The Portrait of Zool

I want to know how you are so certain you were you Aardy, and not some guy in an Aardvark suit...

Questions can be directed to: god@heaven.org ;p

First of all, not to be off-color, but my arse IS holey - that's part of what makes it so useful. I also find it useful to sit on, and to moon hapless aardvarks. Zool's mind begins to spin off tangentially as he reads Aardvarks brilliant synopsis of the history of the word. They used to think the word was flat, but Webster proved the word was round. Of course, he was forced to recant under threat of: Ex-communication. Words - Zool loves words. He loves the texture and the crunch of them, way they roll off the tongue, the way they drip between meanings and fill the charged void of possibility. Zool momentarily considers himself back in the stoneage as he continued reading, stone chicken by his side, but is then abruptly thrown back to the present by Aardvark's obsession with thermonuclear persuasion. Words. Words. Words... The secret of the universe was something subtler than words - but out of it came words, as surely as energy coalesced into matter. The solution to Aardvark's obsession lay in a word - Zool knew it; He could feel it, he could taste it... His mind focused on a new scene. The snapping of surgical gloves and the beeping of a heart monitor echoed off the operating room walls. The smell of cheap liqour lurched through Zool's surgical mask and cloaked the the prone form on the gurney before him. A loooong oxygen mask covered the snout protruding from the form under the sheet. "Scalpel," said Zool. The rubber chicken, looking very sterile in his green scrubs, snapped the instrument into the waiting hand. "Clamp." "Forceps." "Suction!" *Hours later* The rubber chicken daubs Zool's forehead, then returns to his station at the instrument tray. Zool stepped back and cracked his knuckles, announcing, "It's time to get serious!" Turning back to his faithful assistant he called, "Margarita." The rubber chicken turned to the blender, snapping the frosty glass into the waiting hand within seconds. *Glug, glug, glug* "Cluck Puk-ack," said the rubber chicken. "Oh, thanks." Zool wiped the salt mustache off of his surgical mask. "Drill." "Sawzall." "Prybar." Zool gave a withering look at what the rubber chicken handed him, and repeated, "PRYBAR!". The rubber chicken took back the 20cm nail puller and handed Zool a 2 meter crate crusher. Zool put one boot on the patient and hung waaay over the side of the gurney, jerking down on the massive prybar with all of his weight. "AaaGhaaUUUUGGGGaaaaGGK!! Got it!" Zool dropped something into a pan with a resounding clang which was immediately whisked away, and grabbed a rag to wipe the prodigous fluids from his gloved hands. "Close him up," he said as he turned to the door. If all went well the outlook for the patient was good, but it was up to his will to heal now. Only time would tell if the Thermectomy was a success.

I used to doubt free will, but was fated to change my destiny. ;p

Wow, you girls sure know a lot about women! Frankly, that clears up some things that I have wondered about for a long time. Heh!

Oh, allow me to retort. "Pthththththth!"

That is awesome! You da Bard, Wyv.

"By WHAT definition, you ask!?" Suddenly a little yellow rubber head, festooned with a little rubber beak, tiny black dot eyes, and a floppy Cock's comb, poked out of Zool's jacket. "Puk-ack!" Zool hurriedly poked the rubber chicken's head back down into his jacket. "I can handle this, thank you verra much!" "M'Lady." he continued, after the chicken situation was under control, "I quite understand your confusion, as it is perfectly understandable. You see, there is a common misconception that 'Safe' is a state of freedom from danger, injury, evil, or threat. If you take but a moment to think about it, I'm sure you will readily see and agree with what I am saying, that it really is not at all - that in fact were you to follow the implied wisdom of seeking 'safety' for it's own sake, how this will instantly and profoundly imperil you beyond measure!" Zool sat down on an imaginary chair and struck what he hoped was his most Socratic pose. "Now, first of all, let us agree on some base assumptions. Pumpkins abhor spiders. B-flat is the missing note. Hot dogs and relish do not mix. Good? Okay." Ayshela opened her mouth to speak, but Zool quickly ground forward. "So, OBVIOUSLY It's better we find safety by guarding against safety, then be set upon our noggin by a safe - unsafe at any speed, I might add - falling at us from careless gods who leave their portraits open. Did add. Err, you know what I mean... I hope..." Zool stole a nervous glance at the ceilling before returning his gaze to Ayshela. "Puk-ack!" "Err, what was the question?"

Safer that way...

Then we are responsible for giving control over to someone or something else. This can be a powerful thing, but I believe we are always responsible for what we do. Of course, help is always welcome.

Naw, that's only of you're feeling musical. If you're feeling safe... *Zool is pelted with rotten fruit, then pulled offstage with a large hook*

'Safe' is what falls on you as you walk carefree along the sidewalk.

The heady smell of dark loam fills her head as her spade bites into the loose soil. She feels the dampness through the knees of her loose coveralls where she kneels, head bent to task under wide brimmed hat. A distant owl gives a single hoot, then is silent. With a resolute twist she pulls out another brightly flowering Narcissus Jonquilla, gone gray in the pale moonlight. Throwing it to the side, she carefully prepped the fresh excavation with perceived injuries, languishing dreams, and the manipulative smiles of fermented insecurities. Chuckling conspiratorially with herself she dropped in another Rhus Diversiloba, in a long row of a large field of Rhus Diversiloba . Tamping the soil carefully around the thin stem she then doused the area around it liberally from her watering can. Her satisfied smile only partially diminished as she took off her prim cotton gloves and set them aside to absently scratch at the mysterious angry swellings that covered both hands and arms, to which she gave little thought as they slowly consumed her. 'Soon I will be safe', she thought, 'Finally the cause of all my troubles will be gone...'

An oldy but a goody; Three Proofs that Jesus Was... THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS JEWISH He went into his father's business He lived at home until he was 33 He was sure his Mother was a virgin, and his Mother was sure he was God THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS IRISH He never got married He was always telling stories He loved green pastures THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS PUERTO RICAN His first name was Jesus He was bilingual He was always being harassed by the authorities THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS ITALIAN He talked with his hands He had wine with every meal He worked in the building trades THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS BLACK He called everybody "brother" He liked Gospel He couldn't get a fair trial THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS A CALIFORNIAN He never cut his hair He walked around barefoot He started a new religion THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS A WOMAN He had to feed a crowd, at a moments notice, when there was no food. He kept trying to get the message across to a bunch of men who just didn't get it. Even dead, he had to get up because there was more work for him to do.

Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! Happy Happy Birthday! *PANT PANT PANT PANT* And Many Many More!

Congrats Dude!

I raced to the cold comfort of the deep green as fast as I could across the seemingly infinite flat expanse - focused, straining, breathless - the glow of the approaching sunrise threatening to bring the light, and the heat... but then it was all over. I only had the briefest flash of pain as my armour splintered, my body exploded. "Eeeew," said the man, wincing in the cool morning twilight at the unexpected but familiar crunch of a hapless snail from under his shoe.

Woohoo! All the best to the best. What an event - a day you'll never forget. Your light burns bright, and out of that has come a new light, to shine for days beyond. And what a beautiful light it must be.

Happy birthday - way.

Ack! Late as usual. Uh, well, yeah, hope next years is better.

It's a CLASSIC!

I went to see Dave Matthews about a month ago. It was pretty good. The last concert I went to before that - other than club gigs - was Phil Collins 'No Jacket Required' concert sometime in the late 80's. Anyway, like I was saying, I hadn't been to a concert in quite a while, so it was a bit of a shock when I went to get a beer and was informed that I first had to register at the police tent. This was a large outdoor amphitheater, though the accomodations were pretty nice. Now, certainly I can understand being careful with the alcohol at a concert, it is mostly younger people that go - but when you're 40 and over, you think they might cut you a little slack. No dice, you had to present ID to the authorities and be issued an armband that said it was okay for you to have alcohol. I took a look at the gigantic line at the police tent, and decided water was fine. Anyway, Dave Matthews was great. That guy is a great musician and a pretty good showman. He played all his good songs, and in the middle performed a spectacular 20 minute rendition of 'Jimmy thing' that was positively cosmic! At another point, he played an instrumental that segued into a foot stomping scat session, then wowed everyone with a wonderful blues guitar solo. Each member of his band took their turn at a solo, and they are all very good. I can see why it is that Dave has enjoyed such success. The only things I could complain about was the quasi martial atmosphere (not the bands fault) and that the amplifiers for the bass drum ran out of gas pretty quick durring an extended bass drum roll - but nothing that didn't make the price of this concert (I got the tickets for free! WELL worth what I paid.

Yah, sucks, dunnit. Funny thing, I live about 30 miles from Folsom prison. I've often driven past the gothic guard tower. You get a big thumbs up from me for the Big J - if I had a vote. Good to see you, BTW.

Aah, I guess the general clientelle here at the Pen is a tad bookish, I've never finished watching either one either... As for hottest female - duh! Claudia Schiffer. Schaaa - wing! I hope that answers your question.

LOL! No kidding!