WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST CONTAINS USE OF THIRD PERSON AND COULD POSSIBLY QUALIFY AS LORE.
On how the Samurai was able to escape the perils of work.
This day forsaw our hero in the depths of revisions, submittals and the general sludge of silkscreen films. Our hero's presence was required at a gathering of masterminds, to which, lametably, saturated her with soporific banter, embarassing our hero for closing her eyes for a mere minute. However, the lord of the manor was quite forgiving and allowed our hero to retreat to her cove and resume the tasks at hand. A couple telephone calls later, our hero left the kingdom of work and began the migration to the apothecary.
On how the Samurai overcame the perils of Mass Transit.
Our hero realized that if she was to arrive at the apothecary's on time, she would not afford the luxury of biding her time until the autobus arrived. Thus, our hero sauntered throughout South Boston, random automobiles obnoxiously raced, a bellicose melee of wheels, grit and murk-water that impregnated our hero with ick. Bedraggled, our hero maintained pace and arrived at the station without hesitation. Once aboard the train, fickle electricity proved this a tedious ride, and our hero arrived at the destination 20 minutes late. Undaunted, our hero continued, passing through a gauntlet of kitsch potters and ex-boyfriends who moonlighted as jewelry makers, and finally arriving at said destination.
On how the Insurance Operator was on crack and gave the Samurai incorrect information.
Our hero arrived at the supposed location of the apothecary, a spring of wellness known locally as The Somerville Hospital. Lurking through the dark corridors unassisted, our hero began to think this establishment deserted. Inconspicuously, she sauntered into a vacated office and cornered an optometrist, demanding to be led to said apothecary. Our hero was led to a secluded receptionist, who punched in her information and dialed the correct number. This asserted our hero's inclinations that yes, the Insurance Operator, was on crack. The doctor's name and whereabouts were incorrect, however she would not have to travel far to obtain the services deemed necessary.
About the kindness of the Apothecary, and the importance of bloodletting.
Our hero travelled the maze of wheelchairs, directional heraldry, and finally arrived at the apothecary's, a full twenty minutes past the agreed time. The apothecary, a middle-aged man with engaging candor. He assured our hero that a day in the tortures of the tilt-table would be unneccesary, as well as the chastity entailed with a monitoring device. However, to finalize the trials put upon our hero, the apothecary deemed necessary a return to the laboratory for manditory bloodletting. Our hero obliged and ruminated on contacting a knight to accompany her on this most undesireable ordeal. After receiving the necessary parchment and herbes, our hero delighfully returned to the Fort Broadway for further executions.
On the secret identity of Maddog.
Maddog = Eric Mattison.
Of Maddog's lair, the secrets of Cascading Style Sheets and the George Dilboy.
A most venerable friend, Maddog provided our hero with hot chocolate and discussed the intricacies and fallacies of incestuous group dating, facilitated by a miniscule demograhic: Maddog tends to cohere to Jewish gatherings and dating services, where as our hero enjoys the artist niche. After enjoying the delicious chocolate libations prepared by the venerable Maddog, our hero enjoyed a brief lesson in the wonders of Cascading Style Sheets and the mutabilty a simple script can employ to a page of ten lines of XML. Our hero was given access to a secret databank of this information for further usage, as well as a glimpse of his blog. These circumlocutions aberrated to the final purpose of this visit: The George Dilboy. This chopper was presented to our hero, in full mechanical integrity albeit a heavy wheel and loose chain. Our hero bid Maddog adieu and set to travel back to Fort Broadway.
On the voyage back to Fort Broadway, and how the Samurai bravely fought a taxi cab and celebrated the acquisition of Her new vessel.
Our hero decided that before riding amongst iron-clad vehicles that she must accustom herself to the George Dilboy. The George Dilboy is a larger ship, of a Columbia cruiser hull, with a high saddle and converse extended fork. After maneuvering briefly at a nearby marsh, she felt confident and rode on the common causeway with the aforementioned belligerent vehicles of varying makes and models. A taxi cab swerved and challenged our hero to vacate the causeway. To no avail. Our hero would have none of this intolerance and valiantly swerved and fought this cab using only her left leg. The taxi cab attempted intimidation by abusing fuel and swerving maliciousl, however, malice pales in comparison to intellect and skill and our hero took advantage of the strict code of automobiles and by passed through a red light without incident, as cyclists can sometimes do this without complications of law. Our hero arrived at Fort Broadway without further incident and was greeted by the humble serfs of the Fort with delicious cakes and Turkish apple hashish, which our hero did not partake in but was delighted to be in such pleasant smelling company.
On how the Samurai has wasted enough time and must now return to labouring for the high priestess Deborah and watching expired episodes of Sifl and Ollie.
'Nuff said.
On how the Samurai was able to escape the perils of work.
This day forsaw our hero in the depths of revisions, submittals and the general sludge of silkscreen films. Our hero's presence was required at a gathering of masterminds, to which, lametably, saturated her with soporific banter, embarassing our hero for closing her eyes for a mere minute. However, the lord of the manor was quite forgiving and allowed our hero to retreat to her cove and resume the tasks at hand. A couple telephone calls later, our hero left the kingdom of work and began the migration to the apothecary.
On how the Samurai overcame the perils of Mass Transit.
Our hero realized that if she was to arrive at the apothecary's on time, she would not afford the luxury of biding her time until the autobus arrived. Thus, our hero sauntered throughout South Boston, random automobiles obnoxiously raced, a bellicose melee of wheels, grit and murk-water that impregnated our hero with ick. Bedraggled, our hero maintained pace and arrived at the station without hesitation. Once aboard the train, fickle electricity proved this a tedious ride, and our hero arrived at the destination 20 minutes late. Undaunted, our hero continued, passing through a gauntlet of kitsch potters and ex-boyfriends who moonlighted as jewelry makers, and finally arriving at said destination.
On how the Insurance Operator was on crack and gave the Samurai incorrect information.
Our hero arrived at the supposed location of the apothecary, a spring of wellness known locally as The Somerville Hospital. Lurking through the dark corridors unassisted, our hero began to think this establishment deserted. Inconspicuously, she sauntered into a vacated office and cornered an optometrist, demanding to be led to said apothecary. Our hero was led to a secluded receptionist, who punched in her information and dialed the correct number. This asserted our hero's inclinations that yes, the Insurance Operator, was on crack. The doctor's name and whereabouts were incorrect, however she would not have to travel far to obtain the services deemed necessary.
About the kindness of the Apothecary, and the importance of bloodletting.
Our hero travelled the maze of wheelchairs, directional heraldry, and finally arrived at the apothecary's, a full twenty minutes past the agreed time. The apothecary, a middle-aged man with engaging candor. He assured our hero that a day in the tortures of the tilt-table would be unneccesary, as well as the chastity entailed with a monitoring device. However, to finalize the trials put upon our hero, the apothecary deemed necessary a return to the laboratory for manditory bloodletting. Our hero obliged and ruminated on contacting a knight to accompany her on this most undesireable ordeal. After receiving the necessary parchment and herbes, our hero delighfully returned to the Fort Broadway for further executions.
On the secret identity of Maddog.
Maddog = Eric Mattison.
Of Maddog's lair, the secrets of Cascading Style Sheets and the George Dilboy.
A most venerable friend, Maddog provided our hero with hot chocolate and discussed the intricacies and fallacies of incestuous group dating, facilitated by a miniscule demograhic: Maddog tends to cohere to Jewish gatherings and dating services, where as our hero enjoys the artist niche. After enjoying the delicious chocolate libations prepared by the venerable Maddog, our hero enjoyed a brief lesson in the wonders of Cascading Style Sheets and the mutabilty a simple script can employ to a page of ten lines of XML. Our hero was given access to a secret databank of this information for further usage, as well as a glimpse of his blog. These circumlocutions aberrated to the final purpose of this visit: The George Dilboy. This chopper was presented to our hero, in full mechanical integrity albeit a heavy wheel and loose chain. Our hero bid Maddog adieu and set to travel back to Fort Broadway.
On the voyage back to Fort Broadway, and how the Samurai bravely fought a taxi cab and celebrated the acquisition of Her new vessel.
Our hero decided that before riding amongst iron-clad vehicles that she must accustom herself to the George Dilboy. The George Dilboy is a larger ship, of a Columbia cruiser hull, with a high saddle and converse extended fork. After maneuvering briefly at a nearby marsh, she felt confident and rode on the common causeway with the aforementioned belligerent vehicles of varying makes and models. A taxi cab swerved and challenged our hero to vacate the causeway. To no avail. Our hero would have none of this intolerance and valiantly swerved and fought this cab using only her left leg. The taxi cab attempted intimidation by abusing fuel and swerving maliciousl, however, malice pales in comparison to intellect and skill and our hero took advantage of the strict code of automobiles and by passed through a red light without incident, as cyclists can sometimes do this without complications of law. Our hero arrived at Fort Broadway without further incident and was greeted by the humble serfs of the Fort with delicious cakes and Turkish apple hashish, which our hero did not partake in but was delighted to be in such pleasant smelling company.
On how the Samurai has wasted enough time and must now return to labouring for the high priestess Deborah and watching expired episodes of Sifl and Ollie.
'Nuff said.