Filched from Deb, who also made a lovely collage which samples a selection of the butts we encountered at the zoo. You must understand that the photo of the meerkat is not blurry. Those are in fact tears in your eyes, brought out by the meerkat's heartbreak.

From Deep Sea News: The world's rubbish dump: a garbage tip that stretches from Hawaii to Japan

A "plastic soup" of waste floating in the Pacific Ocean is growing at an alarming rate and now covers an area twice the size of the continental United States, scientists have said.

The vast expanse of debris – in effect the world's largest rubbish dump – is held in place by swirling underwater currents. This drifting "soup" stretches from about 500 nautical miles off the Californian coast, across the northern Pacific, past Hawaii and almost as far as Japan

...that's fucking disgusting.
And my city apartment block doesn't do recycling.

Kung Hei Fat Choi!

'tis Chinese New Year, and this year is the Year of the Rat, which marks the beginning of a new cycle. I'm at work, so I can't find awesome rat pictures or anything like that. You'll just have to content yourself with reading about how the rat came first.

I think I have to have ice cream for dinner.
It's been one of those days.

ASK AND YE SHALL RECEIVE!

The Might Magnificent Marvellous and Magnanimous Matthew GAVE ME A PONY.



AUGH. IT IS AN UNDEAD NAPPY-WEARING CYBORG-HEAD MY LITTLE PONY. IS IT NOT BEAUTIFUL.

YES.

YES IT IS BEAUTIFUL.

For this we give thanks, and must find something undead and fabulous to inflict on his inbox. I'm thinking something with lace. Yah huh.

In other news; a migraine is attempting to make my left frontal lobe explode. Wanna watch?

WOT I DID ON MY WEEKEND, by Sir Tessa (age 26)

First, there was the hussying up, 'cause when going to a Rufus Wainwright concert, it is necessary to look hot. Deb actually looks hot all the time, so this wasn't an issue for her. I, on the other hand, had to sacrifice three fluffy white rabbits to the Gods of Hott Smex before I got my groove on. This did not impress Deb, as she had to clean up sacrificed rabbits. Clearly I could not, that would ruin the whole hottness I'd just acquired. Rabbit blood just doesn't go with my mojo.

Second, there was a whole lot of fabulous music, sparkly things, somersaults, and cross dressing.

Third, despite hotness, Rufus did not love us.

Fourth, we have discovered my other special mutant power - the ability to make any animal turn its back as soon as I am in the area. I shit you not. I just had to touch my camera to make even the damn pigeons turn and present butt. The tree kangaroo presented butt. The bear presented butt. The elephant presented butt. Even the snakes presented butt and they don't have butt. The gorilla presented incredible butt. I am a class five mutant. They will not let me join the X-men. Fuckers.

Fifth, the appearance of one Andy (who is tall, (wears) dark (clothes), and handsome), some cute Lolita girl who should have been in Tokyo, and a whole lot of sunburn.

Sixth, some rather intimidating pimpage which broke my site stats, and is lies and slander. I am not surprising. I say the same things over and over, such as "I can't sleep," and "oh I hate myself what a world what a world," and "I can't sleep," and "dude seriously dude wtf" and that oldie but goldie, "I can't sleep," followed shortly by, "I can't sleep." I also frequently ask for a pony. The internet has not provided me with a pony. It's possible I have used my one "ask and ye shall receive!" card on an angry penguin army. Regardless, I find being watched by so many people at quite alarming, so behold! I am crafty and cunning, and shall distract you with an ADORABLE



MEERKAT ORGY. COMPLETE WITH ADORABLE LITTLE MEERKAT TESTICLES AND ADORABLE LITTLE MEERKAT MUFF.

THEY CAME BACK



Yay!

Yet, my inbox remains lacking in emails from people who work for the CIA.

It was the chocolate, wasn't it? Wait a minute, let me see what else I can tempt you with...okay, for some reason there isn't any awesome food to be found in this fridge. Maybe you're not a food person. Let me find something else- aha!



They're blue whales, the biggest animal to ever live. Bigger even than dinosaurs. Bigger even than my ego. They're for you, mystery CIA worker. Hope they make your day bigger and bluer, and maybe make you write to me.

Years from now, they'll ask how it all started...

I sent this picture to Matt for his birthday. 'cause I'm a nice friendly person like that.

That Vanderdude saw that (admittedly crappy) drawing of a penguin, and left this comment.

So I sent him this picture,



CLEARLY, I HAD NO CHOICE.

He returned fire,



(I don't care what he says, that's chest hair on that penguin.)



GAME ON.

I would like to invite everyone with a spare minute and a pen to please draw angry penguins and put them online. Feel free to sent them to me if you don't have a web page, and I'll put them up here. I want a damn penguin army. With war paint.

'cause I'm a nice friendly person like that.

ETA: The first recruit! Aanimal found this furious little bird and pressganged it into service. Dun look too happy. Peck your toes off.



ETA: Jaime discovered the penguin army's super sekrit covert ops squad. This penguin did the stunt work for Tom Cruise. This penguin is totally about to mess with your porn stash.



ETA: Matt found a serious freakin' giant gladiator viking warrior can of penguin WHUP ASS. And notes "the penguin does not need thumbs to wield its morning star....It has been beneficially mutated by global warming."



ETA: Jeff found a penguin with less chest hair, and a hell of a lot more teeth. And what looks like halitosis. Very useful trait in close-quarters combat, that. Except when fighting walrus. I understand walrus are pretty rank.



And hooooly crap. Matt also found the penguin who washed out of basic.



ETA: I do believe Matt is trying to kill me, because I just burst something else on sight of this. There'll be a feature film CARNO PENGUIN VS SHARK PENGUIN, featuring Godzilla as commentator!



ETA: Selena brought this guy in shackles and a hockey mask. She wrestled him, one on one, and survived.

Actually, I lie. Killing one of your next of kin is a necessary induction into the penguin army, and Selena is a canny report who unveiled this terrible fact to the innocent public. Oh, the horror, the horror!



ETA: Nadine is a very practical, sensible, foresighted woman. Very practical. Very sensible. Very foresighted. And knows exactly how to make Sir Tessa swoon.



Ren found the penguin to lead the charge, fire the first shot, etc.



And was also thinking along the same lines as Nadine. I suspect I'm going to have to start considering things like logistics, supply lines, and how to keep a million penguins from getting bored and pillaging the world.



ETA: Malatroit found a penguin bowling skittle, and I do believe it's main offensive capability is completely disarming the enemy by being overwhelmingly adorable.



Joyelle pointed out the existence of a mutant penguin soldier army, with this most disturbing evidence.

Cynarion found INIGO MONTOYA PENGUIN. FOR SRS. I'm pretty sure that makes him invincible. And popular wth the ladies.



And Gillian pleaded lack of drawing skills and sent thought-penguins. Thought-penguins are somewhat alarming to ponder. I hope you're alarmed.

I should state, for the record, that stating lack of drawing skills will not be considered a valid reason for bugging out. You have MS Paint. You have the intrawebs. Unleash your inner angry penguin!

ETA: I have contracted out the organisation and distribution of supplies to Arthur Miller.

No, really.

Sir Tessa,
It has come to the attention of the unctuous obnoxious salesperson (who has never sold used cars) that you having issues supplying an army of penguins. While this difficulty is somewhat unique the OU Salesperson has, as ever, a solution at hand. Be advised that our despised company can lease you a division of crack penguin krill suppliers (see attached jpeg). While they may not look it these birds are tough - their training is so rigorous that they can listen to Crazy Frog up to 23.67 times before breaking down.

As to your problem of keeping them occupied - The OU Salesperson suggests devising increasingly elaborate and nonsensical war games. That is, after all what we do with our staff.

The OU Salesperson thanks you for your kind consideration of its offer and is hoping to do as little business as possible with you (however it is not so cruel as to wish a hard drive implosion on you).

About your personal salesperson: Arthur Miller (1915-2005, 2006-) was a respected playwright who would like to think that he is most famous for his play Death of a Salesman. He is actually better known for being married to Marilyn Monroe. He was resurrected by the OU Salesperson in 2006 and has since been paying off the enormous costs involved by indenture to said company. He has since attempted to sell things to a large number of people without so much as a response. He got a woefully inadequate reply from tupou gangster but at least it wasn't a drive-by shooting.

He will pay a bounty to anyone who can explain the term mechcarmen.


About the OU Salesperson: While not selling used cars founder J. Edgar Hoover (1895-1972) noticed that putting the emphasis on customer relations was getting him nowhere - at the same speed as the cars he was not selling. He decided to take a leaf out of the insurance salesman's handbook and became an irritating, conniving bastard. After a successful career in the FBI selling improbable ideas like the domino theory he returned to his first love and created the OU Salesperson.

Magpie located the R&D - Mad Scientist Division of the angry penguin army in Austria. They were looking for a suitable ruined and ominous castle to set up their lab in, for the appropriate atmosphere.



She had to send a crack squad of penguins to invade Austria to bring them back. Austria had NO IDEA what hit them.



Kenn Perkins recruited my moral officer. That's Commissar to you. Smile like you mean it, dirtbag!



ETA: Xavie recruited an utter BRUISER of a penguin. Look at that beak! That's a beak that has been in so many drunken brawls, it can't peck properly. Also, being all corkscrewy like that, it'll do more damage going in. The Fu Is Strong In This One.



Timblynod recruited a top notch killer to do all the angry penguin army's wetwork. And, quite frankly, I do not sleep well at night knowing I'm his boss. Eeek.



Magpie discovered yet more Austrian penguins. In the newspaper. (I suspect these are members of the crack squad I sent who went AWOL. They shall be reappropriated shortly.)



Chris Billett yoinked from his friend Edward Monkton this fine, fine example of a penguin soldier. 412. Exactly.



ETA: No recruits today (the recruitment office took a day for stress leave).

Gillian pointed out an angry penguin literary movement. Australian, no less.

From JKS via Jeff a...something. Actually, I have no idea what it is, as the network here has blocked it as exceeding the weighted phrase limit (the bane of my life), but I'm sure it's interesting, enlightening, and highly relevent to your life.

ETA: StrangeShe had to hire all sorts of tanks and helicopters to bring us this recruit, as she is pretty damn amazingly spectacularly astoundingly OARSUM, and every angry penguin army needs a giant glowing mutant penguin.

Scientists believed the giant 5-foot tall Peruvian -Icadyptes salasi- penguin was extinct (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/6239846.stm). What they didn't know is that it was busy in its underground lab conducting experiments into top-secret weapons development for the angry penguin military. Caught in the blast of a gamma bomb, the -Icadyptes salasi- was transformed into the angry specimen you see here.

The other penguins had to resort to more traditional methods...

Libra has supplied us with some nasty munitions. Oh yeah. Grilled sardines tonight, suckahs. (This unit will not ever be deployed on ice.)



Mike went on a long and arduous expedition to the far reaches of some where far away that has far reaches, and discovered all sorts of penguin army activities, including what looks like a street punk penguin army. Hmm...











I did visit the penguins at the Melbourne Zoo over the weekend, and pictures were taken, but I am not yet decided on whether or not I wish to recruit them. One of them in particular was giving off a very strong Jabba the Hut vibe.

ETA: Jeff just can't help himself.



He's trying to use my own penguin against me. Ha! We laugh at this aborted attempt at the perversion of the truth.



ETA: Gillian found an infiltration of penguins at the Canberra Show, which I must publicly claim ignorance on, while waggling my eyebrows in a knowing manner.





And check this out: the biggest creche in the world, and it's all penguins, millions and millions of penguins, making abstract art of the landscape.

ETA: Keyan Bowes (photo cred: Jerzy Strzelecki) sent us a nice piece of recon.

Yeah. Jeff is royally screwed.

Further penguin developments received their own posts;

• GIANT! FLING! PENGUIN!
  
• Adventure penguins (sad)
  
• Norway knights a penguin (which I did not make up)
  
• Secret Glowing Penguin Army in Prague
  
• They're making cyborg penguins! (which I did not make up either)
  

And then there was the infiltration of the VanderMeer household by cunning and stealthy operatives.

They're staring each other down...Mr P is so stealthy he has no eyelids with which to blink.

I, PIMP

• That most wretched wench, Nadine, has been writing for firefox.org for some time now, and appears to be having a gay old time digging up creepy stories. The last article scared the shit out of me, and because I'm a suckah I listened to those clips over and over. Jolly old town!
• That most torrid trollop, Deb, has roped a two book deal with Angus & Robertson. Which is old news, but my pimping has been lacking of late. PR MACHINE GOGOGO. I had the honor of reading her baby before she sent it out, and it was one of the best things I read last year. Unfortunately, I can't tell you when it will be coming out. Or what name she'll be writing under. Or what the title will be. BUT IT IS MADE OF OOOOAARSUM. (Also, 'ware her blog, she keeps posting large photos of spiders AUGH)
• That sordid scallywag, Jeff, wrote a Predator novel, which I also had the honor of reading. It is also made of OOOOOAARSUM, but a different sort of oarsum to Deb's novel, being as there are no golems in this, nor any Predator's in that. But there is a GIANT FUCKING CROCODILE, how can you resist? September for birth, I think.
• He also wrote this other thing, 'The Situation', and fed me a copy of that too. It's exactly the sort of thing you don't read at 4 am, because, my god, it's a nasty horrible piece of work. Beautifully written and fantastically fucked up. It deals specifically with the horrors of office politics, but sits solid upon the more general theme of bullying. It's powerful stuff, took me back to primary school. Love the beetles. Love the fish. Love the headfuck. Had to watch The Wizard of Oz as a chaser.
• That rascally rascal, Ben, has a weekly comic going on over at his livejournal. Nowhere Near Savannah needs more attention. It amuses me greatly, methinks it'll do the same for you. If you haven't already rubbed your nose in it, I recommend you do.
• A mysterious stranger emailed me after my a softer world reference, and said I "might also enjoy the webcomic "Tiny Ghosts", which has similar sensibilities." The mysterious stranger was right. I ate the archive, which was too small, and made me sniffle and snort and smile, sometimes all at once. Thank you, mysterious stranger.
  

/end nightshift

- for them to finally drop the bomb.

A truth and beauty bomb. They’re quite distinctive. No other bomb explodes like a bag of flour, sending great clouds of pink, blue and yellow gas billowing out through the grid that is Melbourne’s streets. It smells like bubblegum and regret.

Some people run. They drop their briefcases and mobile phones and run screaming from the fairy floss cloud come to swallow them. I stand to one side, and watch as the world around me is hidden by a rainbow.

It’s already too late.

A stranger emerges from the cloud, one of the emo kids from the steps of Flinders Street Station. He stares at me, wide eyed and wide mouthed in horror. Unable to stop himself, he points and shouts that my breasts are enormous.

I point back and yell that he’s too fat for skinny leg jeans, and wince when I do. The truth will out, and it isn’t always beautiful. He bursts into tears and disappears in a waft of pink.

Time, then, to do what must be done, and quickly. The containment plan, set in down legislation more than a year ago when the first truth and beauty bomb hit and incapacitated Auckland in New Zealand, would have wound up before this bomb even hit. Somewhere, the RAAF is scrambling all the combat jets it has. It has been proven, time and again, that civilisation cannot function with truth and beauty. Nations have collapsed under their weight. Australia has no desire to suffer the same fate.

I duck into an internet café. The attendant, hidden behind a gas mask, charges me significantly more than normal. The truth is, he’s a money-grubbing opportunistic jerk, and with the gas thick in my lungs, I have no choice but to tell him so. He shrugs, amused, and after taking my money begins his escape from the city.

It starts as a letter to my family, a last good bye before they cut the power and concrete the lockdown, but the truth will out, and out, and out, and it grows to be a letter to everyone, then a blog post, then a forum post, on every forum, in every journal, anywhere I can say-

They dropped the bomb. The world is changing. My eyes are changing the world. I’m already dead, I just haven’t stopped moving. The truth is,
you drive me fucking crazy
you made me cry when you didn’t call
you made me cry when you wouldn’t look away
you made me shy with your consideration
you’re awesome
you’re awful
i miss you even when you’re here
i want to get to know you better so i can miss you better so i can abuse you and lose you
i would have stayed up all night
you were too cool stylish amazing for me
i wish i'd just kissed you
you’ve never listened to a word i said
i didn’t say i like you can we hang and i should have
you take yourself too seriously
i tried
you should have said sorry
you’re boring
i should have asked you why
you’re not the friend i wanted you to be
i lied
you disappoint me
i made a mistake no several mistakes with you and i’m sorry
you’re my favourite person
you did me so much damage and you didn’t even notice
you should know better than to ask
i admire you and your clarity and your strength
you stopped being gay for her why not me
you crushed my dreams
you make me a better person
i don’t know how to be happy
i can make you happy
you’re adorable and fuzzy
you make me feel worthless
i was right
you need to shut up and learn about silence
your normality puts me off kilter
i was afraid you’d say no so i didn’t ask
you need to stop coming on with an agenda
you hurt me every day
i did that on purpose
i don’t know how to say thank you for letting me stay in your life
the delight you take in the world makes the world delightful
you’re a pathetic whore
i want to hold your hand on a winter’s night
you need to lighten up
you should be nicer to me
you should just go ahead and do it trodden toes be damned
you think too highly of yourself
you’d be a kinder person if you could read minds
i was never as important to you as you were to me
i deserve nothing any of you have ever done for me
you make me what i am
you don’t know me
i don’t know you,
nothing changes.

The truth is-

Press send. Press send. Press send. The power disappears. It is beginning.

I go home.

I open the window, and stand with my arms hanging out, and watch the pigeons flutter across the narrow alley from my sill to the opposite. Sunlight reflects on the birdshit and dust streaked glass. Little feathers, city grime, the sound of hundreds of people crying as they have no choice but to be truthful with themselves, maybe for the first time, certainly for the last time. The pigeons bob their heads madly, and chase each other along narrow filthy ledges. Here is the fast growing roar of jets thundering low overhead. There is the concussion of bombs, real deadly damaging destructive bombs tearing the city apart, wiping Melbourne and everyone drowning in the truth and beauty of the world off the map.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

- for a pony.

No, wait. For a triceratops.

With a comfy saddle. I could ride him all over town. Like the maharaja and his elephant, me and my triceratops. It’d have to be a fancy saddle. With sequins and ribbons. Probably glitter on velvet. We could paint his frills, put tassels on his horns. His name would be something stalwart and resistant, like, oh, I don’t know, Bert. Bert the drag queen triceratops. He’d live on a farm. A dairy farm, with the cows. They’d get used to him. They’d love him.

No, wait. A flying triceratops.

Not some dinosaur twat with wings, no, Bert would fly like superheroes do, with his legs stretched out. We’d fly to the beach, somewhere empty and clean, and build enormous sand castles. Me and my triceratops.

Tourists would look up and point, and cry, what on earth is that?

That, the locals take one look and shrug, that’s Tessa and Bert the flying drag queen triceratops.

Do they fight crime?

I don’t think so.

Then what do they do?

Mostly, they just zoom about dropping confetti with bad haikus written on them.

But Bert, the flying drag queen triceratops, he’s lonely. He tells me he’s all alone in this world, and when I reply that we all are, each and every one of us, alone, he shakes his head sadly. You don’t understand, he says, you can step outside and see hundreds of people who look and move and speak like you. There are no other dinosaurs. I am alone.

I rub his nose. He likes that.

He tells me he’s leaving.

No, you can’t leave.

I am. I’m going to find some dinosaurs. I can’t be the only one.

But where will you go?

The moon, he said, and takes off into the sky.

Wait! Take me with you!

But Bert is gone, a plump silhouette shrinking in the disc of the full moon.

And I am alone.

Later, men knock on my door. Men without uniform or ID. They inform me that the ISS has been destroyed, and show me a satellite picture of the wreckage. A mess of metal still in orbit over the Earth. Amid the glittering shards of mirrors and ribbon strips of foil and mangled twists of girders is a frozen triceratops, legs stretched out.

We believe that is your dinosaur, they tell me.

The ISS cost a lot of money, they tell me.

Do you have insurance, they ask me.

TESSA = RAW POISONOUS FISH





PUTTING A STORM IN A TEACUP DOES NOT MAKE IT VERY SMALL.
PUTTING A STORM IN A TEACUP MAKES IT VERY CONCENTRATED.
AND NO DRUNKEN SINGING WILL SAVE YOU.



IT'S ALL GOING DOWN ABANDON SHIP ABANDON SHIP

Etc etc etc. Nightshift. You get the idea.

I appear to have caused some concern with my last post. You don't have to believe me, but know that even when I'm not okay, I'm okay. I'm sorry for freaking you out. Thank you, for pokes and elephants and stuff. I have some nice fluffy chasers planned to make up for it. Rainbows and sparkles and marshmellows. No, really.

Your alarm goes off.
You hit snooze.
Your alarm goes off.
You hit snooze.
Your alarm goes off.
You hit snooze.
Your alarm goes off.
You get up.
Your face in the bathroom mirror has puffy eyes and deep shadows.
Your jaw aches.
You shower.
You start getting dressed.
You pour a glass of juice.
You drink.
You finish getting dressed.
You shamble around the corner to the free wifi. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
You check your email.
You read your sites.
You shamble back to your nest.
You put dinner together. Instant noodles and sundry. Again.
You do the dishes.
You put the washing away.
You brush your teeth.
You walk to work.
You sit at your work station for eight hours, processing reports of sexual assault, family violence, drug trafficking, stalking, assault, and people who are generally worse off than you are.
You plan to write this read that dance naked in front of the windows when you get home.
You walk home.
You close the door.
You sit. Sometimes on the bathroom step. Sometimes on the bed. Sometimes on the floor.
You cry.
You cry.
You cry until you retch.
Then you cry some more.
You stop long enough to brush your teeth.
You turn off the lights.
You undress.
You crawl into bed.
You cry.
You cry.
You put on a movie. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
You watch the clock count down the hours till sunrise.
You’re too tired to cry.
You’re too tired to sleep.
You hear the garbage trucks at three am.
You toss.
You turn.
You sleep.

Your alarm goes off.

I had a head full of poison so I took a sleeping pill around 3.ooam to stop it.

It's 7.32am, I'm at work, and it's still stopped.

“After a hard day’s work assassinating political targets and people who talk at the movies, the last thing I want to do when I get home is kill some more. That’s why I use Mortein Surface Spray! It “lures ‘n kills” cockroaches for up to six months, leaving my carpet a noxious killing ground of death and horror. The decomposing chemical orange smell covers even the scent of murder and blood on my hands. For wholesale insect slaughter, I always turn to Mortein! Thanks Mortein!”

- NinjaTess, Melbourne