There has Error!

[Jenne]

Brokeen, I sorry!  Will work on sumpin this weekend--mebbe t'night.

[Rococo Modem Basilisk]

I'll see what I can come up with for this issue.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I has nothing. As of yet. Unless you want to put in this: http://www.principiadiscordia.com/forum/index.php?topic=14554.0

[Payne]

You should include all the additional comment on the OP in that thread too.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Yeah, I just reread the commentary and it's great. 

[Telarus]

I need a caption for this one:


And then I'll have 3 graphics to submit.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

"WE WILL MARCH ON A ROAD OF BONES" too obvious?

[Payne]

I don't think it NEEDS a caption.

Sometimes they don't you know

[Rococo Modem Basilisk]

http://namcub.accela-labs.com/pics/anarchy-mib.png This is for you (or any other IM editor who wants it).

[Reginald Ret]

I need a caption for this one:


And then I'll have 3 graphics to submit.

The Discordian Commune's Official Greeter Of Salesmen.

[Cramulus]

YO

if you think it's appropriate

you should grab A Fapcab Called Desire

I don't know that non-PD'ers would get the references, but it's still lulz in a mad-magazine kind of format

[Telarus]

and Cram delivers:

[Rococo Modem Basilisk]

The following is a story about a man walking a dog, told in the style of five authors.

Neal Stephenson's Man Walks Dog

The Dogwalker is a member of an elite order, a sacred occupation. He gets the same kind of respect that, in ages past, a priest or a shaman might get. He works with the animals. He communicates their needs. He handles the shit.

To protect him from the shit, he has the equipment justifiable to such a hallowed profession. His boots, leather and steel-toed, protect him from teeth and lawn mowers alike, and if a postman should let his gaze be drawn to the woman across the street who likes to undress with the windows open, his toes won't get a single scratch as the tires roll over, though his bread and butter -- the canine -- may not be so lucky. Knowing this, he uses his GPS unit (his position triangulated by three geosyncronous sattelites, timing his ping response via microwave strong enough to reach outer space but weak enough not to fry his innards) to overlay the post office route map as well as the current location of all postal trucks, so as to avoid unhappy accidents. To handle the shit directly, he has neoprine nanopore gloves -- skin tight, feeling for all the world like he's wearing nothing at all. When he's done with the job, he doesn't store them -- he just pitches them out and gets a new pair, because they are disposable.

On this particular day, it is sunday, so there are no postal trucks on the road at all. He looks left, then right, and then proceeds to cross the street with his fuzzy ward in tow.



William Gibson's Man Walks Dog

Hearing the buzz of the antique analogue tin Pepsi-Cola brand alarm clock, Wage turned over, still half asleep. Feeling numbly with his fingers, he managed to deactivate the device, and peeked under the cheap polystyrine butt of the venitian blinds.

The sky was the colour of television, tuned to input four.

He pulled on a tee shirt and pants. The pants were ancient pleated khakis from a garage sale, probably dating back to when men with buzz-cuts and slide rules consulted the president wearing such things. The shirt was green.

Foregoing socks, he pulled on an old, beaten-up pair of steel-toed Doc Martens. The liner was frayed bare, and only shreds of unwoven thread protected the skin of his forestep from the leather of the boot.

Peeling the cardboard liner from its housing, he opened up a new box of neoprine surgical gloves, putting them on.

Today, he would walk the dog.



H. P. Lovecraft's Man Walks Dog

Letter from the late J. Q. Wage, released after his death:

Perhaps the greatest thing about human perception is the things we miss. Indeed, it is only our total lack of understanding about the universe -- and how little we know of that which is all around us -- that forms the thin line between everyday life and madness. Some nights, when the moon is full and the stars are right, I shiver in my bed, remembering against my own will the events of so many years ago.

It was not a night like that, the day it started. Indeed, looking back, I would never have -- could never have -- expected things to lead where they did.

The sun was high and bright, and there was not a cloud in the blue sky. On my way to pick up the dog -- at the time I was a dog-walker by trade, and visited the houses of those who were willing to pay me to walk their dogs for them -- I saw a vendor selling hot dogs. I did not think anything of it at the time, but looking back, my body shivers at the correlation, perhaps only chance, that I wish to god I had grasped then and ceased walking -- went back, anywhere! Oh god, have mercy upon me, for I have done things out of fear that should never be done. But alas, I hardly can believe in a god anymore; it is more comforting to imagine the heavens empty than to consider the existence of a god that would let such things happen!

I walked on, still. In my memory -- perhaps a fault imposed by my recollection later, or perhaps a natural function of the heat of the day, though I know not which -- my gloves became damp on the inside. Oh god -- or no god -- how I wish this had given me an inkling -- any inkling -- to how these events would end!

Unknowing that which I was about to walk into, or perhaps willfully blind, I happily retrieved the dog and began to cross the street.



James Joyce's Man Walks Dog

Will-fully I went two yonder dog-house for the house which had the dog or god which dog lives in not! I do not know but my green shirt springled as I walked merrily acrose the whey the road meandered with the dog and my glove and the dog and the shit and my green shirt and gloves and vestiments assorted other. Shall I pick the shit up? Pick it up? Why don't you pick it up? It really comes to something when they expect you top ick it up! Yes, yes, I'll pick it up, yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes.



Tim Leary's Man Walks Dog

I will tell you a secret. Just between you and me, dog walking can be fun and profitable.

I spent years researching the walking of dogs, and the outcome of this is three rules which -- IF FOLLOWED CORRECTLY -- will maximize your dog walking enjoyment and experience.

1. Wear gloves

2. Wear steel-toed shoes

3. Don't get hit by a car.

These may sound glib, but don't let that fool you. Too many people have ruined their dog-walking experiences irrevocably by breaking one or more of these rules.

By practicing dog-walking through this system, I can gaurantee that you will improve your dog-walking experience. This doesn't mean that you will become the Mozart of dog walking, or the Yo Yo Ma of dog walking. It may merely mean that you will be the best dog-walker on your street, or in your block, or on your floor of the appartment. But, if you don't follow them, I cannot see how you can improve at all.

[Jenne]

Dammit, I have this whole thing brewing about how life is just like being in a dentist's chair.  But I have to grind it out still...

[Jenne]

Cool!