can see in the picture, the study is bereft of comforts such as a desk, chair, houseboy etc...

Suffice it to say, I won't be online for long each time I log on due to the general physical aches caused by the distinct lack of ergonomics. Plus, due to the imminent crossing over of a very close relative of SP's, I won't be about every day as I'm trying to be as supportive as I can. All be it in my emotionless, robotic, cold-fish way.
So, before this gets too long-winded, I'm thrilled to be amongst you once again, and I'm looking forward to catching up on all that you've been up to.
I'm sure you've all been good...?

669

* Brrrriiing brrrriing - Brrrriiing brrrriing - Brrrriiing brrrri- *

“Hello?” a frail old voice answered. Momentarily nonplussed, I didn’t respond. “Is there anyone there?” she asked.
“Ummm…” Oh, great start. I rolled my eyes with some assistance from The Host’s SubC. “Ummm… I don’t suppose Lucifer’s home, is he?
“Who, dear?”
“Lucifer. Um.”
“Lucy? Eh?” There was some rustling before the voice muttered “Let me turn my hearing aid up...”
“Look” I said getting a little impatient, “Is he in? Are you his mum?”
“Oh, no, dear. I don’t have any children” she said.
Bugger, I seethed to myselves. I must’ve dialled the wrong number. Before I could say anything else, the old woman resumed talking.
“Ooh, there was that nice young man who lived here before me? I can’t remember his name. He had a lovely tan, though. If a bit on the red side. And a bit pointy, as I recall. Especially his hair. Looked like horns, it did!” She paused, but only for a second. “D’you know, it’s three years to the day since he moved out and I moved in. Fancy that! The old memory isn’t as bad as I thought.”
Weary from her diatribe, I tried to cut her off. “Excuse me. Do you have a forwa-“
“Oh!” She suddenly exclaimed. “And he had ever such a long-”
I shuddered and slammed the phone down before my imagination could run riot with whatever embarrassing horror the old bat was about declare.

Technical difficulties

We are experiencing technical difficulties - Normal service (i.e. last year's levels of posting and commenting) will be resumed shortly.

I hope.

Setting up a wireless router shouldn't be so complicated. Although it may have something to do with the lack of internet access through an ethernet cable. I'm on the verge of screaming and giving up, but as I'm at work right now, I don't think I'd better. I just hope that SP has sorted out the technical jiggery-pokery by the time I get home today. After all, you may have some recollection of my technological retardation.

You may ask why I don't just plug the Demon Box into the internet via the ethernet cable. Well, I can't because it's right next to the TV and I'm not blogging while SP lounges in front of the telly with the volume up full blast. Besides, if I'm within earshot, he'll keep talking to me or asking me to do things (like "What's for dinner?", or "Can you walk and feed Moom?", or "Let's have sex.").
So, until such time as I can blog upstairs out of the way, I won't be blogging at all, except from work, like today.

Wish me luck!

Almost Haunted

"Pass me that Woman's Weekly, would you?"
"What?"
"The magazine. Pass it to me."
"This one?"
"No. The one with Nanette Newman on the cover holding a washing up liquid bottle and a knitted uterus."
"Here you are-"

* c r r e e e e e e e a k *

Three seconds into the fallen silence, someone whispered: "What was that?" We all looked around wildly, searching for the source of the chilling creak. Suddenly, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle sat up straight and tutted.
"Oh, crap" he said as the door at the far end of the room opened fully.
"Wha-" Sir Isaac Newton began before this happened:



"Shit. It's Yvette Fielding and the Most Haunted crew." Marie Curie rolled her eyes. "We'll never get any peace now. Go on" she said, glaring at me. "It's your turn to frighten them off."
"But... But, I'm not even properly dead!" I hissed.
"Close enough."
"But-" I tried again but was cut off.
"Look. You've been hanging around with us ghouls for long enough to pull your weight when it's needed. And it's needed now. We're bored of scaring off that wailing, shrieking harridan.
"I-" I began.
"No excuses. Just get rid of her" Marie paused, a look of diabolical evil lit up her ghostly face brighter than the radiation that lingered from her life, "or we'll revoke your haunting license."
"Yes" Rod Hull interrupted. "We know you've 'amended' it from haunting to stalking. That poor boy..."
"Oh, OK, then" I sighed in blackmailed resignation.
"Be careful of her monstrous hair" John Inman warned. "Beryl got trapped in it last year and we haven't seen hide nor hair of her since."
"And she had a lot of hide, the fat cow" Sir Arthur sniggered.
"Hey! You shouldn't speak ill of the dead" Rod exclaimed, horrified.
"I don't see why not - She hated me, and I'm just as dead as she is. P'raps even deader."
"Shut up, you two" Marie scolded. "C'mon, let's go to the cinema while IDV gets rid of Yvette."
"What's on?"
"Star Trek."
"Star Trek? Really? I thought that had died a death years ago?"

- - -

And that's how come I haven't seen Star Trek yet. Maybe next week?

Beak Wars: Attack of the Clones

It appears that I am a Beaky magnet: I’ve only been living in Smug Towers New Castle DeVice for two months, yet I’m already being stalked, plagued even, by a new Beaky. 

And his wife. 

I’m of the opinion that this is either one of Beaky’s clones, or his offspring, sent to keep an eye on me.  

So far, he hasn’t made any attempts on my life (or SP’s or Moom’s) but I’m not taking any chances: I’m putting out sultanas in an effort to bribe placate him. Luckily, my eardrums have been saved from copious bleeding as the new Mrs Beaky isn’t as shrill as the original, but that could change. 

I do, however, have a horrible feeling of cold, clammy dread that the two of them are incubating a monstrous brood. I just hope that they haven’t been tasked with raising an army! 

Watch this space.

One voluminous Bone

I have read a book this year.

Finally.

I mean, Christ! Where does time go? I’ve been living with SP since the beginning of March, but still haven’t had a chance to set up the Demon Box, never mind read at the rate I used to as a Singleton. There just seems to be so much housework and maintenance and gardening and shopping and meal-making and Moom-walking* and curtain-twitching to do. I’m practically a Desperate Housewife!
Now, I know I may have mentioned before that my career aspirations reach as far as that of a glamorous, well dressed, housewife, but now that I am one (OK, forget the glamorous and well dressed bits), I’m more than a little disappointed with the amount of gruelling work that’s involved. To make things worse, I haven’t even been able to give up the day job! What’s the point of a boyfriend who isn’t going to work all the hours the gods send to keep their better half in crimplene A-line dresses and immovable hair-dos?

Anyway: Moan over. The book I have finished reading was Making Money, by Terry Pratchett. Here it is:

I’m not going to review it because I haven’t got enough time (this is yet another post written while I’m at work), but if you want to know what it’s about, click the link up there which will take you to the Wiki entry. It can’t be that bad because SP read the blurb on the back cover and was immediately intrigued. So much so that he now wants to read it.

Now that I’ve finished Making Money, I can move onto a rather weighty tome given to me for my birthday by a close friend. Actually, this friend isn’t as close as I’d like, both geographically and physically. Still, Shepperton isn’t too far by broom when I feel the need for stalking visiting him…

The book in question is Bone, by Jeff Smith. I’ve only just started it, but my not-close-enough-friend raved about it, so it must be good as he’s a very discerning and well read editor. I think I’m going to like it, not least because some of the background art reminds me of Bill Watterson’s Calvin & Hobbes strips, and there appear to be numerous bizarre and imaginative creatures in it**.







* Moom is our dog. Well, she’s like a person in the house, but definitely a dog when we’re out, what with chasing things and bum sniffing, and the like.
** Perhaps not quite as bizarre as the diaphanous slime creatures of Ahnooie 4.

Concerning flight

I watched Superman Returns last night. Well, SP wanted to see it because James Marsden’s in it. I don’t think he could give two figs about the film – He just wanted to gaze upon James’ beauty and razor sharp cheek bones. I must admit, I never turn away in horror when he graces the screen, so I didn’t mind too much that SP was being more than a little blatant. One comment did give me pause, though. He was talking about preferring James as Cyclops wearing that leather costume in X-Men when he hesitated with a big grin on his face. “Cwoooarr!” he said. “I wouldn’t mind his massive cyclops coming at me.”
And this was while I was in the room. Sitting right next to him! The cheek.

Anyway, the point I was going to make is related to both last night’s televisual viewing and something Tim said recently about having flight as a super power. It was while I was piloting Broom to work this morning, wrapped up tightly, that I marvelled about the amount of scantily clad flying superheroes (and supervillains) who don’t seem to be affected by windchill. Superman I can understand due to his resistance of the cold (he lives in an Arctic ice castle, for starters). The Human Torch keeps warm because he’s on fire. Phoenix is all powerful and probably shields herself from the deleterious effects of flight. But what about the rest of them? How do they keep warm and/or stop their eyes streaming? How? Do any of you lot have superpowered alter-egos and have to adapt to the effects of your powers?

Oh, and Tim, if you’re fed up with being so attractive, you’ll just have to try and switch off your Timtational sexy pheromone secretions!


- - -

Just to be tangential: There aren’t enough people called Cynthia. I don’t know any Cynthias except for Cynthia Nixon and Cynthia from some old British comic (I believe she burnt some cakes during her gang/class’s re-enactment of historical events?). And even then, I only know of them. Does anyone else know any Cynthias?

To beanie, or not to beanie...

Now, I'm not a huge fan of beanies. I'm not even a fan of huge beanies. Even though some people do still manage to look cute (and a little bit dangerous) in them.

However, something I saw on Monday is making me have second thoughts. I was walking to work at the extra early time of 07:05 (the earliest since moving out of the original Castle DeVice and in to the new Castle DeVice, aka Smug Towers, with SP) when I saw Seat Leon Man drive by, my heart skipping a beat. I hadn't seen him in months thanks to my move and later start times at work. Something made me look twice, though. He was wearing a beanie!

Awww... He looked soooo cute, but still retained his masculine allure (even if he might not have legs). A bit like Tim, really (although, I know that Tim has legs - And nice ones at that).

Perhaps beanies are the way forward? I mean, even the mini-Tim* who lives next door to us wears one, and despite being only 17, manages to look fanciable (as long as one manages to imagine him being 10 years older).




P.S. I still haven't got Demon Box set up in Smug Towers (I'm posting this in my lunch break at work), so any blogging and commenting will be sparing (especially those NSFW blogs - Sorry MJ) until I sort out DB's new home. I'm hoping for the small spare bedroom as a study - I've just got to convince SP.


* OMG! He really does look like Tim, only younger. He even has the face-fuzz! I haven't seen if he has any chest-fuzz yet, but, quite frankly, I don't think I want to. He's 17, for gods sakes!

Dungeons & Drag Queens

“Hey, look! A dungeons and dragons ride!” Dora yelled, running towards the imposing fairground ride.
“Wow! Neat!” Dinah exclaimed and took off after her.
The rest of The Coven and ‘Petra followed the girls, barged past the queue (after all, it is my birthday), then jumped in to the lead car with Dora and Dinah. The ride started slowly then began to pick up speed, passing plastic skeletons brandishing plastic swords, papier-mâché demons gurning and snarling at the trackside, and a huge fibreglass dragon spewing terrifying orange and yellow silk streamers in an approximation of fire.
“Gimme a break” ‘Petra groaned, rolling his eyes.
“My arse is scarier than this” Dora sneered.
“I’ll say” T-Bird agreed a little too enthusiastically.
“Hey!”
“That last dragon reminded me of Audrey” I said. “Oh, that reminds me, I never finished telling you about the palaver it was getting all of Audrey’s stuff over to SP’s.”
Tim slumped in his seat, his head lolling to one side hilariously (yeah, right), as I ignored him and continued.
“There were her medications and the list of how much and when; we had to pick up her shower chair; there’s the batteries for her hearing aid; magnifying glass for reading-" My monologue was rudely interrupted by our car shaking on the rails.
The tunnel blurred, its painted images fading into one another before streaking out to nothing as we shot past. I’d be damned (again) if I was going to let a little thing like that stop me though, so I took a deep breath to continue. And then the light vanished, plunging us into darkness. All momentum appeared to have ceased and silence reigned. Until…“What happened?!” I exclaimed.
“Your mouth used up all the power” Tim snarled.
“Don’t worry IDV, we can still find the bar” ‘Petra quipped.
“Where’s my flashlight?” T-Bird asked. “In fact, where’s my bag? Peecat's in it!”
“I think it’s here next to me” Tim answered. “I’ll get the torch out” he continued, rifling around in the bag. “Where is it? In a pocket?” There were more sounds of rummaging, followed by a brief silence, then: “Where’s the switch?”
“Bring it here” T-Bird said.
“Oh, here it is.”

* bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz *

“What is this?”
And then there was light.
“Oh!” T-Bird screamed in mortified horror as everyone saw what Tim was holding.
Tim looked at the massive dildo in his hands and guffawed. He continued laughing as he took the mighty tool out of the rest of The Coven’s sight.“What was that?” Dinah asked innocently.
“It was an… Uhhh…” I struggled for an explanation “electric ear cleaner.”
“It was kinda big.”
“It sure was!” ‘Petra intoned as Dora looked on smugly.

- - -

After the hubbub had died down, we followed Tim towards the source of light with T-Bird bringing up the rear, blushing furiously.“Where are we?”
Looking around, we discovered we’d just left a black leather-lined dark room and come out into a cavernous staging area. Chains and leather straps hung from the lofty ceiling almost to the black rubber floor. Occasional swathes of padded red leather grew from the floor, forming couches and screens, some of which were adorned with full length, smoked glass mirrors. A liberal amount of dubious looking moist patches could be seen on most surfaces and everything had a disturbing sheen to it. To top it off, the whole environment smelled of poppers, sweat and spunk.*
Then, from behind a bestrapped and padlocked chair-like contraption, a ginger dwarf** appeared.
“What the fuck do you lot want?” it demanded in an effeminate Scottish/Yorkshire hybrid accent.
“We just want to go home” Dinah piped up after the initial shock of the sight of the dwarf had worn off.
“Home?” the stunted poof sneered. “You’ll have to work to pay your way home. Although, you’ll have to be kitted out in uniforms” and he pointed his stubby index finger at each of us in turn, a flash of light emanating from the nicotine stained digit to envelope us.
“Stalker” he declared, pointing at me first. My clothes became replaced by a dull black coverall complete with hood, dark glasses and what appeared to be a tranquiliser gun that, on closer inspection, fired rohypnol-tipped darts.

"Well! How very dare you" I declared. "I don't know where you'd get the idea I might be a little more attentive than etiquette deems polite?" I was very careful not to meet Tim's eyes as I said that.

"Pole dancer" he said next, sneering at me and pointing at Dinah, who was suddenly wearing little more than a couple of tassles and a handkerchief. In her hands she held a shiny eight foot metal pole, the end of which appeared to dispense lube.
"Hoody." T-Bird was transformed into a purple hoody-wearing malcontent, who, when she pulled up the hood, blended in with the shadows until she was practically invisible.
"Warlock." 'Petra became adorned with a green velvet cloak and pointy hat with enough dark eye make-up to plaster a wall.
"Cavalier." Dora groaned under the weight of battered and rusty armour made out of an old Vauxhall. She dropped the shield that was formed out of the car's bonnet*** with a dull clang.
"And" the dwarf sniggered, "Page 3 Stunna!" The last of our party's clothes disappeared and were replaced with- Well, they were barely replaced.

* Gasp * Dinah covered her mouth.

"Oh..." 'Petra exclaimed.

"My..." T-Bird continued.

"Gods!" I finished.

The four of us stood gaping and drooling at Tim in his barely-there 'three belts' costume. Dora looked on in mild interest, filing her nails on the rusty wheel arch that covered her hip.
Tim opened his mouth to protest at his attire, but became distracted at his reflection in a nearby mirror.

"Rawr!" he growled, he and his reflection admiring himself before remembering that he had an enrapt audience. "Ahem... I mean, I'm not wearing this outrageous outfit! It's clearly meant for a female physique." He glanced in T-Bird's direction then frowned in concentration as he attempted to 'rearrange' himself without spilling out of the blatantly cramped lower belt.

T-Bird eyed him suspiciously before pulling at her hoody. "While I like the comfort of this, it's hardly very fetching. That's not to say I'm gonna swap, Tim."

"Well, I'm not wearing this, either!" Dinah snapped.

Then Dora cut in. "At least you look female. I look like an ancient Transformer."

'Petra sighed in frustration. "Can't you magic up some different clothes, IDV? This green makes me look washed out."

"Oh, no" I replied. "You're the warlock - You do it. I quite like my 'Milk Tray Man' gear, thankyouverymuch!"

"Well, what do I do?"

"Oh, I don't know. Pull something out of your hat?" I said somewhat exasperated.

Sighing even more heavily, 'Petra removed his hat and pondered for a short while as everyone else resumed arguing about who should wear what, and where that nasty little ginger dwarf had gone.

"Ooh, I know!" he suddenly said. He waved his hand over the open end of the upside-down hat and chanted as he pulled out a spell:
"Magic hat, end this strop. Make everyone's costumes swap!"

* poof *

After the puff of pink smoke and the small shower of glitter had cleared, we regarded each other with almost as much astonishment as the first time we had an unplanned costume change.

Dora was now the 'Page 3 Stunna' - "Oh, great" she remarked sarcastically.

Dinah looked a lot happier in the hoody. Somewhat unsurprisingly, I was the warlock, sans hat, which 'Petra was still holding as he bore the weight of the cavalier armour and shield. And Tim, in a role-reversal, was now the stalker. But instead of paying attention to me, was lasciviously eyeing up a pole-holding and betassled T-Bird.

"Aaaaaiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

A piercing shriek rent the air, freezing us in place and chilling us to the bone. It was 'Petra.

"It's not a hat" he wailed, holding it betwixt finger and thumb. "It's not a hat!"
"What?"

"Look!" he hissed, holding it up for all to see. "It... It's... The 'Shorts!"

He was right. It wasn't a hat he was holding. It was The Freakin' Green Elf Shorts, stiff after multitudes of blogger excretions had soaked in then dried over the years.
Tim sneered in disgust as 'Petra flung them away, not noticing a door opening right where he'd thrown them.

"What's all this shouting?" A strident voice bellowed. "This is a local dungeon for local people. There's nothing for you here-" Whoever it was that had come through the door complaining, was abruptly cut off as The 'Shorts landed squarely in her face.

"Oops!" 'Petra said.

A taloned hand reached up and pulled The 'Shorts from its face, exposing a murderous expression beneath a severe fringe.

"Look out!" T-Bird yelled as a vicious tongue lashed out from the demon-woman.

'Petra instinctively raised his shield-baring arm, inexpertly but effectively preventing the tongue from making contact with us.
As the demon-woman screeched with rage, another door opened, unnoticed. Five over made-up faces peered around it.

"Cooeee!" they cried in unison just as the tongue lashed out once more.

This time 'Petra accidently deflected the tongue towards the newly opened door, where it slapped across the five faces, rasping great clods of trowelled on make-up from them. Their friendly demeanour changed instantly.

Five burly and befrocked bodies burst through the door heading straight for the source of the evil tongue. All but one opened their mouths, the other lifted its skirts and turned to face its arse at the demon-woman, then a stream of varying particles spewed forth from all five.
The first projected a jet of ice; the second brought forth a blast of molten metal; the third**** burped up a cloud of noxious gases; the fourth projectile vomitted a suspicious looking thick, sticky white liquid; and the fifth did an enormous duvet-raising fart from underneath his voluminous skirts.

"I'll get you my pretties" the demon-woman screamed. "And your little-" she stopped to regard the hissing Peecat who'd emerged from the depths of T-Bird's handbag, "cat, too!" And with that, she ran off to escape the five drag queens who set off after her, faster than six inch stilettos should allow.

"Who were they?!" T-Bird gasped.

"That" the small ginger poof answered, reappearing from a hidden trapdoor looking decidedly moist and dishevelled, "was M'jer, a force of evil. The monstrous drag queens are TiaMaria, a failed all-drag girl group. And I am Dungeon Slav- I mean, Master, your guide in the realm of Dungeons and Drag Queens!"





* The British definition, not the Australian or American.
** Piggy, obviously, but I couldn't access his blog to link to him when I transcribed this.
*** Or hood, to you Americans.
**** Tazzy. See explanation after **Piggy.





Snaps to all of you who can state which films and TV shows we blundered through to create this disaster.

Hello? Is there anybody out there?

Yes. Yes. I am awake.

In fact, I'm very nearly alive, too!

I haven't forgotten you all, I've just been busy moving. But, to reward/punish you for your patience, pop back on Sunday the 22nd for some light entertainment.


See you then!

Moooving... On a Sunday afternoon*

Well, it's the end of an era. After nearly ten and a half years in Castle DeVice, nee The Host's Home, we're (all four of us, plus Audrey) moving out. This weekend to be precise. Which is why we haven't been about on the blog circuit as much as we'd like lately - We've spent an inordinate amount of time sorting, packing, cleaning, recycling and chucking (out, not up) instead. Plus, there's been all that time spent at SP's. And now, all our time will be spent at SP's as that's where we're moving to!

To be honest, living in a gingerbread castle is not all it's cracked up to be. If it's not bugs and rodents trying to eat us out of house and home, it's pesky neighbourhood kids. Gingerbread isn't particularly waterproof either. Or structurally sound... It's lucky to have lasted this long, really.




Anyway, I shall miss it, despite the damp, the occasional fires, the different time zones, the uninvited guests and it's infernal inhabitants. I may even miss Beaky.

Ahhh... Good times. Sort of.

And now I shall take my leave. Not forever (ha!), just until I get settled in to my new home and work out how to reattach the Demon Box to the ether. Once we've decided where to put it. And I haven't dropped it during the move...




* Yes, I know today's Wednesday (the most evil of days) and not Sunday, but I'll be moving on Sunday and won't have the opportunity to post then.