Doob LaVey

A clever combination referencing three of my favorite things: Marijuana, The Church of Satan, and the french alphabet.

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Location: Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada

Long story, but briefly: I once saved a town from Dractyl, the vampiric pterodactyl.

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Impending Book Release!

Just a quick update today.

As some of you may know, I've spent the better part of the past year and a half squirreled away in a spider hole, trying to finish my latest novel. Well, I finished it about six months ago and you can expect to see it on the shelves of your local bookstore as of this coming wednesday!

This is my fifth novel( I assume you knew that because you read them already!) but it is the first one that is a sequel. This one is called "Connecting Howards" and is a sequel to my second novel, "Sins of the Original Howard".

Here's the write up on the back of the book:

"When Howard Franklyn finds himself being manipulated by some other Howards, he must decide what to do!"

This is a pretty exciting time for me! When some reviews get published, I'll be sure to post them here so you can see what the critics are saying! But whatever they say, don't forget to get your own copy! If you send it to me, I'll autograph it for free. Just make sure you cover the shipping and handling both ways, becuase it gets kind of expensive and I have a special deal with the publisher so that I make almost no money at all off my books.

Last night I was watching TV and my sister came into the room all crying and sad. So I told her to come sit by me and I gave her a big hug. I said some reassuring stuff like "shhh" and "there, there" and she just sat there in my arms crying until she fell asleep! I thought of a few things I could do to make us both feel better, but I didn't do them! Sometimes I'm such a scaredy cat! LOL!

Saturday, July 30, 2005

The Whole Truth

When my brother died, perhaps the biggest suprise was that nobody was really suprised at all.

My brother was an escape artist, but not just any ordinary escape artist. Without doing any actual research on the subject, I believe he may very well have pioneered a new form of escape artistry. He wasn't the sort of escape artist who struggled his way out of straight jackets, water tanks, and wet paper bags.

My brother was the sort of esape artist who escaped from live, man killing animals. In the course of his career, he successfully escaped from lions, tigers, a pack of dogs, seafood(he had an allergy), a komodo dragon, a black widow spider, a cobra, some bees(another allergy), a crocodile, and pirahnas, among others.

You have to understand that my brother had a lifelong fear of everything natural. When he was three, our father got drunk(no suprise there) and went to water the lawn. The next day, we found him dead, all wrapped up in the garden hose(also not much of a suprise). But to my brothers' young, impressionable eyes, it was a terrible green snake that had done in the man who had sired him. From then on, he was never comfortable around animals or plants.

When he turned sixteen, he ran away from home and took to living on the streets, prefering to surround himself with skyscraping buildings and man made filth, than remain in our outlying suburbia, with nature just barely visible on the horizon.

Almost ten years went by before any of us ever saw him again, mostly because no one was really interested in what he might be up to. At Christmas, Mom would sometimes get drunk and speculate that he was probably living in an elaborate cardboard mansion or fucking a bottle somewhere. But other than that, we didn't speak of it.

Until, of course, they day of his return, and we saw how wrong we had all been. I mean, sure, he probably had fucked a bottle at least once, but he'd also been up to much more than that. He told us that he'd been facing his fears, and building his courage. He had returned to us, he said, so that all would know that he was now ready to go one on one with Mother Nature... and emerge victorious.

That's how it began. At first, he'd find ways to get inside animal pens at the zoo, and run around for a bit while the animals chased him, then get out. I could tell by the way he screamed that he had not fully mastered his fear just yet.

It wasn't long before his antics began to attract crowds of onlookers. At first, the zoo was understandably miffed at my brother, but they were equally understandably not miffed when they saw he was increasing attendance at the zoo (which means $$$). Even the zoo owner, famed and wealthy philanthropist Bartum Parnac, took an interest in the activity and made a proposal to my brother. They were married in the spring. LOL! Just kidding!

The proposal was actually that Parnac would pay to have my brother travel all over the world to escape from dangerous animals in their natural habitats. My brother couldn't resist. The rest is history, of which you can google the facts up for yourself. I won't go on about them here, with the exception the the final escape attempt. The facts of that fateful day are not well known and much has been said that is not fact at all. Allow me to now set the record straight.

Bartum Parnac was essentially a vaudvilleian showman at heart. Among other testimony to this fact, he insisted that all animals on his properties wear clothes and do tricks or talk. Some many years later, he was tried and convicted for having a sweatshop benethe the zoo, filled with childlabourers making costumes for the animals day and night. But he also owned an aquarium where the animals existed under similar circumstances. This aquarium featured a large open air tank, of the sort where an audience can sit and observe dolphins or whales as the perform a show. At this particular aquarium, however, the performer was no smiling porpoise, but a rather large and ill-tempered tiger shark which was famous for killing the man who captured it with a firearm.

When the day finally arrived, my brother was very excited about escaping from this monster. A enthusiastic crowd filled the stands. Everything was going without a hitch. My brother jumped into the tank. He flailed about for a bit, gaining the sharks attention. The great fish circled ever closer. A woman screamed. Then, a thousand white triangles flashed in the sun as the fish's jaws gaped open and it lunged at the helpless man. For the first time, I was afraid something might go wrong. A man screamed. Might have been my brother. All that screaming was for naught, though, as somehow my brother dodged aside.

My brother began swimming for a platform where the trainers usually stand. The shark dove into the depths of the tank, then suddenly came speeding up directly underneath my brother. Impossible as it seems, he was ready for the shark, and just as it meant to cleave him in twain, he twisted and put his feet apon the tip of the sharks snout.

A great fountain of water erupted as the shark came flying out of the water, my brother standing atop it like a ball balanced on a seals nose. The shark thrashed and arched in the air, and my brother slipped from his precarious perch. The two combatants fell sideways onto the platform my brother had been trying to reach. They crashed down on the hard surface.

To this day, it's never been conclusively decided who was responsible for leaving a gun lying on that platform. All that can be said for sure, is that when that tiger shark landed on top of it, a single shot rang out and my brothers skull was rended into a heck of a lot more pieces than it's supposed to be.

People don't remember my brother much, anymore. Most people only know him as "one of the guys who got shot by that shark". But for me, there was always a little more to it than that. And now you know... The rest of the story!

Friday, July 29, 2005

Sometimes my mind gets so full I feel like it had the Whopper with cheese meal... super-sized! When this happens, it is often difficult for me to remember things until it is much, much too late. For example, I'd been meaning to write a thank you note to my Grandma for some presents she'd sent, and never gotten around to it. I happened to catch a glimpse of said presents this morning, though, and I suddenly remember what I had been meaning to do. I sat down and wrote out my letter, which went like this:

Dear Grandma,

As usual, you’ve saved this from being another run of the mill Christmas, thanks to your thoughtful (and timely!) gift of socks.
I feel sorry for you sometimes. It sucks to be old these days because the world is kind of dumb right now, and you won’t be around when the new good stuff starts to happen. I hear they are working on a xylophone that doesn’t need batteries.
It’s sad too because scientist doctors are always working on cures to stuff that would kill you in the olden days. So it’s sad because when I see old ladies all hunched over or shaped like their back hurts all the time, and I know when I’m that age I’ll still look like I’m 20.
I overheard some ladies about your age at the bus stop today talking about their walkers. They seem to like the red kind with big wheels. Which is your favourite?
It was weird that they just started talking without saying hello and they clearly didn’t know each other before. And then when one got off the bus, they didn’t say good bye either. I guess they figure that the other will be dead before they have a chance to meet again so why bother getting too attached.
It kind of gave me an idea to stand around at bus stops with a tape recorder and tape all the conversations I hear. Then I could write a book about it. Here are some ideas for the title I have:

Bus Stop Stories
Bus Stories
Bus Tales
Bus Rides
Bus Riders
Bus Ride Tales
Bus Ride Stories

Let me know which you like best.
I heard that there was a hurricane recently. Was it anywhere near you are? I hope not. They said on the news that the winds were up to 70 miles an hour. I don’t see what the big deal is, you can drive faster than that. Uh-oh, the phone's ringing, so I've got to go, Grandma. Write soon, you don't have any time to waste(LOL)!

Love, Jamie

I sent that off through Canada Post, confident that she would enjoy it if it got to her before she died. It wasn't easy to write, though. It's hard to know exactly what to say to old people. After all, they probably don't want to hear all about how old they are. So while I was carefully contemplating what to write, some interesting and some not so interesting combinations of words flashed through my mind. Since I didn't use them in the letter, I'll write them here, since I don't know what else to do with them. Here they are:

Requiem to Motivation
Ultra-Hate
The Captains of Industry Freak Me Out
Personal Energy Crisis
The Devil Said He’d Pay Me Back
Kitty's Wet Box
Moonshine Automobile
Meower of Power
Expletive deleted
Inter Continental Breakfast Missile
Sentiment as a Substitute
Aliens can detect your Bio-Rhythms
Contemporary Insanity

Well that's it, I guess. I should get busy and get to my architecture job.

Oh, I almost forgot. My sister moved into our house yesterday. At first I was completely against it, because I hadn't seen her in years and never really liked her in the first place. As it turns out, though, she's totally hot! Like, WOW! A perfect 10! I suspect some trouble may result from this revelation. But right now, I don't really care!

Thursday, July 28, 2005

The Day After

Some days, I hate being me. Don't get me wrong... most of the time, I wouldn't have it any other way. But every so often, I realise that there are problems that I must suffer through that no other person could possibly endure and still retain their sanity. Such was the case when terrorism invaded my personal space.

To those of you who came expecting to hear my tales of adventure on Cato Neimoidia, I apologize. That will have to wait for another day... an unfortunate and all too common side effect of the unusually full and busy life I lead.

Now, on with the tale of my day... a day that was ending like so many others. When you're in the architecture business, you often find yourself making architecture into the wee hours of the morning. The schedule is killer, but if there's one thing I've always been, it's a survivor. Anyway, it came as no suprise to me that the sun was lightening the sky long before I arrived on my doorstep.

After such a day, there can be only one result: Exhaustion. And there can be only one solution: Rest. It was with such a plan firmly in mind that I entered my abode... and promptly forgot all about getting any sleep. I had hardly opened the door before a swarthy hand reached from within and pulled me inside. Never before had my home been such a perfect juxtaposition of comfortable familiarity and the fearsome unknown.

I looked apon this man who had yanked me into the house. He was tall and dark skinned, clearly from the middle east somewhere. "Can't let anyone know we're here" he said with a broad grin and an exaggerated wink. He motioned for me to follow him. It was then that I heard the sounds of yet more people in the house. Brushing past the man, I looked into my living room.

There were four other men in there, all of the same ethnicity and dressed in similar, desert coloured clothes. Several AK-47's were leaning against the wall, the clips for them in a neat pile on the floor. A crate full of hand grenades now resided where my coffee table had once been. One man was trying on a belt clearly made out explosives of some kind. Two others played some of my video games, cheering loudly and often, since these games are mostly about shooting white, although not necessarily jewish, people.

I knew what Iwas seeing. After all, terrorism is a hot topic these days. Every occurance that might even slightly involve terrorists is so thoroughly documented that a person may be given the impression that they are safe at no place and no time. Others may assume that this wealth of reports is merely exploitative journalism, and will soon pass, and there is no real danger to themselves. As is so often the case, the truth lies somewhere between these two extremes. The only certainty is that terrorists can turn up anywhere without warning. Of course, I didn't really need any news report to tell me this... I was finding this out from personal experience.

I stumbled away from that scene, towards the interior of my house. Visions of my own mortality flashed through my mind. I needed get my thoughts together. I needed to clear my head. I needed a drink of water. I headed to the kitchen. I was dismayed to find yet another terrorist standing by the stove. "I'm scrambling some eggs. You want some?"

For those of you who have not had this experience, I will tell you that it is quite a shock. there is little you can do to prepare yourself for it. It is one thing to have terrorists turn your residence into a base of operations. It is altogether another thing when these same terrorists are making themselves quite at home.

I declined the offer and went to get water from the bathroom instead. Closing the door, I washed my hands and face and drank from the tap. I looked a long time at myself in the mirror, trying to formulate some plan of action. But then one of them began pounding on the door. "Hey! Hurry up in there! You're not the only person in this house, you know."

I knew then that they'd give me no time to think. I had little choice but to go along with them and bide my time. Returning to the living room, I sat down and accepted an invitation to play video games with the terrorists. These were my video games of course, so I had the considerable advatage of experience over them. They quickly became irritated with my constant "wahwah wah waaaahh" impression of the James Bond theme every time I won a round, even though they tried to hide it. Admittedly, it was pretty unsportsman-like, especially considering how they always congradulated me on my kill ratios and shot accuracy. So I stopped doing that.

But then the scrambled eggs were done and breakfast was served. We ate mostly in silence, even I ate the little bit left over. Then Akzim Al-Zamfir philosophically wondered if every muslim in the world sacrificed themselves in their holy battle, would there be enough virgins in heaven for everyone? Were these virigns already in heaven, just waiting around for the holy warriors to arrive? Or was the requisite amount of virgins spontaneously created each time a jihadist died?

Predictably, the conversation degenerated from there, and is not fit to retell here to most readers, or even most sailors.

It got quiet again, and when the dishes were done, they began to gather up their equipment. I helped Akzim put on his bomb belt, but mostly stood and watched. I couldn't help but feel a little sad, knowing what was to come. They seemed in good spirits, however, and I hid my tears to look strong. Each one hugged me in turn and bid me farewell. Then, they were gone.

Before I could even begin to think about where and when my new friends would be raining down in bits and pieces, the phone rang. It was Mom, calling from the airport, of all places. First and foremost on her mind, because it's sooooooooo important, was that I should get the dishes done before she got home. "For your information, Mom, they're already done."

"Good," She said. "Because for your information, I'm at the airport to pick up your sister. She's coming home to live with us for awhile."

Noooooooooo! God, I hate this! My sister just went through a bad divorce, and now she's coming back to inflict all her misery on anyone she can. This is terrible news. Grrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!We better not have to share a room. I am not going through that again. More later.

On the First Day

My eyes have been opened... and now I can see. Thank God that I was alerted to this blog craze that's sweeping the world and the nation. Not just because I want to be like everybody else, which I do, but because there's a couple of hot chicks who do an "inside the blogs" report on CNN. A blog of my own seems like a good way of getting their attention, which is an important first step towards getting "inside" the "inside the blogs" girls... you know what I'm talking about.
Actually, I just stole that bit from a TV show... but I'm not telling which one!

The real reason I so desperately need a blog of my own is that I have thoughts and opinions on almost every topic I've ever heard of... but never had an appropriate forum in which to express them. Now, however, from the comfort of my fortified, bunker like dwelling, and with the relative saftey of anonymity granted by the internet, I'll do and say whatever I want. No matter how much I incite the wrath of the general populace, their rage will be nothing more than mere, ineffectual noise, signifying not very much indeed. I feel kind of like a shock jock! Perhaps, then, it is altogether good and right that I should abide by the time honoured code of the shock jock:

I will do what I must and say what I must. I can do no more and no less.

But no blog can be considered complete when filled with nothing but controversial, in your face opinions and attitude: A blog is much more than this. My life is little more than one set of interesting events right after another. Unfortunately, all too often there is no one around to share these experiences with. Now, I can keep the world advised, in a timely and informative manner, of all the strange and wonderful things I regularly encounter. Why, just last week, I had quite the adventure on Cato Neimoidia that I can't wait to tell you about!

But now the greatest adventure is what lies ahead... the Adventure of the Blog, or something like that. It begins tomorrow, cause I'm pretty tired right now. You might look at the amount of words here and wonder how someone gets tired from writing so little, but the fact is that the power went out and I had to type this all twice.

It begins tomorrow. Won't you join me? It's going to be quite a ride.

I've never been so scared in all my life... but I know I can do this.