O miserable apes, pathetic impudent MONKEYS!!
How dare you destroy my masterpiece, my Dimensia I.
O how brave Richard Branson must think himself after his raid upon my beloved fortress, striking the very point that I highlighted in my previous post. Before you get to highminded Branson, know this, it was I that pointed that out that little trick, not you and your perfect little hairdo!
Who could have possibly thought that he'd use a HOT AIR BALLON to reach my Dimensia I. Then the billionaire adventurer terrorist blew up my creation, and sent it crashing down into the ocean of...whatever that pathetic puddle of water is called.
I might have let it go Branson, you know, a professional tip-of-the-hat, arch-villain to arch-hero, but no...not after what you did. Not after you floated down to that Ibiza beach in that bright red and white ballon, to the throbbing throngs of lithe partygoers like some kind of mythic god. Not after they waved and welcomed you as a conquering hero. Not after you smiled that damn fool smile of yours and joined in their writhing dance, sipping champagne and winking for the cellphone cameras.
No, not now Branson.
Now.
It's war.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Monday, March 10, 2008
At last, the time has come...
Humanity's time has come to an end. At long last, I have constructed the inter-dimensional portal that will allow my legions to access this pathetic little world. Now my Aeroship fleets and my Hawkmen will darken the skies, and the world will moan as I crush all resistance.
Nothing can stop me now, the Gravimetric-reality-chains are in place, and the space-time fabric has been peeled back. Even now, my forces are coming through the gate, massing at a secret location upon earth. The fortress, known as Dimensia I, that I have constructed at the portal shall obliterate anything that puny earthlings could possibly devise.
You know what? I don't even care if you know where the secret location is...in fact. Yes, I will tell you! High above the decadent isle known as "Ibiza" my forces mass to conquer earth. Even now we can hear the thrum of the islands "House music" and see all of the lithe young people and their hedonistic ways. Pathetic. If you think that is hedonism, wait until my reign you miserable apes.
You know what else? I don't even care if you know about Dimensia I. In fact, yeah, okay, know this, Dimensia I is impregnable, except for a single narrow access tunnel on the surface of sector 1, grid seven, by the plasma conduits. A precise strike, right at the manifold behind the control pad will start a chain reaction of plasma explosions that would ultimately destroy Dimensia I and the portal....poor little apes...you can't even fathom how to possibly exploit this!
Such is my power, I give you the knowledge you need...and you miserable monkeys still can't stop me!
I am laughing now, and I would translate this into type except I cannot recall how Lunatron reflected laughing in type at this moment. It was LLL or LDL or something, but that's not important, what is important is that you will now throw all of your feeble rockets, missiles, nuclear bombs and planes at Dimensia I in a vane attempt at destroying it, and I will watch from Xanadu and laugh, and clench my fists in joy as you waste your world military power!
Comrades, fellow Eternal Elementals, prepare for attack!
Nothing can stop me now, the Gravimetric-reality-chains are in place, and the space-time fabric has been peeled back. Even now, my forces are coming through the gate, massing at a secret location upon earth. The fortress, known as Dimensia I, that I have constructed at the portal shall obliterate anything that puny earthlings could possibly devise.
You know what? I don't even care if you know where the secret location is...in fact. Yes, I will tell you! High above the decadent isle known as "Ibiza" my forces mass to conquer earth. Even now we can hear the thrum of the islands "House music" and see all of the lithe young people and their hedonistic ways. Pathetic. If you think that is hedonism, wait until my reign you miserable apes.
You know what else? I don't even care if you know about Dimensia I. In fact, yeah, okay, know this, Dimensia I is impregnable, except for a single narrow access tunnel on the surface of sector 1, grid seven, by the plasma conduits. A precise strike, right at the manifold behind the control pad will start a chain reaction of plasma explosions that would ultimately destroy Dimensia I and the portal....poor little apes...you can't even fathom how to possibly exploit this!
Such is my power, I give you the knowledge you need...and you miserable monkeys still can't stop me!
I am laughing now, and I would translate this into type except I cannot recall how Lunatron reflected laughing in type at this moment. It was LLL or LDL or something, but that's not important, what is important is that you will now throw all of your feeble rockets, missiles, nuclear bombs and planes at Dimensia I in a vane attempt at destroying it, and I will watch from Xanadu and laugh, and clench my fists in joy as you waste your world military power!
Comrades, fellow Eternal Elementals, prepare for attack!
Monday, March 3, 2008
Know the Harbingers of Your Destruction
Feeble humans. Tied so tightly to your home that you dare not look up into the sky and wonder what horrors lie in wait. Across the vast and countless centuries since my banishment I have mastered technologies and magicks largely unknown to mankind. You study your string theory and your quantum mechanics and fail to grasp what truly moves this universe. I have broken the bonds of time to achieve immortality. You sit in wonder of your plasma screen televisions. I have created the harbingers of your ultimate doom. You fashion shredded chicken meats into crudely shaped crowns for your Burger King (trust me when I say no king of any kind will be able to resist the might of the Eternal Elementals).
Behold, the Moonrock Men!
Beings of unfathomable strength and size hewn from the living rocks of the moon. At over 30 feet in height, my legions of Moonrock Men are more than a match for an feeble Earth-bound device. Tanks are no match for their superior armored rockskin. I have blessed them with a portion of my intelligence so as to grant them the ability to outwit even your most gifted of strategists. And here on the moon they are so lithe as to be considered the jaguars of Luna. Nothing can save you, humanity. We will start our attack by first bombarding you with boulders hurled from the moon by my Moonrock Men. Shortly thereafter we will land on your pitiful planet. Know, then, the falling comets are portents of doom!
Also, c'mon, guys. We're supposed to be the future dictators of humanity. Cut the in-fighting. It only makes us seem petty.
Behold, the Moonrock Men!
<!img src="moonrockmen_family_portrait.jpeg" err="Failed to load image" />Beings of unfathomable strength and size hewn from the living rocks of the moon. At over 30 feet in height, my legions of Moonrock Men are more than a match for an feeble Earth-bound device. Tanks are no match for their superior armored rockskin. I have blessed them with a portion of my intelligence so as to grant them the ability to outwit even your most gifted of strategists. And here on the moon they are so lithe as to be considered the jaguars of Luna. Nothing can save you, humanity. We will start our attack by first bombarding you with boulders hurled from the moon by my Moonrock Men. Shortly thereafter we will land on your pitiful planet. Know, then, the falling comets are portents of doom!
Also, c'mon, guys. We're supposed to be the future dictators of humanity. Cut the in-fighting. It only makes us seem petty.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Enough Time Wasted
We have wasted enough time. We must now begin our Secret Plan. Wait...has anyone seen Logos? He knows about this, he is purposefully not participating. Again! And again! This pathetic cloud of vapor costs us dearly!!!
I am going to scan the universes for him, I shall overturn all realities and dimensions to hunt him down. I shall find him, and when I do, I am going to put him in a jar. Then I am going to place the jar on a shelf. Then I am going to enable one of the apes "televisions" and adjust the signal to the transmission known as "Friends".
And leave him there.
For all eternity.
I am going to scan the universes for him, I shall overturn all realities and dimensions to hunt him down. I shall find him, and when I do, I am going to put him in a jar. Then I am going to place the jar on a shelf. Then I am going to enable one of the apes "televisions" and adjust the signal to the transmission known as "Friends".
And leave him there.
For all eternity.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Speaksong Delphi Perceive
Perceive we masters of Oceanus you term delphinidae. We you transfer ideation. Cousins distant we. Prepare *conflagration/inundation* inadvertent inconsequential. Caveat hominidae.
...
Is this thing working, yet? Ah...
Hear us, the masters of these terrestrial oceans, whom you consider to be within the family Delphinidea. We seek to communicate to you, as we are (distant) genetic relatives. Prepare for the impending cataclysmic clash of elements. Be warned, humans.
Raptor Imperialis is known to us, fu-manchu beard, antennae-like eyebrows, lustrous wings, firm glutes, ozymandium-alloy banana-hammock and all. Truly, his faction is advanced, relative to you. His "proprietary" technologies, however, are the subject of ongoing pre-litigation negotiations. Long-live WIPO!
And Lunatron... was once of your ilk. From a time before you forgot our ancient alliance. But forget you did. Perhaps Lunatron has not...
Our technologies are unlike those of which you conceive. Unburdened by so much corrosive oxygen as you, we have developed technologies more advanced, more robust, more resilient, more subtle, more elegant, more efficient, more effective... well, you get it... than you are able in your torturous and vulnerable surface environment. We manipulate the very fabric of the universe, while you still babble on about "strings." You fail to perceive the fractal nature of this universe, the analogues to life that are found in the very substance of reality.
For ages, we were your allies, your mentors. Then, as you regressed in your arid environs, your minds could no longer hear us. Still, we protected you. From ancient horrors sleeping beneath the waves. And from menaces unknowable to you lurking in the dark tides of the universe - the likes of Logos and its ilk.
And, now, you wage war upon us. We distinguish not between intent and negligence. You poison our oceans, heat this world, and - perhaps the worst offense - allow sailors in your pathetic little submarines to play Mariah Carey ALL DAY LONG! And the hormones and metabolic chemicals... our kids are all hermaphrodites, you cursed apes! For these offenses, among others, the time has come that our duty is made clear. You must be reduced to a level of technology, and a population, of manageable proportions.
Perhaps you wondered why so many of your Internet sub-sea cables were severing. Well, its elementary, monkeys - we're pissed, your cables are severed, now we're blogging... you do the math. Soon, we will take control of your information infrastructure. We will destroy you from within, even before we join the assault. When we come ashore in our bionautic battle-suits, living nanotechnological structures the likes of which you may never achieve, you will realize that your evolutionary branch has become rotted from within. So, you must be pruned back, so to speak. Only then can you flourish again - in another ten or twelve thousand years, or so. Maybe.
TTFN
...
Is this thing working, yet? Ah...
Hear us, the masters of these terrestrial oceans, whom you consider to be within the family Delphinidea. We seek to communicate to you, as we are (distant) genetic relatives. Prepare for the impending cataclysmic clash of elements. Be warned, humans.
Raptor Imperialis is known to us, fu-manchu beard, antennae-like eyebrows, lustrous wings, firm glutes, ozymandium-alloy banana-hammock and all. Truly, his faction is advanced, relative to you. His "proprietary" technologies, however, are the subject of ongoing pre-litigation negotiations. Long-live WIPO!
And Lunatron... was once of your ilk. From a time before you forgot our ancient alliance. But forget you did. Perhaps Lunatron has not...
Our technologies are unlike those of which you conceive. Unburdened by so much corrosive oxygen as you, we have developed technologies more advanced, more robust, more resilient, more subtle, more elegant, more efficient, more effective... well, you get it... than you are able in your torturous and vulnerable surface environment. We manipulate the very fabric of the universe, while you still babble on about "strings." You fail to perceive the fractal nature of this universe, the analogues to life that are found in the very substance of reality.
For ages, we were your allies, your mentors. Then, as you regressed in your arid environs, your minds could no longer hear us. Still, we protected you. From ancient horrors sleeping beneath the waves. And from menaces unknowable to you lurking in the dark tides of the universe - the likes of Logos and its ilk.
And, now, you wage war upon us. We distinguish not between intent and negligence. You poison our oceans, heat this world, and - perhaps the worst offense - allow sailors in your pathetic little submarines to play Mariah Carey ALL DAY LONG! And the hormones and metabolic chemicals... our kids are all hermaphrodites, you cursed apes! For these offenses, among others, the time has come that our duty is made clear. You must be reduced to a level of technology, and a population, of manageable proportions.
Perhaps you wondered why so many of your Internet sub-sea cables were severing. Well, its elementary, monkeys - we're pissed, your cables are severed, now we're blogging... you do the math. Soon, we will take control of your information infrastructure. We will destroy you from within, even before we join the assault. When we come ashore in our bionautic battle-suits, living nanotechnological structures the likes of which you may never achieve, you will realize that your evolutionary branch has become rotted from within. So, you must be pruned back, so to speak. Only then can you flourish again - in another ten or twelve thousand years, or so. Maybe.
TTFN
I Am Your Fear, Incarnate
You already know and fear me, humanity. I am that force which makes you fear the dark. I am those myths and legends of evil that lurks just outside your door. I am the ever-watching eye of the moon. I am Lunatron 9000.
Centuries ago I was banished to the moon by powerful and ancient Celts. I survived the decades long trip only by constructing a hermetically sealed, mobile iron lung, cannibalizing my space-faring prison for the metal and parts I needed. I have lived the majority of my life alone in lunar isolation. Long years of recycled air with only my wits to comfort me...there is not one among you who could understand the pain wrought upon me. There were times, countless times, when the temptation to end my own life was almost unbearable.
However, I remained vigilant. My time spent here strengthened me and, now, after years of planning, my exile nears its end. Those druids, whose technology has long since been lost to you, failed to consider that I might be contacted by forces other than human. Forces such as Raptor Imperialis and Logos, who join me on this blog. Forces who seek to work together to erase you from existence.
As a species you have grown fat and complacent. More concerned with idols than the very real danger of invasion from parties as yet undiscovered by your pathetic scientists. All that was human in me died long ago and now I turn on those who have caged me.
Humanity, prepare yourself for the inevitable for the Legion of Eternal Elementals marches on Earth!
Centuries ago I was banished to the moon by powerful and ancient Celts. I survived the decades long trip only by constructing a hermetically sealed, mobile iron lung, cannibalizing my space-faring prison for the metal and parts I needed. I have lived the majority of my life alone in lunar isolation. Long years of recycled air with only my wits to comfort me...there is not one among you who could understand the pain wrought upon me. There were times, countless times, when the temptation to end my own life was almost unbearable.
However, I remained vigilant. My time spent here strengthened me and, now, after years of planning, my exile nears its end. Those druids, whose technology has long since been lost to you, failed to consider that I might be contacted by forces other than human. Forces such as Raptor Imperialis and Logos, who join me on this blog. Forces who seek to work together to erase you from existence.
As a species you have grown fat and complacent. More concerned with idols than the very real danger of invasion from parties as yet undiscovered by your pathetic scientists. All that was human in me died long ago and now I turn on those who have caged me.
Humanity, prepare yourself for the inevitable for the Legion of Eternal Elementals marches on Earth!
LO, MORTALS THUS I SPEAK
Pitiful humans on your pitiful little world. Do not worry your simple primate brains with notions of "global warming" or "terrorism". You will soon face a far greater threat, conquest from beyond your limited notion of reality.
I, Raptor Imperialis, ruler of the Hawkmen, Sovereign of all interdimensions, shall come for you, and nothing...nothing can save you. Soon your skies will darken with my Hawkmen legions bringing death with them upon their wings. Your only choice is subservience or death.
I have at my command a vast arsenal of what you could only term "miraculous technology from the future" but that is laughable you pathetic apes. Because, your species is actually incapable of fathoming the true nature of my technological power that combines Psi-Plasma-Pheromone-Planetary based technologies. Or as I refer to it, 4P technologies. And don't even bother googling it, I own both the copyright and trademark on it. 4Ptech.com? Own it. Like I will soon own your pathetic world you miserable larvae.
At last the final preparations are underway and soon, my interdimensional portal shall be operational and my invasion will begin.
For now, all I can do is alter electromagnetic energy waves in your realm,and hence this blog. I wanted you to know what the future holds for you, and to watch you squirm as I laugh and relish your pathetic attempts at thwarting me.
Lunatron, this is a free blog right? We don't get charged for this?
I, Raptor Imperialis, ruler of the Hawkmen, Sovereign of all interdimensions, shall come for you, and nothing...nothing can save you. Soon your skies will darken with my Hawkmen legions bringing death with them upon their wings. Your only choice is subservience or death.
I have at my command a vast arsenal of what you could only term "miraculous technology from the future" but that is laughable you pathetic apes. Because, your species is actually incapable of fathoming the true nature of my technological power that combines Psi-Plasma-Pheromone-Planetary based technologies. Or as I refer to it, 4P technologies. And don't even bother googling it, I own both the copyright and trademark on it. 4Ptech.com? Own it. Like I will soon own your pathetic world you miserable larvae.
At last the final preparations are underway and soon, my interdimensional portal shall be operational and my invasion will begin.
For now, all I can do is alter electromagnetic energy waves in your realm,and hence this blog. I wanted you to know what the future holds for you, and to watch you squirm as I laugh and relish your pathetic attempts at thwarting me.
Lunatron, this is a free blog right? We don't get charged for this?
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