Columns

Dear Editorbeing,

This article is submitted by Doc Logger who was still in a fever delirium, having contracted strep throat somewhere in the wilds of Cape Breton. Heath care advice in that part of the world consists of "Drink more whiskey" which is their universal panacea for ailments.

Roll da flic Zorch.....

Dear Reverend Visage,

I've just returned from a hellish holiday in the wilds of Eastern Canada. What started out as a simple trip to deliver some artwork and make free with a few lobsters ended up being a "Vanishing Point" sort of dash for the Ontario border. I would have returned sooner except for the fact that when the nitro methanol finally melted the turbo injection blades in Prince Edward Island, the mechanic who worked at the Anne of Green Gables Lobster Take-Out & Auto repairs had no clue how to fix it. Fortunately, the airport experienced one of its three annual days when it wasn't fogged in and they were able to deliver both the right part and a competent mechanic to fix it. The mechanic, after he noted the damage to the engine wondered if I might consider lowering the nitro methanol mixture in the fuel just a tadge. He completely understood my position however, when I explained that shooting five meter, quad contrails of blue flame was the only effective remedy for keeping harelipped Quebecers from tail-gating.

It was 3am last night when I finally crossed the New Brunswick border leading a procession of provincial and federal police cars. It seems that it is illegal to make a right turn on a red light in the backward eastern provinces and the flashing lights and ugly demeanour of the pursuing cops was clear evidence that they did not intend to allow my crimes to go unpunished. Fortunately, they broke off the chase when I entered Quebec because they'd all forgotten their passports which would have permitted them entry into the newly constituted Republic of Poutine. By the time I reached Ontario my fever was holding at a steady 104 and the odometer was locked at about twice that number.

I see that I didn't miss much in my absence. It seems that Bob "Noted" Satti turned down Mangold's policy complaint because Satti could find no proof that Kohl had revealed the contents. Satti is entirely too stupid to grasp the obvious or to poll any of the other possibilities on the mail path. Since Kohl has been "elected" R10C, the odious little cretin is back to posting his illiterate nonsense in the Z1C echo. The good news is that he has garnered the support of Belcke in his attempt to counter the actions of the RECC. Belcke is not noted for the subtlety of his mind, nor for recognizing inappropriate behaviour.

In SnoozNews, it is the height of hilarity to see that his Zorchness ponder about questions asked and unanswered in his editorial. Since I like to follow the bouncing ball as much as the next person, here's a question for Zorch:

Did you vote twice in the ZEC election?

I can't wait to see His Zorchness weasel his way past an answer to that question as he happily attempts to defend poor dimwitted Kohl. I also note that his Zorchness sent out a questionaire to a few sysops asking if their RECs consulted them with respect to the censure vote which went against Kohl. For the record, Region 12 was consulted by the R12EC and the responses were universal in their support of the RECC to censure Kohl.

In more Kohl news, I see that Kohl has suggested to Ruth Argust that she is being excessively annoying by repeating the true story about Kohl's pathetic attempts to get free boarding for his horse. Our prayers and our edible underwear should go out to Kohl in his hours of confusion.

That pretty well wraps the fish on this article. I don't have a pithy quote this week because almost all of my reading has been road signs. Which reminds me, what sort of deranged and evil mind in New Brunswick dreamed up the idea of roadside garbage pails? I mean, these aren't just little buckets by the side of the road, hell no. They have their own off ramp, on ramp, and ten kilometers worth of signage warning you that you are fast approaching a road side garbage pail. Now, you'd think that with the money they could at least have tucked a washroom beside the garbage pails, but no, just a forlorn garbage pail. Anyway, my apologies to New Brunswick. It was me. I peed in your garbage pails, damnit, and I'd do it again if I had to.

I must go Visage, the shipping company from Prince Edward Island just phoned and I'll have to supervise the installation of the 300 foot concrete lobster on your front lawn. You'll appreciate its splendour when you get back and thank me for it.

Regards,
Doc Logger,
Far Eastern Veteran,
Furlang Island, South Pacific