ArthurinCali’s Essay, “The Holy Ghost of Racism”

ArthurinCali has a very well-written article on his substack about the witch hunts that take place throughout our society to incriminate anyone who happens to have white skin.  Lebron James is the primary villain in this piece but you could replace him with any one of a huge number of dimwitted hypocrites that try to set themselves up as moral arbiters.

A good read.

Renewable Energy Comes to Dunwich

The Town of Dunwich was recently ordered by the Colony of Massachusetts Bay to show progress in eliminating the production of greenhouse gases by switching over to renewable energy sources.  As the only engineer in town, or for that matter, the only person familiar with the decimal point among the denizens of this benighted hellhole I was ordered by First Selectman Cthulhu to, “make that happen.”  And since, as in all things ordered by Cthulhu, the penalty for failure is being eaten alive by a 100-foot-high squid-headed flying dragon, I got to work right smartly.

What I discovered was that currently 100% of our electrical energy supply is generated by burning sperm whale oil.  It’s a little known fact that Dunwich, along with certain Inuit tribes is  allowed under treaty to hunt sperm whales and since the market for whale products long ago dried up we utilized the carcasses as a source of fuel.  The carcasses are hauled up on the shore and trucked to the power plant where the oil is drained off.  Then the meat is turned into Dunwich’s world-famous blubber chowder.  And the bones are packaged for resale to Dunwich’s werewolf (or for the politically correct term, lycanthrope) population.

I contacted the DEP to see if this treaty allowed for our whale oil to be grandfathered in as a green energy equivalent but, alas, there was a whale-lover on the staff there so, no soap.  I began to get panicky so I called in a consultant to see what other towns were doing.  The consultant described the latest scams that currently passed for “green” energy.  The favorite was “converting” natural gas to hydrogen to use in a fuel cell.  After looking at the material balance I could see that this process produces almost the same amount of carbon dioxide as combustion does.  When I questioned him about this inconsistency, he waved his hands around for a few minutes while claiming that the science was settled.  Anyway, the price tag for the installation was so high I realized there was no way we could switch over to this particular scam.

I asked him if he had a cheaper scam that we could invest in.  He looked disappointed.  I guess most of his clients aren’t as primitive and poor as Dunwich.  Finally after dejectedly checking through his inventory he noted that he had several generators that were reclaimed from some wind turbines that had fallen down and been carted away as scrap.  He could let us have those for a pittance.  Out of desperation and to buy time I ordered the parts and sent him on his way.

Then I had an inspiration.  We had some old caterpillar treads left over from some heavy machinery that had broken down and some other odds and ends.  I had the maintenance crew rig these up into a gigantic treadmill and hook it up to the generators.  I had the highway crew dig a pit out near the bicycle path that runs through the scenic area of the ghoul haunted forest.  And I had them catch and imprison the biggest shoggoth they could find in town.  It was a big, ugly, smelly, hungry one.  I think we might have lost a couple of the crew that caught it.  Oh well.

The next part of the plan was the good part.  Along the side of the bicycle path, I put a sign leading over to the pit that said “Contribute to Green Energy.”  Over the pit I had built a sound-proofed shed with a revolving door that led into a dark room with a pit trap.  When someone falls into the pit it raises a panel that separated the shoggoth from its dinner.  Once the shoggoth starts moving toward the victim it turns the caterpillar track and begins powering the generator.  As long as the green power enthusiast is able to run on this treadmill and stay ahead, the shoggoth continues to pursue.  But when the friend of Gaia tires, the shoggoth will get its lunch and the treadmill will stop and the power will go out in town.

Of course, this is a problem.  I’ve come up with some improvements.  To improve the reliability, we now run a bicycle race daily in town.  And I’ve hooked up a battery system as a form of uninterruptible power supply (UPS) for the town between shoggoth meals.  But uninterruptible is probably an overenthusiastic claim.

But the important thing is the First Selectman is pleased.  He’s grown fond of the project and has named the shoggoth Tesla.  He’s tasked me with setting up a similar treadmill for his personal use.  He says he needs the exercise and donating some energy to the town is patriotic.  Also, the town is making a nice profit reselling abandoned bicycles found along the road.

Who knew going green would be this much fun.

Guest Contributor – ArthurinCali – 31JAN2023 – Check the Menu First

Adventures overseas.

Many a young man has had a yearning for adventure, and I was no different. Eager for travel and new experiences I jumped at the chance to be stationed overseas after joining the US Navy. That wish was granted when after boot camp when I was assigned to a helicopter squadron on the south pacific island of Guam. At 30 miles long and only 10 miles at her widest point, Guam was to become my home between deployments for the first 4 years of my naval career.

Guam has been continuously inhabited for over 4000 years starting with the migration of Austronesian people, known today as Chamorro Peoples. With the arrival of Ferdinand Magellan in 1521, this began a 300-year period of heavy Spanish influence which can still be seen on the island through the remains of forts, missions, and architecture. Language, food, and religion of local island culture still reflect the Spaniards traditions that were imprinted. After the Spanish-American war of 1898, Guam became a territory of the US, a status that remains to this day.

At the outbreak of WWII the Japanese occupied the island until being defeated by American forces in the Battle for Guam campaign of 1944. The war had lasting effects on the island, with many relicts still visible such as sunken ships, tanks, and airplane wrecks. One Japanese soldier, Shoichi Yokoi, fled to the jungle in 1944 during the battle for control of the island. He survived undetected for nearly 30 years until being found in 1972, still believing that the war was not over.

(This is only a quick overview for the fascinating history of Guam. I highly recommend furthering one’s knowledge through the links provided.)

How do I describe the feeling of arriving to a new country? It may as well have been a new planet. To go from the pine forests of East Texas-to a tropical island with endless blue stretching out to the horizon was almost visually unreal. I recall that the airline arrived late at night so the trip to the base did not give me much clue as to what the surroundings were like. Waking up and stepping outside of the barracks to the sight of palm trees and blue crystal water was a shock. The ocean depths surrounding Guam are some of the clearest in the world, attracting many divers to explore the pristine coral reef.

With over a century of American influence, many things on the island were similar to what one would find on the mainland, but with a twist. There are plenty of US restaurants as dining choices; from Outback Steakhouse, to McDonald’s. Major hotels line the shores of Tumon Bay, and tourism makes up a significant part of the economy. Yet it is the little differences that are interesting. One example is that you can order local dishes at major franchises like Spam & Eggs at McDonald’s. A popular local ice cream is literally packed with a vegetable medley including carrots, potato, and beans. Yes, beans. The story goes that this was invented to encourage island children to eat more veggies. The blend of culinary diversity gave one ample choices.

Not long after arriving I was able to purchase a ‘Boonie’ car. This description is for an old vehicle that has seen numerous owners, mostly due to military personnel transferring off-island. So, essentially a beater car. Mine was a well-loved 1980s something black Camaro that set its own schedule as to if and when the A/C would work, which was seldom. She also had semi-electronic windows that refused to roll up when it rained…which was every day. Great combo for an island that gets an average of 95 inches of rain a year. At one point I kept more towels in the car than in my bathroom for these occasions. Did I mention the roads? Can’t forget that. Having limited building materials, Guam incorporated ground-up coral reef into the asphalt road construction. Not too big of a deal…unless it rains. This forces the oils up to the surface of the roads making them slicker than an ice rink. Even with most posted speed limits at 35 MPH this doesn’t help when everyone ignores that speed limit. The major road, Guam Highway 1 ran north to south of the island and was menacingly nicknamed ‘Guam Autobahn.’

Even with these transportation challenges I enjoyed exploring different parts of the island. Most weekends were spent checking out the latest place of interest I had read about or heard from someone who had visited. Swimming in underground cave pools and visiting 17th century Spanish Forts were a highlight of my time spent in Guam.

The villages held festivals for saints and holidays throughout the year. It seemed that every weekend a different village held a fiesta so myself and a few guys from the base decided to check one out. The best comparison would be to a small town county fair atmosphere, with carnival games and attractions. The friendliness of the Chamorro people cannot be overstated and we soon found ourselves invited to get something to eat from one of the local villagers. He had an elaborate setup in his front yard with a large canopy that shaded a set of folding tables and chairs. The food was arranged on a couple of tables to one side that reminded me of Sunday dinners after church back in Texas. After getting a plate of ribs and vegetables, we found our seats and dug in. After a while, our host came over and inquired if we were enjoying the food. He was especially interested in what we thought of his ribs. When I told him they were good he asked, “Would you like to see my stock?” I replied sure and he motioned for us to follow him around to the back of the house. Now, being from Texas, I was expecting to see a pig pen, or possibly an enclosure with goats. Instead, we were greeted with a large kennel…of dogs. The realization of where the ribs had come from was interrupted by one of my companions saying, “So that’s why they were so tender?” Always check the menu became my new motto that day.

Guam is a special place to me, even after traveling to 20+ countries during my naval career. It was the start of my world travels and was the first experience of how vast this world truly is. But remember: Always check the menu.



Dunwich in the Depths of a Non-Winter

Swamp in Fall 2

Here we are at the brink of February and Dunwich looks like early December.  There’s no snow cover and the ground is soggy with all the rainfall.  There are serious consequences from this warm weather.  Mange has broken out among various species.  Werewolves, zombies and the Mi-Go (those winged fungoid crustacean creatures) have all been observed uncontrollably scratching themselves against tree trunks to relieve the itching.  And the smell from these festering wounds has made the forested areas around the swamps almost unendurable for residents there.  First Selectman Cthulhu complains that tourism is way off and he blames it on this blight.  I don’t know.  I think it could be a result of the new advertising slogan they came up with.  I mean, “Dunwich, smell the history” might need some work.

Luckily for me I took the precaution of planting the perimeter of my property with wolfsbane a year or two back and the only local inhabitant that hasn’t fled is a shoggoth that lives under the rock overhang at the edge of the swamp.  He’s a really old and decrepit example of the species and he probably would have already succumbed to the infection if Camera Girl hadn’t started putting out scraps for it to subsist on.

As is her habit, she has sort of adopted it and calls it by a pet name, shoggy, which I find annoying.  I’ve explained many times that it is a loathsome man-eating nightmare, the very sight of which can shatter the sanity of any human being.  She claims it just needs scratching under the chin (wherever that is), some warm blankets and leftover fried chicken to make it a “boopa.”  Women are mostly insane.  I’ve resorted to poisoning the chicken but all that accomplished was to make it thirsty.  It drank down the pond and swelled up to a hundred times its original size.  It’s about the size of a city block and about three hundred feet tall.  It seems to have either the hiccups or some kind of rhythmic flatulence.

Next Friday is supposed to be a quick freeze.  Forecasts call for nighttime temperatures dipping down to minus fifteen Fahrenheit.  I believe that after absorbing that much water the shoggoth will freeze solid overnight.  My plan is to rent one of those construction vehicles with the industrial strength jack hammer attached to a robotic arm and use it to chop up the shoggoth into bite size chunks.  I figure I can probably transport them to a fishing port and sell it as chum to the commercial fishermen.  Anyway, that’s the plan.

With the cold weather coming I expect the more traditional winter activities to resume.  Once Lake Bishop freezes the annual ice fishing derby will be announced and all experienced fishermen will partake in the night before drinking binge to shore up their nerve for the event.  And whoever draws the short straw that morning will need every bit of that alcohol to get the nerve to make the run across the ice.  After all, running across a half mile of open ice dressed as a giant “kivver” with the First Selectman coming after you from under the ice with only a ten second head start is pretty heady stuff.

Last year Tanner Featherstone came within twenty feet of the shore and maybe three seconds of winning the contest and the $100 Amazon gift card.  Not to mention keeping his life.  It’s this kind of town-spirit and bone-headed stupidity that keeps this amazing tradition going despite the unbroken history of failure and the terrifying sight of a man being eaten alive by a one-hundred-foot-tall squid-headed flying dragon.  The screams and the sound of the crunching bones really makes you think.

Well anyway.  I’ve got to do some research on that whole jack hammer rental thing.  Busy, busy, busy.  I hope your winter is going well and I’ll be back soon to describe what looks like an early spring and the return of the “colour out of space” to the local foliage.  Ah those unearthly colors.  They make Dunwich the garden spot it is.

31JAN2023 – Quote of the Day

I have not yet begun to fight!

His famous response, in the early phase of the Battle of Flamborough Head, (23 September 1779) to an inquiry by his opponent (Captain Richard Pearson of the Royal Navy ship HMS Serapis) as to whether he was surrendering his ship, the USS Bonhomme Richard, as recounted in the reminiscences of Jones’s First Lieutenant, Richard Dale, as published in The Life and Character of John Paul Jones, a Captain in the United States Navy (1825) by John Henry Sherburne:

…the Bon Homme Richard, having head way, ran her bows into the stern of the Serapis. We had remained in this situation but a few minutes when we were again hailed by the Serapis, “Has your ship struck?” To which Captain Jones answered, “I have not yet begun to fight!”

In Naval teminology to “strike the colours” means to haul down the ship’s flag to signify surrender, but here the use of the ship as subject of the sentence may imply a pun on the non-naval use of “struck”.

I may sink, but I’ll be damned if I strike!

His much less famous response, in the late phase of the Battle of Flamborough Head, 23 September 1779, to an inquiry by his opponent (Captain Richard Pearson of the Royal Navy ship HMS Serapis) as to whether he was surrendering his ship, the USS Bonhomme Richard, which was by this time very seriously damaged.

This was what some of his sailors, reported in British newspapers at the time, claimed he had said; Jones’s official report merely stated that he had answered “in the most determined negative”.

John Paul Jones