What up? This is a bird.

I wish I had gone to uni. Sometimes I day dream about what my life would have been like had I done so. What kind of job would I have held? How much money would I have earned? One thing I can say is: I would never work in a place like my factory. Also I would earn a lot more money.

Mushroom Make Me See Things

Today I ventured deep into the forest. It was dark, damp, and a little frightening. Along the way I encountered strange beasts, magic mushrooms, and Star trek nerds. Often I eat one before I type this blog, they can be a bit boney though. I even make a stew with the mushrooms.... Anyway, the reason I went into the forest was to look for the fabled House of Knome. The Knomes have long been regarded as haveing the best kept hop garden in the valley. Today however my quarry wasn't a good hop, I had far more savage designs. For surounding the hoppery was a mote, and in that mote lived the dreaded double roasted malt fish. They say the juce from the eye of the malt fish can give even the most infected beer taste beyond words... For such a fish the trolls have offered me seventeen golden coins and there finest dried pigs feet. What monster could pass up such a bounty?

Monster Life

Haveing been a monster all my life, I tend to gravitate towards monstery things. Now winter is allmost appon us, I can indulge myself in all my favouriet wintery delights. Cultureing my best mold spores. Finding strange fungi under rotting leaves. Digging for truffles.
I've been trying to find myself a truffel sniffing pig. No one seames to have a truffle pig. I'm told they've all been eaten by the trolls. When I took some of my finest ale up the mountain to swap with the trolls for a truffle pig. All they could give me was a pig sniffing truffle. Anyway, after several ales and much haggling I decided it would be a good idea to take the pig truffle home. Trowing a harnes and saddle on my new pig truffle I set off home. Whilst drinking even more ale on the way I became horibly lost. Next thing I knew, it was morning and I was lying next to my pig truffle that was happly chewing on the remains of a pig. Next to the dead pig were several large white truffles it had dug up, they were half burried in rotting leaves. Next to the truffles was the most prutrid mold I have ever seen. To this very day it remains my favouriet type of mold. It grows very well in the danker parts of my hovell.

Fell Fall

Fall Fell into winter today. It reminds me of when I first found my hammer....
Long ago when I was a much youger monster, I would spend my days stairing out of my hovell looking up at the misty mountains. The troll who lived there made his beer from the gizzards of goats that would pass on the way to greener pasture. Un beknown to the troll beer made from goat innards has no bubbles. For years the troll tryed getting bubbles into his beer. He tried yelling at it, stomping on it, punching it, even banging his head against it. Nothing worked. In-raged he struck the keg sharply with his best hammer. The beer reacted violently and blew the keg to peices. The troll was about to cry when he noticed small puddles of the foamyest bubbleyest beer he had ever seen all about his cave floor. The hammer, forever lost to the troll, was blasted clean of the mountain. It landed on my head. Thats why I can't spell good. Some folk say it getts real stormy up on that mountain. The loudest thunder you ever heard. I try to tell them it because a troll lives up there. But they don't listen much. "No one cares for troll beer" they say. "It aint got no bubbles".

When I banged stuff.

Today when I banged stuff with my hammer, strange things began to happen. Things that should have come appart stayed together. Things I thought I could'nt brake broke. People that normally scream stayed silent...
When I tryed to drive a screwdriver into my bosses chest. It was impossible to penitrate his hart. It was made of stone. He struck back with his pitch fork. His forked tongue lashed, sparks spitting out the most vile of insults. Fighting back I landed the mightest of blows, my ancient battle hammer thundered down, over and over, until finally exhausted..... Can you guess? I don't have any job satisfaction .

Once a wombat moved into my best friends dog house. His dog then had to sleep outside. When finally after much pleading and a bribe or two, the wombat left the dog house..... Six days and several hours later a very large volume of water washed the dog house into his home. On wadeing outside several live fish flopping about and one drowned wombat were observed on the driveway. Asunder the dam feeding water to his hop garden could be seen spurting from it's walls. The once live wombat haveing been evicted from the dog house, sought vengence by burrowing into the dam walls, thus venting the contents suddenly appon my friends home whilst causeing the wombat to commit suicide. He has since built a second dog house for future wombats.... Karma

Ay is not sleeped gooder. Ay is no getting sleep right. Ay therefor must be getting sleep wrong. Something I have been doing right all my life, is now being done wrong. How does I stuff it up.

Today I figured out a few things.... A 52 spin CD dirve has a disk edge veloicty of 823.4 kph. I went to the effort of calculating this because, after I went to the effort of strikeing the tray door of a CD drive at maximum spin with my hammer. I was able to figure out that it possible to destroy not only a whole computer, but also some very expensive lab equipment. All in far less time than it would have taken me to do the same amount of damage with my hammer. Then I figured out that my feet had required a sole edge veloicty of 38.14 kph in order to avoid blame for the mentioned explosion..... Tricky

Me bang hammer all day. Hammer banging make me thirsty. Me drink beer. Beer make me sleepy. Sleepy is good...