Menko 22: Operators Standing By

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Kochevoy-Berserker

Incarnated Trans-ætheric Subentity encountered during Quantum Venn Overlap on CHRONO Mission 20A, Stratum -CDLXVI. Combat counterpart to Naches Mantikora.

Projection for 2024: Akachan Anākī

Energy Supplement Criticised in Youth Athletic Use

On the shady slope of Bocce Hill at Lac des Cloches, furley frogsters chomp at the bit in anticipation of their morning natatory contest.
  “But some damn fool kid brings Orville’s Froggi-Zerii Scarfing Powder and shares it with teammates, that’s what happens. But what do they know?” laments local confectioner Mr Levy. “They ignored Bunnie’s fruit basket and my Strawberry Surprise all for a cheap energy boost out of a box.”
  Health professionals and parents are concerned, yet the busy coach is none the wiser.
  As long-time Orville critic Dr Allende Benton points out, “Sugary treats such as Froggi-Zerii don’t contain any of the other nutrients athletes need. And eating this crap just before a competition may provide a quick burst of energy, but it’ll leave them to ‘crash’ or run out of energy before they’ve finished their big event.”
  Orville spokesperson Tayna Van Wey defends the product. “Orville has been criticised before over energy supplements, but they are all extremely legal in the export markets in which they are retailed. Froggi-Zerii Scarfing Powder is a safe alternative for the domestic market. And kids love it.”
  “All the season’s training to qualify for Tri-County is now at enormous risk,” muttered Mr Levy, throwing his hands in the air.

He Checked It Out

He checked it out. He wasn't impressed.

Check It Out

Acrophobe: Gravity’s Last Word

Recurring motifs build themselves to an apex until there is no other direction but down

Regurge for 2023: Akachan Anākī

Timeless archetypes for a new year

Next Year’s Model

A Beloved Institution Closes Its Doors

Citizens of Heritageville are lamenting the recent closure of beloved dining establishment The Gristle. The lingering economic fallout from the ConGaijin-20 pandemic is blamed along with general apathy of the local populace, causing franchise locations to shutter.
  From humble yet hoity beginnings as artsy coffeehouse to culinary powerhouse, The Gristle has seen many ups and downs as well as the lateral vicissitudes inevitable in post-modern outlooks.
  The Gristle is notable for introducing Orville’s Praise,™ the New Food Substitute to a loving public as well as catering large events like the Punge Expo and Heritageville’s 150th Anniversary celebration.
  The popular eatery was not without its share of controversy over the years. Concerns of pedestrian safety were often raised by Gristle patrons and other soyfolk over the annual Princely Avenue Motor Sports Open, but cooler heads and leaden feet usually prevailed. Other contentions arose after an internet food critic decried the ongoing habit of sleeveless Gristle waitrons carrying menus tightly tucked under their upper arms.
  “Who wants their menus to smell like some vegan’s armpits?” went the main beef. But loyal clientele pooh-poohed these concerns as class snobbery: “Hey, it’s not like they have cavemen running your food.”
  The Gristle’s Princely Avenue location — the first to open its doors — was the last to close. The alpha and the omega. Let us raise a chalice of Praise™ in memory and slurp it down with gusto.

“So Much for Being Loyal...”

O Olhar Fixo Paralisante

Betwixt, Between, and Beyond

Ianuspater points hither and yon
Supra et infra, gazing on
Fourth Dementia swallows the Third
Lines of Limentinus, sharp, then blurred

Submitted for consideration:

Liminal Spaces — Ah, those transitional loci of circumstance that are subjective enough for both normie and dilettante to ascribe their navel-gazing expositions upon.
  In the particular universe perpendicular to the one from which you read this, physical examples abound. From the deserted Global Congress Centre to Buddhist columbariums and empty provision buildings, spatial peculiarities both confound and inspire. Much the same with Patinoires Del-Wood et Parkaire, the derelict Echelon Facility, and sundry no-man’s lands one may happen upon.
  And, from the mundane déjà fait iterations of visiting drinking establishments to the abundant intentionality of the APF’s Project: Horloge endeavours, liminal instances of course present themselves in the temporal realm as well.
  But the importance of the liminal’s psychological sphere must not be overlooked, dear friend. Here we see the time between stimulus/thought and its response, which may range from mere microseconds for the nimble-minded to the paralysed purgatories for those riddled with doubt. Mitigating factor? Intuition, which even Johnny Gutts admits is a “fleeting thing.” This psychological effect may well activate nostalgioid opiates and/or an aesthetic wonder at what-ifs.
  How then does John Q. Public negotiate this common (yet little acknowledged) void? Metacognitive recursions are always a risk when dealing with Verges on the Verge, and the resulting quantum friction could best be described as type of Dynamic Tension™ (apologies to Mr Atlas). But we’ve known such is the case as far back as the days of Blake’s ‘doors between known and unknown.’
  The bottom line between optimism, pessimism, and middle-ground realism is that Uncertainty is Opportunity.
  How you carpe that diem is up to you.

In the Spirit of Lenape Camaraderie

One autumn day two young lads ventured beyond the Nottingham Weg into the amber woods surrounding Mystery Hill. To Ian and Gass-Boy, it was familiar terrain nearhand the Abode of Weasel. In fact, Weasel’s sister Stacey joined the two in their scouting foray through the meandering trails and thicket.
  Though there was nothing new to be found on this day, every hike there was a restorative to the senses. The lumbering red oak and bog spruce, the creeping pokeweed. The hanging musk of vegetal decay, the wafting char of burned-out forts, and the coo of the unseen mamèthakemu. The trio didn’t say much in their amble. The essence of tekene spake wherein they tread.

Gendatehundin Uchtechsut

“Aargh!” cried out Ian, halting in his tracks. He lifted his foot out of the tawny leaf litter to reveal a rusty nail from a plank had pierced the sole of his ankle boot. “Uh-oh,” Stacey stared. Ian whipped off the boot and sock and the three examined a bleeding puncture wound on his foot.
  “Damn. Does it hurt?” Gass-Boy blurted.
  “Of course it hurts!” winced Ian. He wiped the blood on his sleeve, clicking his tongue.
  “Can you walk on it?” asked Stacey.
  Ian slipped the sock and boot back on and tried to stand. “Mmph — It hurts worse than it looks.”
  Stacey slung her arm around Ian’s left shoulder. “Get his other side,” she directed Gass-Boy.

Mamchachwelendam òk Nisha Witschindin

Stacey and Gass-Boy had Ian in a two-person arm carry and carefully stepped their way through the brush.
  “You had a tetanus shot, Ian?”
  “I dunno. I guess.” He was chagrined but silently thankful as they eventually cleared the forest.
  At home Ian treated the wound, and to be honest, it really didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe knowing that friends had his back outweighed any pain he endured.
  The afternoon went on.

Menatey Ekhokiike

Ian, Gass-Boy, and Stacey sat in the pitch dark of Plaza Cinéma. A projector fluttered and soon the three were immersed in some cinematic adventure of derring-do. The climactic scene was a cheap chroma-keyed effect of the protagonist dragging his buddies from an encroaching tide of lava.
  “Look, it’s us!” laughed Gass-Boy.
  All three had an honest chuckle.

Konkurrenzrausch: The Atavistic Regression