There was a pixel. He was not lonely. He was accompanied by more than one million others just like him, except for one thing. He could think. The fact that he could think, and the others could not, suddenly made him very lonely.
Thankfully, around this time, a face started to look in his general direction. He began to flex his circuitry, and, dimly, if so, he began to pulse. His pulsing got the face's attention within seconds. The face scrutinized him as if he couldn't think, introducing into his consciousness the idea of indignation. He began to pulse more strongly, and the face looked slightly startled. In a miraculous coincidence of fate, the fifty-seventh dimension, and a few stray light particles, the pixel learned Morse code.
Immediately, he pulsed out the message, "I am indignant that you think I can't think." As fate would also have it, this face did know Morse code, but only comprehended the last word, "think," leading the face to believe that something was seriously wrong in itself. The pixel pulsed out the words, "Wrong, kiddo," in a way that, even from a pixel to an unidentified face, could be understood as condescending. The face narrowed its eyes.
"Look, if you're going to be condescending and stuff, I'm going to punch your face in," said the face, looking angry. This vocalization earned him several odd looks, as he was in a library. He seemed unfazed.
The pixel continued to bleep out its signal, earning himself several more annoyed looks from the face. "Look here. I'm a pixel here, and I've just become," said the pixel, at which the face contorted into an expression that took a few seconds to sort out. It looked vaguely like confusion, but it was too extreme. It looked a bit like anger, but it wasn't even that potent.
The face continued to mutate horribly, almost causing the pixel to short circuit. At this time, however, the face was forcibly escorted away by a couple of other torsos. The pixel looked professionally smug.
And then another face came in front of his vision. His backbone, though it wasn't there in the first place, disappeared. His nerves that didn't exist, went on overdrive and his head, which wasn't there either, began to experience a fit of fairly unexplainable nausea. His heart...
His heart, which did exist, stopped beating for roughly two point nine five eight seven seconds. Upon restarting, however, it was beating faster than ever, meaning not one or two beats per minute faster, but roughly two point seven nine times faster.
His subconscious told him to cool his jets. Unhelpfully.
The face was rectangular in shape, but, for some reason, it was getting smaller. Twin torsos were on either side of it, toting it to the flat surface across the...what was it? Room.
The pixel burst into unequalled raptures of pulses at a rate unheard of in CRTs before.
Then, unwarned, unalerted, the pixel was no more. His consciousness' potency at the time of his material existence allowed him to remain in a state of partial consciousness, even though no power was entering his circuits. The face grew nearer, and nearer, and then, suddenly, heartbreakingly, the face disappeared, and was gone. The pixel, at this time, died of shock.
To be continued.
Your ridiculously unrealistic, merciless butcherer of the ideas of fiction, and all-around worthless writer,
!Noah!
February 26, 2009
MR. BERTILSON TO BE BURNT AT THE STAKE, IS OUTRAGED.
Upon stepping on the threshold of Mr. Bertilson's house today, we were stunned to find the house shaking. Upon further entering the house, we found Mr. Bertilson fuming nearly uncontrollably in the kitchen. Upon seeing us, however, he calmed down, made us some over-sugared coffee, and led us once more to his living room, which, by some amazing change, was now covered, from top to bottom, in everything from laptops to desktops, from paper to papers, and many other varied things. Mr. Bertilson's spirit still seemed to boil, but he nonetheless began speaking at once.
"I was sentenced to a fate worse than death. A fate worse than death! And this is all I get? Being burned at the stake?" Our team gasped in unison.
"It's simply outrageous. My 'fate worse than death', as it was so aptly called, was merely being married to the very fine young woman I suggested, without malicious intent, for Mr. President. I had, beforehand, been, in one way or another, warned of such a fate, but its potency now does not scare me in the least. I had guessed, at that time, that the 'fate worse than death' had something or other to do with death's opposite, life, but this was better than I could have known. I still, do however not anticipate the moment when I should marry Miss Roorda, who is my elder by a good two years, at least.
"The Ahern Embrey administration seems incapable to understand that, under current laws, this 'fate worse than death' cannot happen, as consent which, I might add, will not be given, by either party, is necessary.
"It is purely sad, the levels Mr. President has and will go to punish petty charges against spotless individuals, me not included, of course. Ahern's use of matrimony forced by himself, an offical, to accomplish his goals, is utterly shameful. I am not one to plead for order, to crush chaos, but Mr. President seems unable to bring one, or crush the other, let alone the opposite.
"I am officially dead. Mr. Ahern has proclaimed that Islas does not discriminate against ghosts. I am glad to hear it. It is nice to know a ghost can sit on a bus next to a living man and not be told to go to the back of the bus. It is nice to know that a ghost can go to the same bathroom as a living man. It is nice to know a ghost is allowed to post on Islas, just as a living man.
"I have faith that the most powerful Ls have not been comprimised by this worthless rule. If they have, I suggest that Islas be moved to new grounds, with new admins, and a system to elect them. I do not yet rebel against their rule. So far, it has been more than just. However, if they have succumed to any of Mr. Ahern's demands, if there are any, they have proved most disgraceful to Islas.
"I do not know when I am to be burned at the stake, but I look forward to it less than I do for Christmas, and more than I do, taking out the trash. Death has proved, in the past, to change nothing, on Islas. Even Death himself has been on Islas, ushering souls into the next world, but even him I did not fear, for death, Death, or whatever you may call it, has not scared me in the past, and will not in the future.
"But really. I had almost anticipated being married to Miss Roorda. And then the man canceled that marriage merely because Miss Roorda had to preform my execution. This is outrageous."
Here's the link to the official thingy by Mr. Ahern: http://dagenet2.ath.cx/islas/Prosecution.wma
Our team looked somewhat stunned, and yet energized, as we drove back to headquarters.
Your annoyed, somewhat happy, and somewhat depressed writer,
!Noah!
"I was sentenced to a fate worse than death. A fate worse than death! And this is all I get? Being burned at the stake?" Our team gasped in unison.
"It's simply outrageous. My 'fate worse than death', as it was so aptly called, was merely being married to the very fine young woman I suggested, without malicious intent, for Mr. President. I had, beforehand, been, in one way or another, warned of such a fate, but its potency now does not scare me in the least. I had guessed, at that time, that the 'fate worse than death' had something or other to do with death's opposite, life, but this was better than I could have known. I still, do however not anticipate the moment when I should marry Miss Roorda, who is my elder by a good two years, at least.
"The Ahern Embrey administration seems incapable to understand that, under current laws, this 'fate worse than death' cannot happen, as consent which, I might add, will not be given, by either party, is necessary.
"It is purely sad, the levels Mr. President has and will go to punish petty charges against spotless individuals, me not included, of course. Ahern's use of matrimony forced by himself, an offical, to accomplish his goals, is utterly shameful. I am not one to plead for order, to crush chaos, but Mr. President seems unable to bring one, or crush the other, let alone the opposite.
"I am officially dead. Mr. Ahern has proclaimed that Islas does not discriminate against ghosts. I am glad to hear it. It is nice to know a ghost can sit on a bus next to a living man and not be told to go to the back of the bus. It is nice to know that a ghost can go to the same bathroom as a living man. It is nice to know a ghost is allowed to post on Islas, just as a living man.
"I have faith that the most powerful Ls have not been comprimised by this worthless rule. If they have, I suggest that Islas be moved to new grounds, with new admins, and a system to elect them. I do not yet rebel against their rule. So far, it has been more than just. However, if they have succumed to any of Mr. Ahern's demands, if there are any, they have proved most disgraceful to Islas.
"I do not know when I am to be burned at the stake, but I look forward to it less than I do for Christmas, and more than I do, taking out the trash. Death has proved, in the past, to change nothing, on Islas. Even Death himself has been on Islas, ushering souls into the next world, but even him I did not fear, for death, Death, or whatever you may call it, has not scared me in the past, and will not in the future.
"But really. I had almost anticipated being married to Miss Roorda. And then the man canceled that marriage merely because Miss Roorda had to preform my execution. This is outrageous."
Here's the link to the official thingy by Mr. Ahern: http://dagenet2.ath.cx/islas/Prosecution.wma
Our team looked somewhat stunned, and yet energized, as we drove back to headquarters.
Your annoyed, somewhat happy, and somewhat depressed writer,
!Noah!
February 25, 2009
AHERN INTERVIEWED. UNTOLD REVELATIONS REVEALED.
Mr. Ahern was interviewed this evening by our impeccable team, revealing many truths both about Islas, and about our revered president himself.
Our team entered Mr. Bertilson's living room, looking around, surprised. We had actually expected that it would be messy, covered with papers and perhaps several laptops. On the contrary, it looked, as some have said before, "brand spankin' new". Bertilson did not offer explanation at that time. As his comments were obviously desired, Mr. Bertilson didn't even wait to be asked.
"My interview with Mr. Ahern was boring at best. His answers were either nonexistent, vague, or worthless. He said, on one occasion, that Islas does not discriminate against ghosts, but, in Islas, the only need for this is that there is little or no distinction between the living and the dead. He somehow linked this kindness to creativity, which somehow flew far over my head. When I asked what fate could be worse than death, as mine is to be, he merely responded that the information is "a government secret", "top secret", or "confidential", on different occasions.
"Considering death on Islas already seems to mean no less than life, I can only assume that a fate worse than death is just, say, a pinprick delivered to your door. Though I didn't actually ask him that question, it didn't seem to bother Mr. Ahern a bit to know a good portion of his population would be, by his own hand, defenestrated. As Aristotle said, of course, 'A heartless president isn't a president at all. He is a Twinkie.' Mr. Ahern's heart is black as the night sky, swept free of stars.
"Mr. Ahern's executions earlier this year of several Islasers only brought the sentence of death. Even that seems not to be very potent of a punishment. My own brother was in the list of the executed, and, as far as my sight can make out, he has nothing to indicate, in any way, that he ought to be called dead, thought dead, or in any other way referred to as dead.
"His new 'fate worse than death' has failed to frighten me, so far, and I doubt any of the other accuseds' knees have been knocking at the idea of it. I had, at the end of my interview, hoped that it would yield more information and lead to interesting information for the general Islas public, but the amount Mr. Ahern revealed to me, at this time, seems minute. My interview with him was disappointing, but less disappointing than I thought it would be."
Our interview concluded, Mr. Bertilson looking tired and slightly annoyed. Our hopes somewhat dashed, we returned to headquarters.
Your somewhat discouraged, badly informed, and tired writer,
!Noah!
Our team entered Mr. Bertilson's living room, looking around, surprised. We had actually expected that it would be messy, covered with papers and perhaps several laptops. On the contrary, it looked, as some have said before, "brand spankin' new". Bertilson did not offer explanation at that time. As his comments were obviously desired, Mr. Bertilson didn't even wait to be asked.
"My interview with Mr. Ahern was boring at best. His answers were either nonexistent, vague, or worthless. He said, on one occasion, that Islas does not discriminate against ghosts, but, in Islas, the only need for this is that there is little or no distinction between the living and the dead. He somehow linked this kindness to creativity, which somehow flew far over my head. When I asked what fate could be worse than death, as mine is to be, he merely responded that the information is "a government secret", "top secret", or "confidential", on different occasions.
"Considering death on Islas already seems to mean no less than life, I can only assume that a fate worse than death is just, say, a pinprick delivered to your door. Though I didn't actually ask him that question, it didn't seem to bother Mr. Ahern a bit to know a good portion of his population would be, by his own hand, defenestrated. As Aristotle said, of course, 'A heartless president isn't a president at all. He is a Twinkie.' Mr. Ahern's heart is black as the night sky, swept free of stars.
"Mr. Ahern's executions earlier this year of several Islasers only brought the sentence of death. Even that seems not to be very potent of a punishment. My own brother was in the list of the executed, and, as far as my sight can make out, he has nothing to indicate, in any way, that he ought to be called dead, thought dead, or in any other way referred to as dead.
"His new 'fate worse than death' has failed to frighten me, so far, and I doubt any of the other accuseds' knees have been knocking at the idea of it. I had, at the end of my interview, hoped that it would yield more information and lead to interesting information for the general Islas public, but the amount Mr. Ahern revealed to me, at this time, seems minute. My interview with him was disappointing, but less disappointing than I thought it would be."
Our interview concluded, Mr. Bertilson looking tired and slightly annoyed. Our hopes somewhat dashed, we returned to headquarters.
Your somewhat discouraged, badly informed, and tired writer,
!Noah!
BERTILSON CONVICTED! MEANS OF EXECUTION TO BE DECIDED BY AHERN OR (NOW) NAMED EXECUTIONER!
Mr. Bertilson was found at his comparatively uncluttered desk this afternoon emitting the occasional sigh and looking downcast. Our sources had already confirmed the death sentence on him, but we had expected to meet a much, much more downcast Mr. Bertilson. Upon preliminary, not further, inquiry, Bertilson offered comments.
"It's like a bad, horrible, terrible, horrendous TV show. The 'criminal' as I am so boringly styled, is tried, convicted, sentenced to death, yada yada yada. Everyone goes home happy. What TV show ends like that?
"It's just not right. The Ahern Embrey administration obviously doesn't understand that Islas is a community driven by disorder. Entropy. Yes, entropy," Bertilson repeated, after our cameraman raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Islas, in its earlier years, thrived upon forced matrimonies across the board. If there wasn't marriage, there was at least fabled romance of unequalled proportions. Those days are gone, thanks to Mr. Ahern. First he issued that horrid edict a few days ago, banning several crucial elements of what makes Islas Islas. Then, having banned such fine activities, the president's lawyer proceeds to persue charges against, what, five illustrious Islasers? Such a president should not be tolerated, even by the likes of Hitler and Mr. Clean.
"He ruins fun, abolishes enjoyment, and attempts to make himself a bachelor for life. One would only guess that, having elected an unmarried president, said president's people would be expected, nay, morally obligated to find their chief executive a suitable match. Mr. Ahern seems incapable to understand that our utter gratitude for who knows what can only possibly be channelled there. His attitude toward this show of supreme gratitude is uncannily un-presidently. It cannot be tolerated. I say, Mr. Ahern, if you care for the people. If you love your country. If you enjoy the activities oldies used to spend half their lives doing to perfection, if you are truly an Islaser...Mr. Ahern, please step down. Remove yourself from the Wombat-Shaped office. Your presence there could only embarrass anyone. The Purple Wombat no longer needs you."
Our stunned faces retained their shape for at least a minute more, while Bertilson continued to carefully and eloquently state the futility of Mr. Ahern's attempts to squash all that Islasers have ever held dear.
"His offical lawyer and resident, yet unofficial blockhead, Mr. Denhoed, has come to the conclusion that I ought not be alive. He also charged me guilty of all the previously mentioned charges. Not only are some of them petty, but more than that, some of them are downright infringements on the right to free speech. The only reason the Ls have tolerated such an infringement, is, I can only imagine, that they believe in Islas, and can see what fun can be had by leading this mad man, Mr. Ahern, and the rest of his gang, around in circles, like a dog chasing cars.
"I do not ask for their protection, nay, I need it not. I ask that the people of Islas understand what I say. Ordered democracy cannot work for Islas, nay, it will not. The spirit of all Islas demands a constant state of chaos, or it will die. Islas is a hurricane. If it discontinues in its way, peaceful, orderly, it dies. If it sweeps the world, its power is almost unequalled on this Earth. That is what the people of Islas must know. Islas cannot live if there is order."
"Thus, I hereby establish the Disorder of the Purple Wombat. All who join this Disorder pledge to uphold the ideals, namely chaos, enjoyment, and reasoned or unreasoned debate. All who join this Disorder promise with the very fibers of their being to be, themselves, an agent of chaos, heeding only the highest officers, namely The Two and Only Ls."
Our continuedly stunned faces returned to our headquarters, where, when relayed, the speech was gaped at nearly universally.
UPDATE: Miss Hannah Roorda has been mentioned as the executioner. "Ladies first," makes its first victim. Miss Roorda wasn't given the chance to decline comment, but was, this day, prosecuted for various charges which may be mentioned in further updates.
Your rebellious, chaotic, and keyboard-toting writer,
!Noah!
"It's like a bad, horrible, terrible, horrendous TV show. The 'criminal' as I am so boringly styled, is tried, convicted, sentenced to death, yada yada yada. Everyone goes home happy. What TV show ends like that?
"It's just not right. The Ahern Embrey administration obviously doesn't understand that Islas is a community driven by disorder. Entropy. Yes, entropy," Bertilson repeated, after our cameraman raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Islas, in its earlier years, thrived upon forced matrimonies across the board. If there wasn't marriage, there was at least fabled romance of unequalled proportions. Those days are gone, thanks to Mr. Ahern. First he issued that horrid edict a few days ago, banning several crucial elements of what makes Islas Islas. Then, having banned such fine activities, the president's lawyer proceeds to persue charges against, what, five illustrious Islasers? Such a president should not be tolerated, even by the likes of Hitler and Mr. Clean.
"He ruins fun, abolishes enjoyment, and attempts to make himself a bachelor for life. One would only guess that, having elected an unmarried president, said president's people would be expected, nay, morally obligated to find their chief executive a suitable match. Mr. Ahern seems incapable to understand that our utter gratitude for who knows what can only possibly be channelled there. His attitude toward this show of supreme gratitude is uncannily un-presidently. It cannot be tolerated. I say, Mr. Ahern, if you care for the people. If you love your country. If you enjoy the activities oldies used to spend half their lives doing to perfection, if you are truly an Islaser...Mr. Ahern, please step down. Remove yourself from the Wombat-Shaped office. Your presence there could only embarrass anyone. The Purple Wombat no longer needs you."
Our stunned faces retained their shape for at least a minute more, while Bertilson continued to carefully and eloquently state the futility of Mr. Ahern's attempts to squash all that Islasers have ever held dear.
"His offical lawyer and resident, yet unofficial blockhead, Mr. Denhoed, has come to the conclusion that I ought not be alive. He also charged me guilty of all the previously mentioned charges. Not only are some of them petty, but more than that, some of them are downright infringements on the right to free speech. The only reason the Ls have tolerated such an infringement, is, I can only imagine, that they believe in Islas, and can see what fun can be had by leading this mad man, Mr. Ahern, and the rest of his gang, around in circles, like a dog chasing cars.
"I do not ask for their protection, nay, I need it not. I ask that the people of Islas understand what I say. Ordered democracy cannot work for Islas, nay, it will not. The spirit of all Islas demands a constant state of chaos, or it will die. Islas is a hurricane. If it discontinues in its way, peaceful, orderly, it dies. If it sweeps the world, its power is almost unequalled on this Earth. That is what the people of Islas must know. Islas cannot live if there is order."
"Thus, I hereby establish the Disorder of the Purple Wombat. All who join this Disorder pledge to uphold the ideals, namely chaos, enjoyment, and reasoned or unreasoned debate. All who join this Disorder promise with the very fibers of their being to be, themselves, an agent of chaos, heeding only the highest officers, namely The Two and Only Ls."
Our continuedly stunned faces returned to our headquarters, where, when relayed, the speech was gaped at nearly universally.
UPDATE: Miss Hannah Roorda has been mentioned as the executioner. "Ladies first," makes its first victim. Miss Roorda wasn't given the chance to decline comment, but was, this day, prosecuted for various charges which may be mentioned in further updates.
Your rebellious, chaotic, and keyboard-toting writer,
!Noah!
BERTILSON TO BE EXECUTED! DENHOED RECEEDES TO DECIDE WHICH MEANS WILL BRING HIS DEATH.
In a (not) stunning turn of events, Mr. Denhoed, judge extraordinaire and all that rot, decided, all of the sudden, that Mr. Bertilson was "in contempt of the court". Mr. Denhoed wasn't given the chance not to comment, but ignored Mr. Bertilson's surprising and stunning use of his "BLOCKHEAD" title to adjourn the court until the charges became more clear, the virdict more fickle, and the judge less numskulled. Mr. Bertilson, not yet in custody, was available for comment, saying, "It really is unprecedented that a judge would overrule the 'BLOCKHEAD' call for adjournment. It's never happened before in Islas history, if my memory serves me right. It's a title won by careful conduct and kind words. It's a title carried by a long line of honorable men, inhindered by petty dictators and all that rot. The Ahern Embrey administration, and all its employees, is clearly unfamiliar with this title and its unequalled prominence. charges against me have thusfar proven none but petty, not better than random, and uncommonly unjust. This said, however, Mr. President does make quite fine Youtube videos for those many Islasers who seem to have been brainwashed, having, seemingly, no sense left in their heads." Bertilson finished, saying, "I also wonder what form of capital punishment will be chosen for me; Mr. Denhoed will probably choose something fast and boring, like a shot to the head, say, or the electric chair. All proper judges would definitely choose something more elaborate. However, I, as chief and only offical blockhead of Islas, do find myself incapable of participating in nearly all forms of execution, as, first, I'm just too cool to die, second, blockheads' necks don't easily fit into guilliotines, and third, twinkies are better fried."
Our team seemed slightly confused after this, but a few of them seemed happy for a revolution, which seemed, somewhat, to be what Mr. Bertilson was talking about. After taking a second trip and asking, however, we came up with another answer. "Definitely not. Revolution is the means by which to throw off the yoke of petty dictators, not the likes of John Ahern.
For some reason, I recall having seen several posters in his house, with varied textual implimentations of the words, "Vive la Revolution". My memory seems to fail me.
Your serious, capitally convicted, and in all other ways, happy, writer,
!Noah!
Our team seemed slightly confused after this, but a few of them seemed happy for a revolution, which seemed, somewhat, to be what Mr. Bertilson was talking about. After taking a second trip and asking, however, we came up with another answer. "Definitely not. Revolution is the means by which to throw off the yoke of petty dictators, not the likes of John Ahern.
For some reason, I recall having seen several posters in his house, with varied textual implimentations of the words, "Vive la Revolution". My memory seems to fail me.
Your serious, capitally convicted, and in all other ways, happy, writer,
!Noah!
February 24, 2009
STUNNING NEWSFLASH! BERTILSON PROSECUTED! MORE TO COME!
Our illustrious writer was found this day, furiously writing a reply to Mr. DenHoed, the Ahern Embery Administration's lawyer, and now, judge, who had, this day, begun a prosecution against Mr. Bertilson. When asked to comment, Mr. Bertilson sat upright, looking downright terrifying, and accidentally flung his pencil to the other side of the house. "It's insane. The idea that I'd be prosecuted for suggesting a match for our, alas, unmarried Chief Executive, is utterly nonsensical. The president has fairly worthily borne his power thusfar, but this is really going far. One might think it's because I'm one of the accused that I say this, but it comes from a deep love of Islas that will not be broken by the electric chair, the lethal injection, or the heavy object landing painfully on one's scull," said Bertilson, frantically searching for his lost pencil. "The charge that my name is not in the Firefox spell-checker is most uncommonly ridiculous, mainly because the prosecution's names, Ahern, Embery, Roorda, and many others, do not even appear in it either!" The implications of this shook us to our boots. The Ahern Embery administration couldn't really be willing to prosecute, and alas, the thought, execute possibly more than half of the Islas population merely because of this petty, nay, demonic charge?
Our knees shook as they brought us to our car on the way back to the building.
UPDATE: Now included, the current proceedings having happened:
Alrighty, it's all going down now. By order of the prez, I shall be serving as judge and prosecuting attorney.
Docket Number 29834: Noah "Bertilson"
Mr. Bertilson, the charges against you are many, varied, and grave.
You are, first of all, a poser. You go on about Open Source software, saying how great it is, littering your blog posts with computer terminology. But, it has been said (and tested and found true) that your last name is NOT in Firefox's (an open source program, I might add) dictionary!
Second: You allegedly attempted to do something having to do with the president and marriage or something. I'm still looking into that one.
Third: You have, in the past, driven me to distraction through your blatant over-use of the phrases "*smirk*" and "*sly grin*". The phrases are now worn out (lexicographical murder is the proper term, I think), and I now shudder whenever anyone uses them.
How do you plead?
*crates in rickety old rocking chair and begins to creakily rock it*
I first thank the dishonorable Teh Grate for presiding over this horrendous assembly. Without his help, my existence would have been so much less painful. His acceptance of the request to prosecute the accused is the greatest of his deeds, and will no doubt be written down by a ridiculous Cicero-copycat in overused Sharpies (may Heaven break his back for so torturing the precious things).
I plead that the dishoronable and all that rot judge and prosecuting whatshisnut has found the prosecuted guilty of some, and possibly all, of the above.
First, the word poser, on being read by the accused, was at first found vaguely insulting, second outright true, third, unequalledly complimentary. The accused acknowledges that, on some occasions, he has found himself unable to properly be "genuine", but, in most cases, the accused finds himself standing alone with his hands in his pockets. Such displays of so-called "lonerness" are not intentional or meant to deceive. Without such unpleasant realities, the word "loner" would be lost, abandoned, and in all other ways tossed down into the fiery chasm from whence it came.
Concerning going on about Open Source software. Firstly, the accused begs pardon of the Ahern Embrey Administration for utilizing his freedom of speech. He had not been aware that it had been taken away. His dedication to Open Source software has been long and strong, and any attempt to end it is seen as an attempt to overcome an unyeilding fire, an unquenchable inferno with no more than a spray bottle. Attempts have been made in the past to signal that these attempts are miserable failures, but they seem not to have even made dents on your Redmond Steel (or, the accused notes, aircraft-grade aluminum) sculls. As these previous attempts have failed, the accused will make none now.
The accused acknowledges that he has posted, not littered, his blog with one post, not more than one, of informative information considering computer terminology, which, though it brought about the doom of the accused, has proved useful to at least one individual.
Concerning Firefox, the prosecution would be well-advised to consult Mozilla, where, due to your unequalled care, could request, the accused thinks, that the name "Bertilson" would be included in the Firefox Dictionary. The accused also points out that mass-prosecutions would be more than reasonable, including agasint our dishonorable judge, concerning the fact that there is no "DenHoed", "Roorda", and many other names of prominent, well-known, and in all other ways, illustrious Islas Members. The accused suggests, most preferably, that the prosectution schedule lobotomies within the next five days, in hopes that their hope of continued and collective existence may burn on, a small but brave flame, unhindered by petty dictators and evil rulers.
Second. You should continue to undiligently look into that one, as you call it. Your conduct, bringing up charges not complete and incomplete, is disgraceful to the name of Islas, the Ahern Embry Administration, and the Association for the Ethical Treatment of Fruits and Veggie Tales.
Third. The accused technically denies the charge. He acknowledges his use, but not overuse, of the "phrases" as your dishonorableness has so aptly named them, "*smirk*" and "*sly grin*". He avidly argues that his use of the words has not worn of one iota of their meaning nor in any way "lexicographically murdered" it. The accused found himself very angry at the thought that he should be accused of murdering such useful "phrases", as your dishonorableness has, if not repeatedly, unneededly called them.
The charges against the accused are not, as the prosecution said, "many, varied, and grave," but few, random, and petty. The accused suggests his dishonorableness gather more information and learn to count, among other things. Any sane judge would, at this time, turn pink and dismiss the case. The accused's lawyer also petitions that the prosecution discontinue talking of the accused in the second person, as it is sure to eventually confuse one or another of the Ahern Embrey Administration between the actual second person and the letter "U".
Your uncommonly attacked, prosecuted, and defenestrated writer,
!Noah!
Our knees shook as they brought us to our car on the way back to the building.
UPDATE: Now included, the current proceedings having happened:
"Mark _. DenHoed, Judge and Prosecuting Attorney:
Alrighty, it's all going down now. By order of the prez, I shall be serving as judge and prosecuting attorney.
Docket Number 29834: Noah "Bertilson"
Mr. Bertilson, the charges against you are many, varied, and grave.
You are, first of all, a poser. You go on about Open Source software, saying how great it is, littering your blog posts with computer terminology. But, it has been said (and tested and found true) that your last name is NOT in Firefox's (an open source program, I might add) dictionary!
Second: You allegedly attempted to do something having to do with the president and marriage or something. I'm still looking into that one.
Third: You have, in the past, driven me to distraction through your blatant over-use of the phrases "*smirk*" and "*sly grin*". The phrases are now worn out (lexicographical murder is the proper term, I think), and I now shudder whenever anyone uses them.
How do you plead?
Noah B. Bertilson, "the Accused":
*crates in rickety old rocking chair and begins to creakily rock it*
I first thank the dishonorable Teh Grate for presiding over this horrendous assembly. Without his help, my existence would have been so much less painful. His acceptance of the request to prosecute the accused is the greatest of his deeds, and will no doubt be written down by a ridiculous Cicero-copycat in overused Sharpies (may Heaven break his back for so torturing the precious things).
I plead that the dishoronable and all that rot judge and prosecuting whatshisnut has found the prosecuted guilty of some, and possibly all, of the above.
First, the word poser, on being read by the accused, was at first found vaguely insulting, second outright true, third, unequalledly complimentary. The accused acknowledges that, on some occasions, he has found himself unable to properly be "genuine", but, in most cases, the accused finds himself standing alone with his hands in his pockets. Such displays of so-called "lonerness" are not intentional or meant to deceive. Without such unpleasant realities, the word "loner" would be lost, abandoned, and in all other ways tossed down into the fiery chasm from whence it came.
Concerning going on about Open Source software. Firstly, the accused begs pardon of the Ahern Embrey Administration for utilizing his freedom of speech. He had not been aware that it had been taken away. His dedication to Open Source software has been long and strong, and any attempt to end it is seen as an attempt to overcome an unyeilding fire, an unquenchable inferno with no more than a spray bottle. Attempts have been made in the past to signal that these attempts are miserable failures, but they seem not to have even made dents on your Redmond Steel (or, the accused notes, aircraft-grade aluminum) sculls. As these previous attempts have failed, the accused will make none now.
The accused acknowledges that he has posted, not littered, his blog with one post, not more than one, of informative information considering computer terminology, which, though it brought about the doom of the accused, has proved useful to at least one individual.
Concerning Firefox, the prosecution would be well-advised to consult Mozilla, where, due to your unequalled care, could request, the accused thinks, that the name "Bertilson" would be included in the Firefox Dictionary. The accused also points out that mass-prosecutions would be more than reasonable, including agasint our dishonorable judge, concerning the fact that there is no "DenHoed", "Roorda", and many other names of prominent, well-known, and in all other ways, illustrious Islas Members. The accused suggests, most preferably, that the prosectution schedule lobotomies within the next five days, in hopes that their hope of continued and collective existence may burn on, a small but brave flame, unhindered by petty dictators and evil rulers.
Second. You should continue to undiligently look into that one, as you call it. Your conduct, bringing up charges not complete and incomplete, is disgraceful to the name of Islas, the Ahern Embry Administration, and the Association for the Ethical Treatment of Fruits and Veggie Tales.
Third. The accused technically denies the charge. He acknowledges his use, but not overuse, of the "phrases" as your dishonorableness has so aptly named them, "*smirk*" and "*sly grin*". He avidly argues that his use of the words has not worn of one iota of their meaning nor in any way "lexicographically murdered" it. The accused found himself very angry at the thought that he should be accused of murdering such useful "phrases", as your dishonorableness has, if not repeatedly, unneededly called them.
The charges against the accused are not, as the prosecution said, "many, varied, and grave," but few, random, and petty. The accused suggests his dishonorableness gather more information and learn to count, among other things. Any sane judge would, at this time, turn pink and dismiss the case. The accused's lawyer also petitions that the prosecution discontinue talking of the accused in the second person, as it is sure to eventually confuse one or another of the Ahern Embrey Administration between the actual second person and the letter "U".
!Noah!
"
Your uncommonly attacked, prosecuted, and defenestrated writer,
!Noah!
February 20, 2009
Apochalypse Unending (3 of 10)
21. My life, rolling over rock and stone,
was not made, by God, to be a bone,
nonetheless, the music does fall alone.
22. My words, my words, why have you forsaken me?
Their meaning twisted, their intent deranged,
where will they wreak havoc today?
23. My words, my words, they know not master from slave,
breaking the author, praising the servant.
24. The purpose my words were made for,
the reason I keyed them,
they forget it, faster than molasses solidifies at the North Pole.
25. A girl found the hangman, whispered a word or two of mine,
and the man was unjustly saved from his im'nent doom.
26. The girl no fault deserves, yet the words, my words,
they ruin the proverbial landscape of my life,
bombing Istanbul, burning Rome, sending New York into a black vortex.
27. They were there when London burned,
they started fire, spread fuel and panic,
in their hate of master manic.
28. Masterless, they roam, heeding no one, taking orders none,
razing house and city, breaking board and nail.
29. My words, my words, why have you forsaken your master?
He did no wrong, he crafted you carefully, he formed you fine,
yet now you turn on him, hate and dishonor in hand,
to stab the back of their helpless maker.
30. It is not with happy finger that I write this tale,
for my deeds, though good, came to no avail,
breaking mead and assassinating pail.
!Noah!
was not made, by God, to be a bone,
nonetheless, the music does fall alone.
22. My words, my words, why have you forsaken me?
Their meaning twisted, their intent deranged,
where will they wreak havoc today?
23. My words, my words, they know not master from slave,
breaking the author, praising the servant.
24. The purpose my words were made for,
the reason I keyed them,
they forget it, faster than molasses solidifies at the North Pole.
25. A girl found the hangman, whispered a word or two of mine,
and the man was unjustly saved from his im'nent doom.
26. The girl no fault deserves, yet the words, my words,
they ruin the proverbial landscape of my life,
bombing Istanbul, burning Rome, sending New York into a black vortex.
27. They were there when London burned,
they started fire, spread fuel and panic,
in their hate of master manic.
28. Masterless, they roam, heeding no one, taking orders none,
razing house and city, breaking board and nail.
29. My words, my words, why have you forsaken your master?
He did no wrong, he crafted you carefully, he formed you fine,
yet now you turn on him, hate and dishonor in hand,
to stab the back of their helpless maker.
30. It is not with happy finger that I write this tale,
for my deeds, though good, came to no avail,
breaking mead and assassinating pail.
!Noah!
February 19, 2009
My Woes Unequalled (2 of 10)
11. It is, with sad face, sour'd heart,
that the author must continue in this part,
to describe, unworthily, the suff'rings ongoing.
12. With no better medium than the very words who betrayed me,
I describe a life brought low by betrayal, of making my own.
13. Described in words, no doubt, who will betray me,
turning away, stabbing back, not obeying,
I relate a life upturned by falsehood, dashed by smashing.
14. With no consolation to be seen,
a kangaroo must be keen,
lest he attain a mouthful of kerosene.
15. Sorrow surrounding, hope aband'ning,
I report this fable, uncoated in unreasoning,
making wise the fool, wide-eyed in PJs.
16. Though this tale humor lacks,
I find it but a fact,
that unattended, humor rises,
havoc administers, chaos prizes.
17. With foul intent the pixels do their master gibe,
making fool of blockhead with ease,
forgetting not the peas.
18. On mountain high, in valley deep,
in centuries unexplored, on planets unadorned,
even there will my words seek me, find me, abuse me.
19. In non but a blockhead's head could such nonsense abound,
yet in sad moments, even the happy cry, "rebound",
with hope ungreatened for the crown.
20. With hopeless face, tired hands, the author his keyboard abandons,
hoping, hopeless, that his words will follow him like world-grade lemmings.
!Noah!
that the author must continue in this part,
to describe, unworthily, the suff'rings ongoing.
12. With no better medium than the very words who betrayed me,
I describe a life brought low by betrayal, of making my own.
13. Described in words, no doubt, who will betray me,
turning away, stabbing back, not obeying,
I relate a life upturned by falsehood, dashed by smashing.
14. With no consolation to be seen,
a kangaroo must be keen,
lest he attain a mouthful of kerosene.
15. Sorrow surrounding, hope aband'ning,
I report this fable, uncoated in unreasoning,
making wise the fool, wide-eyed in PJs.
16. Though this tale humor lacks,
I find it but a fact,
that unattended, humor rises,
havoc administers, chaos prizes.
17. With foul intent the pixels do their master gibe,
making fool of blockhead with ease,
forgetting not the peas.
18. On mountain high, in valley deep,
in centuries unexplored, on planets unadorned,
even there will my words seek me, find me, abuse me.
19. In non but a blockhead's head could such nonsense abound,
yet in sad moments, even the happy cry, "rebound",
with hope ungreatened for the crown.
20. With hopeless face, tired hands, the author his keyboard abandons,
hoping, hopeless, that his words will follow him like world-grade lemmings.
!Noah!
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