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Excerpts from the biographies of some not-so-famous people |
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Not everyone can be famous, but everyone has a biography. You can't escape having a biography. It's just that you have to be famous before anyone will take the trouble of writing it down... |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Some say he descended from the moon on a stairway of clouds. Others say he was born of normal man, but blessed by the gods. Abergen Peso never worried much about where he came from. His focus was on where he was going. Believing in his own heart that he was destined to be a Master of the Universe, Abergen never faltered in his drive toward that goal. Forced to begin from a position of weakness and smallness, he took on projects that were ever bigger and he became stronger as he did so, until one day he was ready to face the ultimate challenge. A one on one contest with the other leading contender for the position of Master of the Universe. Abergen was well-prepared. He knew his stars and planets, his peoples and civilizations, his animals and plants. He was trained in logic, algebra, physics, music, geometry, and prestidigitation. He could compose a poem, an essay, a sonnet, or a sonata with equal ease. In the end he was defeated by his own arrogance. Believing himself invincible he neglected to protect his weak spots. Believing himself the inevitable winner, he neglected to fully consider factors pointing to a loss. He failed and thus History has forgotten his name as it does the names of all losers. Only a few esoteric scholars who collect the biographies of the forgotten remember him now. Abergen Peso - almost a Master of the universe. (Trinkets require an Upgrade to display.) * * * |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . Salty Sargasso enjoyed a long career as a captain of the seas, eventually owning his own cutter, a sleek beauty that sailed the trade routes between Europe and China. In his later years, he devoted himself to his lifelong hobby: painting. Salty specialized in painting water, but not scenes of the ocean or sailing. Instead, Salty painted scenes of woodland showers and meadows misty with light rain. Unfortunately, since he used water paints, most of his paintings were washed off the paper by the rain before they ever had a chance to dry. Salty used an umbrella to shield himself from the rain, but any stray breeze might blow a spray of raindrops under the edge of the umbrella. You would think that Salty Sargasso would find the continual erasure of his work frustrating, but he actually enjoyed the challenge. "If I ever do paint a painting that dries into something recognizable, I will proudly hang it in a place of honor on my wall!" But he never did, so today we know about Salty Sargasso, the Rain Painter, only through the anecdotes told about him, mainly this one. I don't know of any others. . . . |
. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** . . The King put Arnold in charge of watching the Room of Royal Secrets. Arnold was a good choice. When Arnold was a boy his parents did not get along with each other, but they stayed together for his sake. However, they cheated on each other. Arnold learned the importance of keeping their secrets. He became an excellent secret keeper. The King noticed that quality in Arnold and appointed him keeper of the Room of Royal Secrets. But just to be sure, he had Arnold's tongue cut out. The King was a perfectionist. Arnold didn't mind. There was no one to talk to anyway as hardly anyone except the King even knew the Room of Royal Secrets existed. Arnold went slowly crazy and when he died the King had him buried in a corner of the Room of Royal Secrets... just in case. . . . |
. . . ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I am the Captain of Abstraction I get my satisfaction From the geometric meaning of my lines. Rectangular conversions Circular perversions I'm eating with a fork that has no tines. Chopsticks in my noodles While you admire my poodles, Charming Fifi growling while she dines. Just imaginary terrors Please forgive her doggy errors And the awful sounds she's making with her whines. "Fifi!" I once roared "Do you see my sharpened sword?" She ran and hid within my grove of pines. Now look around you at my art; They all come from my heart And intoxicate me like the finest wines. I am the Captain of Abstraction I get my satisfaction From the geometric meaning of my lines. . . . |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** All his ideas were pure gold. He couldn't wait to write them down or draw them or perform them, for he was a man of many talents. Oh sure, there were those who said, "Hey, dude, this is just cardboard, poster paint, and glitter and you didn't even use a good glue!" But he knew better. Everything he produced had the shine of gold. All he had to do was open his mouth and golden words fell out. After that it was just a matter of scraping them up off the floor and putting them in colorful little baskets labled "poem" or "story". He wrapped the baskets in cellophane tied with a golden ribbon. When he put his pencil to the paper, magical drawings emerged, drawings that gleamed with a golden hue. He was an alchemist of art transmuting the lead of his pencil into the gold of his drawings. And music? His songs tinkled and chimed like golden jingle bells. They caught the light and turned it into sound. When he died they lay upon his face the golden death mask he had made for himself, just like King Tutankamen of Ancient Egypt, except Goldthinker's death mask had to be sprayed with insecticide so it wouldn't attract the cockroaches. He really should have used a better glue. . . . |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Many, many years ago, when dinosaurs walked the earth and women wore animal fur bikinis, people were stupid. Very, very stupid. They talked in grunts. They ate their food raw. They lived in caves. It was all very pathetic. But one day a light dawned in someone's eyes. He was the first genius. Let's call him Jim. Jim's tribe lived in a cave near a place called Alphabet Hill, named for the strange shapes of the boulders that lay everywhere. When Jim was a little boy, he imagined the boulders were his secret friends and he gave them all names, just grunts of course, like "ooooo" and "aaaaa" and "mmmmmm". One night Jim had a dream where twenty-six of the boulders came to visit him and arranged themselves in a line before him. Together they recited a little speech: We are the boulders of Alphabet Hill. Ask us to speak for you and we will. Jim was quite surprised by this dream. It was the first time anyone had ever talked to him in anything except grunts, screams, and slaps. His boulders were the best friends ever. Well, the rest is history, as they say, and why can we say it? Because a million years ago a little boy named Jim made friends with twenty six rocks. So if your child eats dirt or thinks cockroaches are cute, fear not. You may be raising humanity's next genius. . . . |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** One of twelve brothers and sisters, "Al" grew up fighting for his share of parental attention. He learned early that the ability to tell a good yolk was a valuable skill. He wasn't a real Earl of course. That was his jazz nickname. When he was ten years old his uncle gave him a toy saxophone. By the time Al was fourteen he owned a real tenor sax and could play it well. He was a well-rounded musician who could play classical, country, pop, or jazz with equal ease. One night a fellow musician dubbed him the "Earl of Ovum" and the name stuck. Always fond of good food, especially scrambled eggs, Al grew fatter as he grew older. He took to wearing a tiny porkpie hat and some fancy leather breaches and custom boots. Although Albumin Coagulatus never achieved great fame, he always had a small group of hard-boiled fans who bought his albums and attended his concerts. When the Berlin Wall was being torn down, Al was there with his sax, blowing riffs of freedom from the top of the wall. Unfortunately, he fell off the wall, a very great fall. He was rushed to nearby Kingman Hospital, but they were unable to save him. The Earl of Ovum was dead. . . . On 6/8/15 at 1:55am, in a review for "Invalid Item"  , embe  wrote:In that moment in time not everyone can be famous the Earl of Ovum and Captain Feeny a Meanie, always scowling at Al too fat he slipped there on the tile floor near his sisters. Captain Feeny was now the drunk pirate holding a ten-year-old girl for a hostage, sailing to those Tortugas and the Grenadines there he bumped into fat boy Al in the casino. By embe in the scenery for our poet of note, Steve my simply positive review for you. . . . |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** A Scene From Captain Feeny's Childhood... It is a rainy day in a small town in middle America where the streets are safe and people are glad to get fruitcake at Christmas. Feeny is sailing paper boats in the rainwater that runs down the side of the street. FEENY'S MOM: Feeny, come in out of the rain, honey. FEENY: One day I will be the Captain of a ship and sail to Mars! Even as a child Feeny had a poor grasp on the difference between land and sea, a poor judgement for distances and spaces, and yet, thirty years later, he was indeed the captain of a ship. I'm tempted to say it was the good ship Lollipop, even at the risk of exposing the entire Feeny enterprise as a work of the imagination rather than a precise rendition of fact. Dammit! I will say it was the good ship Lollipop! And Shirley Temple was his first mate. So there! On the good ship Lollipop Your imagination just can't stop You can dream all day Dream your chances away! You can risk it all for an enterprise Not the star ship, more like burger and fries Meaning a business venture Not a space adventure. With a cute girl (she has lots of curls) You can journey forth (your sail unfurls) Now you're the captain of The happy ship of wholesome love. Of course, there's the rub. How wholesome could the love of Captain Feeny for a ten-year-old be? Conversation with the Coast Guard: COAST GUARD: Captain Feeny, we understand you are holding a ten-year-old girl hostage on your ship. FEENY: She's not a hostage. She's an employee! So Captain Feeny abandoned any ideas he might have about lolli's and pops and decided to become an ordinary old pirate. It seemed to be the safer path to trod. Captain Feeny called his ship The Black Flamingo, in honor of a goofy bird that did not deserve to go through life always dressed in pink. Captain Feeny's cousin Bruce had almost suffered that fate. But when he was 33 he had traded in his gowns and tutus for black slacks and a turtleneck and some nifty zip-up-the-side Italian boots. At Christmas reunions Bruce would always pull Feeny aside and say, "Feeny, it was the best move I ever made. I'm really in touch with my true self now." Feeny was more than a little envious, because he had long felt that he was not in touch with his true self. He wasn't sure his true self was a pirate, but it was a truer self than his previous occupation as a part-time pizza delivery man. "Do jobs get any more generic?" he would often mutter to himself as he carried his load of pepperoni and cheese to the frat houses. But now Feeny was afloat on The Black Flamingo with blue skies and blue seas, free at last, free at last! Fortunately, it was a small ship, easily handled by a crew of six. The names of five of the crew Feeny never bothered to learn, but the First Mate was Jack Tiger. "Argh?" said Jack Tiger in that wonderful shorthand that pirates use. Feeny answered: "We'll sail to the Tortugas and the Grenadines. First the Tortugas because they are closer, then the Grenadines because they sound like they would go well with Tortugas. They both sound pretty tasty, if you ask me." No one did ask him. The crew preferred scrambled eggs. You know, I would very much like to say that Captain Feeny's life as a pirate captain went well and he spent years adventuring at sea, but that was not the case. His pirate life ended rather abruptly just short of the Tortugas when the crew accused him of being a meanie and threw him overboard. . . . |
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