Yikes.. the #10 was very crowded this morning. Standing room only… I was disappointed that more mem didn’t give seats to the women. I’m old-fashioned that way. I wonder what happened to the old days when there were hanging hoops to hold on to on the bus… now there’s just a lowish metal bar running the length of either side of the aisle.

New internet precautions added to the firewall… bah… it includes more elaborate monitoring software. Fortunately the LJ client and assorted chatties are still allowed, but I wonder if there’s going to be some havoc regarding surfing. If that’s the case, I can always bring in lappie, and snag a free dial-up phone line. (won’t be the same speed, but c’est la vie.)

cue to montage of slo-mo, skewed, David Cronenberg-meets-David Lynch-like images of said soft-skinned and untainted laser dept folks being dragged up the colossal basalt steps of a pre-human temple, while the programming dept folks chant and beat on taiko-like drums. At the top of the stairs, in front of a huge, sixteen ton Internet Explorer logo carved from a single clear crystal quartz block, backlit with sky blue footlights, Sappho the Mighty waits to slit the surfers’ throats with a silver-hilted obsidian knife. Scotto the Yeti-Pod hangs around sipping an Octopus (1 shot light rum 151, 1 shot orange juice, 1 shot passion fruit nectar, dash Angostura bitters, soda – Holding the soda, pour the rest of the ingredients into a large snifter. Fill with finely crushed ice. Top with soda and stir)

I just have to make a point of protecting my own neck from mister knife, by keeping surfing to places of company interest for a while. (except during breaks.) I don’t want that ugly rumor starting back up about me… not while the Chupacabra is still the flavor of the day. “Small Hands” has plenty to fill his focus for the meantime, without adding me or Island Boy to the mix. The folks first on the altar might be Bon Bon, or Bon Bon Spawn. Riker and Mortimer are probably safe. Old and Young Macdonald will be ok, as long as they keep bejeweled to a minimum. Murphy and Hoi don’t surf at all, as far as I know.

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