4:2 Deadliest Catch: Dead Edition

4:2 Deadliest Catch: Dead Edition

We have so far talked about the company of death, and how they deal with the many gruesome chores that come with end of life on a daily basis. This section focuses on a small group in charge of handling oversight. Somewhere in between heaven and hell (Don’t get on me about geography, if you want that shit go read an atlas! See: Atlas Too (Coming soon if someone buys this…)) there lies an ocean. When Death Co. misses a soul, this is where it goes. Picture it sort of like the wake up scene from the matrix… Bodies are spewed out strange futuristic tubes into an ocean that looks unpleasant and slimy.

The people who work this area are different from traditional crab fishermen in two ways:

This is seaweed. Why is it pictured here?

1.  Instead of crabs there are smelly dead people swimming around the ocean, confused and pissed off about being dropped into smelly water.

2.  The crew of these ships is made up entirely by scumbags who have died at sea, and while this includes crab fishermen, it also includes such disenfranchised groups as drunken old pirates, and old, white, rapey, boat owners…

Now, as always, I know exactly what you’re thinking: “But good sir how does one fish for the dead in a sea that is purely fiction, and has no logical reason for being where it is?” Well the answer is of course with a massive magnetic hook. The magnetic aspect doesn’t really do much aside from pre-looting the corpses, but the giant hook does exactly what you think it would do, impaling bodies and such…

The ships, which appear mostly to be an amalgamation of various pirate ships, yachts, rubber duckies, and crabbing vessels sail these seas for eternity, as a form of penance for their crew(Similar to Davey Jones in the second Pirates of the Caribbean movie, but rather than being able to dice their years of servitude away, they can pay in fingers).

With the crew being made up entirely of scumbaggy ocean-farers, it is understandably quite a raucous bunch. For this reason this is the department with the highest number of complaints. Fortunately all of these are handed down to the pirate lord Steve Irwin, whom I might add is the only exception to the asshole rule.

Steve Irwin rules over these seas with a mighty stingray barb, keeping all of the rowdy crews in line, and is quite handy with his massive magnetic hook.

Through this process, decaying bodies are fished out of a stinking ocean of rot and decay, and then not so gently escorted into the afterlife. The lesson to be learned here is: Don’t die on a busy day…

Avian Companions and Mexican Food

Spring 2011: It is a sunny day, a breeze blows, and malice hangs in the air...

Our story begins with me eating lunch, minding my own business, and attempting to enjoy one of the beautiful days that are so rare in Bellingham. I had gone to the Mexican food stand that operated by the Viking Union. The burrito on my plate was enormous, delicious looking, and piping hot. All in all, the day looked promising.

As I pulled the plastic fork from its wrapping I spotted something moving very quickly moving off to my left. Out of nowhere a massive bird of prey(Seagull) swooped down right by my face and made it's perch opposite me. As he landed I saw evil in his eyes. He looked at me hungrily, but I knew well that I was not to be his prey. Lazily, his beady eyes drifted towards the lump of glorious perfection that was my burrito.

"No." I said to him in an attempt to convey confidence and dominance. In response he ruffled his feathers and picked under his wing with his beak. Thinking that he might have been about to pull a piece I ducked quickly beneath the table. When I rose back up to look, he was a foot closer to the burrito, and had taken a threatening posture: wings folded at the sides, large beady eyes locked on me, and beak slightly upturned.

"That is my burrito! You stay away!" The seagull was unaffected by my shouts, and so I decided to take a more tactical approach. I waved my hands around like a madman at the seagull and shooed him away. He flew away and it seemed that I would be able to eat my burrito in peace. Once again I could feel the warmth of the sun and the lust for the burrito rising inside of me.

Sadly, it was not to be. Only four bites later I looked up to find a familiar foe staring back at me. Steve (by this point I had named him) stared at me hungry as ever, and slowly inched towards the burrito. It was clear that force would do nothing to deter his clumsy advances. It was time to try advanced reasoning. Perhaps we could meet in the middle.

"How about I give you a bite, and then you go away?" Steve quorked a response that I did not understand, but took as consent to the agreement. If I could have translated it, I'm guessing it actually said: I will take all of the burrito and feast upon it over your corpse, filthy human. 

I threw a piece of the burrito to him, and he gulped it down, like some kind of animal. It was disgusting to watch, there was no savoring, only brute force, and none of the respect that a truly delicious burrito deserves. "That's all you get, now shoo!" He did not move, instead he pecked at the table, all the while quorking for more.

There was only one option. I took a deep breath and prepared to shotgun what was left (About half the burrito). For those not familiar with the concept of shotgunning it is where one eats all the food at once... As I shotgunned, Steve stared in horror, quorking and watching as his precious burrito disappeared into my gullet.

Thirty seconds later, it was over. The battle had been won, and Steve skulked off angrily to another table in search of food. The lesson here is never feed a seagull.... They're heartless bitches...

Chapter 4: Death and All Things Dying (4-4:1)

The following is yet another excerpt from my encyclopedia, and also the main focus of a short novel I will be writing in November. So enjoy or die?

4: Death

Death is an interesting concept, and is not discussed in great detail often enough. The traditional image of death is that of a lone rider on a pale horse coming to collect the souls of the living, but the truth is actually far more mundane. Death is overseen by a series of political organizations and various elderly deities.

While death is no longer a single person, it is true that in the past he used to be. It is this man who owes me a great deal of money over a game of fighting boars from over two Christmases ago!  But I digress; he was a short man with more fingers than teeth, and a greasy crop of black hair that hung down to his waste. Really a disgusting man, and the last that I would ever want to see before dying.

Luckily for me and the rest of the population, we don’t have to deal with such nonsense anymore and there is an institution for carrying out such archaic rituals, including ferrying souls to the underworld (See Deadliest Catch: Dead Edition 4:2) and taking them from the bodies in the first place(See Death Co. 4:1).

 

4:1 Death Co.

Nowadays the concept of death has become too massive for one pale rider, or slightly chubby ambler to handle. The fact is that death has become a business, and with the world’s population skyrocketing, business has been booming.  It is these reasons that led to a restructuring of the traditional notion of death in the late 1940’s.

1947: Enter the Death Corporation. With the increasing population of the world, the burden of billions of corpses began to be too much for one man. In a meeting with the big man upstairs the previous death even threatened to quit, which would have mucked up the afterlife in a severe fashion. It was then that a brilliant idea was proposed.

The way it works is quite simple, when a lawyer or a business shark dies, they are given a choice. They are taken up to a sublevel of purgatory and are told they have two options: They can either be ripped apart by goat people in various horrifying ways (Usually decided as the result of an oversized game show wheel, acquired on a routine earth raid (See: The Goat Raiders, and Their Treasures)), or they can serve a term of one-thousand years working for the company.

The workers of Death Co. find themselves in one of three departments:

The Department of  Paperwork: tedious little buggers, they make sure every aspect of a death goes exactly as it is supposed to, and then afterward file the mountains of paperwork that come afterward.  Usually we find dead bankers and stock brokers, who were otherwise dick-ish in life, and whose dickbaggery can serve a higher purpose in the afterlife.  

The Department of Acquisition: These are the glory hounds, or what we would traditionally think of as death. They work quickly and efficiently in collecting the souls of recently deceased humans, and also work in the orchestration of the individual deaths. Their methods are often brutal and unkind, but sanctioned by the department. Any unsanctioned killings, or “unnecessary brutality” is grounds for review, which almost always ends in termination, after which the perpetrator is ravaged by angry goat people…

The Department of Complaints: This is by far the worst of the three. It is strikingly similar to what we find in the mortal world at the DMV (See: The DMV 7:2). Here we find endless lines of the dead, waiting their turn to complain about how they have been taken before their time, and that they deserve another chance at life. The lines can often span thousands of years, and the dead remain in the state that they were when they left earth, leading to a stench that is far more overwhelming than any inner city gutter that I have ever encountered.  It is worth noting that this department has the highest dropout rate.

It is also worth noting that there have only been two successful cases in the department of complaints: The first being Freddy Mercury, who was later reincarnated as Susan Boyle, and the second of course was Heath Ledger, who of course now resides inside Mark Hamill’s left arm.

The Death Corporation has three basic rules:

1.       Dropouts will be dropped out. When a worker opts out of the program, the floor beneath them opens up and they are literally dropped out of the office and straight into the goat ridden inferno of hell. Another interesting fact is that as they fall they are berated by hundreds of aggravated cherubs.

2.       If you are found incompetent at a ruling, you will be ejected.  Similar to the first rule, only in this version, the offending party is shot out of a cannon into the mouth of a T-rex who is on fire. While I have never seen it myself, I have been told that the experience is quite breathtaking, and also incredibly painful.

3. Don’t stick yo’ nose where it don’ belon’ aigh’? This was written by a cantankerous old Cajun rule master, who had spent his life as a crocodile dentist (See: 8:1 Crocodile Dentistry). He died shortly after making the rule, and thus its true meaning has been subject to many different interpretations. While some take it to mean no sleeping with co-workers (Which is gross, because they are also dead…) others have taken it more seriously to mean: Don’t meddle with the human world. For more information see 4:3 You done stuck yo’ nose in da wron’ place!

With these rules and regulations in mind, we can now move on to the other more interesting aspects of death, and the workers who surround it. 

The Curious Case of the Apartment Monster in the Night

While not acutally a chupacabra,
the chihuahua is the closest known relative

chu·pa·ca·bra
CHo͞opəˈkäbrə/
Noun1. an animal said to exist in parts of Latin America, where it supposedly attacks animals, esp. goats.

The following story is so fresh that I can hardly speak of it without my hear beginning to pound. It was a dark and stormy night(It was a clear night with no wind.), lightning crashed and thunder boomed (it didn't.)  Everyone in the apartment had gone to bed, and there was nothing to keep me company but the occasional creak of the aging floorboards.

Rather than exercising common sense I was staying up late and reading the walking dead by flashlight. Inevitably this led to several instances where I would jump out of my skin at a passing car, or a creaking board, thinking that the zombie apocalypse had begun. While this may seem uncommon, I can assure you it is a regular occurrence for me, and it has done nothing to stop me from late night reading…

Everything was fairly calm, until the unthinkable happened. The cone of silence enveloping the apartment shattered; there came a growl from the hallway. For once, this is all true. From somewhere inside the apartment I heard a fairly large growl that sounded as if it had come from a small to mid-sized animal. In the past I had never been one to fear the chupacapra, but at that moment I found myself wishing I had a goat to sacrifice to the hallway monster.

I froze in bed, trying not to make a sound, lest the beast hear me and come searching. Trying to be as quietly as possible I pulled my phone out of my dresser and sent out a quick text. It read: “ARE YOU GUYS MAKING F*&^ing GROWLING NOISES?!”  It may seem strange, but this happened before, and would not have been all that out of character.

As I waited for a return to my message, I spent the minutes convincing myself that I hadn’t heard anything and that I was only being crazy. You can’t possibly have heard growling… What kind of animal would come into the apartment and then growl angrily?! Does that even make any sense?! The answer to all of these was of course, no, it did not make sense, and the entire idea was illogical. Slowly I managed to bring my racing heart down to a normal level and settle back into bed.

I was about to fall asleep when a buzz came from the top of my dresser.  My blood turned to ice and I felt woozy. Carefully, I picked up the phone and opened the message. It read: “No, we heard it too!” The entire room spun. It had become very clear that we were indeed dealing with a terrifying beast that had managed to somehow infiltrate the apartment. While it wasn’t exactly Fort Nox, we locked the doors most of the time, and it was hard to imagine a way in which an animal larger than a mouse could have got in.

I had to act fast. Using my mad ninja skills, I jumped from the bed and ran to the wall where I have a small machete mounted. I removed it from its scabbard and called my roommate. The voice that answered was bleary, and far too calm for the events at hand.

“Meet me in the hallway in three seconds.”

“No way man, I’m not going out there!”

“I’m not going out there alone! F&*$ that!”

“Here talk to Ciara” He handed the phone to my other roommate, and I was met with more reluctance.

“I’m in bed, I’m not coming out into the hallway.” Desperate for any sort of camaraderie, I called out to the wall separating me from my other roommate Braden. I yelled twice and received no response other than laughing from Ciara on the other side of the phone.

“Fine, I’m going out there. Get ready guys!” I stood next to my door, tensed, machete in hand, ready to take down the chupacapra that was most likely waiting outside to eat me. “ONE, TWO, THREE!” I burst through the door making stabbing motions at the air, just in case the beast had decided to charge me, or had heard my plan to attack it. You can never be too sure that the creature you are fighting hasn’t gained sentience and understood your method of attack. I’ve seen deep blue sea; it did not go well for them. On that side note, please God, never genetically engineer super-intelligent sharks…

As I went from door to door, kicking them open (They were all slightly ajar, so they didn’t break), I continued yelling, and swiping in large arcs at nothing. It was terrifying, but it was also the closest I have ever been to real life Mortal Kombat, which was pretty sweet.

A Hill People Pickaxe

Emboldened by my bravery roommate Loren stepped out of his room. He was armed with a pickaxe that for some reason he kept in his room. Also it is worth mentioning that this pickaxe is very sharp on one side, and looks like it is more a tool hill-people use for killing unsuspecting tourists, rather than something a mountain climber or a miner would use. Even if there is a monster in my apartment, the pickaxe might need to be higher on the worry priority list.

Now with safety in numbers, we began to check inside the other rooms which had previously been far too dark and scary to go in alone.  While we were looking we were joined by my other roommate Braden, who had no doubt been woken by the shouting and door kicking…

As we searched several theories were formed as to what the monster might have been. I of course was still championing the idea that it was some sort of aggravated raccoon filled with bloodlust or a super-intelligent half shark, half chupacapra, but my roommates were more practical. For instance: Loren had seen a rat running around outside the apartment earlier that day, and thought that it might have stowed away in a couch that we were “airing out” that day… It’s college ok? We air out couches to make them less gross.

Another idea was that it could have been the water heater making gurgling noises, but I wasn’t having any of it. After a search around the apartment and the porch we came to the conclusion that if it had been an animal, it was now long gone, or scared half to death. I was not appeased by this conclusion, and so Braden had the idea of setting a sort of trap for it.

We laid out sunflower seeds on a plate in the middle of the hallway on a plate in a perfect circle. The idea being that if any of them were disturbed then there was indeed an animal in the apartment, and that we would go hunting again. I also made both of them swear that if the noise happened again, we would meet in the hallway in three seconds, weapons in hand.

With that, we all went to sleep, the others no doubt peacefully, me with the machete next to the bed, and an ear out for scary creatures….

The next morning the seeds were undisturbed, but I still maintain that somewhere within our walls the apartment chupacapra lies in wait for when we let our guard down…

A Tale of Pugs and Unicorns

This is the reason I'm not allowed to write children's bedtime stories anymore....

15:2 Of Pugs and Unicorns

A ferocious pug hunting

There once was a land constructed entirely from the sweet tears of candy corn giants. It was in this land that two races, one of puppies, and the other of unicorns lived. These two mighty beasts lived separately  but for the most part equally. With the puppies preferring to take long walks in the fields, and the unicorns(being bros) spent most of their time building Twenty –Four Hour Finesses and Jamba Juices.

Yes it was a peaceful nation, filled with the blissful sounds of pugs grumbling and yapping, while the unicorns filled the air with grunts of manliness as they bench-pressed each other. The geography of the island on which they lived, while improbable, served their purposes quite well. They inhabited an island, perfectly symmetrical, with a small divot right down the middle, so as to delineate where the two groups lived.

One day a unicorn named Chad found himself in a quandary during the annual bicep flexing contest. Somewhere between shotgunning a large orange smoothie with all the proteins and curling other unicorns he found himself wondering about their neighbors to the north. Being of a curious nature he asked one of his other bros about them.

“Yo bro.” He said kindly to one of his fellow muscular equines.

“Sup Bro?” The other muscular equine replied.

“What’s the deal with all those fluffy cute things on the other side of that hill thing?” He asked with a level of curiosity not often seen by the general unicorn population, as most of their questions usually fall into: “Which proteins make the best muscle?” and “Do you even lift?”.

“I don’t know bro. Want to go do some more muscular curls instead of questioning the mysterious nature of the world?”

Saddened by his compatriot's lack of interest and curiosity Chad responded: “No bro, I think I’m going over that hill.”

“Alright bro! Ima go do some mad curls and dead-lift that mountain!” He said, stalking off, biceps chafing together with every step.

Chad sipped down the last of his mega-protein-shake and walked over the hill. As he came to the top of the hill he was greeted by a fuzzy little pug in a sweater vest. 

“Greetings Unicorn Chad, we have foreseen your coming, and wish to romp!”

“Who are you bro?” The highly intelligent pug regarded him with a sense of pity.

“It matters not who I am Chad, but only that we romp together. The prophecy has long foretold our romp, and the other puglets will be sorely disappointed if we do not romp this day.”

Clearly confused by his language, Chad stood, dumbfounded, chewing some grass he had found.  “What?”

“Follow me, for I am Balthazar, speaker of the puppies, and lord of the puglets.” And so, against his bro-like nature, Chad followed Balthazar and together they went to a field of buttercups, where there was a grumble of pugs frolicking.

“Come join us Chad!” Said the puglets ever so creepily, but with no malicious intent.

Early Portrait of the Pug Ruler Balthazar (Left) and an
unknown puglet (Right)

“Alright!” Said Chad, clearly moved by the immobilizing cuteness of a face that looks as though it has been squished in a waffle iron. Together they romped for hours. Chad would curl the tiny pugs, and then the tiny pugs would snort at Chad. It was a cavalcade of cuteness. All the while Balthazar watched from a throne of butterscotch, contemplating.

“Today is a good day for romping, so romp Chad, romp among those you have shunned, romp among those who your people have spurned and ignored, taste of our innocence, and bask in the wrath that is the rise of the pugs!”

Suddenly the romp drew to a halt and Chad saw that a group of dark clouds had begun to gather above Balthazar's head. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the withered lines of the smushed puglet faces, giving them a ferocious appearance that Chad would have previously thought to be impossible. 

"What's going on bro?!" Chad said, nervously curling a handful of puglets. 

"You're people have left us to lie in the shadows of the gumdrop mountains long enough Chad. We yearn for greater fields, more grass, industry, profit, and new lands to settle. Unfortunately for you, that means the extermination and enslavement of your people. It's nothing personal, but it's all for the greater good."

Chad looked at Balthazar with a blank face as the gears in his mind turned, attempting to discover the meaning of the word 'exterminate'. "You can't exgerminate us! Why are you so mad bro?"

"While your attempts to assert fraternity with me seem relentless, I can assure you that they will do nothing to save your people. Puglets, bind his biceps!" Out of the rushes popped a grumble of puglets, armed with gold chains and aviator sunglasses. 

"Don't tase me bro!" The puglets rolled their eyes and tied the chains around Chad's massive arms. When he was bound, the puglets put him on a sled and pulled him to the top of the gumdrop mountain, where a massive thunderhead had formed. 

Down in the valley unicorns ran in fear of the dark apparition, not understanding how weather works. Shouts of: "What is it bro?!", "Bro!", and "No bro! Not like this!" could be heard echoing off of the valley walls.

Chad watched in horror as Balthazar ascended the hill, with a giant metal object in hand. "Do you know what this is Chad?!"

"Um... A death ray?"

"No you imbecile! Wait, yes, yes it is a death ray. I will use it to melt all of the unicorns into sparkle jelly which we will use to butter our toast! Those who survive will build massive monuments to our greatness, and serve us in our doghouses! We will rule this land! Come Pu

glets, the time has come!"

"Nooooooooo!" Chad said in his best impersonation of the re-released Return of the Jedi final battle, which of course was his favorite version... dick.

Fortunately for Chad and the entire unicorn population pugs have never been known for their prowess in technology. They lack opposable thumbs, and thus tend to make many mistakes in the construction of complex items. As Balthazar pulled the trigger a massive orb of light enveloped the island and sunk it into the sea. 

A pug attempting to use technology...

Luckily for the pugs and unicorns, they were instantly teleported to the far corners of the world. The pugs were sent through time to feudal China, where they served as royal lapdogs, advising warlords to the end of their days. The unicorns were transmorgified and sent through time to December 5th, 1776 where they formed the Phi Beta Kappa Society, more commonly known as the first true fraternity...

As for Balthazar, he was transported to 1997 where he starred in the movie Men In Black as Tommy Lee Jones.

The VMAs: A Bear's Pearl Harbor?

The following is yet another section from the ever growing chapter on bears in my great encyclopedia of knowledge...

Bears: 2:6 Miley Cyrus, The Impostor

While many humans have tried to embrace the bear culture, for most it has ended in ruin and dismemberment. On the outside it may seem as though bears live a  fairly simple life of catching fish, snorting river dust, and pestering hunters, but the depth of these activities is seldom understood. Notable examples of those who have tried but failed to embrace bear culture are: Grizzly Man, Zac Galifanakis and most recently, Miley Cyrus...

As this was a recent incident the bear community has not issued a statement on the matter, but I can assure you that once they have deliberated(See: 2:7 The Council Of Bears) their retribution will be swift and brutal. The bears are not a people known for mercy, and after last night I wouldn't expect the pop genre to last a week (most record labels are run at the top by bears).

For those who live under rocks, in caves, or abide in other such metaphors, I will give a brief description of what occurred last night. The stage was dark, setting a grim tone for the atrocities about to be committed, as the lights came up a massive cyborg bear was revealed, flanked by his evil bear army, ready to strike at the poor, unsuspecting VMA audience! Just as the bears prepared their attack, the bear leader began to feel ill, and suddenly Miley Cyrus, like a scene from Alien, burst forth from the bear's chest and proceeded to twerk, twirl hair that did not exist, and make a mockery of anteaters everywhere(Sticking her tongue out, no doubt impersonating one of these regal creatures). But that, was only the beginning.

The show descended quickly into chaos. The rest of the bears turned around, to show that rather than being alive and well, they had been made into sick mockeries of themselves, being used like puppets by lesser humans! Their leader Miley, stepped down from the mighty bear's entrails and showcased her own gruesome attire. She had slain a poor bear pup, in hopes of wearing its skin as some sort of a fashionable coat. Unfortunately for her, it covered less than half of her body, leaving her nearly fully exposed to the audience.

As if this grotesque display of power over our noble oursine compatriots was not enough, Miley walked up behind a bear with a rather large hind-quarters and proceeded to spank it while she used her mind powers to make it twerk! Oh the bearmanity! All of this was of course accompanied by Miley making not-so-subtle pokes at the bear culture!

"Why Miley, Why?"-Famous Bear Philosopher
Photo Credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/granada_turnier/

She would whirl her hair around, imitating bears rising from the river after a long parley with groups of salmon, turning an ancient ritual into a not-so-exotic dance! She grabbed at a foam hand, straddling it, in a mockery of bears cleaning their private parts with the sacred dismembered hand of Park Ranger Rick. She even had the audacity to ask the audience how they were feeling as celebrities such as Drake, One Direction, and Rihanna turned away in what could have only been disgust and fear. I feel nothing but pity for those poor audience members, as the bears will show them no mercy.



To top it off, Miley ended her show by showing no honor by ripping the bear pelt off, leaving her in only skin colored underwear...

It was a night that shall live in infamy. While I do not know how the bears will react to this I can only guess that it will begin with a holy war against all of those in the VMA audience, and a special place in the hall of pretenders with Miley's name on it.

For those who didn't see the performance: http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1713017/miley-cyrus-robin-thicke-vma-twerk.jhtml

First video on the page