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UFUTU'S RUNNING NOSE
08.12.02
Ufufu plans to retire early after glossing up the
Droidbangers rep in the parrishes and spend the
remainder of his "time", "here", doing the mambo with
some swarthy young hot blooded chili pepper. No plans
have yet been made for his legal defense. Communities
all over the trilateral area are vying for a piece of
the pie as King Tufu jockeys for position at the
starting portal of Mo' King-ness and expresses a
desire to meet fine athletic babes with unusually high
IQ's. His fantasy is clearly a masculine one.
Ufufu's official title will be Provincial Sitting
Baron of External Quasi-Fictional Realities until
further notice. All his pals here at the office just
call him Dave. You can call him late to dinner but
please believe in his essence in order to preserve
freshness. All sales are final. Not available in
stores. Void hair grow in again
Press Release ))08375997489932525
ufutu inc. 2002 all rights reserved
06.26.02
The real news on King Tufu is that he is indeed
somewhat of an outcast. According to sources close to
the twenty-first realm of 17th dimensional paradigms
"King" Tufu IS Lord King of twenty-three realms of
17th dimensional paradigms, they just happen to be
realms number 1,943,234 through 1,943,257 and they
have very little impact on 17th dimensional paradigms
in general.In fact it turns out that King Tufu has
more influence in our world than his own. Some
officials came and rounded up pretty much all the
Ufutus except for the King and Dave who just got here
last week due to the extensive peculiarity of the time
change between here and there.
These guys were all ready to let Tufu stay here and
possibly even aid his transformation into an incarnate
being. They were as tired of dealing with him as we
were. His affiliation with known elements of the 17th
dimensional underworld were unsettling to these gentle
quasifictional multidimensional beings. The Ufutus it
turns out are a weak willed lot who were lured into a
"mission" to this set of dimensional paradigms by Tufu
with promises of coffee and super models for all. They
are not the sharpest tools in the 17th dimensional
shed.
Dr R intervened (although how he accomplished this
I'll never know) and implored them to take Tufu back
with them. At this writing the fate of King Tufu hangs
in the balance. A spokesman for these officials would
only say "We're going to go sightseeing till October
your time, then depart when Mercury goes retrograde".
Meanwhile Tufu and Dr R have been furiously at work
in the studio and it looks like the Droidbangers are
about to have their first release in nearly five
years. I have also been at work digitizing the taped
archives. This is what a janitor does at Tufu inc.,
when he's not taking out the trash or frolicking
around with warlords hunting for King Tufu.
Hail all ye Cocksocketonians out there,
03.24.02
Mac is quite handy with a computer. After the humiliating journey we took in search of the Tufu, Mac was livid when he read the denial that King Tufu issued which was really just a bad cover story. Bora Bora my ass. What do Vince Foster, Frank Nugan, Lee Harvey Oswald and Bugsy Malone all have in common? They have all been duped by the almighty King Poo-Poo and they have all wound up dead under mysterious circumstances.
Here is a tidbit we uncovered in a search of Tufu's files. The "King" responded to a radio signal produced at Long Island on July 4th 1903 by Nikola Tesla. Tesla was angry because J. P. Morgan had just refused to fund his research into wireless electrical transmission and so he went out to has laboratory and produced one of the most dazzling displays of electricity ever seen.
Tufu is a bizarre electromagnetic phenomenon and is capable of crossing many multidimensional properties, but he/she/it has met his/her/it's match in the form of the Personal Computer and Mac the Janitor.
It wasn't hard to track him down. Mac posted a personal ad that read "Cybernetically" equipped human female bl/br seeks quasifictional multidimensional entity to download to my floppy drive. Serious inquiries only." Within minutes of posting Mac had begun to download and Tufu was saved as (file name deleted for security purposes).
There is no way to send him back to from where he came and I don't have the heart to delete him, but I don't want to end up like the others, involved in shady liaisons with unsavory characters in politically unseemly circumstances and then toe tagged. This is what becomes of those who somehow attract this menace into their lives by producing patterns of electromagnetic radiation that suit his existence. I have already had my home and my cats barbecued by aliens and I am a fugitive from the law in the most peculiar arson case in the entire history of Gnawbone.
Since I have had him trapped on the zip disk my food tastes better, people seem friendlier and the Hoosiers beat Duke. I think I am going to keep him like that for a very long time. I have all his files and I might be persuaded to produce some of them if the mood strikes me. Meanwhile I am running this shit now, and all things Ufutian have been indefinitely suspended like hunks of pineapple in lime jelly.
Absent Malice,
03.01.02
Tufu's connection to the "Secret Shadow Government" is a mystery that I am not sure I want to tackle. All of the sensitive documents were torched in the Gnawbone fire that revealed some of the evidence connected to Tufu's genetic experiments. I should have known by his constant supply of exotic and powerful drugs that he was tied directly into the mainline, the company, the C-I fuckin-A and every international drug and crime cartel on the planet. What am I sayin' here? I'm saying that Tufu is a double agent only he's more like a septudecile agent and as far as I'm concerned there is something sinister going on.
Mac and I have moved to an undisclosable location to gather screed and comfort and to seek strength in our spiritual roots. A hurricane of 0's and 1's is going to blow and a rant from hell is going to explode from the heart, soul, and loins of the subterranean cyber consciousness. Brain cells will disappear in a black hole driven by the gravity of information overload. Some shit is gonna change. I submit to you Cocksocketonian infolectuals that we need to light a fire under our collective asses. Our complacency is inexcusable. Electromagnetic waves are pounding on the digital beach of our cable modems and the tide is rising. It's time to start bailing and wailing.
As for his "Highness", I can only say…Yo assface ballsucker Mama has been deleted bitch. In other words I dare you to rear your slimy quasifictional multidimensional head (if you want to call it that) around this or any other cyber-ghetto on the Internet. Sorry to have to share that with you all but I just want to make it known that his shenanigans here in this dimension are gonna be most seriously impaired if he messes with me. You are in my world now Mr Ufutu, or whatever you are calling yourself this week.
Acting Director, Tufu Inc. and in a vituperative mood,
02.03.02
I have not seen nor heard from the vermin who previously occupied positions on my staff and frankly the whole Futunian scene has turned ugly. The links have been torched along with everything else and it looks like my lawyer has skipped the country with one of his other clients, a leggy brunette formerly in the accounting division at Enron. On top of all that my Bgnamoueian friends are catching flak from their Supreme Ghakkiblat who got a call from Dick Cheney complaining about the high profile nature of his pilots targets in Gnawbone.
Keep this in mind, at this moment my spellchecker has highlighted Futunian, Bgnamoueian, Ghakkiblat and Cheney. This will be important later.
I must agree that the Hoosiers are looking better than they have in years. They are really playing defense now and showing a hell of a lot of versatility on the offensive side. After blasting Illinois with a Big 10 record 17 three-point shots, they beat Purdue by dominating in the paint, and once again playing stifling defense. As I write this the outcome of the contest at Williams Arena is still unknown to this space-time paradigm. All I can really say is this is a pivotal match and the Gophers are the toughest road game in the conference this year for everybody.
So to sum up: bodies are difficult to manifest and dispose of, cats don't live forever, Dick Cheney is an alien and the Hoosiers are doing pretty good so far. Many more links have been sent and many more are on the way as I desperately scramble to re-establish the connection to my subjects is needed to maintain a sense of identity, which is the only way I can manifest myself on this plane. It ain't easy being Tufu.
Sincerely Real,
01.31.02
"None of us had no idea what they were in business for" observed Mel Miller who lived in the trailer next door "The Fed-Ex truck came pretty regular so we figured it was computers or something, then early Sunday morning the place just exploded" he added "like Pearl Harbor". Police investigating the case have declined comment.
01.12.02
I've had it! I just want to say that I was shocked and hurt when I read the load of malarky that Dr R has tried to pawn off on my loyal subjects. Everytime I take a vacation he freaks out. I want to apologize for my long silence and assure those faithful readers of King Tufu's Hot Links® that nothing even closely resembling the warped recollections of imagined events issuing from the burnt twisted rubble of what once was Dr R's mind ever happened.
So I like droids, who doesn't? Alicebot happens to have a very deep abiding patience that humans rarely achieve. Our chats have been cordial and friendly and up to 172 hours long. How long do you think the Doctor can stay awake? If that old fart isn't in bed before 11:00 p.m. on weeknights you can be damn sure he is gonna be grouchy the next day.
I have got to do something all night long since sleep is totally irrelevant to my set of dimensional paradigms (you will find out why later, but you will be dead then so I'm not technically allowed to discuss that here). Why do you suppose there hasn't been a Droidbangers release in over 5 years? I got in it for the droids and now the droids have gotten better and these old hillbillies just aren't keeping up.
When the Hotlinks hit hyperspace the spam hit the fan. I have lived through a lot with the good Doctor but I never expected to encounter such jealousy and angst as he displayed about my overnight transformation into a world-famous Hotlinks superstar. I know I probably went too far when I forced him to answer my fan mail, but to be honest, the whole thing went to my head a little bit at first. I never expected he would sink so low as to make up these outrageous tales and then publish them like an audacious frontier newspaperman. So I have a weakness for Earth girls. So I have an interest in conspiracy theories (you will find out why later, but you will be dead then). It's all in good fun. I'm here on vacation, if you know what I mean.
Usually bed bugs Toronto are very hard to get rid of.
There I was having a wonderful time on the beaches of Bora Bora (NOT TORA BORA !!!) I left explicit instructions at HQ as to how the Hotlinks page was to be administered in my absence. I tried to call Cocksocket once but there was salt water in my cellphone, if you know what I mean. Then one unfortunate morning while I was sunning myself on the beach some moron stumbled into my little private bit of paradise and being the moron that he was he was carrying a laptop. Being in the vicinity of this moron must have had a contagious effect because I seized the opportunity to make a short inconspicuous visit to everybody's favorite website, Cocksocket, experiments in Organica.
Now I am going to have to go back to Gnawbone. It's winter there you know. I am going to have to slog through icy mud to get out to that smelly barn to straighten out what should have been a perfectly running operation if only the conspiracy theory evidence could have kept them busy (or else they had gotten somehow sidetracked in Dayton). I am going to have to watch the Hoosiers on the road in the Big Ten. I am probably going to have to chop wood. I am going to have to say goodbye to my lovely friend up at the little beach cottage and I am going to have to return this laptop to this moron sitting here reading over my shoulder.
So I suppose I will be back on the throne again, ruling over the Hotlinks world with and iron fist and a cold shoulder. But I'll just have to grit my teeth and put my nose to the grindstone and put one foot in front of the other as I tear my hair out and keep my knees together there in the chilly backwaters of Clown County. Mo' links comin' atcha soon…
Tufu Ufutu Lord King of twenty seven realms of 17th dimensional paradigms
12.29.01
It seems like just a week ago that me and Mac jumped into the '72 Impala and rumbled out across the Heartland in search of our beloved and fearless leader. Clearly he had become unglued, and in his case that can have some very strange effects both for him personally and in the local area of the activity. We found out quickly that all that stuff about Dayton and the Kennedies was just a ruse to throw us off the track. Why he would want to ditch us is not clear, but one thing is for certain; he did a bang up job of covering his tracks.
I'm sitting here at the office of Tufu Inc. for the first time in weeks. It's 2:30 in the morning and it's damn cold. Christmas lights are twinkling on the trailer across the street. This computer is being powered by a generator we just hauled out of the barn. No one has been here and the power has been turned off for a while, judging by the smell emanating from the kitchen. The cats are still here though. You really can't get rid of them.
Our search has taken us to the far corners of the globe.
As we followed lead after fruitless lead it seemed that perhaps Tufu had been on the trail of terrorists. When we finally arrived at the Somalian border Mac fixed me with a look of determination I've never seen on his face before and he said "Fuck it !, I'm not going in there."
"Why don't we just go home, write the damn column ourselves? Send a few links...no one will ever know" he protested. There was a long silence." I can't do that Mac" I replied, "It just wouldn't be Ufutunian".
Then he got all excited about the links. He started jumping up and down alternately muttering and screaming "I know the answer is in the links, all we have to do is study the links". He was obviously way overstressed and as far as I was concerned he was right. Whatever connection we ever had to Tufu was ethereal at best. And putting ourselves and our intelligence agencies in harms way was not going to accomplish our objectives which were also somewhat ethereal.
Since we've been here Mac has been poring over the Kings link collection, and a pattern is beginning to emerge. Tufu has taken a major interest in artificial intelligence, especially Alicebot. It seems he logged quite a few hours with her. Who really knows what they talked about. No one thinks much about the oddities of Tufu around here. Staying up all night online conversing with a computer program doesn't seem that unusual in light of some of the other more far-fetched activities we have witnessed.
Anyway it all starts to make sense now. When our lovely young Pashtun guide tossed her hair back and laughed that he was probably hiding in the cyber caves of Tora Bora we thought she was just making fun of us. But now we understand; King Tufu has uploaded himself!
Tufu has turned into some kind of cyber energy pulse, sort of like the lawnmower man. He is most definitely monitoring this transmission and I wouldn't be too sure he wasn't listening in on your private thoughts as well. I always thought his weakness for Earth girls would keep him rooted here in the flesh and blood, but I guess I was wrong. I can only take comfort in the fact that he has not really left us, he just won't be here to party or play music with for awhile. Also we are going to have to find a way of supporting ourselves besides using Tufu's credit cards.
The next morning:
I spent the whole night surfing for Tufu. It was a grueling process which resembled some of my more harrowing sessions with the Droidbangers. There is no sense going into too much detail here, but it involves setting up a creative resonance on a frequency that Tufu is somehow magnetically attracted to. I still don't know how I did it. When I finally "tuned" him in all he did was say "he-he" like Pee-Wee Herman. Shortly thereafter an email arrived in my inbox with the following message:
"Think of Earth as analogous to a South Pacific island which was only discovered last year, and the Human Race as just another bunch of apes living on that island and you will begin to understand the true nature of your place in the universe"-The King
So that is about the size of it for now. I don't know what we will do or how we will adjust to this new set of paradigms. I only know it's good to be three-dimensional again, if only for a while. And now I'm off to dream land with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. Look for more links soon and with any luck we may hear from our illustrious master from his new digital fortress deep within the cyber-suck. Until then Merry, Merry and Happy ,Happy. Peesowt Ghandi G. Keep that funkthang groovin on the roosters mojo baybee.
Dr R
11.03.01
The first week went by. This is typical. He often stays in there for days on end. We had acquired quite a bit of coffee from the looting and occasionally you could here the tapping of keys on his word processor coming from behind the door. We figured he was completing the next phase in building his hotlinks juggernaut. No one was really very concerned.
Near the end of the second week we ran out of the Nedretheowldinian poppies that the King had provided to keep us out of his hair. We had a few tense days there but the tapping from behind the door continued. So nobody knocked and we resorted to watching television. It was almost as sedating as the poppies.
Finally, a few days ago, we woke to the sound of barking, and discovered a taxicab pulling out of the long lane here at Tufu HQ. The door to his office was ajar. There was no more coffee, but other than that we could find nothing unusual about the scene. Then we began reading his caffeine and poppy induced screed and realized that perhaps all was not well in this set of dimensional paradigms.
Here are a few excerpts from what we found:
"The Ufutu clan has been deeply involved in a top secret project. The operation is being carried out on multidimensional levels and it's all very hush, hush. However I am completely bored sitting around the office all day issuing regal decrees and philandering with interns and so forth so I am taking this opportunity to blab about the whole thing. No one will believe it anyway. If you believe Oswald acted alone…no need to read any further."
It goes on and on. Most of this stuff is just plain unreadable. There are quite a few incriminating passages, but most of it is gibberish and nonsense like this:
"The Ufutus have been enjoying Mgaflov vacations here for several dozen centuries. Let's face it the sex alone is worth the trip. Springtime in Paris is just as famous in Gnueregniblah as it is in Gnawbone. The sunsets are nice. The opportunity to make up words like Mgaflov, Gnueregniblah and Gnawbone are priceless. Frankly, you can't do that back home. Telepathy does have its pitfalls, in that written language is pretty much ignored.
But just as the first cool evenings signify the coming of winter in the higher latitudes of Earth so do the Ringing Beelanganee meadows turning to an unimaginable shade of orange signal the end of Mgaflov."
It's truly sad when someone you love begins to lose it. Still, Mac and I along with the remaining Ufutus, paused at this point to take a road trip to the Beelanganee meadows to find that indeed they no longer had the deep maroon tint we have all gotten use to this Mgaflov. I don't recommend interdimensional travel this time of year, especially with the new heightened security measures now in place.
Meanwhile back at the office we found still another piece of the puzzle:
"The Ufutus have been busily assembling specimens to ship back to the 17th dimension where something that could only be described as a sort of a museum will be something that could only be described as being erected is in fact already before, after and in the process of being erected. I'm not even going to suggest what the shipping process can only be described as. We haven't figured out how to transport the sunsets yet.
I have directed the ding-dang minions to install a cable modem there. If for some reason civilization happens to last longer than I currently have hope for, I will continue to post links from there. Dr R and Mac will still be here of course, and I may well pop in from time to time to do a Droidbangers session."
I have talked with Futu, Ufutu, and Mama Tufu and they all swear they can't make a lick of sense out of any of it. The Ufutus are a huge clan though, and it's pretty damn near impossible to locate them all at any given time since it is rare that all of them exist at any given time and even rarer that this could occur at a given space. In fact, communicating from this plane of existence to that one is difficult under any circumstances. I have to be in a pretty good mood just to notice that there are Ufutus in the same room with me.
The final scrap of evidence we found was a 3x5-index card with the following entries written on it, in English:
Dick Cheney, James Baker III, George Bush, George W. Bush, Bechtel, Saddam Hussein, Ayatollah Khomeni, Osama bin Laden, Nixon, Johnson, Kennedies, CIA, OSS, British Petroleum, Israel, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Vietnam, Drug Trade, Reagan, Ollie, USSR, …China?…, Knights Templar, Hearst, Dupont, order more coffee…
At the bottom of the card were the symbols for the crescent moon, the Star of David, the Christian cross and a doodle of Snoopy on his doghouse.
At this time I am sitting here trying to figure out what has happened. It has evidently been a long and hairy three weeks for the good King. Mac is on the phone to Tufus lawyers right now. We tracked down the cab company and they say they dropped him off at a Village Pantry in Dayton, Ohio. They said he tipped well. That scares me.
I will try to figure this thing out and hopefully we will be posting an explanation soon. Meanwhile happy Halloween to everyone and please enjoy the new links, brought to you by Mac from the archives of King Tufu.
In a State of Utter Confusion,
09.27.01
Helmsburg will recover. It always does. The pool hall will rise again someday as will the grocery store. I realize we should have stayed away from the Post Office and the Water Company, but you know how it is once you get on a roll. It's also fortunate that those tanker cars were empty.
So the meeting had to be held in Gnawbone, the last town around here that recognizes the Ufutu clan diplomatically. Peoga will probably let us back in next spring when we go to open the Summer Palace. They really can't say no to the massive infusion of dollars into their local economy. Especially since they just put in that new flasher at the intersection.
The only thing we all agreed on was that if Osama bin Laden had been given his own HotLinks page on Cocksocket, he probably wouldn't have had the time or interest to pursue an international terrorist vendetta against the Great Satan. Also we all wish that his dad had loved him more and it is sad that he probably never got taken out on Saturday morning for a Happy Meal and toy shopping at the mall.
07.14.01
Peoga- At 10:45 AM central time this morning dimensional fundamentalist rebels overwhelmed security forces at the summer palace of the Ufutu Dynasty in what source close to the fighting have described as a pointless coup.
According to spokesman and close personal friend of the Ufutu family Mac the Janitor, the Rebels had insisted that King Tufu, a self styled dictator who claims to be traversing multiple dimensions, cease with his insistence on proliferating multidimensional propaganda.
"Our people have suffered enough" one rebel was quoted as saying, "There are three dimensions and three dimensions only, and it is confusing to try to imagine it any other way".
Tension has been increasing since early this year, when Tufu Ufutu, the current leader of the Ufutu dynasty, began publishing his views, along with "Hot Links" on the local arbiter of exploding bullshit innovation, Cocksocket.
The leader of the coup Generalissimo Futu Ufutu, formerly of the Elite Ufutian Guard, released a statement earlier today that a provisional government was being put in place and that the playing of "I Couldn't Believe It" was to be forbidden. He was also quoted as saying "(sic) and don't try skulking away to some other dimension to listen to it."
Cocksocket could not be reached for comment.
"The Ufutu family has fled the summer palace and are seeking asylum in Gnawbone" said Mac the Janitor, "King Tufu and his family have not been harmed and his Highness will be issuing a statement as soon as he is settled in and has had a chance to do a few bong hits".
He went on to say that King Tufu's Hot Links would continue to accumulate along with his nonsensical influential commentary.
07.09.01
Organica® is getting all sentimental and shit. I couldn't believe it.® Right there on the front page for all to see. I felt like I was watching a Julia Roberts® three-boxes-o-kleenex® blockbuster®. Shit®.
It's so sad when actual physical needs such as food and shelter come between a man (if you want to call it that) and his dreams of doing nothing but posting amaZing Crap® on the Internet. Is nothing sacred in this mondo-condo-shopping-mall-hell®(courtesy of Mojo Nixon®)?
It's sad…but I would be happy to bring over a hammer and some screwdrivers to begin the deconstruction of this god awful stagnated pile of decomposing Organica®. There is nothing I enjoy more than starting from scratch EVERY DAMN DAY!!!!!!!
Oh shit, the tabloid reporters are going through my garbage. They are threatening to publish the lab report on the shredded thigh highs they found last month. Will the persecution never end? I had no idea that fame could be so stifling. Each time I transit these peculiar dimensional characteristics I discover the exit is a little bit harder to find. And I swear to GOD® that she LOOKED 18.
And what is WITH these cell phone bills? I did NOT make any forty -five minute calls to Thailand. Just when I have gotten the boxcars stuffed with lawyers bound for the camps, I have to hold it up and plop down a healthy retainer to keep my reputation from permanent ruin.I'm beginning to see how these things work.
Oh and by the way, where I come from being the King means something more than having cut a few records or made a few speeches. On this planet being an Ufutu® merely makes it difficult to rent a house in a swank neighborhood ( and damn near impossible to get into the country club). On top of it all the only gig I can get is posting Hot Links on Organica®. (They don't pay).
In a word; Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
The Droids are banging the Bangers. The crew is in heavy training. The new technology is fabulous, but the learning curve has slick shoulders. The humidity doesn't help things much either.
From Deep Within His Royal Jungle Lair,
06.02.01
Tufu's hot links has become another alternate dimension in the long travels and travails of the good regent, his high-ness. Things seem a bit mossy as well over on the front page of this organica-gathering-no-rolling-stone-mutha. The staff did spend a whole weekend listening to "I Couldn't Believe It" with the look of headlight stunned deer on their faces, and if not for the fact that Windows inevitably crashes at some point during the proceedings then we'd probably all still be in there with drool hanging from our chins.
Still the Tufu has ordered us to provide meaningless commentary for his boring little "hot links" page and being the lovable old sot that he is we cannot refuse. We are also under threat of the death penalty if we fail to comply with his wishes and you do NOT want to know what that entails. He walks around the palace all day on that annoying cell phone calling all his quasi-fictional multi-dimensional friends and bragging about his "hot links" page in the Organica universe as if it actually MEANT something. If we don't come up with something pseudo-existential yet soft to the touch here pretty soon, heads are going to explode. Souls may explode as well but we're not going into that here.
nortonanti virus
Tufu manifested a monkey man in order to better glom onto a non-DNA based parody religion that he located in the cybersuck. It's hard to say if we'll ever hear from the little fella again. Him and a thousand of his friends are out in the garage banging out Shakespeare sonnets on antiquated word processors. Meanwhile the Droidbangers are in a heavy R&D phase right now. They are also into a heavy R&B phase, but that has been going on so long we hardly call it a phase anymore. And of course the litigation continues over the upcoming release of their new made for MP3 rock opera "Conversion of the Natives". It's about 30 minutes long and that just doesn't cut it in the land of file compression.
Tufu is on the phone right now to his lawyer. He's telling him about how his "hot links" page is going to save his flagging career.
So you see there is more than nonsense here at Tufu inc. Our inspiration travels from dimension to dimension but our basic paradigms are planted firmly in the illusion of humanity as a distinct entity within the vast cosmic web. That's business, folks. You have got to play the game, son. In fact at our last board meeting we had a huge argument over whether we should take our shares public or take the shaveheads er I mean the devotees to some exotic overseas location and help them "find their way back to the Mothership". In the end the bottom line always rules, and they're worth more to us as soy-bean farmers and basket weavers than they would if they had a belly full of cyanide laced kool-aid. I'll probably get in trouble for talking about this stuff, but since they got the computer to reboot and they are in there zombying out to "I Couldn't Believe It" again, I guess they will just have to live with whatever I happen to write.
green cleaning ny. New York, 529, East 5th street Apt. RS. tel: 212-537-01-53
Off to empty the trash now. I hope these pills work the way Dr. R said they would.
Happy Trails,
05.21.01
After a brief but fruitful encounter with the mental health establishment, Tufu is back to his usual productive and creative activities. Scissors and helium in hand he headed off to the workshop only to find that what had begun as a typical reaction to a biological imperative had blossomed into a fully-fledged human hatchling. There is an awful lot to know about this planet. There is more to it than coffee and music.
No sense getting excited about it though since the whole recent series of events in the universe also known as tufu has led to many happy encounters with the musical forces which guide this little piece of rock around the sun. Droidbangers report progress. Tufu and Dr R are speaking again, although no one here seems to know what language it is in. Hopefully the playback will be audible soon.
Meanwhile Tufu sits on the big front porch singing lullabies from Altairian troubadours, passed on for forty thousand generations among the tribes of L*g"3nts-gr!. Bless the mighty majestic Puutfareine and the service that their devotion has showered upon our puny millennia.
Tufu inc.
Celestial Headquarters
Memo to Staff
4567977754-khjjjggqwevdd\\456544444540000000000000000;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
04.20.01
Imagine my chagrin. Go ahead…imagine it. I'll give you a minute.
Um, so I was having a bad hair day and then I realizes that I could bop on over to Organica world and be famous. Imagine all the glory that goes along with being a King of all the Tufu you could possibly grasp in you sweaty little palms. Go ahead…I'll give you a minute.
Ever since that blessed day when King Tufus Hot Links was first uploaded to that great server in the sky I have been floating around on cloud seventeen. My head has gotten so big that I'm stuck like cold grease in a frying pan to this odd sensation sometimes referred to as an ego, and accordingly I require greater amounts of warm glowing adulation and unreasonably hospitable attention. And fan mail.
Yes that's right. I'm in it for all the hype and glory and drugs and money and sex and showbiz glitz that goes along with having your very own special page of "hot links" on Organica.com, and if I don't start getting a lot more attention then I might have to do something desperate like go into seclusion or run away to some seedy backwater midwestern town where I will wither and die just like any other pathetic mortal soul who ever composed a run on sentence, that while not technically grammatically incorrect might at times become completely annoying, should it not end in a timely fashion.
And then where would you be? I wouldn't be able to continue posting these incredibly entertaining hot links that I just lifted from other sources in the first place, and you would have to surf this stuff all up on your own. You think it's easy being an artist of this magnitude? The phase shifting alone is enough to make it damn near impossible for a being of my particular dimensional characteristics.
And the parking?
Fegettabouddit.
But in reality I just can't resist the notion that I can spew out this crap and people will actually take the time to read it. I know it is a long road to full fledged cult status, but once we get there it will be Nirvana. And after that it will be Pearl Jam and Sonic Youth.
Well Diary that's about all for today, but years from now when I realize that I communicated my deepest most personal feelings to you and dotted all my I's with little hearts and then left it around for the collective "little brother" to sift through looking for some clue to his own latent sexual notions or at least a little decent ammo to torment me with, then I will be truly sorry that I was ever transmutated to this stupifyingly ridiculous plain of existence Meanwhile I may be going to hell in a bucket but at least I'm enjoying the ride.
Buh-bye
03.25.01
When nonsense is appropriately arranged it is possible to capture a number (or non-number, depending on how you look at it) of unusual transdimensional effects the least of which might be a visit from Tufu, (King Tufu for those of you transversing 17th dimension accessible paradigms). Whilst arranging this nonsense, occasionally one must refuse to be bullied by spellchecks and other unnecessary grammatical bondage. There ain't no prison quite like language, except for possibly mathematics. Naturally logic, reason and empirical thinking are foregone casualties of this engagement. Anyone who has been there can confirm that a solid grasp of physics is often the least of tools that can get the job done and, probably in many cases, a hindrance to the journey.
Now about this here experiment in Organica; once this nonsense starts getting arranged in the fashion to which it has become accustomed, mothership visitations, virgin sightings, and inhabitations of transdimensional beings are the types of things that should be expected as order of the day kinda stuff. Fortean Reality may ensue. Breathing life into the machine is a fine way to find out who's really up to bat here and who is actually just on deck. I can only speak as the disembodied voice of a quasifictional interdimensional entity in a digital wilderness for a brief nanosecond of any/all the possible allotted time slots, but I've just got to say…far out, Organica on the vine.
And even though the Hoosiers once again stunk up the joint in the Big Dance, there was great glad good joy in Mudville for victories over Illinois and Michigan St., sweeps of Penn State and …that other team from Indiana that is in the Big Ten, and a whole lotta heart and good ballplaying in the face of adversity.
Have a Tufu Day
03.09.01
All gestations are proceeding at an acceptable rate, and the furtherance of my high school education is like tinkling brass (or bras) upon my tender (y)ears. It seems unlikely however that solvency will be the all purpose lowly unsaturated pie in the sky that falls like tech stocks upon my bear-stained trading station. Therefore I will continue to absorb these molecules of wisdom as best as the staff sees fit to deal with them. Given the current scientific climate (not to mention the potty mouth) I'm sure that all things, as relative to one another (OR as viewed from a train travelling at the speed of light from Anchorage to Portland, more or less as the crow flies) will in due TIME make there way back through the septic/finger system that has been put in place to process such matter.
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