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Halicallahanicon 2012 - An interlude - John [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
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Halicallahanicon 2012 - An interlude [Jul. 23rd, 2012|10:05 pm]
John
I was just about to explain the most magical part of the journey - about the truly strange wonders that awaited us in Halifax. But... well... I suppose I should tell you about one of the more mundane interludes.

The problem was the aliens, of course. They're always a problem. I really don't know why - I mean, okay, they don't get portrayed very well in our movies, and other forms of pop culture, but that's no reason to go all "we're destroying the earth" every time they end up with a uranium Pu-36 Explosive Space Modulator! There's other stuff you can do with a uranium Pu-36 Explosive Space Modulator - some of them are quite entertaining, and others, extremely fulfilling. And when you're done, from the remains, you can create a fine table centerpiece, suitable for hiding cakes!

But I digress.

I was pretty sure that we were going to be okay, kightp and I, because we were firmly in Canada now, and the aliens tend to "go native" pretty quickly. Alas, there were some new arrivals and they caused the majority of the problems. It's often that way....

Anyway, the first group rather politely explained that they were planning to take over the earth, and were quite nonplussed when I excused myself to show them something. I picked up the socks I had cleverly remembered to pack, and started juggling them. I asked if they understood what this meant. They shook their heads. As I gently boffed each one in the face with a tightly-balled sock, they still looked puzzled, until I explained that they couldn't continue in their quest. You see, I was now, perforce, an American Action Hero, and surely they understood that the bad guys were always defeated after being give a good sock to the jaw.

They were stunned, of course, but readily conceded. Pat later pointed out what a wonderful, civilized encounter that had been; she and I were frequently delighted by how things can work out so well in such a magical place. We had that experience a lot in Canada, whether it was over a dispute over a seat on a plane, or over a question about the conquest, or utter destruction, of the earth.

But it wasn't over yet. Alas, some of the coarser aliens had formed a skirmish line and one of them pointed out that they had a job to do and no stupid pun was going to keep them from it. I assessed the situation carefully - like any good leader, taking note of my surroundings.... and then, with that information tucked away, I looked the ring leader in the eye - and sniffed, turned my back, and started walking away.

"Come on, Pat. We have an old friend we have to meet. No time to fight with ruffians."

"Hey, wait a minute!" called out the ringleader, which thankfully masked Pat's gasp of surprise at what she noticed - at what she couldn't really help but notice. But she was a real trooper - she kept walking, and even found the right thing to say.

"At least he didn't question your courage... that always ends badly." She had a bit of a tremble in her voice - fear? Or suppressed laughter? I didn't ask, because I didn't have time. But her statement did seem to egg the ringleader on, ironically enough.

"Oh, yeah? It looks to me like the American Action Hero is *CHICKEN*."

Pat will occasionally confess to being slightly colorful in her language, but I can't swear that she actually said "Oh fuck, did he actually say that?!" because I was busy rushing her to cover. See, I keep track of modern warfare, and I knew what was coming. Sure enough, there was a buzzing like that of ten thousand castrated worker bees, culminating in a devastating explosion as a payload of hideous energies from a punitive afterworld impacted directly in the skirmish line, but we'd dived behind a nearby Tim Hortons. Sadly, I must confess, the day's doughnuts did not survive but sometimes grave sacrifices must be made for the survival of all mankind.

"Please... just please tell me that wasn't..." Pat said, but sadly, I had to inform her of the truth - she could see the bees for herself! It was, in fact, a hellfire missile attack, delivered by unmanned drones.

The ringleader stood untouched amidst the devastation, wondering what he said. I confidently stepped out from behind the (thankfully undamaged) Tim Hortons, and shrugged - what did he expect? He still didn't get it. Then he heard it... it's a sound you never forget. The sound of a fully automatic wing-mounted grenade launcher having its safety clicked off by the claw of an angry chicken. Apparently, Billina had decided to come along. To do battle? To join in the celebration? We may never know - but she would not walk past an evil alien bent on destroying her homeworld who uses the word "Chicken!" as an insult!

We never did discuss this, but I think Pat and I agree that Canadian customs, at least, as far less arduous than our little encounter in Ottawa.

Oh, and pernishus? Billina *does* like a nip of Irish once in a while. 'nuff, said, I hope - assuming she finds her way down there.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. So, next, I can get back to our actual arrival in Halifax. But first, I really felt it wasn't fair for me to refuse to explain the real truth about the missing socks.
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Comments:
[User Picture]From: tiger_spot
2012-07-24 05:19 am (UTC)
Billina's grown up some since she was my imaginary friend. Admittedly it's been a quarter-century.
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[User Picture]From: johnpalmer
2012-07-24 06:05 pm (UTC)
Well, we had a long and checkered history. It started with me having an understated doubletake about "oh, I'd better be careful driving into the parking lot - there's a chicken running around in there," followed, a moment later "Wait - there's a *CHICKEN* in the *PARKING LOT*!" She didn't have a parking permit, you see. But then, she wasn't driving a car, either.

The next time, I saw her when I drove home, but not before I went out jogging. Well... I also realized that I hadn't seen her fully automatic, wing-mounted grenade launcher, meaning that she was keeping it hidden from me for later use. I was being stalked by a chicken, with special-ops training!

Our worst encounter was when I thought I was getting salt-and-pepper shrimp, which turned out to be salt-and-pepper calamari - calamari is Italian for "raging, powerful, regenerating sea monster". If I'd known that, I wouldn't have put it in the garbage disposal, so it could regenerate. As I recall, it ended up getting tossed out the sliding glass doors, where it landed on a very surprised chicken, who'd been planning an all out assault. That was the beginning of our first truce, though the treaty was hard to read (chicken scratches, don't you know).

It took time for the whole truth to come out... how an innocent bird was ripped from fairy land, and thrown into an unkind universe.
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[User Picture]From: pernishus
2012-07-24 09:31 am (UTC)
Chickens missing sox, bees missing sex, -- and I'm sorry to have to admit that my little account of the HaliCallahanicon of 2012 having gone AWOL for the nonce really SUX -- thank you, dearest John, for your heroic efforts on behalf of all humankind -- and even of those who are not quite so kind... as you know, Kind-ness counts for a LOT here in Nova Scotia -- witness my collection of the works of BROOKS KIND -- here are three pieces of evidence of that fact as adduced by Pat in her photographic record of my abode:







I am not at all surprised you and dear Jez (Pat for the uninitiated) managed to -er- surmount all the various difficulties you so ably describe -- in general, them what seeks sox or sex kinda tend to find 'em -- or find Kind instead... eventually...

Edited at 2012-07-24 09:34 am (UTC)
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[User Picture]From: kightp
2012-07-24 10:30 pm (UTC)
And once again, Our Hero Saves the Day.

(If you people had *any idea* how often he's done that ... the Alien Abductions foiled, the fowl he's fouled... )

I admit to being ... relieved ... that you decided to spill the proverbial beans yourself - I was sure I'd slip up and reveal the Truth of the Missing Socks, and coming from me, who'd have believed it?

You almost gave yourself away, though, when you spotted that lovely platter of chicken satsivi Barnstead had laid on for the crowd on Friday night. I swear I saw you *blanch*, ever-so-slightly at the thought that the fair Billina might have met an untimely demise despite your truce and all ...
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