Local Curiosities

There are many strange businesses in Cupertino. Some of them may appear normal - inconspicuous. They are not! This is but a facade. Let me tell you of their deadly secrets!

A "Panera Bread" lurks on Steven's Creek Boulevard. It claims to sell bread, and related products. This is a lie! It is, in fact, a covert Pokemon smuggling business. At night, hundreds of Pokemon are illegally distributed through the vast basements. The bread is cooked with the heat of their suffering! The rat-betrayer, thief of freedom's lightning, oversees the transportation. He is employed by "Panera Bread", and does their dark bidding. The building is yellow. It signifies his cowardice.

Dang it, Pikachu!

Near the Panera Bread, there is another "restaurant", named the Bombay Oven. Its food is good. Yum! Curry. But that's not the point! At night, they, too, move into secret motion. The Bombay Oven is a front for a paramilitary Pokemon-rights group. They've tunneled into "Panera Bread"'s basement, and now wage a dark war against them, seeking to liberate the captured Pokemon. It is a dark and furtive thing.

The owner of Bombay Oven never smiles. Pikachu killed his sister, and he will never forgive the Yellow Bastard for that.

Oh, yeah. Also, the Pizza Hut across the street is controlled by semisentient fungi in the ceiling.

I think it's something in the water.

Duality (IV/III)

After his release on bail, Archie escaped by stealing a large yacht from his former employer; motoring off across the Pacific. Maxie, who had followed him, smuggled himself aboard, and was only discovered a day after Archie set out. The two men being evenly matched in armament (kitchen knives) and musculature, they fought, as was their habit, with words; furiously declaiming the other's infamy for so absurdly intending to sabotage the other at Hetch Hetchy. After this, they settled into an uneasy truce. In the close quarters to which they had confined themselves in their escape by boarding the yacht, some peace was necessary; that which developed, in the course of the two-week trip, nearly resembled their old friendship. The primary difference in their new relationship was that both Archie and Maxie assumed, implicitly, that the two of them were enemies, a state of affairs suspended for the duration of the voyage. Oddly, this assumption served to make their interactions rather a bit easier; by accepting their differences, and the inevitability of later hostilities, they were able to speak without fear of consequences; until they made landfall at last.

Archie had begun the trip merely fleeing, with no particular goal in mind. The day later, after he discovered Maxie, the two of them planned a destination together: China, which possessed a need for both their professions and no particular inclination to extradite U.S. criminals. (Archie had taken some Chinese in college, and taught Maxie the rudiments over the course of the voyage; they could only hope that it would suffice.) They made landfall a week early, however, at an island off all Archie's charts. When they disembarked the yacht in an attempt to discover their location, a sea serpent of sorts rose from the depths, grasped the yacht in its coils, and (as Archie and Maxie watched in astonishment and dismay), pulled the yacht beneath the waves, stranding the two criminals.

They discovered, to their relief, that the island was inhabited; a beachcomber helpfully informed them that they were on the island of Hōen-chihō, and suggested that they visit the nearby Minamo City. There, the two realized their predicament: stranded in a land with technology alternately advanced and primitive compared to that of the outside world. And, more importantly, a land with no contact with the outside world; no way to know of Maxie and Archie's criminal convictions. This was a place where they could be safe.

It was only days later, observing the workings of Minamo City, that Maxie and Archie realized that the society of Hōen-chihō centered absolutely around the all-pervasive creatures that every citizen owned. To possess at least one of these creatures was to be granted privilege, status, and to allow the capture of more with a trivial investment of time and money - the latter of which, it should be noted, Maxie and Archie had none. To lack them was to be denied even the most basic facilities; almost unintentionally, as the commonality of the creatures was such that no child older than 5 seemed to lack one. With this understanding, Maxie and Archie went their separate ways. To acquire one of the creatures, Maxie constructing a crude snare, which upon snaring its victim (in the course of things, a large dog-like creature), automatically triggered a control device Maxie had found abandoned on the ground. Archie bartered for a creature of his own with an old hermit, telling him tales of planes and motorcars in exchange for a carnivorous fish-beast. Each, with a foothold secured, traveled about Hōen-chihō, attempting to grasp the nature of their new home.

Maxie, in his travels, saw the tiny, cramped cities that were the home of most of the inhabitants of Hōen-chihō. To his American mindset, it was absurd; especially with the vast, shallow, rock-lined tide pools off much of the western coast of the island. He saw that, with the minor effort necessary to turn the existing rocky outcroppings into a single dike (or a generally lower sea level), a tremendous amount of flat, open land could be created for new cities to be built. Lacking any other purpose, Maxie began work on the project, planning the system of dikes necessary; and, somehow, in the course of his research, word of the project spread. Youths, enthused by the notion, pledged support to Maxie. For the inevitability of their success, and the heat of their passion, they named themselves Team Magma.

Archie, in his trips around the island, saw the tiny population of Hōen-chihō, but thought of a different cause. The absence of any farms from Hōen-chihō meant that the entire population depended solely on fish and wild game for food; severely limiting the population, especially as both fishing and hunting were strictly regulated for fear of depleting either resource. If the tide pools lining the shore were fenced in with netting, however, they could easily be transformed into hatcheries, providing food enough to drastically increase the population of Hōen-chihō (especially were the sea level to rise somehow, doubling the area of the hypothetical hatcheries through the elimination of the useless beaches). Maxie at first set out to persuade local leaders to adopt the plan, lobbying from town to town. While the leaders were loathe to accept his plan, citing 'tradition', youth followed him, naming themselves Team Aqua for "the color that will feed one hundred families."

And somehow, the two groups; Team Aqua and Team Magma, Archie and Maxie; came into conflict.

Three days after the two 'teams' had officially founded, their leaders met; ostensibly to discuss possible compromise.

Archie: "So, here we are again."
Maxie: "A bit more civil than the last time."
A: "I suppose."
M: "So. [pause] You've heard the rumors, then."
A: "Yes. The two creatures. Legendary, at best."
M: "I doubt it. From what I've found in this place, legends have a funny tendency to come true."
A: "The timing is ironic. That two creatures with the power to control rain and sun should be within reach once more, even as our plans near completion..."
M: "Appropriate, rather."
A: "...perhaps."
M: "I'd hoped that we wouldn't have to fight again. That once we'd found freedom, we could just walk away, and forget the whole nasty business."
A: "Not here."
M: "No. Once again, in complete opposition; for the greater good."
A: "..."
A: "Wait. Don't go just yet. I'd heard... something else."
M: "...what?"
A: "There's a child. Related to the Tōka City leader."
M: "So?"
A: "They say he... or she, it wasn't clear... is driven. One of those who expend all their effort to rise to the top."
M: "To be the very best... not that it matters, for anything other than boasting purposes."
A: "Children will be children."
M: "You haven't made your point."
A: "If the child is driven enough... there are those who will oppose our plans. If we were to... influence the greatest of their duelists, sway them to support us... we would be unstoppable."
M: "Whichever of us controlled the child, that is."
A: "Exactly."
M: "...it's a moot point for now. If the child is what you hope, then it will be a race."
A: "And may the best man win."
M: "Wait."
A: "Yes?"
M: "...for all your flaws... for all your wrongheaded notions... you're a friend, Archie. Maybe my only friend, here."
A: "What sort of friends don't have a few differences?"

The Woodland Creature

O, Bidoof!

Dost thou frolick, in the hills and the woodlands?

Dost thou possess, as thine most sterling asset, a name of purest levity; failing any possession of stamina, strength, speed, or any other trait of mind and body that might render thee at all useful?

Dost thou evolve - yea - evolve into a creature that is just as useless as thee art?

Truly, Bidoof, thou art the champion of all humanity.

When the children go out to play, do they bring with them a stalwart Bidoof, at which they may point and laugh.

When the adults go to work, do they bring with them their own Bidoof, so as to show, despite any lacking in skill or dedication they may own, their evident superiority to some thing on this earth.

When the old ones go to their eternal rest, do they bring with them a dozen - nay - a hundred Bidoof, their numbers being sufficient and value so little that such is considered a merely adequate token of affection for the departed.

O, Bidoof! What a wonderful, terrible name thou hast! How utterly useless thou are.

It is the Gastrodon which shall reign for all time as king among beasts.

The Order of the Bidoof

Every year, we present the Order of the Bidoof to those authors of exemplary blag posties. Each award is a special event and is accompanied by great accomplishment and glory.

The Wailing Lord

His cries sound, deep beneath the surface. He is behemoth; leviathan, perhaps more accurately. To the untutored observer, he seems a planet entire; his flukes the size of continents; his pulse beating like thunder, thump, thump, thump. He is vast, unstoppable. And he sorrows.

Oh, how he sorrows.

Once, there were more of his kind. Never many - not that, no - but enough. They soared, far beneath the waves, in packs, communicating in strange and eerie ways, a sight of unforgettable beauty and terror. Their young leapt above the waves, far more plentiful, good luck to any who caught sight of them while voyaging. They were a people, though alien to us, and the scholars - those who knew of them - acknowledged them as a great wonder of the world.

But time passed, and things changed, as they always do. The world darkened; the young ceased to leap above the waves. Even the titans beneath the surface, impervious to any attack, grew old at last and drifted endlessly, no longer possessed of that magnificent life they so closely held. And in the end, only one of their kind was left; crying out endlessly, fruitlessly, far beneath the surface. And for his magnificence, and his terrible, tragic nature, they named him Wailord: the Wailing Lord. And thus did the end of days fall, with only that creature to trumpet its coming, wailing without end. They say, those who dare venture so deep, that he wails still.

The Lost Histories

They were monsters, each of them; from the most distorted and twisted shapes to theose most superficially human. Some scuttled through the tall grass; others soared above it on great, beating wings or strode through it with powerful steps. And for all their superficial diversity and terrifying aspects, they were all pawns, tools in the hands of human masters.

In pre-industrial times, they had roamed freely, in grasslands and deserts and oceans. Their numbers seemed as limitless as the stars. Men and women hunted them, capturing them with net and lasso, and training them to serve human wishes. A man with a single one of these monstrosities under his control was a chief; one with a half-dozen was a King. Human society grew to center around them as ever-better methods of their domination and control were devised; the brightest minds of every generations laboured on new ways to hunt them, train them, heal them and fight them.

Industry exploded onto the land, powered by monstrous strength. Every man kept a stable of monsters in his house for use as servants or pets; strange new types were bred for use in factories and farms and war. Scientists devised ever-more ingenuous devices for the control and use of monstrosities. Great sweeping machines rolled across grassland and reaped monsters by the thousands. Boats trawled nets off every coast. Sportsmen detonated bombs that brought down clouds of flying beasts so numerous as to blot out the sun. It was a time of astounding achievements and grotesque excess.

An event no-one could have predicted put an end to the age. A solar flare of unusual strength collapsed worldwide communications, fried unshielded computers, and - most importantly - destroyed the devices used to contain the monstrosities. Technology, ever focused on the creatures that defined civilization, had long obsoleted cages and nets for the capture of monsters: great or small, all were held in capsules the size of a man's hand, a scientific accomplishment far beyond any our own society may boast. Now this blessing turned bane, as every capsule containing a monster was irradiated and rendered useless. The factories went silent as governments dissolved into anarchy.

When the chaos ended, much had changed. Civilization now clustered near the few remaining grasslands (in formerly remote regions), depending on now-scarce monsters to survive. Relics of the glorious past remained - capsules unused at the time of the disaster were usable and stockpiled in great quantities, and much of the wondrous medical equipment of the pre-disaster society remained potent. But no more could be manufactured. In an effort to prevent a repeat of the folly that led up to the great disaster, dictators took tight hold of each region. Naming themselves the Elite, they had complete control over each distant and autonomous area, delegating subordinates to rule over each city. Rulership was determined strictly by strength; any man that defeated the Elite was made one of them. Strict rules were emplaced, regulating every aspect of the monsters that were life and death alike. Scientists in particular were hard-hit; blamed for the disaster, any scientist that attempted to conduct true research was exiled to the wild-lands, with only priest-like "scientists" left to conduct "research".

And the monsters remain: proud and tall, short and fearful, the lifeblood of humanity.