The Tatters of the King

Another mail from lara was quickly followed by another from the mysterious "Facilitator" of the "annex," which makes me inclined to believe that either

i) They are the same person, or

ii) The Facilitator has access to lara's messaging.

The latter is by far the most entertaining possibility, so I'll choose to believe that for now. Despite warnings, I've been able to keep in touch with both of them but things are getting to the point where I'm going to be asked to take sides, I think. Maybe I should ask them to take my side instead. Or Uncle Podger's side. I don't think he uses it much.

Murdoch eats IGN

http://www.theinquirer.net/?article=26027

Good gravy! This bad news for humanity. But very useful ammunition at work; despite hard evidence in the form of increased profits, cash flow projections, audience<->publisher channel parallelism and some other buzzwords I had to use earlier today, The Powers That Be here still seem reluctant to sign off a project that's chiefly internet-based.

Perhaps they suspect it of dire and terrible things; some variety of witchcraft, like the diabolic musics which haunt the horned phonograph of Mr Edison, the eldritch and uncanny melodies to which unspeakable things cavort.

Cavort.

In the scuddy.

One of them - a Power That Is, I mean, not an unspeakable thing - once asked me "where [I] kept the internet."I think I left it down the back of the sofa. Possibly behind the fridge. Or maybe the dog ate it. You know the one. It's always listening to the gramophone. Like it hears something you don't...and isn't telling.

I think this is traditional

"...you are not enjoined against discussing the fact that you have "been promoted"; indeed you are
encouraged to do so."

Woo. Woot. And woo woo woot.

In the space year 1954

R. F. Borkenstein, captain of the Indiana State Police, invented the Breathalyzer for field sobriety testing.

That is all.

If I had a blog...

...I could boast about meeting Mr Henley, apparently, but I don't, so I can't. He's a chap with a mystique which in the grand scheme of things has hitherto passed me by - but it's an undeniable mystique nonetheless.

Wait. I may be talking about deoderant here.

But since I don't have a blog, and thinking of things which have passed me by, I'll observe that Douglas Adams was right, and deadlines do make a pleasant whooshing noise as they go by. It's much less amusing for those of us with a lack of millions in the bank and a number of people depending on them being met when they do, though.