Ok I have to say I was hating on the CPC blog since no one ever visits it so what am I going to do I will just have to work harder to make it the blog of all blogs. Well I am the CPC so what can I say.
This blog will have to be a source of self expression and encouragement for the CPC so here it will go.
An Avenue to Vent
Why is life a complicated expression of ourselves, could it be that for admiration to expound we have to avail ourselves of the layers of complexity we shroud ourselves with. Does this mean that for our real personalities to emerge we have to break down our personal firewall and open up to one another. Or is it what you see is what you get and we are all just so superficial that we pretend to be complex when we are really echo’s of reality. Is black, white, and white, black, or are the prejudices we all make so gray we are colour blind hmmm… I don’t know for when I choose to be deep yet shallow is blurred and my 20/20 vision is really impaired. You could say life is like a data base ERD crows foot diagram for you have one (you) to Many (society) and you can be branched out by your foreign keys since you are the primary key. If it seems like I don’t know what in the world I’m talking about just let me know. But as the transmission end I’ll say a due.
I miss Florida!
posted by C.P.C at 4:16 AM
12 Comments:
The following is a semi-fictitious account of the events enshrouded by the recent night of power and excellence, a night whose date must remain secret so none can be identified, but they who read this will immediately know of whom and what I speak. Names are irrelevant;
it is in the actions we perform that we find true definition, so there is no need for alternate names, because for one thing, none who visit this will recognize the names...or so I hope.
I met a man named Sol-Sudjiin as I
was fleeing into a valley seperating Scarborough from Pickering, a man who I believe was
not of this earth. A rabid mule had
escaped from a secret facility that
was actually INSIDE the Toronto Zoo, wherein they did incredibly insane experiments on animals to increase their capacity for abstract thought and code encryption/decryption skills, thereby making them the ultimate spies. Think about it. Who would suspect a cute little chameleon of
being a master of the espionage arts? No one, to be sure, simply because of the chameleon's great stealth capabilities for blending in unnoticed, its long tongue for snatching things quicker than Clark Kent on Smallville and disappearing with it again, and if, by some sorcery, someone was able to detect the Chameleon, it's vehement hisses or funny jokes would prove to be irresistably effective in deterring the threat.
Now, I believe this crazed donkey was truly an assassin, sent to deliver me to the Grim Buster (not to be confused with Grim Reaper), and I believe something went hideously wrong in the experiMENTAL process on it, because it leaped at me (scaring three years worth of figurative crap outta me) from the shadows and tried to perform unchristian acts on me before I even realized what was going on. I suppose the covert she-mule disguise I had on still as residue from a previous black-ops assignment may have had something to do with this. In any event, I tried my best to communicate with the dumb beast that, even if I was a real she-mule
under this disguise, mules are hybrid creatures and cannot produce offspring. It was to no avail, however. I ran out of the she-mule cover and left it behind as short-term distraction for the
insatiable mule on crack, bursting into the nightly darkness in an explosion of skills and flips, and
trenchcoat as black as the evil mule's intentions! He was shortly after me once again. I nearly got smashed and squashed by a million cars along Sheppard Avenue because
even their headlights couldn't detect my stealthy blackness of uniform. Into the Vale of Twyn Rivers I decended, leaping aside into the bushes thereof, which scarce could hide me justly, for 'twas the middle of winter and
no leaves were about. I got a call on a conveniently-located cell-phone apparatus in my coat collar, a sinister-looking thing(the collar), and lo, 'twas the Honourable C.P.C. which spoke to me.
"Your predicament grows dire as the plot thickens," he said to me in his stone cold voice, the voice of one who knows exactly what's up, but won't give it up to those who think they need to know what's up. "So where's the squad car?" he asks me in G-14 Classified code.
"I'm WEARING it!" I replied, hugging the cold earth as the sounds of the beast kept for unnatural purposes made my ears twitch as it drew near. "-But you don't think this is the sort of situation that calls for a Black Sudan with a Red light on top, do you?" asked the C.P.C. of me. The animal had drawn too near and was
going in the right direction so ass
to find me. "This duck must fly, promptlike!" said I. Bursting out into the open, I sprinted down the steep road into the valley and it worked, because the donkey couldn't grip on such a steep incline, so steep I'd had even nightmares about driving up it and the car tipping backwards. When I changed direction suddenly, the hooves of the animal couldn't prevent its slide into the edge of the road, into the ditch that decended into the bush, but by rubber soles- thrice blessed, thrice enhanced -carried me in whatever direction I willed, like the wheels of the chariot of the Holy Lord in Ezekiel's awesome vision, but without the appertaining thunder and lightning and such. Into the opposite site of the road, the bush thereof, I darted, on to the river, ran in it and through it, then crossed it, so the scent couldn't be traced.
Fighting hypothermia, I unsheathed the cell-phone apparatus once more, and behold, the C.P.C. was the voice answering me. "Burning rubber may keep the feet warm, but it makes the trail of tracks hot" said he "so perhaps it'd be good to run right now, or maybe you'd better not." "A two-fold, two-faced
predicament I find myself in, eh? Like Janus, the Roman god of jokes." "This ain't no joke, son"
said the Honourable C.P.C., "my pal Sol's coming to see this thing done." "Who's 'Sol'?" asked me of the C.P.C. Sounds like a fellow with a sunny disposition. "His skin's redder than any sun, but his heart's as black as pitch. Two doors of fate he brings, but you know not which is which."
On turning around there were instantly two things that petrified
my beating heart: the sight of this fellow all in black like me, but darker than I can even imagine death being (his coat which obscurred even his feet and the collar of which came up around his face a little), his eyes were also
quite black, I mean even the part that should be white on normal folks, all black, except for his pupils, which GLOWED yellow and green at the same time, like swirls of the two burning colours!
His hair was dishevelled and long,
but standing on end and stiff like an anime character, and he stood holding his hands behind his back. The other thing was the sight of the hideous ass/mule/donkey/mutant
in the background, hot on my trail already. "All ready?" asked Sol. As
I swallowed my heart, I gulped and said "F-f-f-for what?" "For the new
blog that the C.P.C. has set up."
I peeked around the guy at the horrific sight of the ass-craving donkey (ass only means donkey in this, for I pride myself on never swearing) and hoped the guy had an invisible plane or something like Wonder Woman to get us outta there in two seconds. "B- What?! Blog?! What the smack does a blog have to do with this hellifre I'm in?!"
Then he casually held up a compter screen before me, depicting the blog spot of the C.P.C. "You want outta this bum-scary predicament? Just give the word...by typing it here on this blog spot, in the comments. The alien technology I helped encrypt into this site is subliminal, but in a rather unusual way. It activates normally repressed and dormant areas of the brain- the subtle visual hidden messages and vibes- and these parts of the brain can manipulate the effects of reality concerning your presence to the point where you can vanish...into the computer." Thus said the fellow called Sol. I hesitated for some fleeting moments, but then recalled how much I didn't want to be standing in that exact spot when the mule arrived, so I punched those damn-keys!
And here I am....
Cool blog spot, C.P.C.
I just returned recently from a mission of incredible import to the stability of the Bredrenkind under the guise of a common hike with two friends, underbredren Aaleon Mazoanrons, and Rayn Crooz, our newest recruit. My leg seems to have been renderred half-dead via the possible unnoticed injection of some sort of neural toxin. Our new recruit came out on the other side with flying colours, glad to say. I can't help but feel that there was some sinister force at work, unbeknownst to us in the wild, that made my leg suffer some poisoning that has made it feel as it does now. Reminds me of the time the Honourable C.P.C. was himself infiltrated....
"The day has been bleak for the most part. Early morning was nice, as I seem to remember it, and noon is just on the other side of where I am now, the fully established day. For the time being, I must crawl through this mire in which I am agonizing, slowly sinking to the inevitable doom of mankind uninterfered with for the better, but thankfully, for the better, mankind has been interfered with, so maybe I can entertain some hope
yet. Send on to Certain Petty Feline."
This message was recently communicated from one of our agents in south-eastern Arabia, Dubayy to be exact, where rumours and investigations of some creepy apparition called by locals 'the
Fujiirah Devil' has set our plans
back just a notch from achieving
total success. (I'm obviously avoiding being specific about what
that plan is lest our enemies have
opportunity to glance upon this transcript [the fact that they may know we indeed have plans there is irrelevant, for the plans are already set in motion to the most
irrevocable levels, unstoppable]).
My newest agent, a local named Beyatria, is in fact stuck under a
pile of hay in the cery barn in which (we have just been shocked to
learn) the so-called Fujiirah menace is said to frequent, stealing livestock and horribly mutilating them while terrorizing
the people with its hideous presence. Beyatria is an unwitting victim in this dark business, not
having been aware of where she hid
when the enemy had nearly found her
out and inadvertently blew her cover. She is the one who sent the
above message, one of strange and
intriguing character which I assume only the Honourable C.P.C.
can unravel as to meaning. At this
time, my close associate in this
business of ours, Aaleon, a soul of
undetermined skills, has sent me
word that he is himself encroaching
upon the vicinity of this hideous
and potentially deadly disaster of
dark proportions, and has communicated plans of rescuing our
agent Beyatria. Given the...other-
worldly nature of this predicament,
I have given orders to all ours
in the south of the desert peninsula, particularily those in
Oman serving as excavators in the
archaeological digs around Marib-
these are the ruins of the likely
palaces and kingdom of the Queen
of Sheba- to relocate swifter than
any dust devil can blow a sand grain and concentrate all their efforts on our endangered agent in Dubayy.
Post Script:
There is an added danger in this instance which those of us who have not yet graduated from our Science (physics) Facillities in
******* may be unaware of. Haystacks are typically full of
various sorts of bacteria from the
close association with farm animals and their droppings. These
bacteria are known to cause combustion to the haystacks with
surprizing speed when the bacteria produce gasses that get suffocated under the weight of the hay.
If I may speak personally, our new
recruit is simply a delightful and
high-spirited person, willing to go great lengths merely to help out
a fellow agent to a small degree.
It is imperative that we combine our best efforts to get her out of there before the whole bleedin' lot simply bursts into flames!
End Transmission
Now, this is an important reminder for the C.P.-so-called-C.:
A highly trained and competant assassin has been sent after you.
So much I and the others of the C.O.B. have discovered, no more, no
less. The problem is that we weren't able (before our cover
could've been blown) to ascertain whether this assassin was sent
to be your eliminator or your informer of some pending danger to
the Coalition of the skills. Should it be the latter, my Colleagues Of
Bredrenry and I strongly suggest against associating yourself with
this assassin in any way, shape, or semblence, inasmuch as he is
an extinguisher of souls and a spiller of much blood (whether this is
that of insect or donkey has not yet been fully proven by our
investigators), and above all a VERY 'slim customer', as General
Allenby so eloquently put it in Lawrence of Arabia....actually, I'm
thinking that was Mr. Bentley the journalist who said that. It seems
the assassin is a shape-shifter, emphasis on the word 'SEEMS', for
he is a chameleon (tinshemeth in Hebrew). Keep your eyes open, C.P.C. We'll do our part
and try to ascertain in fullest form the meaning behind these odd
events. To the preservation of the skills!
R.G.B. of the C.O.B.
THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 2:00 AND 3:00 PM, YESTERDAY.
An unusual and awesome eclipse of the sun- also known as a solar eclipse -took place which lasted an
entire hour during a certain incident in Turkey. Three Tourguides who called themselves the Coalition Of Bimstone (not brimstone) had been hired to take a
group of Monks (who said they were of a secret religious order whose
sole purpose was to uphold the historicity of the scriptures) up the slopes of a mountain known to locals as Agri Dagh- the Mountain of Pain -on which heights are said the remarkably intact remains of Noah's Ark exist. The vibes sent by
the spirit of these Monks were so
easily detected by the Tourguides,
who realized too late to cancel the
venture that the true identity and
intentions of these were much more
sinister. The Mountain of Pain was
becoming more appropriately named as the Tourguides realized these
Monks were in fact atheists intent
on disproving the Bible or destroying the Ark to hide the truth. Wicked sin! The sharp eye of
the one called Biv darted from one Monk to the other, then to his two comrades to alert them of the fishy
business he had a feeling of:
the Monks were armed with weaponry
which could more than finish off he
and his Tourguide pals. In broad daylight, on the part of the vast mountain they now acended, there was scarce any place for hiding.
Then there was this avalanche up ahead, a good deal of distance from
them all, beyond causing them any
harm, but it created rushing clouds
of dust. At this, Yanni saw that
there was opportunity to at least
place distance between the murderous and blasphemous imposters
by escaping into the obscurring dust, so he merely said "Let's split!" and the three Tourguides took swift to their heels, kicking up dust all the more. "There's no
where to go, dude!" cried Aninae as
they slid and dashed and leapt across the steep and uneven, unsturdy terrain of the slope. The avalanche was yet in progress as they ran, but fearless Yanni said:
"Into the rock slide-they'd be crazy to follow us into that!" "This will be the end of the
C.O.B.!" warned Biv, to which Yanni
replied:"Then let it be an expeditious end to remember!!"
As the sound of gunfire behind them began to make them leap and roll for cover, the air grew dark as if the dust in the air had suddenly become ash. After rolling for quite some time down the hill,
the Tourguides came to their halt some distance from eachother as they grasped onto sturdy objects.
"It's an eclipse!" cried Yanni to the others. Indeed, it was true, and they could see the moon disc creeping across the face of the sun
above! They could also see the shadowy forms of the false Monks, looking in confusion for their would-be victims. "Roy" said Aninae as he crept over to join the regroup "what tipped you off about those guys?" "Yeah, what's going on?" Yanni asked. Roy's gaze remained trained on the enemy so far above on the top of the ridge.
"Nuances" said Roy G. Biv simply.
"The little mannerisms one tends to be associated with or prone to by virtue of their particular occupation. These guys were way to hyper and talkative and friendly to be Monks. Oh, yeah, and they were carrying guns under those dutty brown tunics of theirs." Then
there came a most mysterious, yet welcome surprise in the form of a voice. The source of this voice was
beyond their skill or just their
experience to detect, as they had no electronic devices on their persons (that THEY were aware of).
"The C.P.C. welcomes you to his little game" said the voice, turning all their heads. The second time sent them all fumbling through their gear and clothes to see where the source was. "The C.P.C. assures you that you will not find the cause of this transmission, inasmuch as he desires this to be the case, inasmuch as he doesn't want your enemies to be able to know it either. The less you know, the less your enemies CAN know." "Yo!"
said Roy "we've often heard of your interference in things not expected or foreseen" "And yet the C.P.C. remains unseen and is no fortune-teller" said the voice of the C.P.C. "expecting all and anticipating nothing, thanks to the gift of voluntary forgetfulness
that he sometimes puts to use in
the aid of his comrades." At such
words the Tourguides exchanged
expressions of impressivity and
knew that they had someone in their
corner who was acquainted with the
skills, but then Aninae said "Dude,
I noticed one of the Monks was missing from their ranks shrtly before that conveniently timed rock slide...he could be onto us"
"Oh he IS," said the voice of the C.P.C. "but he was NO Monk; for the C.P.C. takes on any disguise but never assumes the identity of that disguise, and what's more....
the C.P.C. is on your side. Now, y'all need to get back on track, for the fake Monks know the location of the life-saing vessel of our holy ancestors. The C.P.C. sees need to impede, are we agreed?" "We're already there!" said Yanni TG. Up and scampering across the slope with C.O.B. The eclipse ensured the capacity for stealth in their movements. In short, they infiltrated the ranks of the infidels, swiped something of their ill-intended explosive material, and sent them back down the mountain strapped to toboggins made from their own tackle and gear
in an avalanche made of those same
explosives! The C.P.C. notified the Tourguides that he had alerted the authorities that these Monk-impersonators were in fact terrorists, and the authorities caught them near the base of the mountain, whilst the C.O.B. and the C.P.C. disappeared into the realms of covert obscurity....
I feel like...the invisible electric charge that preceeds the visible thunderbolt, coming up from the earth and provoking the flash and cymbals. I have met the bolt in this blog! Finally, another one who understands the depth of the skills and the forces we constantly have to work against
to overthrow the opposers of the goodness. Am I and the C.P.C. the only ones stout enough of heart to oppose the darkness and the ghettoness? Where is the love, y'all! Where are the blog comments!
Somebody's a needin' to steps up to the proverbial plate!
Glad tidings to all of the skills!
Aaleon, a highly trained and decorated agent in this our dire
skill-maintaing business, has just
sent my comrade Sir Spen a wire
confirming our worst fears over the
recent obstacle in our Dubayy mission. Not only has the haystack
spontaneously burst into flames and
caused an incredible inferno of the
barn in which our new agent Beyatria was hiding, but a form which eyewitnesses described as having red skin and a long cloak has actually dashed into the flames
...On sight of this, many locals began screan screaming "al-iblis af-Fujiirah!!" which means 'The devil of Fujiirah!!' Understandibly, our agents present at the scene spontaneously crapped in their pants, but one of them, a
dude called Rayn, claimed that the red-skinned man (who wore large, circular, goggle-like spectacles)
was in fact an ally of the C.P.C.,
some kind of alien, in fact, though
if it be who I'm thinking it is
(which it must), I would beg to differ on this subject of alienship. In any event, the barn has been completely reduced to ash and sand after a dust devil (desert
twister) swept over the site. No trace of our dear agent Beyatria
and the formidable figure who came to her aid has yet been found, as indeed we shouldn't expect any to
be found if the identity of the scarlet man is that of whom I think...
The man says he misses Florida.....
I ain't never even been to Florida.
Underpriveledged is what I am......
And yet, not underpriveledged, for
Order of the Bredrens is what I am.
Now, I have a question for the C.P.C. with regards to the site he
referred me to...perhaps the bad
news bears. It was a comic book
style renderring of a conferrence
of perhaps the bad news bears, and
a hilarious thing it is, too! I am
just curious over whether it has
been expanded on...
In any event, a dear friend of mine
whom I've only known for a few months has, within the last few hours, been saved from the powers
of evil that were exalted in the
fiery predicament she was in. A man
not of this earth, yet human (so the C.P.C. assures me), went into the burning building she was in and
came out of it without actually
leaving the place. Don't ask me to explain it more than that, but let it suffice to say that the man is a
brilliant scientist and has apparently learned at the 'feet of the Gamaliel of off-world technological and astrophysical science'. My associates seem to believe this scarlet-faced 'fire-walker' escapes into some other dimension, maybe the theoretical 'fourth dimension' which Einstein projected, believed to be beyond the comprehension of mere humans or the possible realm of spirits, though I find the latter notion rather preposterous.
So it is, that Beyatria has been
conducted in safety back to the land of her sojourning (and hopefully permanent sojourn, for it
is a delightful thing to have her in one's presence).
The Dubayy mission has for obvious reasons been put on hold, and such
a decision of inaction on our part
is made all the more justifiable in
light of the recent political associations all over the news. The
C.P.C.'s otherworldly friend known
as 'Sol' advises non-involvement in
these new political developments.
We of the skills, needless to say,
are always in sync when it comes to
such matters of political interest.
This comes to you directly from the one known as 'Sol', or Sol-Sudjiin, which is the fuller name of my alter-ego.
Now...this is strange, see.
I'm going to attempt to set some
things straight for the record, as
it seems there is much uncertainty
and uneasiness regarding the nature
of my...other self. The problem is
that I cannot really speak for my
'other self', because I'm...someone
else right now. In the more common
sense you may see it in, I have a
split personality. In my sense, it
is a mechanism I use to enhance my
abilities to overthrow the plots of
those who are against me and mine, inasmuchas Sol is in many ways superior to who I am at present.
If I fall unconscious, this turns it on, and I become the one you all
know as 'Sol', capable of things far beyond normal human capacity.
As I am, Lockheed, I remain in all
truth, a formidable opponent at least. I've recently discovered how
to provoke 'Sol' into the normal plane of existence, where his powers are without restraint and
totally instinctive, so fearsome to
most eyes that few stand their ground to be witnesses of the alien
spectacle. 'Sol' is the product of
residing dangerously close to a black hole's influence. On leaving this region, his organism had become bonded to his environment in
an unusual and literal way, so that
he can produce effects similar to the time-warping powers of a black hole. As Lockheed, I find it too
boring to resort to employing such abilities. I prefer to rely on intellect, the power of deduction,
and the noses of my 'Baskervile' Hounds (aheh, heh). I am no sorceror. I am no ghoul or devil.
I am a freak of a freak in nature.
As 'Sol', the coat I wear is a fragment of the space fabric comprising the black hole in the Kimah constellation's center.
This is enough for now.
-With referrence to Beyatria, the young lady to whom I lent my services as a 'fire extinguisher'
(aheh, heh), she has been slightly
disturbed by my method of help, for
Sol- well, I- had to resort in that
case to passing through the 'fabric' into my home realm, which humans have no longer the strength of mind to endure for even
fleeting moments. I distorted the time there as best I could, but it seems the effect on the poor girl
will keep her rather mute and dazed
for some weeks, till the functions of her mind slow back down to normal. I recommend burning curry-scented incence to help give speed to this as she sleeps in recovery.
Regards,
Lockheed Kambaesiz I.
I say this 'Sol' or whoever he is is on total crack. -Just like Sherlock Holmes was!!
Yeah, I've also been reading some of that dude's stuff, and agree with the last guy who said Sol's on crack and stuff....
I didn't know Sherlock Holmes was a crackhead! Go figure....
Dear the C.P.C.,
I am a long time fan and reverer of
your legendary exploits and have many questions for you to possibly
answer, if you don't mind condecending to the level of a mere
underbredren like me. Since I am probably being monitored as I type these words, I likely have only a few seconds before their response
time to the threat of the high intelligence data I am about to communicate, so let me get straight to it:
There's a plan going around Scarborough school systems to send
Torontonian students to Nunivut, in the Arctic, just to expand their
horizons and stuff. I happen to know that one of your associates, or perhaps all three of those in the C.O.B. are acquainted with the
area of Nunivut, particularily Iqaluit on Baffin Island, the father of one of them actually being a resident of the place. Since no one in their right mind would ever go up to someplace so cold, I figure this whole students to the north idea is actually a cover for a far more insidious plot than merely corrupting the youth of the arctic with the ghettoness of our youths here in Scarberia. My suggestion is to send the Tourguides-yes, the C.O.B.-and perhaps even three underbredrens to assist them in uncovering the truth behind this plot.
What says the C.P.C.?
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