Wednesday, June 22, 2011

6/22/11 - Antarctica Needs No Pants

The "ha ha, we punked GORGON" party last night was truly epic. I think I outdid myself on the planning of this little shindig, which is saying something.

I don't even want to think about how much this is going to cost the American taxpayer, right now, but if it helps any it's chump change compared to what we had to do to have a reason to celebrate in the first place.

And did we celebrate? Did we ever. We danced, we drank, we sang, we screwed. We even got some of those boring, grayfaced UN boys and girls into the party.

(And that took some doing, given how they have to be a lot more careful about letting their hair down, and with good !@#$ reason)

There were toasts to the fallen. There were loud explosions and science gone hilariously wrong. There was a jello wrestling match in the big swastika-shaped swiming pool, downstairs, and prank calling of various world leaders.

We shook the Ice Palace down to its rotten foundations and made something beautiful bloom there, if only to leave a psychic mark on this place that's seen too much death and pain.

Was I the life of that party? Did I instigate massive amounts of drunken naughtiness? You bet your sweet, tanned ass, son. They don't call me Dr Enabler behind my back for nothing.

But I was a little reserved, even for me. You'll note we encouraged the UN to join rather than rounding them up and force-feeding them crap beer until they were ready for the good stuff, Arabian wedding style.

We also refrained from doing anything seriously harmful to the nearby environment, unlike the time we blew up an Irish battleship by mistake. They're still kind of sore about that in Dublin.

Why so cautious? Why so reserved? Why didn't we get nasty death threats from the World Ecology Bureau again?

Because I was keeping the real party piece close to the heart, this time. Two little words I got when the communications came back up. Coordinates we can work with led to a name I know.  

Irian Jaya.

Not that that's what it's called, anymore. It's West Papua, now, on the Island of New Guinea. Indonesia controls it, depending on whom you ask.

And it would seem that GORGON's main temple's been down there (up there, from here, really) all along, and no one's had any real idea.

Until now.

Been a lazy day. I didn't even bother shooting my alarm clock this morning. I just let them scream at me until the lovely people I went to bed with got up, turned them off, and either came back to bed or left. I'm just going to lie here all day and say the words Irian Jaya over and over, like a mantra, until I can home in on what they're saying and doing up there.

And then I'll know what to do with them.

(SPYGOD is listening to Take a Picture (Filter) and drinking down good dreams)

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