Well fuck.
It is just so hard to even begin to know where to start here.
Don't even fucking think of saying, "Well, start at the beginning, doh!"
'Cause anyone that knows me will tell ya that would look something like...
Well first, there was dinosaurs.
Then they died.
The possible reasons for this are many and varied...
Three weeks and 147 posts later, I'd be up to, like, the Pliocene Epoch, and my scanner would bust while I was trying to image a unique fossil of a marmot-like creature, and god only fucking knows if I could ever live down a scanner malfunction.
There's a lot of misinformation floating around out there. Shocking, I know. Misinformation on teh intarwebs, whoda' thunk it.
My first instinct is to try and correct all of it, which is why me second instinct is pretty much always to beat my first instinct into fucking submission, and warn it if it ever raises it mangy fucking head again, it had better be prepared to be thoroughly chastised, perhaps even taunted about that time when I was seven and my first instinct when I saw Carol, the girl of my dreams, was to run up to her, look deep in her eyes, and when she smiled at me, punch her. Yep, even my inner monologue is never gonna let me live that one down.
<fumbles through note cards>
[Picture yer audience nekkid]
<glances over at the 350 lb. towering man-mountain that is smokebreaks>
<shudders>
<using the universal dealers option, burns the first card to the bottom of the deck>
[Haxxie says... ]
<peeks at the next card>
[Haxxie says you faked going to jail to cover your tracks, cause you were architecting...]
<peeks at the next fucking card>
[Munchy wants to know why his letters were returned]
<guilty look>
Fuck.
<slips the next goddam note card out>
[Stop fucking skipping cards, ya' wanker. Go back and deal with 'em.]
<sigh>
I really never thought it possible that I would be in a position to have to say that no, I didn't architect anything, I was too busy being in Wandsworth fucking prison. Life, she deals you some strange curves sometimes, don't she.
So, it looks like, according to the goddam cards that I'm going to rip into teeny tiny shread, before I burn them later, this is where we're going to start. Not at the begining, but with the tale of my time as guest of the Queen of England. Hi Liz! :waves:
Now, before y'all start thinking if I don't get to the meat of the matter pretty fucking quickly here, your netflix queue is gonna get some love, bear with me. If I jump too far ahead, the same folks are going to be bitching later when I have to go back and tell the fucking prison story, why the fuck didn't I tell it in the first place.
This one time, I accidentally built a large, high-tech, totally bitchin' modified atmosphere, high lumens cannabis grow operation above Choy's Chinese Food restaurant in Surbiton, Surrey, Merry Olde England. A fucking thing of beauty it was too. 1400ppm Co2, heppa air scrubbers, drip-fed coco-coir in 16 litre airpots. Sparkling white tiled floors and walls, 3 balanced MAUs w/carbon scrubbers and ozone injected exhausts (Very cleverly fed into the 22" 30 foot tall exhaust stack from the Chinese place, who were open 11 am to midnight, so the smelly side of my 12/12 was covered by chow mein odors.), and all-in-all one of my proudest achievements. Forty thousand pound sterling the equipment set me back, and 1400 square feet of really fucking bright plant heaven was the result. Now, while I was building it, I also needed to decide what to grow in it. Having access to
literally millions of seeds representing over 3,000 strains of ganja in my seed fridges, it was indeed a dilemma. So, I did what any rational middle-aged man who was living alone in a rambling 2 bedroom house would do. While I was building the grow, meanwhile at home I moved into the large bathroom, and jammed grow tents into the two bedrooms. Fuck, being grown up just means you get to build bigger forts, and you don't have to use all the cushions off the good couch.
The grow-op was completed to perfection, tents full of seedlings were tenatively showing their sex, while in the other bedroom the flowering tents were giving the chosen ones their head start, prior to their move to their final, high-tech home.
Life was fucking grand!
I lived about a 5 minute walk from the grow, and I'd grab 4 plants and nestle 'em all snugly in a box, and walk 'em down to their new home at...
Wait.
I see you fidgeting, there in the back.
Trust me, I'll get there.
<rifles through cards until the only red one pops outta the sea of white>
[We've been reading shit for months and fucking months. How the everloving
Christ are you not in fucking jail right now, huh?]
Ahem.
I know that's pretty much the sole fucking question that's frosting yer cookies right now.
It's also the sole reason I'm here today. To give you the answer.
You can blame Moustache for that. He asked me that very question just the other day, and you know what? It's a *real* good question, and it fucking deserves an answer. So far, he alone among you got an answer, if somewhat briefly. And after I answered him, I said to myself, "Self," I said, "You've pretty much gotta tell folks. Goddam fucking wanker Moustache, he's gonna pay for this. Now stop talking to yourself, and see if you can remember your MPG password."
So, if ya' wanna bug someone, pick on his ass for a while. I'm gonna do this at my own speed. Now stop fidgeting, goddammit!
<pins the note card in question to lapel, setting off the carnation on the other lapel quite nicely, thank you very much>
I'll just leave that there.
Now, it's about 4 hours from right now when I have to post up what you've all come here to read. I was going to just plod on here at my keyboard until I was done, and post it up all at once. However, it's occured to me that sure as god fucking made them little green apples, the internet is going to hiccup, or my cpu is going to catch fire, or the vengeful god of scanners is going to pay me a visit and fuck up my video driver before I'm done.
So I'm going to post up what I've got so far, and then get back to slaving over my keyboard. You don't have to hang about. Grab a pizza and a movie, the answer yer looking for will be here when you get back. It's likely going to be a few more posts from me before it gets to the ending.
Oh, and there's not going to be an earth-shattering revelations about secret cabals, or what I did on my summer vacation, or who
really wrote certain e-commerce software. No answer to numerous conspiracy theories floating around, nor a startling confession that will make you gasp and wail.
Just me meandering my way around to exactly how the everloving
Christ I am not in fucking jail right now.
YOU MAY HAVE A FRONT ROW SEAT, BUT YOU'LL ONLY NEED THE EDGE... Edge... edge...
Sorry, had a monster truck rally flashback there for a sec.
Feel free to spell check this shit for me, I *hate* doing that crap.
biab