Friends and followers! Due to avarice and flummoxation of my own mind, the last twelve postings in this soul-journal of ominous proportions of mine, Alvin Stomack's, friend's and mentor's, were not, in fact, readable (pronounced REED-uh-buhl) due to the fact that, hoping for promotion from my former Christmas Island Highway Clean-up Squad rank of ( Read more... )

Friends! Followers! Outcasts and exiles! Thinkers and Movers, lovers and loungers! All of you are invited to my quinceanera here on Christmas Island, to take place on my 50th birthday, November 7th, at the Jinjaba Royal Amphitheatre. Food will be provided (prepare your tongue for mango-flour tacos!). Music will be performed by the inimitable Velvet ( Read more... )

I feel like my whole life is falling apart before my binocular eyes; it's as though Planet Awesome has been cracked in two, rendering the disparate halves Planet Okay and Planet Pretty Good; as though the Flat Earth on which we all reside has been stretched and contorted so that its edges have connected, forming an ellipical world; as though the ( Read more... )

We had moved into the living room of sixteen-year-old Franklin Goy's house. I cooked us up a steaming pot of my spirulina-nectarine-Life™ cereal vichyssoise and served it up in edible rye breadbowls, which Maribeth Toilet almost immediately spilled all over Mrs. Goy's floral-print couch. I spooned her up more soup in response, and in response, the ( Read more... )

I climbed the ladder for what seemed an eternity, and soon enough I climbed into the familiar porcelain tube of what I clearly recognized as a Christmas Island toilet [fortunately for me at this juncture in time and spacetime, King Antonius Steak had many years ago decreed that all toilets in Jinjaba be replaced with wide-diameter porcelain tubes ( Read more... )

At last, a bit browbeaten and short of lung-air, we arrived at the ladder that purportedly lead up to Christmas Island, my faithful island of islands, my dreamtown, my bodhisattva of cities. With a resolute hand I gripped the oily rung of the ladder, my faithful Janitor Island companions prepared to follow me into the heart of the beast should it ( Read more... )

A slip of the wrist and a drip from the mouth... the green dream drips from my brain and saturates my teeth with ultimate satiety. For, friends and atomizers, I must announce that I am WELL ON MY WAY

The trek down the underwater tunnel highway was proving to be laborious and slow (slothful?). Morale was low, and Samuel Smiles began cursing Richard ( Read more... )

I am writing from Underwater Highway Station No. 82-D, a small glass-dome that connects to the half-tube that runs through the Hadopelagic Ocean along its benthic floor. I can see sharks, metaplankton, and other horrors of the deep, including the 'illuminated clownfish', as Samuel Smiles refers to it. The highway proper(ly) consists of a flat ( Read more... )

"There is no time!" I shouted manically as I ran screaming into the camp. Samuel Smiles, Maribeth Toilet, Alain von Flippiflop, Jimmy Snot, Sally Upchuck, and my army of friendly, trained vervet monkeys regarded me with tender concern, tears forming in their eyes at the sight of my distress. I weeped and wiped the salt fountain rheum away as I ( Read more... )

O, despair! Friends and followers, if ever I, Alvin Stomack, friend and emphatic mentor, ever needed your support and kindly advice, it is NOW, for I have beheld a most terrible sight of sites, and trouble news buzzes through the caverns in my brain like bees through coral castles. For you see, yesterday, as I was using my spyglass in an attempt to ( Read more... )