Of course, getting here was half the fun. Between DIA Security foiling my brilliant plan of leaving Denver--with its NORAD installations and three million victims wandering about--for DuhMoines--where, um...milk comes from--by making sure I wasn't wearing my special Control Agent Eighty-six ShoeBombs, and the strange flight from Denver to Chicago to Davenport, Iowa--where we lost an engine--back to Chicago to DuhMoines after all...in only twice the time and distance I generally drive to get here...let's just not talk about this anymore.
Granted: I'm tempted to discuss the irony of having the gremlin inside the plane, watching the wing, when our portside engine broke; but...it's really not worth it. I think I'm officially done with planes until I buy my own and fly it personally. With a damned ashtray. And good coffee.
Of course, because we lost the engine, I got here two hours late; so no one was waiting to pick me up. Imagine, if you can, what it's like to land here after being awake for thirty-six hours and after being in Denver for two and a half years and then wandering out into pure humidity at ninety-five degrees and getting to walk a mile to Perkins to pay sixty-nine cents a minute in roaming charges to try to figure out where in hell your people are. I'll give you a hint: the root canal thing two days later was far more fun.
About that: the dentist thing wasn't really a big deal. I managed to get a clever dentist, and got to him before he got to me: Hi; my teeth are fucked; I'm aware of this; it's not a surprise at all; perhaps you can fix them without pontificating about the proper way to clench them during a migraine. Which worked out fine. Then he castigated me for taking sixteen hundred milligrammes of Advil at once, and didn't bug me about much of anything else.
So that wasn't so bad.
Beyond that, things have been a little slow. It's still really humid here. And there's far too much air. But I've been tracking a few people down. Corey, of course; I found him right away. We got kinda started on a few things--including the ultimate goal for grem.tv, which isn't too evident from what's there now. We also went over a few plans regarding Wasted, Inc.; I'll get to that when there's more to tell.
Then he split for Los Angeles to film the video for Bother; he'll be back tomorrow sometime.
On the bright side: StoneSour haven't got masks. So it's okay for people to know what Corey looks like now. Like this example which I nearly put into News of the Stoopid [NotS], but then didn't...instead using that infamous shot of Corey taking a leak...which he was mad at me about for nearly three seconds before he started laughing about it.
I guess you'd have to see it to understand. And then, I'm not sure it would help much.
On the subject: one of the things I'm doing here is working out the distribution fuckup on NotS. Phonecalls and EMails haven't accomplished that yet; being here in person usually gets a few results: I'm really very scary, after all.
So I got pulled over last night. The numberplate light went out again. That's their favourite excuse to pull you over, give you a warning, and search your car. Not that it was my car; I stole it. But that's immaterial, since they didn't know about that part.
I also got those fun cop questions. Is there anything in your pockets which could hurt me?.
Lemee think about that for a moment....
Yes. Yes there is. I have a whole bottle of Advil Migraine in my pocket. According to the directions, you're not to exceed two of them in twenty-four hours. So it's conceivable that you could somehow find them in my pocket, ingest more than two of them, and become somehow hurt.
I have also a UniBall pen. In the event that you took the cap off of it and jammed it into your eye, that could lead to some sort of harm.
I have keys; I probably don't have to describe the myriad ways in which you could hurt yourself with those. Not the least of which, I suppose, would be using one of them to start the car and drive it into something dangerous. Like a big wall, or a truck.
I realise now that there's a measurable amount of oxygen in my pockets. Bereft of other chemicals, that oxygen could easily accelerate a fire into an explosion, which could easily accelerate you into toast.
I have some cash in my pocket. You could use that cash to buy all manner of things which could, eventually, lead to your discomfort; I won't bother to list them.
I have a DigiCam in my jacket. I could use it to get a shot of you, photoshop the snap into something unflattering, and upload it to gremlin.net; your wife could, at that point, leave you and sue for divorce; those damages might be harmful, by some definition.
Of course, I have a pack of cigarettes; but the causal link between secondhand smoke and harm has yet to be properly established by the scientific method.
These weapons aside: not really, no. Of course, my backpack contains a laptop, on which I could write a What's New detailing the idiocy inherent in your question. That might do some sort of harm when people realise that the cops being paid by the taxbase to serve and to protect are actually capable of asking a question this dumb.
At that point, the cop asked why I had a laptop, so I told him: because it allows me to make a cop's salary in under a week.
That wasn't even in my pocket; still it seemed to hurt him a bit. He should have asked better questions.
More later....
--Gremlin