Earl’s and his family have been growing corn at this location for generations now, and are used to having a difficult time with the crops. Recently however, in addition to the normal problems of drought, insects, and birds, Earl now has had to deal with the recurring problem of annual crop circles.
We have been given special permission, by Earl, to come visit this day where more crop circles are expected to be created. There is Earl now.
“Earl, thank you for having us. Guess what ? We found a code in last year’s circles, and have had them decoded. Would you like to know what they said?”
“Well, hi there, welcome.” Earl grinned, “If you found a code in the circles, I would love to know what our Alien visitors had to say.”
“Earl, the code said “Technological Midget”, and we assume they were talking about you.”
“Technological Midget?” Earl repeats, his smile fading, as he takes a short walk to find his well worn shotgun. “Well then, I think it’s about time I show these here Aliens, a bit of my “Technological Midgetsu.”
My grandma asked me something a couple of decades ago now that I still think about from time to time, she asked “Why don’t I ever hear people whistling anymore? Men used to walk down the road whistling a tune in the morning, now it seems nobody does it anymore. Do people still whistle?”
I never grew up in my grandma’s time, but I do remember people whistling in some of the older books I have read, as well as in movies and on TV, The Andy Griffith show pops in my head when i think about old time whistling.
Wow look at how young Ron Howard was back then.
I remember as a child I had wanted to whistle, I used to practice it when I was very young, and got fairly decent at it. Whistling though, seems to have become somewhat of a lost art. I wonder, why people had stopped whistling? Is it possible people don’t whistle in the rest of the world as well these days? I don’t remember hearing any whistling by anyone on my world travels. Well other than myself, including the occasion I will tell you about below.
As many of you know, in my early twenties, I took quite a long, nineteen consecutive month, trip around Asia. After my first stop in Hong Kong, I made my way to the old Portuguese settlement of Goa, situated on the west coast of the Indian subcontinent. Goa is a wonderful place described in the Lonely Planet as something similar to “Perfect tropical suburbia” It also boasts ridiculously beautiful beaches, occasional surfing, and a night life that often carries right through till the afternoon of the next day. Though my European readers are of course completely familiar with Goa and all its stories, for some reason North Americans, for the most part, have not discovered it.
Goa Beach In the Afternoon
About a month into this trip, which I had taken on my own, I had already found a good bunch of male British friends to spend my time with, but I was especially happy when I found myself a couple of lovely, and fun, female British friends, one was named Trudy, and the other, Klowie.
Trudy, Klowie, and I had many adventures around Goa together. After sleeping off a night of partying, we would often jump on our motorbikes, and head off to eat our afternoon breakfast at the local German bakery, on a few occasions if we all got up early enough, we would then head off to some remote, quiet beaches, or perhaps a nice hot springs for a soak in the middle of the jungle, just the three of us. It was great, just me and two pretty ladies. Though I suspected both might have been interested me, I was growing closer, faster to the lovely, long brown haired, Trudy.
As Trudy and I continuing to get closer, Klowie had stopped spending as much time with us, after a while though Klowie would still eat breakfast with us, it was normally just Trudy and I for the rest of the day. We were still not a couple at this time, but one lovely full moon night, like something out of a romance novel, Trudy mentioned how dirty her hair was, and I suggested that I should wash it for her. OK not really a romance novel, but it was the way it happened. So off we went back to her place for some good old team scrubbing.
CENSORED
Somewhere around 5 AM the two of us were still awake, and not wanting to sleep, we left her hotel for a nice long full moon lit walk down the long empty beach. We were both smiling as we held each other’s hands. After some time, the moon and stars faded, and the sky started to get light with the coming sun. As the sun was rising, the waves were breaking on the shore, a school of dolphins were spotted, birds were chirping, and then for some reason in my happiness I began to whistle a soft practiced tune.
At the sound my my whistling, Trudy stopped, looked at me, and said. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” I asked.
Trudy looked at me sternly. “Stop your whistling, I’m not going to walk around with someone whistling.”
“Why?” I said “There is nobody around.” and then proceeded to continue my tune.
Trudy turned around, and stormed away from me, off the beach, as I stood there, whistling. Once Trudy was out of sight, and I realized she was not coming back, I lost my moment of happiness, and no longer felt like whistling anymore.
Trudy and I only saw each other once after that, across a crowded room, but we did not talk.
I do not regret my continued whistling that day, though Trudy left me alone, I was free to whistle another day.
Vince: “I’m still not sure what we are doing here John, I mean you found this great looking Blue Monster, hats off to you for that , but now you have him under the ring eating a full box of cookies. How is this supposed to entertain the audience?”
John “It’s not a full box, I took one cookie out.”
Vince: “Well to me one cookie out of a full box is still a full box. I think the audience actually wants to see the monster, having him hide under the ring isn’t going to entertain anyone.”
John: “I put the last cookie in the middle of the ring.”
Vince: “Well at least our wrestler is getting in the ring , now we just have to get the monster to come out.”
John, “Watch what happens when the wrestler goes for the cookie.”
Women have often accessorized throughout history using things such as fancy hairpieces, jewelry, and pretty shoes with a handbag. The handbag may at times contain a cute little dog with a little pink tongue and a bow on his head. Many women prize one accessory above even her little portable canine, and that is her very own domesticated man.
Man was born to run free, he values his freedom above all other things, but his attentions are often caught by woman’s bright colors, sweet perfumes and shiny accessories. Although man tries hard to be free, he is often seduced into domestication.
Some men are determined to remain free, so occasionally a woman might enlist her father in her mission. The father, perhaps bitter at the loss of his own freedom years before, sometimes forces domestication upon the man with a shotgun or other weapon. Making the man’s final free decision, a matter of wife or death.
Not many people are truly familiar with what went on at the very core of the Death Star. Although most know of it’s very large power reactor, once the Death Star’s capacitors were fully charged, the reactor would be shut down and moved for maintenance, the core would then be used as a place for social gatherings.
The Death Star’s gravity was created with both a spinning, war ready crust, and the central core which spins in the same direction but quicker. The inside walls of the core had 360 degree omnispherical seating installed for up to 32,000 spectators, each held in their seat with the gravity of the core’s rotation. At the very center of it all, Darth Vader would often float weightlessly in front of a massive mesmerized audience, playing awesome mystical sounding evil hard rock tunes through his sith crystal powered axe guitar.
