I'd say that I've watched my fair share of cartoons, and then probably a few more shares on top of that. I'm not sure where they come from, but there are probably some poor, destitute people who have never seen moving pictures. But I expect they'll get by, maybe like this guy (at the bottom of the page). This is from Les Gobelins, a French animation studio. I'd remembered it today, and we'd actually passed by it in France. Everything in this gallery is pretty much golden, and all the styles are different. These particular ones are entrants in the Annecy festival, and the gallery goes back to 2002. Check it out.

Wonder of wonders! The night before we left Paris, a Frenchman accosted us while we were utilizing their subterranean transport system, comprised of linked cars drawn by some Machina running down tunnels that smell strongly of Ammonia and Despair. Not only did he admit shortly thereafter that he was in the wrong, but he apologized - and in English! My faith was shattered; it was as if you told me that the Queen did not rule by Divine Right, or that Englishmen were not eventually to join the entire world under the Empire (excepting perhaps some Eskimeaux or Aleuts, and some malaria-stricken regions of the Dark Continent). Yet my feelings were but acute; the next morning, before leaving to catch our ornithopter, their automated ticket machine berzerked upon Zachary for his attempting to address it in English. Learning from his mistake, I used French to obtain the proper papers, afterwards scrubbing my mouth and fingerparts with strong lye. Zachary dismantled the machine with great vigor and to make an example hid the parts in confectionary and passed them out to nearby children. Such is the price of Gallic arrogance - let no nation replace its servants and halfwits with the willful mechanical! Luckily, the British Isles are, as perhaps mentioned before, a plentiful source of halfbreeds and day-laborers.

And so, we left Paris behind in good spirits, having spent the last day in the company of Vinay, partaking of the finest French foods and Middle-Eastern tabac, flavored with succulent fruits and molasses. Upon landing in London, we whipped our coach of halfbreeds to arrive in Birmingham within two hours, alighting at my cousin Vimala's place. Here we spent a wonderful time watching the strange and exotic musicals and dances of the Raj and dining on Eastern Cuisine while we recovered from our journeys. Zach sent the halfbreeds scattering into the night to retrieve chemicals to process our nickel-and-silver plates so that we could view our Photographic Exposures, and we spent the next morning cheerfully beating the stragglers. That night we (our trio, Vimala's husband LK, and Deepti, who had rejoined us on the condition that I not follow Ajay's example vis-a-vis murder, pillaging, larceny, scandal, etc.) went to Star City, a gigantic and luminous series of buildings containing within its confines such centers of Vice as the Cinema, Gambling Halls, and even Ten-pins! I was a bit disappointed at first the the city was not actually composed entirely of either celebrities or burning gas, as I had been previously informed, but vented my frustration quite happily in the ten-pin alley, imagining that they were Gauls. With this we brought to a conclusion our European tour.

Much to my surprise however, and Zach's as well (though indeed he has so caffeinated himself as to make it all but impossible to read his fleeting facial expressions - this served him excellently in the Gambling Halls, where he made paupers of many an otherwise outstanding gentleman, winning their goods and property while I contented myself with their wives and daugheters) our travels were not quite concluded! And so it is that we find ourselves now in Texas, home of Rattling Snakes and Cattle-boys, among other strange idiosyncrasies and Southern Terrors. I submit this log now from the last post of civilization that I know of before arriving in Houston, and then Austin. Whether this journal should continue is up to Fate and Whimsy alone.

Your Friend,
Anoop

I spent Sunday at the Louvre again, as apparently the first time was not enough. They allowed me in for free again, a remarkable coincidence which set me to thinking. Perhaps the only reason they charged us the first time was because of Ajay's presence - that, upon viewing his grisly visage, the museum officials (much like the monks at the Abbey before them) thought I was bringing in a veteran hound or boxer to the fights, and were merely charging me the bookie's fee to enter him in the ring. Just a passing thought; regardless, I was able to see those exhibits that were closed to us prior - this more likely because of Brandon, who exhibited his capacity for violence in Amsterdam. I can scarcely blame them; allowing him to visit the galleries of Coptic Egypt or Donatello's Gallery would be like throwing darts at a bull in a china shop. I also managed to see the small rooms devoted to the art of Asia, Africa, Oceania, and the Americas. The officials had managed to cram all the finest art of those degenerate places into one showing, and I am surprised that they filled even that much. Still, what I saw had its own sort of grandeur, like the tawdry gilt they sell in the souveneir shops hereabouts.

Afterwards, Zach and I explored West Paris - which is different from East Paris but in what way I cannot quite describe, for it is a subtle difference of architecture and choice of establishment, and throughout all the city can be found shops and cafes and garish lights proclaiming the location of a Pharmacie (indeed, if the frequency of these shoppes is any indication, then the French are a constantly drugged people). The next day we explored the South. We were looking for the Catacombs so that I could bring back some choice bones for my brother, but that place was sealed and the entrance near invisible, so we spent our time walking the streets again, surveying the citizens and partaking of various desserts and breaded delights. That night we purchased choice wines and beverages, Cellier des Dauphin and some fruity concoction, and Adelscott - finest of all beers. If nothing else, I can exalt Paris for showing me Adelscott. It seems a small thing, combining good beer with Malt of Whiskey, but to actually do it - and do it well! A Brewer hath found his place in Heaven for this, and on seeing him surely St. Peter will have a twinkle in his eye and a bottle in his hand.

Today we went again to Montmarte, this time without worry that Ajay would toss a man or woman off the butte. We were however accosted by some men from Afrique, claiming to be from Senegal and thereabouts, who braided us ornaments in celebration of the New Year. The sunset was beautiful, Paris was beautiful, and I had just enough nickel and silver plates left for Zach to record the panorama laid out before us. We have one more day to enjoy ourselves (surprising as that may be in the land of the Gauls) before we return to our England and then our native shores.

Bless the Royal Family!
Anoop

Some reminiscence is in order concerning yesterday. Zach and I spent most of the day out and about in Paris, starting from the Tuileries, which manage to convey a sense of grandeur despite the vegetation's ill grace in appearing brown and withered, which is a sulkiness that the Kingdom Plantae seems to exhibit every winter season. The Tomb of Bonaparte was an impressive structure from the outside, though we did not venture in, not wishing to soil ourselves unduly. The Pere Lachaise though - here was a truly impressive site. Such a cemetary I have never seen, a vast amount of acreage to honor the glorious and vainglorious dead, a bewildering array of tombs and monuments with no rhyme or reason, cut through with both winding paths and huge paved thoroughfares. I had been informed only that a certain James Morrison was laid to rest here, and this alone was enough to spur us to visit. Imagine then my surprise in finding that not only did he lie in eternal repose, but also Rossini, Moliere, Oscar Wilde, George Bizet, Georges Seurat, Eugene Delacroix, Camille Pissarro, Gay-Lussac, Chopin, and many more! We visited all these sites; sadly though, we could not make out where exactly the last two were buried - despite their contributions to science and music, each in their turn, their graves were worn and only moss adorned the smooth stone. Perhaps it was strange to walk in the Eternal Gardens on the anniversary of my birth; yet it was a peaceful place, a reminder of those greats before us, and of much yet to be accomplished in this life.

That night, much to Paris's dismay, we did not venture forth to celebrate. Yet the preparations did not go to waste, for at much personal expense, I persuaded the city to keep up its festive lights and go on without me for at least one night more, till Vinay too was ready to partake in the festivities. Sadly, I missed my opportunity to fly the Union Jack from the Eiffel Tower, an event that last occurred in 1938 and now seems to have flown by forever.

Today (Day 20), I went off to Versailles. The Chateau is truly magnificent, each room leading to the Sun King's chambers more luxurious than the last, and his own Apollonian chamber adorned with gilt balustrades and embroidered in the finest gold. The palace is a monument entirely impossible for the British Isles, who are hampered by a Parliament that would never allow such excess in the name of the Royal Divinity. The structure flows with an opulence that would make a lesser soul jealous and possessive. I believe I shall make plans to acquire it shortly. More than the palace itself, the grounds are a testament to Le Roi et Reine, stretching over miles and miles, coursing with over 1700 waterworks driven from the palace reservoir. I walked through Marie Antoinette's eclectic estate, around the Grand Canal, and through the Gardens before finally heading back to our base of operations; this visit alone took many hours of walking and marvelling and contemplating.

As I discovered afterwards, Zach stayed behind to play soccer with the locals, who cheered him as "The Canadian". Our stay at Amsterdam accustomed him to that black bean, Coffee, which is prized for its Stimulant properties and is generally hailed as an excellent Tonick and Restorative. So used to its power was he, that he later confided that his very vision blurred and his actions, though they seemed jitters to the rest of us, were in fact merely too fast to be percieved by the human eye. He played with insectile movements, quick, sure, and darting and acquitted himself and his country well. Upon my return I found him covered from head to toe with black mud, which was already beginning to crust, but he informed me that he would merely let it harden and then shiver rapidly to break away the flakes.

The night is still young, and Paris awaits! Perhaps its favorite son (Yours Truly, of course) will celebrate his birthday tonight. Or, perhaps he (I) will wait for his (mine) return home, as it hardly seems befitting to grace Gaul with such a memorable occasion.

Loyal as ever, God save the Queen!
Anoop

Today is the twenty first anniversary of my birth, and of course all Paris is rejoicing. The sun is out, the weather is fine, the girls are in the parks. Ah, Paris! Truly the City of Lights is brighter just for my presence. We left London in the dead of night (after a short trip at the Sherlock Holmes Pub, home to a museum of the Great Detective's sojourns and feats, second only to the museum at 221b Baker Street where I am sure you will be pleased to note his residence stands intact), and arrived in Paris in the dead of morning, for despite my illustrious arrival half of the city opens for business at nine, and the other half opens whenever they feel like it.

Still, we managed to take care of our affairs, and are now wandering the streets, which have decorated themselves with ancient buildings and fanciful architecture presumably in anticipation of my deigning to glance upon them. Zach and I have traversed what feels like the length of the Seine, for though it could only have been a few kilometres, the scenery is enough to overload the optic nerve and indeed produce an overload that I have not experienced since Amsterdam. We have visited the Jardin de Tuileries, where Toulouse L'autrec would haunt with his pet cormorant, drinking absinthe mixed with cognac, a combination he dubbed "The Earthquake." Now we are on our way to find a provider of waterpipes, then to Père Lachaise, where Jim Morrison is buried, then past Napoleon's Tomb (he was a great General, despite his shortcomings - Ha! Ha!) and then to home, before we light up the city tonight.

Older, Wiser, and of Legal Consumption Age in All Countries
Anoop

I find that even after returning from Amsterdam, small snatches of information come back to me. It is as if everything that happened in that city were put through a filter, and every now and then a drop or two catches my mind's light and sparkles, drawing my attention to it. Truly, the city is a Philosopher's Dream and the Historian's Nightmare, because it changes your very mode of perception and your way of thinking. The Vapours might have some part in this as well.

Regardless, some memories have re-entered my consciousness, specifically those relating to parrots. Some time after our fungal repast, Ajay became obsessed with going on a Walkabout, as the Aboriginals refer to it, a sort of spirit-realm in which he would find the ruler, kill him or her, and assume that monarch's place. I suggested that he reason with the monarch instead, and that in any case there might not be a monarch or even a spirit-realm, but then he motioned to the ceiling and indeed it was as if a portal had opened up there. He reasoned that we needed a guide first though, and so we should find our totem animals to guide us through our journey. I told him that he was mixing ideas from different cultures to which he responded that Amsterdam was a cosmopolitan city and any cultures that came were bound to be mixed as well.

I can only suppose this made sense at the time, because we found ourselves out in the open. I immediately picked out a parrot for my own guide, as it not only knew our tongue, but was bright and colorful and so easy to spot, and also I have a liking for salted crackers. Ajay picked up a mangy street cat, citing its virtues of stalking and killing diseased rats and showing its tendency to excrete wherever and whenever it pleased (often enough on Ajay himself) as a sign of masterhood of territory. The only positive effect of this encounter was to mask Ajay's own by now poisonous odor, as he had ritually bathed himself in gutter-water to strength him for the journey. I never found out what Vinay's animal was, because whenever he would speak Ajay would emit a blood-curdling screeching yowl and go for his throat.

In any case, back to the present. We are in London, which has treated us better this time than the last. Indeed, we were allowed back into Westminster Abbey for free (as opposed to never again, on pain of death) and we saw all of it this time. We didn't quite make the British Museum, but surely their explorers could not have travelled nearly so far or brought back as wonderful treasures as I. Deepti is off to Coventry, and Zach and I will make merriment with Vinay before leaving to Paris again.

Blast the Gauls,
Anoop

I must admit that our meal of Truffles and Champignon did not sit with me rather as well as it might have. About an hour after consuming our fungal repast, the world began to recede at a rate at which I did not know it was capable. The corners of my vision began to distort in a most hilarious way, and I found that Ajay and Vinay shared my good humor as well, presumably because they had also eaten the same slightly bitter, but ultimately rewarding meal. We found ourselves laughing for hours altogether, staring at the television which was at this time, truly mesmerizing. Also the ceiling, mirrors, hallways, etc. In due time we found ourselves in a park, quite how I am not sure, but I made sure to record as much as I could on my camera. Later I deleted about twenty pictures of street corners, blurs, and grass (also blurred).

Some hours later we perpetuated our personal fog with a healthy dose of Vapours and baked goods, then made plans to do the same the following day. Through events beyond our control we shifted domiciles away from the regal Grand Hotel Krasnopolsky to some smaller building that did not deserve our patronage. We discovered, much to our delight, that it was in fact New Year's Eve, and we celebrated it in Dam Square along with hundreds of other party-goers and ne'er-do-wells, dancing to songs that somehow blended into each other without missing a beat. It as if someone developed a gramophone capable of sentience, and Ajay and I discussed this theory at length before deciding that it was absurd that the Mechanical gain intelligence, as such qualities are reserved solely for Apes, Men, and the occasional Parrot. I recall seeing many parrots during our fungal journeys, but it could just be the heightened sense of color I had. Perhaps I had discovered parrot-vision, or broken through some mysterious veil dividing our sight from that of the Avian race? Only time will tell.

Though I am not sure how exactly, we are now in London, which for our arrival was mysteriously not wreathed in fog. In fact, the sun came out to celebrate the New Year. It stayed on the morning of the second day too, but all signs point to it disappearing for a few months, perhaps to surface in March and burn away the river mist. King Horse will be delighted, I'm sure. I am only sad that Brandon and Ajay were not able to meet with him again.

For the Queen!
Anoop

I fear that we have lost all perception of time and passed into a realm governed by Physicks beyond our ken. The citizens of Amsterdam are hale, hearty, and possessed of a singular good cheer that I can only attribute to the medicinal Vapours omnipresent in the city which they imbibe regularly. Indeed, such are the medicinal qualities of this heady Tonick that upon inhaling, one is filled with relaxation, joy, and wonderment. The mechanism appears to open those channels in the brain devoted to Pontification and Joy. However, the process also opens channels in the stomach, necessitating their being filled with various foodstuffs and drinks.

The city also has a peculiar quarter devote to the burlesque and lit with a garish display of red lights, perhaps for the holiday season. We made several circuits here, windowshopping as it were, to see what the resident Prostitutes and Harlots were offering as wares and service. At some point here Brandon separated from our company, only to return shortly thereafter bitterly complaning of prices. As we continued our circuit though, he made up his mind to go back and barter, perhaps with some "Pearl of the Orient", as a Geisha or Lotus-flower Girl would be more likely to haggle with him, or failing that the most destitute and downtrodden girl he could find. I was much surprised by this, as were we all, for Brandon had previously evinced a tendency to faint at the sight of exposed ankles. So it was of great amusement to the entire company when we caught him being read to by a nun with a shortened habit and a massive tome labelled "Literature d'Eros". She has exceptionally finely turned ankles.

Unable to withstand the stress, Brandon soon became flushed and sought out a stimulant of some kind. The streets of Amsterdam are filled with medical workers and soothsayers selling such wonder-drugs as Celerity, Ecstasy, and Veloci-midden. So, he was soon able to procure a wondrous Panacea by the name Essence of Gabriel, said to be ground from the Archangel's own pinions and taken through the nostrils, like snuff. This angelic dust was said to invigorate and create a lucid frame of mind. The transformation was immediately apparent, as Brandon seemed to grow several sizes larger, and the normally noisy crowd stepped back. Sweat was forming on their brows, whether from awe or from the radiant heat emanating from Brandon, as he genuflected and a piercing shaft of sunlight illuminated him from on high. Nobody could look him in the eyes, for they shone with a cold light, detached and devoid of earthly concerns, that told us he had ascended to that higher level of clarity only attainable by the Divinely Blessed and the Mad.

He rose to his feet, roaring "Be ready, daughters of Jezebel, to heed the path to glory!" Thereafter the furor and din made it impossible to think, or even keep one's balance. It was as if the Heavenly Host was even then warring with Lucipher and his horned Generals, seraphim trumpets not fazing these grim soldiers athwart their pallid and diseased mounts; or the entire Royal Navy engaged in a fusillade on the perfect foot of the Indian god Nataraj as he danced the destruction of the world. The city's normal hubbub and rancor was swallowed as the murmur of a falling leaf amidst an earthquake. Occasionally we would hear Brandon's bellows through the din, shouting "Let fly your slings and bullets, Men of Amsterdam! I am no creature of Faerie or Beast of Avalon to fear your cold iron!"

Some time thereafter, exactly when is impossible to tell, Brandon strode blood-streaked out of the dust, his aspect grim and terrible like the ten-headed Dragon or the Transylvanian Count after a hard battle. If the body be a temple, then surely Brandon's was an abbatoir, and with his body decorated still with whips, chains, and Scarification he seemed some Dread god of the Indies, come to bring a reckoning to the white man. "Come thou to me", he roared, "Sacra Terra, for I have become as Antaeus! Witness the apotheosis of Alexander Invictus!" So saying he made as if to stride back into the ruins, red light still glinting luridly through the rubble. As he turned though, a flash of light and a puff of smoke issued from nearby, and two darts embedded themselves in his flesh, followed by another pair, then a third. Zachary was standing, calmly unloading salvo after salvo from some ironmongered abomination of a cannon, part Elephant Gun part Harquebus, that he had purchased on the chance that there be large Game in the city - perhaps elephants indeed, or cameleopards and lions, or failing that Saracens and King Horse.

Though the darts were laden with Morphine and other powerful Soporoficks, Brandon at first took no notice. It was when his shoulder was laid bare to the bone that he finally turned, his eyes temporarily clearing before hazing over crimson, dark contrails forming above his bloodshot orbs like the reflections of the clouds in the now reddened canals. "Tarry not here, mortals, lest ye succumb to my might!" he shouted at us. "For I feel the bloodrage is rising and I hear its song echoing through my veins. Retreat, Brothers, and Anoop sound the horn till the very hills shake and the ocean froths as in storm! A brigand lies in ambush, and he will reap the tempest!"

At this he strode at Zach, who calmly chambered a new set of ammunition into his Hand-Cannon, devised by the dwarves of the Louvre, who in the realm of Electricity and Ether-magicks are stronger than even the so-called Wizard of Menlo Park. These Leyden-darts, as I call them, were filled with the charge of ten Lightnings carried on harpoon point, but even this only momentarily stopped our friend's rampage, and he had Zach by the throat, the latter preparing to bayonet him in the skull, when he turned on some hidden impulse and beholding his two Hungarian prostitutes, immediately calmed down. They had followed him with loyalty out of all character with their calling, and only under their ministrations were we able to calm him. Still, he resisted so volubly and with such vigor that it took a veritable Steam Locomotive's boiler full of Vapours to calm him, and he thrice attempted to "unfurl his standard" in a way that caused the Whores to titter and the rest of our company to retch uncontrollably. Even recounting this events brings me a great weariness, but tomorrow we dine on Champignon and Truffles. I will let you, dear reader, know what happens even as it does.

Fatigued, Confused, but still Alive
Anoop

Today, on the 26th day of this year 2006, 53rd year of our Queen and Royal Highness, we took care of a great deal of administrative work. We had navigatd a labryinth of Aeroplane Flight Modification Fees and Hotel Cancellation Schemes in order to maximize our stay in Amsterdam, as opposed to foggy London. Zach, Vinay, and I spent the early part of the day travelling back and forth to Vinay's school, where we will quarter for some time following our return. Brandon chose to sleep off the night's prior indiscretions, having come back with several lengths of chain, some revealing scars, and parading about in what appeared to be high heels. Ajay took this time to accost the locals in French, claiming that "they have not the intellect to know when they've been insulted in English, and so it is up to me to show them their proper place." Judging by the furor in the Metro, he could only have succeeded. Our party could hear the din from several miles off, and we congratulated ourselves, thinking that he had started some kind of riot in the name of the Isles. As it turned out, his tale was quite a deal more sordid.

He spent the first part carefully plotting out a maze, using his own excretions primarily as a marking tool, as he lacked any quill or other sort of writing implement. Indeed, though we stocked up on feathers and sundry at Duck Lake, we shall soon have to resort to plucking the native French pigeons, which are a much lower breed than those of our own Soveriegn Nation, given to Scabies and other foulnesses associated with the Gauls. So as not to soil himself or suffer his own malodours longer than necessary, he used a young French girl as brush, marking his maze with her hair. Having done this, he assaulted every Frenchman or Woman who crossed over the lines rather than navigate the maze and hurled them into nearby passersby or trains, as is his custom. The crowds very shortly thinned, several trains were derailed, and the net effect is that the remaining shopkeepers were cowed enough to not give him contemptuous and saucy looks when he asked for directions. Not having any money, per se, a blissful spree of looting followed, which I am sorry to say I could not attend.

That night we walked up and down the Champ d'Elysee, surveying the Arc d'Triomphe which is surely the most ridiculous monument I encountered, as its very presence in the Gaul's capital is an insult to Victory. Nevrtheless, the streets were well-lit and cheery, and we were all put in a better mood by inhaling the steamy vapours of the huqqah, or Arabian Water-Pipe, which those sand-devils are accustomed to puff in order to calm themselves from their normal jittery, war-prone state. I was inclined to forgive the other Dustmen we encountered, but Ajay, slow to rise to anger but sure in his wrath, broke a token glass as sign of his past displeasure.

The next morning we arose early to see the Louvre, which is as vast as I had remembered. Our legs were very much sore after this trip, excepting Brandon's, for he had somehow contrived to be lifted on the shoulders of two Hungarian prostitutes, who he and Ajay had solicited the night prior. I am not aware that he paid them with anything but dissatisfaction, but apparently this was enough for women with their lot in life. We saw the Mona Lisa, who was making coy eyes at me, but as I did not approve of her demeanour I favored her with no more than a quick kiss and a wave. Also the Venus de Milo, which I had to bodily pry Ajay off from - he claimed that she was the perfect woman, not because she represented all that is Beauty, but because she had no arms with which to foil his advances. Also Winged Victory, Sargon's Winged-Bull Palace Gates, the tombs of pharoahs and the pottery of ancient Cretan kings, fine paintings from all about Europe, and several special treasures, such as a Gnome on a Snail and the Captives. The former was perhaps the most endearingly ugly sculpture I have ever seen (modeled after the small dwarfish creatures that inhabit the Louvre and feed from the rubbish at night) and the latter (actually a set of four) among the most impressive.

This night we set foot on a train to Amsterdam, where we entered a Kingly Realm of Friends and Magnificence, a domicile finally fit for our regal presence, and shortly thereafter we sunk into a purely mental fog. It was warm, and tasted of chocolate and elderberries.

Colorfully, Vibrantly, and All-Together Happily
Anoop

Concerned that his friend King Horse may have been offended by my signing his name in French, Brandon made sure to forward my journal to him. Luckily, he said nay - because I had actually signed it to King Hare. The proper name would be Le Chevere Roi, and the munificent monarch allowed me to state this solely for the purpose of explication, and then never again. To my dear readers, I assure you that the rest of my log will remain factual.

On our seventh day this side of the stormy Atlantic, we awoke slightly late, due to misadventures the night prior. Before I had omitted some details of our adventures, as I was afraid that the very thought of them would provoke me to such a blind rage as I would be a danger to nearby internet patrons. Now that the distance of time has lent me some clarity, I will proceed to regale you with a plot of devious nature concerning Yours Truly and Zachary. After leaving the third drinking establishment of the night and parting ways with Ben, Ajay and Brandon went to a crepe shop where they were commanded to eat inside. The reason for this absurd order was soon revealed when a coterie of Arabs began dancing in circles about Zach and I, linking arms with us spinning about merrily. Though their faces were smiling, their hands were searching our pockets. Indignant, I elbowed one of the whirling dervishes in the ribs, and we disengaged ourselves as soon as possible. We quickly gathered our comrades who were bewildered at our fury, and took our curses and threats to bury the Arab nations in sand for centuries to come as merely a matter of course. They soon shared our righteous anger however, and we fumed silently thereafter. Luckily nothing was stolen, else the offending Moors and Saracens would have suffered at the handsome, but fierce-when-aroused fists of our irate countrymen.

Sometime in the afternoon we decided to go see the sights again, albeit warily. We oohed and aahed at the Louvre, though we did not go in that day, as it was late and the palace is truly gigantic. We met some kind folks from Michigan who took pictures of us and informed Ajay that he was truly a fool to set foot in their frozen hellhole in January. We then walked through the city, marvelling at the architecture. We saw many local buildings named after French heroes, such as Jean Starbucks, who defended the city from the Germans during the war. Such was his state of caffeination that he stayed awake during the entire Occupation, and he jittered and shook so that the best Hun marksmen could scarcely see where to shoot. We also saw a few buildings marked with the sign of Pierre McDonald, the Butcher of Montpelier, who would flay foriegn officers, feed their roasted flesh to his men, and hang the stretched hides from the double-arches of his chateau gates, the very sign that pays him tribute from every street corner in Paris. French culture is truly impressive.

We then went to the Eiffel Tower, a gigantic monument intended to compensate for French shortcomings in, shall we say, more private areas. Regardless of its pseudo-phallic intent, the tower was lit up beautifully, in a campaign surely meant to deprive all the French colonies from power and keep them firmly under the Gallic yoke. From the tower we surveyed the Champs d'Elysees and the Arc d'Triumphe, and also the Ecole Militaire. This last building is apparently devoted entirely to the science of retreat and surrender, but is an impressive monument nonetheless, though it reeks of cowardice.

This night we followed the lights to a different establishment. Here Ajay and Brandon paid court to an American girl, though neither was ultimately successful. Zach and I were conversing about the state of France with a kind Icelandic couple, and when Brandon finished bemoaning Ajay's conversational ability and Ajay his inability to speak French, all of us, with Vinay enjoying himself thoroughly as well, stayed up till 5 in the morning in a state of heightened merriment. Consequently the next day we were only able to rise as the sun was setting, and went to an Indian restaurant where we were treated like kings (as opposed to the rest of France, where we rated as second or third class citizens as best). After enjoying the nightlife a bit further, Ajay, Vinay, and I retired to bed while Zach and Brandon pursued further adventures.

The whole day was filled with good Humour and Cheer, not in the least because my glasses had become unhinged (apparently in a fit over the beauty of the Gaul's women) so as to present a comical aspect. Indeed, though I was the butt of the joke, I was relieved because initially I thought that the laughter was due to Ajay's somehow spreading syphilis and rotting the brains and vitals of my comrades. Today they are fixed, and once more I enter the world of the sighted. Adventures await!
Anoop

As the day progressed I recollectd many of the details of the curious establishment we visited the night prior. The men and women both dance as if they were hooked up to Leyden Jars, spasming like so many eels. The concept of rythm seems to elude them entirely. Unfortunately, while my personal fog has lifted, the same cannot be said for London. Ajay attempted to contact his friend King Horse, an equine of gentlemanly demeanour and portly bearing, who wears his mane with the dignity befitting royalty. Unfortunately, his response was nay. We bore through the fog regardless, visiting the museum of London where we learned how civilized individuals managed to kill off the barbaric Celts, Picts, but fortunately not the halfbreeds, whom we have grown to rely upon for both labor and sustenance. Afterwards we passed St. Paul's Cathedral, where Brandon and I accosted a group of skateboarding hooligans and thrashed them fiercely, afterwards throwing them in front of a passing car. Following this we went to Tate Modern - a fantastic museum, apart from the so-called art that was in fact bits of sacking and torn canvas. It took us some time to find this, as Ajay merrily lead us in circles, always saying that "he had a strong feeling" about where to go. In fact I believe he has been drunk for the duration of the trip, or perhaps merely syphilitic.

We arose early to travel to Paris, pushiing aside hordes of inferior travelers who for some reason seemed intent on the same destination as us. I cannot imagine why, as France is known for its dearth of halfbreeds and abundance of Frenchmen. They somehow managed to delay us till we almost missed our flight. Upon my return I shall likely burn them to the ground.

Day 6: Paris is a fantastic city. We met Vinay and wandered about the streets, seeing the sights and attempting to remain as silent as possible in order to avoid Scorn, Contempt, and general Malaise. I have noted that all the people over thirty years of age are contemptuous of our presence and stop just short of spitting upon us, while those younger are as friendly as can be. I believe the only solution is to institute a mandatory death penalty just before the thirtieth birthday, as this will also solve the problem of multiplying Frenchmen. If too many breed it is likely they will swarm the Channel and decivilize our wonderful home. Today we saw the former site of the Bastille. Saddened that a structure dedicated to the imprisonment and torture of the Gauls had gone the way of the dodo, Ajay proceeded to accost passersby and, after shackling their limbs or otherwise hobbling them (removing vertebrae, breaking ankles, etc.) cast them into an impromptu jail which I happily helped him build. Such is the spirit of the holidays.

We also saw Notre Dame, a beatiful cathedral filled with the devout and the rude (more of the latter than the former). I took back several slices of stained glass as souvenirs, while Ajay and Brandon ransacked the place for its gold and other treasures. I am not sure what Zach brought back from the trip, only that it was a large sack and something within was writhing about. When asked he merely said it was a simple keepsake, and that I had better shut up or he would shut me up for me. I refrained from questioning further. Later in the day Ajay, Vinay, and I traveled to the Basilique de Sacre Couer, perched high atop a hill overlooking the city. There were several locals in the way, but my dear brother was only too happy to cast them off the mount, wishing them "Bon voyage" to let them know that he had no hard feelings.

That night, having failed to gain entrance to the OPA club (which had somehow conspired against us to close for the holidays) we had a few glorious hours of drinking, during which we met a nice Frenchman named Ben who showed us around. I believe I felt a chill as hell froze over, although that may have simply been Ajay breathing down my neck. He has taken to filling his mouth with ice cubes in order to dull the pain, presumably also from the syphilis. Tomorrow we will go out again.

Adore Paris et Le Cheveaux Roi
Anoop

We started off later than normal because in true British tradition, Ajay spent the night howling at the waning moon, which was meant to symbolize some rubbish that I refused to listen to, fearing brain rot. We followed a group of Japanese schoolgirls into a museum, lured there by their clip-clopping heels which sounded suspiciously like horses from a distance. I am not certain why we were seeking horses, but as Ajay was brandishing fork and knife, I suspect they were for an early meal. Although, he refused to put up the cutlery even upon finding that they were in fact Japanese schoolgirls, so it is entirely possible that he had a more sinister design. Regardless, I was able to dissuade him from his intentions, whatever they may have been, by pointing out the profusion of bones littering the museum, as bones are a special interest of his. We engaged in some friendly debate concerning the age of the fossils and settled it by taking cross-sections and counting the rings. The museum officials took some issue with this, but luckily I was able to ply them with some laudanum (which, taken in moderation, is purported to be excellent for the ague, dropsy, and any number of Shakespearian diseases).

We visited another museum afterwards filled with electronic games which we amused ourselves with before heading to Harrod's. I do not believe that people are intended to actually purchase anything here, as the prices are greater than total output of most small countries. Negotiation to lower costs failed, though the accursed shopkeep still drank the last of our laudanum. Upon my return to London I shall likely burn this establishment to the ground.

This night we stopped at a pub, and the next morning Brandon and Zach were able to join us. We made our awy about the city drawn by a team of halfbreeds, which are quite common in this part of the world. This allowed me to rest my ankle, which I previously dealt with through the clever expedient of limping slightly. Our first stop was Buckingham Palace, where the guards and band reenacted the famous battle of Abraham Lincoln versus Slavery. I believe Lincoln won, meaning that Ajay owes me a drink or two. Indeed, he was quite furious at having to release the young mulatto boy he had recently acquired (from Harrod's), and swore up and down at him for being disloyal. Though, as we set him afloat on Duck Lake to find his new home, I could have sworn I saw a tear in his eye. Then again, it may have been the ague. Curse the rarity of opiates!

We then proceeded to Westminster Abbey where a great number of dead people are buried. Some of the inscriptions were faded, so Ajay obliged me by digging them up. The keepers were quite angry with us, despite our informing them that we would replace as many of the bones as we found unsuitable for our purposes. We were forced to hand over the reins to our team of halfbreeds. Upon my return to London I shall likely burn this establishment to the ground. We then proceeded to Tower Bridge, mistaking it for London Bridge again, because this bridge was festooned with all manner of gibbets. We did see the real bridge in the distance, but finding it lacked even rudimentary cages, we became disinterested and rested before heading to a club.

Much merriment ensued. I cannot claim to remember all of it.
For Queen and Country!
Anoop

We awoke to an early breakfast, having beaten the hotel's other denizens downstairs through several ingenious mechanisms including setting an alarm, setting off an alarm, and bear traps. After a short excursion in which we reconnoitered several points of interest to get our bearings, including the Wellington Arch and a large cannon (which, much to our disappointment, was made of stone and so not in prime firing condition) we met our cousin Deepti in order to prepare for further adventures.

We set out shortly for parts unknown stopping along the way to try and break the stony facade that the Royal Guard had adopted upon sighting us, presumably to avoid giving up State Secrets. A full half hour's worth of Ajay screaming at one that he was his "Confessor, and yea without me you are as a ship in a storm, so help me Lord you'll tell me where the Crown Jewels are or I'll take your own as payment" and a follow-up interrogation involving a car battery and several carpenter's nails yielded only a slight discount on Soldier's Toys from a concerned shopkeeper, who we promptly reported to the police as prone to bribery for his troubles. Clearly the Queen has an advanced training program which we must at all costs emulate.

Thereafter we became obsessed with the idea of visiting London Bridge, but mistook Westminster bridge for it instead, for without the bodies of pirates and brigands hanging in chains over the slums of the commoners the modern London Bridge can easily be mistaken. Passing by Westminster Abbey, which we hope to visit the next day when my chums arrive from the States, we crossed the Golden Jubilee Bridge to see some men acting like statues, much to my surprise. I suspect Ajay shared my incredulousness as he was busily defecating on one from above, copying the noble pigeon as is his habit. Truly, the pigeon is the most noble of birds, and so it was only proper that in Trafalgar Square, having sighted a man kicking the birds just outside the National Gallery, my brother promptly shot him where he stood and strung him up above Nelson's Column.

Sometime along the way my ankle developed into a clever device capable of perfectly translating motion into pain. I suspected the interference of the halfwit mestizo boy I employed to keep my shoes in perfect condition and gave him a customary yank on his chain only to find that the ungrateful wretch had eaten through the leather of his collar and escaped into the streets. Ever the doting brother, Ajay quickly found another halfbreed and we spent the next hour or so cheerfully driving it with canes hither and yon about Picadilly Circus, which is a splendid market.

We purchased some dinner at a local grocery store, thereby avoiding Bangladeshi wiles, then stopped at a friendly pub before turning in for the night.

Bless this Sceptered Isle!
Anoop

Despite my protests, Ajay insisted that we take the plane as the zeppelin was "Only fit for Huns and whores." After arriving, we immediately set about procuring train tickets to take us to our hotel, where we were immediately accosted by a general air of weariness and decay. Truly, these are terrible days.

We proceeded from the hotel in a large circle because London's streets show evidence of having been designed by the terminally inbred. Along the way, Ajay paused to push several passersby into an open manhole. When asked why he cryptically remarked "Bitter spouses make bitter houses." I cannot for the life of me fathom his actions. Along the way, we passed a quaint villa by the name of Buckingham Palace, with a rather large and officious woman sculptured outside. I suspect she might be the maid, though Ajay seemed to be under the impression that this was London's Chief Brothel. The guards did little to dissuade him from his opinion, and in fact did little at all, despite our hurling offal and threats in their general direction.

After leaving the palace unsatisified, we passed through lovely Hyde Park. As I understand it the park is named after one Edward Hyde, much revered by the British for his dwarfishness and habitual rape and murder of the aristocracy. On the other side of the park we were confronted with several coffee establishments imported from our more degenerate cousins across the Atlantic. After purchasing beverages (not without its share of trouble, as Ajay threw no less than three scalding hot cups into the cashier's face on account of him "Being a Frenchman, if not by birth then by design.") we returned to the environs about our hotel for a bit of sleep and terrible television programming.

Afterwards, we set out for dinner where a Bangladeshi man, little realizing his subservient status as a colonial, tricked us into overpaying for his food. We were inclined to forgive him due to the resplendent color of his skin, which could be described as a mix between coffee and ordure. Before returning home we visited a quaint pub, after which Ajay proceeded to urinate across the length of several blocks, because "If horses and hoofed creatures have the right to, then by God so do I, and damn the constable who says otherwise." Damn the constables indeed.

God save the Home Secretary!
Anoop

Congratulations are in order for my parents, both for having raised some awesome people and for celebrating their 25th anniversary today. The basket of flowers we surprised our mom with at work was big enough that we left a trail of petals down the block from our car.
Here's some cool stuff that took 25 years to happen:



I'm going to keep this short, partly because I haven't updated in half a year and don't really feel like writing right now. Actually let me summarize. It was good. It was better than good. I had a great spring. Spring break was great. The weeks before and after spring break were great. There were probably some not-so-good times but I don't really remember them so hey, maybe not. Here's to you so far 2006!

The other reason is because I'm going to Vermont by bus in about two hours, which would make it 4 AM. It's a two day trip so we're starting early. It's for our fraternity's 150th anniversary, and I'm pretty excited about going. It's been a long time since I've gone on my own somewhere, and it's starting to feel like an adventure again. John says that since I'm going solo I'm going to get raped by a hobo but I disagree because this is the bus era, not the train era. Actually, it's probably the plane era but there's only one airport in Vermont that planes that carry say, multiple passengers can land in, and for the luxury of a three-stop flight it's still around $500. So screw the high road, I'll take the low road. I'll be gone for a week or so, and then I'll have pictures and stuff.

Here's hoping everyone has a great summer. I'm saying this in advance in case I do in fact get raped by a hobo and give birth to some kind of half-Indian half-hobo freak, with the talent to make money but the animal desire to sleep in moving boxcars. I guess he'd have to be a mad scientist hobo to make that work, but I'd bet mad scientists have trouble staying employed as well and so there's probably some overlap in their migration patterns. I plan to have a great time, barring of course disaster, and since I'm the only delegate from Texas I suppose I'm representing the state.

Jokes on everyone now, isn't it.

I'm assuming everyone reading this watched the game. If you didn't you are either A) A giant fag or B)Blind. Notice how I assume that everyone who didn't watch the game is a bit slow, so I used easy to remember letters. This way when I issue you nametags in the mail (saying, A Giant Fag or Blind) you'll know which one to put on.

The game was suspenseful, charged, and probably the most awesome game I've ever seen, because Vince Young (AKA Football Jesus) can apparently pull comeback victories out of his ass at will. The outcome of the game may have surprised a lot of people, but if they had access to what I'm about to show you now, it's really not all that surprising.

These photos were taken shortly before Young et al. flew to Pasadena for the Rose Bowl game and sent to me in a package without any return address, covered in mystical Chinese symbols. Or maybe that was the return address, I'm not sure. Here they are with their original captions:
Here we see the UT clocktower shortly before Young climbed up to pray for his team's success.

Observers reported that a rainbow arced downward from cloudless skies as Young began his ascent to the top.

Now a closeup-shot, right before Young steps out.

Here we see Young hailing Football God.

Now, a normal camera wouldn't pick up anything else, but using Jesusvision:


And a week later, we win the Rose Bowl? Coincidence - OR DESTINY!?

HOOK 'EM

I haven't posted in a while, but some awesome shit has happened since two months ago or whatever.
OU game: AWESOME
Blender Nights:AWESOME
Karaoke Shenigans: AWESOME
More Blender Nights:BOLDED TEXT IS FOR EMPHASIS
Whiskey Thursday:Italics is for more specific inflections.
Whiskey Thursday: AWESOME
SFA: ARE YOU SENSING A PATTERN HERE
Houston: AWESOME and I got a load of food both times. Also, Yao needs to stop getting stupid fouls and somebody on the Rockets needs to learn how to rebound, I don't goddamn care who.
Initiation & ETC: AWESOME

This month is a month of projects, not school-related, but just fun stuff. That high-pitched shrieking noise you hear from my room? That's the sound of FREE TIME and DAILY SHRIEKING PRACTICE. Zach and I started working on a music-creating program, Matt and I are making a song about zombies (it kicks ass this much), and Chase and I are both covered with a candy shell, but have Kryptonite cores which make us incredibly lethal to Superman and our T-cell counts. I and I? We be jammin.



I'm working on all kinds of old stories and new stories and assorted crap, which means that any sort of project I may or may not have mentioned at any time int he past is FAIR GAME. So, I'll be bugging Stephen about adventures and music stuff, maybe me and Chase'll build that trebuchet, John and I need to make foam engines of violence, and Daniel and I guess can go steal some TVs. If I call someone up and start rambling about genetic algorithms or capguns or batsignals, just try to comply with my every request and whim, because if you weren't put here on my behalf then I'm very badly confused. I don't know if this counts, but I'm also committed to hearing the following epic in its finished state recited by our latest pledges:

"NOW IT IS CONTINUING OF A FANCY STORY WHO IS HOLDING YOU IN THE CUSTODY. THE EARTH CRACK THE SKIN BOIL AND THE HUMAN IS NO CHANGE.
LONG LONG AGO THERE WERE A MAN WHO TRY TO MAKE HIS SKILL THE ULTIMATE BUT BECAUSE OF HIS BLOODY LIFE HE WAS IN THE TROUBLES...
HE BEGAN STRUGGLE FOR SUPERIOR QUARRELER WITH THE FIGHTER WHO GATHER FROM ALL PART SPEAKING OF BOASTINGLY, BUT HE WONDER IF BAD IS PERHAPS MAKE THE FIRST ASSAULT...
HE DECIDE TO BEGAN PUT BUTTER OVER TASTY PLAN TO KIDNAP THE PRINCELY POWER. HE STORM CASTLE WITH SPEEDLY TIMINGS BUT AS HE COMPLETE TO BREAK THE ENEMY'S EGO THE SCORPION BEGIN THE STING WITH SURPRISING POISON AND HE BEGAN TO YIELD WITH NO HELPING..."

I found this image again and I just want to state for the record that Patrick is completely incomprehensible.

SOME GOOD MOVIES: JARHEAD. Also King Kong maybe, I don't know, but dinosaurs and gorillas? FUCK YEAH. Walk the Line looks good too.

ALSO: I started playing Betrayal at Krondor again with a DosBox to run these games. TELL ME THIS IS NOT BEAUTIFUL:

Oh, and congrats to Gabe and Zach for joining Theta Chi Fraternity. SUCKERS

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/international/story/0,6903,1577753,00.html
Link courtesy of Rahul. Read that, then ask yourself - isn't this a little familiar?



So, remember kids, two things:


and Support Dolphin-Free Tuna, because otherwise there is no hope against the Red Power! Do you really want to see this?


I thought not.

The winner of the Dalai Lama contest, selected by the extremely scientific procedure of "NAMES OUT OF A HAT" is David. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PRIZE.

Rock for Hope went pretty well; attendance wasn't that great but we got a lot of money anyway and the bands kicked ass. The game didn't kick ass. The game was a snoozefest; the best part was in half-time when we were all cheering for this 60 year old from the alumni band to catch the baton he kept tossing up and missing (he got the last one). PLAY BETTER FOOTBALL RICE PLZ KTHX.

Today I went on a boat party with APS. It was the most awesome awesome ever, if you can use awesome as a noun like that. Diving off the top of a two-deck party barge into water that's cool enough to feel great but warm enough to not even give you a shock when you hit the water, that's cool. Add floats and beverages and cool people and it can only get better. Thank youse to Kim cause otherwise I doubt I'd have ended up going.

IN HONOR OF STEPHEN AND AJAY AND BINDING RULES OF AGREEMENT

1) Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2) I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3) I'll pick a flavor/color of jello to wrestle with you in. (Maybe.)
4) I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5) I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6) I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7) I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8) If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST. It is written.

READY... SET... OMGOGOGOGOGO

I have a spare ticket to see the Dalai Lama on Sept. 20th when he comes down to UT. So far some 5 or 6 people have asked me for the ticket, but I remain lazy and aloof. Since I'm in a whimsical state of mind and really have nothing better to do, I am declaring the first and only "See the Dalia Lama Essay Contest" with the reward being a ticket. Because lord forbid that I do anything as simple as "reach a decision" I am making this needlessly complex but fun for me.

Here's the rules:
The essay must involve at least two of the following elements which I am randomly selecting from Google:
1. Rhode Island
2. The Finnish Language
3. Giant Squid
4. Electrical Circuits
5. Mongols and/or Huns
6. Elephants

I don't care how long it is so long as it's funny. Basically if it would entertain me while I am eating my cereal in the wee hours of the morning, then it has found a place in my heart. Bonus points for pictures. I mean, a shitton of bonus points. Pictures a thousand words so on and so forth. All pictures is no good though.

SECRET HINT: I AM ACTUALLY JUST GOING TO BE RANDOMLY SELECTING ONE OF THE ESSAYS TO WIN, BUT I AM TOTALLY WEIGHING THE DICE IN FAVOR OF PICTURES AND AWESOME

SECRET HINT TWO: I LURV COUNT CHOCULA

LET THE FESTIVITIES BEGIN

P.S. I forgot some things apparently, the essay doesn't count unless it's posted because it's easier to scroll down a mouse-wheel than find files while eating cereal. Also I suppose the deadline is Sept. 16 because why not.
P.P.S. MS-Paint or Photoshop are acceptable alternatives to an essay but they have to have at least four out of the list.