The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
What's this? A new face, a clean shave, a brave new world!
Huzzah! Here I am! The 90˚ of right in the triangle of good and evil! How go your dull and dreary lives, lowly mortals? 'Tis I, the Virgin Prince, eccentric visitor from another planet, here to regale you with my tales of grand adventure, debauchery, tragedy, and lechery. Soak your finest silk shirt in 36 ounces of your own drool as you stare slack-jawed at the computer, your eyes locked on to my amazing words, as inseparable as a member of British parliament and a toothless Welsh whore, or Congressman to intern, Republican to oil. Gaze upon my flawless phrasings and priceless predicates and numerous nouns until your brain implodes from sheer incomprehension and your scalp sinks down to your nasal cavities. Or perhaps you'll be spared your mind, if not your sanity, by clawing out your eyes in a clear admission of defeat. Eyes never again to be forced to confront such perfection as the binary beauty of a few effortless keystrokes on my part, smooth as C+++ base molasses, delivered from my digital silver tongue.
Having tucked away my trenchcoat and treading out into the mundane world, disguised as a normal mortal man on his way to a menial job this morning, I came upon a lad as I strolled down the street towards the bus stop. The fellow claimed to recognize me, citing a multitude of experiences in a computer laboratory from high school. His tales of having once bested me at TANK followed by a sound thrashing at Spectre Supreme and an unfulfilled promise of an epic battle of wills and wits between us set in the world of Warcraft 3 left me nodding my head and smiling politely, digging through my pockets for spare change as I tried to move past him.
Quickly he was on the subject of something called a "web-page" and "flash-animations" all made possible through something called an "inter-net". From that point on, his self-contained conversation was of little consequence and was largely forgotten by myself almost upon the very point of hearing it. However, he then made mention of something called a "Blog" which I at first assumed to be a computer game like Pong or Frogger, but later realized was some manner of electronic journal, written by individuals and then made available to the masses. The general public all over the world (except for perhaps China and a few other locales) could read the words of one such as I!
The world could be blessed with my knowledge! My masterful words could be spread across the Earth to all the simple minds of my admirers, old, new, and soon to come. People could sully themselves silly upon reading of my terrific tales as their minds grew forgetful of their bladders. My name could be known across the world, to urine-bathed Inuit, to clicking Nubian tribesman, to scar-eyed German! No longer would my fan-base be limited mostly to a small town of fishermen and bootleggers. I could now be a hero to simple-minded rubes everywhere! I couldn't wait to tell of my discovery to my teammates in the Genius Society of America, surely this gem of knowledge would win me back my Alpha male status from the Lusty Lascivian.
I shook the scruffy lad's hand and walked off, wiping diligently my hand off with my handkerchief for the remainder of the trip to work, where I then washed my hands thrice both before and then after trimming my eyebrows until they were both perfectly even and symmetrical, and jar-collecting my urine. Upon the completion of my shift I returned to the bathroom, shedding my pants and putting on my mask and costume. I leapt out the window, running along air currents towards the hidden mountain lair of the Genius Society.
I was greeted there by Mister Mystere (formally known as Mr. E before a rather nasty battle between him and the lawyers dispatched by National Periodical Publications, nasty buggers, just nasty). I told him of the "inter-net" and the other things I'd been told. Realizing we'd need a computer to access this marvel, Mr. Mystere suggested we try the Computron. I'd forgotten of its existence, the thing had been mothballed in 1972 after it'd been determined that computers were nothing more than a passing fancy. We walked to the old gym-sized building out back which housed the Computron and pried the lock loose from the door. We stared at the massive wall of machinery in front of us.
"Simply amazing." I remarked
"Yes, it was built in the late 60s by one of our charter members, Todd the Mod. He built it over the course of 3 sleepless days after a night of contemplating the possibility of entire universes existing as specks on his fingernails."
"Ah yes, I recall. He used to run around with the X-Beatnik. What were his powers again?"
"Something having to do with the pills he carried. He didn't need to sleep or something."
"Ah, right. What ever happened to him?"
"I'm not sure, the Genius Society stopped hanging around him sometime between when he changed his name to Todd the God and then again to just GOD."
Mister Mystere started shoveling coal into the furnace connected to the machine and the Computron whirred and clicked into action. Spirals spun, glass tubes filled with gas, and old Tesla coils sparked with new life. The computer screen began to display old code from its core programming.
_MOTT THE HOOPLE
MOBY GRAPE
PLASTIC FANTASTIC LOVER
end of line_
Mister Mystere typed in the command to "find internet". Within 10 minutes the screen had loaded. 3 hours later we had found Blogspot.com.
"Amazing." I said to myself, "128 kilobytes of ram, 500 kilobytes of disc space. Is there anything this machine can't do? Surely, any mortal man would kill us for this technology if they knew we had it. Governments would fight wars!"
"I"ve heard the machines they make are even better now," Mister Mystere said, "I've heard they make computers now small enough to fill a small closet."
"Preposterous!"
So that was my day. And now you get to marvel at my wondrous life, thanks to this glorious blog.
Having tucked away my trenchcoat and treading out into the mundane world, disguised as a normal mortal man on his way to a menial job this morning, I came upon a lad as I strolled down the street towards the bus stop. The fellow claimed to recognize me, citing a multitude of experiences in a computer laboratory from high school. His tales of having once bested me at TANK followed by a sound thrashing at Spectre Supreme and an unfulfilled promise of an epic battle of wills and wits between us set in the world of Warcraft 3 left me nodding my head and smiling politely, digging through my pockets for spare change as I tried to move past him.
Quickly he was on the subject of something called a "web-page" and "flash-animations" all made possible through something called an "inter-net". From that point on, his self-contained conversation was of little consequence and was largely forgotten by myself almost upon the very point of hearing it. However, he then made mention of something called a "Blog" which I at first assumed to be a computer game like Pong or Frogger, but later realized was some manner of electronic journal, written by individuals and then made available to the masses. The general public all over the world (except for perhaps China and a few other locales) could read the words of one such as I!
The world could be blessed with my knowledge! My masterful words could be spread across the Earth to all the simple minds of my admirers, old, new, and soon to come. People could sully themselves silly upon reading of my terrific tales as their minds grew forgetful of their bladders. My name could be known across the world, to urine-bathed Inuit, to clicking Nubian tribesman, to scar-eyed German! No longer would my fan-base be limited mostly to a small town of fishermen and bootleggers. I could now be a hero to simple-minded rubes everywhere! I couldn't wait to tell of my discovery to my teammates in the Genius Society of America, surely this gem of knowledge would win me back my Alpha male status from the Lusty Lascivian.
I shook the scruffy lad's hand and walked off, wiping diligently my hand off with my handkerchief for the remainder of the trip to work, where I then washed my hands thrice both before and then after trimming my eyebrows until they were both perfectly even and symmetrical, and jar-collecting my urine. Upon the completion of my shift I returned to the bathroom, shedding my pants and putting on my mask and costume. I leapt out the window, running along air currents towards the hidden mountain lair of the Genius Society.
I was greeted there by Mister Mystere (formally known as Mr. E before a rather nasty battle between him and the lawyers dispatched by National Periodical Publications, nasty buggers, just nasty). I told him of the "inter-net" and the other things I'd been told. Realizing we'd need a computer to access this marvel, Mr. Mystere suggested we try the Computron. I'd forgotten of its existence, the thing had been mothballed in 1972 after it'd been determined that computers were nothing more than a passing fancy. We walked to the old gym-sized building out back which housed the Computron and pried the lock loose from the door. We stared at the massive wall of machinery in front of us.
"Simply amazing." I remarked
"Yes, it was built in the late 60s by one of our charter members, Todd the Mod. He built it over the course of 3 sleepless days after a night of contemplating the possibility of entire universes existing as specks on his fingernails."
"Ah yes, I recall. He used to run around with the X-Beatnik. What were his powers again?"
"Something having to do with the pills he carried. He didn't need to sleep or something."
"Ah, right. What ever happened to him?"
"I'm not sure, the Genius Society stopped hanging around him sometime between when he changed his name to Todd the God and then again to just GOD."
Mister Mystere started shoveling coal into the furnace connected to the machine and the Computron whirred and clicked into action. Spirals spun, glass tubes filled with gas, and old Tesla coils sparked with new life. The computer screen began to display old code from its core programming.
_MOTT THE HOOPLE
MOBY GRAPE
PLASTIC FANTASTIC LOVER
end of line_
Mister Mystere typed in the command to "find internet". Within 10 minutes the screen had loaded. 3 hours later we had found Blogspot.com.
"Amazing." I said to myself, "128 kilobytes of ram, 500 kilobytes of disc space. Is there anything this machine can't do? Surely, any mortal man would kill us for this technology if they knew we had it. Governments would fight wars!"
"I"ve heard the machines they make are even better now," Mister Mystere said, "I've heard they make computers now small enough to fill a small closet."
"Preposterous!"
So that was my day. And now you get to marvel at my wondrous life, thanks to this glorious blog.
