Have you seen this individual? Please contact the Authorities.

Dear Friends,

Another bit of borrowed nonsense stolen from years ago and filtered through imagination and digits.

SCS

Terrapin Station…

Dear Friends,

Another old doodle. Kai Tools for the effects and an ancient Mac. 1989? Oh, a dose of The Mighty Grateful Dead.

SCS ©

Kesey and Company

Dear Friends,

Here's an old photo of an old friend many of us will recognize. He's sitting with his daughter? Niece? Granddaughter? I don't know, but it is likely something that floated without credit from the family to the 'Net. It's been slightly retouched with digits, but the essential spirit it conveys is, I think, intact.

Res Ipsa Loquitor,

SCS

Alan Turing…

Dear Friends,

This cat basically invented what we now call computing. He had some help from a notable Lady, named Ada Lovelace and several other folks going back to the 1800s, but Alan Turing pretty well put the cherry on top of the sundae in the midst of WW2. In so doing he might have saved the world from Fascism. His payment for such cleverness and heroism was to be chemically castrated for the crime of making love with another man.

He committed suicide. He felt unrecognized and did not like the fact that he was growing breasts. He ate a bite of an apple laced with cyanide and went unrecognized for decades due to the secrecy attached to his pioneering work. He is a hero of mine. As my fingers fly over these keys to telecommunicate with you, I am thinking of the gentleman who laid the rails for our present digital railroad.

Oh, and he really liked stories like "Snow White". He was a sublime cryptographer. Might there have been a secret message in the half eaten apple left on his desk by his open books of notes?

Hic Finis Est,

SCS

Dear Friends,

Eureka! At last Humanity has created the Left-Handed Monkey Wrench!

SCS © 2013

Dear Friends,

My beloved is not by nature a vindictive woman nor violent. However, like many conscious and contentious citizens of our American Republic, she and I are both repulsed and called to action by members of the Republican party, many candidates for state or federal office. We cannot deafen our ears to their insistence on such principles as a pregnancy born of rape is God’s gift and that a victim of rape should have just gotten over it and enjoyed that sparkling moment enthralled in the embrace of her attacker. Thus, we came up with a practical plan to re-educate the thugs who counsel such notions. It goes something like this.

First you lash the bastard to an old chair with the cane removed from the seat. Use twisted barbed wire as the constraint. Next gag the idiot with duct tape. This works best if the moron has a mustache (more on this in a moment). Get that big, rusty monkey wrench out of the tool chest and clamp his nose. Clinch it real tight and let it dangle from his ruddy proboscis. Next pull out the razor knife and slash to remove his trousers and shorts. Do this slowly and careful-like; we don’t want to damage our volunteer. Now, we need the vice grips. These are good for the head of the penis, the center of the candidate’s thinking. Wind the tension screw tight to choke off any immoral thoughts.

The groaning subject of this ethical instruction will then be allowed a period of relaxation as he watches my beloved macramé a tidy but capacious sack for his scrotal area. This will only take two or three hours as he weeps and shudders. Once the handcrafted appurtenance is ready, it will be filled with steamy, hot mud and tied securely around his unmentionables. Now, simply wait for the estimable pubic figure to swoon and faint before ripping off the duct tape along with his well groomed mustache and perhaps most of his lips. This will rouse the student from his revery. At this point, you inquire, “What it as good for you as it was for me?”

Presently, we’re not sure what to do with our earnest student. We’ve already violated every local, state and federal law, as well as every law of God and man. We can’t have him blowing the whistle on us, so we staple his tongue to what’s left of his lips and take away the whistle. We leave the door to the shack out in the woods open in hopes that raccoons or feral dogs will consume the soon to be corpse. Hope springs eternal.

Res Ipsa Loquitor,

SCS

Broke Down Palace

My Broke Down Palace

Res Ipsa Loquitor,

© SCS