Do Not Forget The Babble

Yes, our companion podcast, The Babble, is still kicking. This week we've got music by Josh Taylor, messages from our sponsors, and a brief discussion of how Pearl River Flow kinda sucks. 

Subscribe on Google Play, iTunes, Stitcher, and locally, Satchel (but they don't have a way to link)

Of course, just following me on YouTube will result in delightful, if weird, videos, including CATS, trash-finding videos, 25 minute videos of IMMOBILE GARBAGE or MOVING TRAINS, PLUS the podcasts, so hey - that's an option, people.

In Which I Review 10 Games that Might Not Exist

 Grab some campground flavored Game Piss Game Fuel for Piss Gamers, the official energy drink of this metal fucking pipe.

Grab some campground flavored Game Piss Game Fuel for Piss Gamers, the official energy drink of this metal fucking pipe.

As some of you know, I sometimes review video games, usually ones that have been out for decades. Today, I will take a look at games that could, but should not, exist.

Piss VR Extreme

The notes claim that there are “37 levels of urination fun!” This is compatible with VR headsets in a move that could be described as “ill-advised,” were I not confident that someone intentionally advised the developers of this game solely to cause people to urinate on themselves in public.

Steam Greenlight Early Access 23.99

Punch Fucker 3D 2 - Puncher and Fuckererer

The followup to the browser game Punch Fucker 2D is as poorly titled as it is executed. This is a F2P game, following new characters not featured in Punch Fucker 2D - namely, Punch Manguy and Fist Mandrill, who are pallet swaps of Dude Gunbro and Bro Gundude from either Gears of War or the original Punch Fucker 2D, I honestly can’t remember.


While Punch Fucker 3D 2 - Puncher and Fuckererer is billed as “Free to Play,” every element of the procedurally created open world is entirely dependent on the microtransactions and DLC that you own. While things such as “walls,” “floors,” and “butt punches” and “gunfuckers” can be earned for free through 1, 2, 3, and 5 thousand hours of gameplay respectively, enemies, objects in the world, power ups, and ammunition are all quite expensive purchases.

Steam Greenlight Early Access (Free-ish)

Manspread Arcade 3

I don’t know what to say about Manspread Arcade 3 that the game copy has not already made exceedingly clear. I did, however, correct the numerous misspellings and grammatical errors.

"Spread ‘em! Take your manspreading game from the subway to the bus, from restaurants to bars, earning points by how many people you piss off! Build your snowflake meter to unlock special ball-dropping combos!"

Steam Greenlight Early Access (5.99)

Megasoftwarez Brisket Chef Indie Restaurant Simulator 2: Health Inspection Special Inspector Unit

At first, the low-fi black-and-white indie game graphics were distracting, and the oversized terminal text made little sense in this mostly-text-based game that had me reading thousands upon thousands of pages of text a few words at a time. However, once I got past the presentation, the focus on the bleak existence of the health department’s special victims unit was more than enough to make me stop playing, especially after I heard news that Megasoftwarez was using this game to train health inspector units in shutting down my favorite shady restaurants. Once I put in 300 hours, however, the charm of the thing gave way to the horrifying descriptions of health department violations, especially their 300 word scenario involving “rat king soup a’la king.”

Steam Greenlight Early Access (19.99)

700x Anime Tiddies Dating Sim

This anime dating “sim” claims that “350 anime babes and over 700 anime tiddies will all compete for your attention,” and while that is most certainly true, the artwork - every fame of which consists entirely of childish, nightmarishly proportioned oversexualized girls, is probably illegally gratuitous. I asked around and found out that one viewing of the character “schoolgirl fuckcat” sent Rob Liefeld into a fit of laughter, until it was pointed out that she did have well-drawn feet.

While this is a ostentatiously a simulation, I can report that no character in the sim did anything for any discernable reason, though as advertised, you can fuck a pidgeon!

Dong Wanglight Early Whacksess (29.99)

Short Shorter: Housing Crash Simulator

By moving numbers around in spreadsheets you can “earn” billions of “dollars” though in an odd incentivizing choice, most of the profits tend to flow up to your managers who are…. OH MY GOD IT’S NOT A SIMULATOR WE’RE ALL FUCKED!

Hacking into Bank Servers (Free)

Movie Watching Simulator

The workmanlike menus are functional, and in a unique twist, you can provide each film or “level” from your own hard drive, creating a hand-crafted experience, where... wait, this is just a copy of VLC.

Steam Greenlight (99.99)

2D Shooter 3D VR 2D Edition

This phone port VR game is supposedly a 2D sprite-art version of a Playstation era 3D version of a SNES 2D shooter, but I threw up on the floor immediately after putting on the 3D glasses and now have no idea what the game was or how, in fact, I got it.

Green Streemlight (Free)

Ninja Zombie Pirate Robot: A Trochee Crafting Game

This is, and I quote, “a roguelike metroidvania with crafting elements, a procedurally developed open world, permadeath and characters classes that are all trochee tropes.” I completely lost the ability to think original thoughts moments after beginning this game.

Steam Greenlight Early Access (4.99)

Self Well-Actualization: The Mansplaining Trilogy

This is actually just a twitter account.


I Will Be Attending Roger Ailes' Funeral

  For those in the area who cannot make it to Florida via traditional means can do so by traveling through this portal and traversing the dangerous xenodimensional "Upside Down."

For those in the area who cannot make it to Florida via traditional means can do so by traveling through this portal and traversing the dangerous xenodimensional "Upside Down."

BREAKING NEWS: FPJEROME has been invited to the funeral of all-around-horrible being "Roger Ailes" and has leaked this, the schedule of events for the day-long ritual that will be used to bind his soul with hate for another thousand years.

We present:

The Hand-Out at Roger Ailes' Funeral

A Funeral for Roger Ailes.




Temple of Moloch 307, Palm Beach, FL

6:00 AM to 9:00 PM


6:00-7:00 - Gathering of the Sacrifices.

(Main dungeon, DeVos Anex)

Sacrifices and handlers only.


Special: 6:32 - Sunrise - Drawing of the Circle

(Chamber of Inner Darkness, Stone Room)

DANGER: Binders of the Revenant ONLY!


7:00 - 8:00 - Carving of the Runes.

(Prescott Bush Family Death Center)

Please see Dark Magus Sanguinem Atramento for details.


9:00 - 10:00 - Breakfast

(Temple Dining Hall, Koch Annex)

A light roast of Bob “Black Men Can’t Fix My Computer” Beckel, blood wine, coffee, donuts.


10:00 AM - 11:00 AM - Firing of the bronze statue of Moloch

(Main Cathedral, Trump Chamber)

Please do not enter without proper protective and breathing apparatus.


11:00 AM - Noon: Renewing of Shame

(Media Center, Ford Room)

A look back at the women he shamed and humiliated over his long live(s).


Noon 1:00 PM - Lunch

(John Foster Dulles Dining Hall)

Bill O’Reilly’s famous falafels and an Iraqi boy!


SPECIAL: 1:16 - HIGH NOON The Desecration of the Vessel

(Solar Observatory Globe, Key Chambers)

Danger: Acolytes of the Black Tongue ONLY!


1:00 - 2:00 Obliteration of the Eros

(Blood Hall, Cheney Room)

Bill O’Reilly will read from “Those Who Trespass” to the assembled crowd.

Note: Mr. O’Reilly demands nudity from all who enter the room during the reading.


2:00 - 4:00 - Offerings to Moloch

(Main Dungeon)

NOTE: This month’s chant is “Oxen! These are Oxen!”


4:00 - 5:00 Torment of the Weak

(Kissenger Annex, Room 101)

FOX and Friends hosts will scourge and punish Shepard Smith for his transgressions.

Family friendly!


6:00 - 7:00 Parade of Fools

(Blood Path, Rockefeller Building)

Join the multitude of celebrities that Mr. Ailes created as they are given their first glimpse at the nature of the pact when we contact his soul in the netherealm thanks to the “Long Island Medium,” Theresa Caputo!


7:00 - 8:00 Cleanup

(Blood Path, Rockefeller Building)

Clean up the exodimensional insect forms and pupae that will consume Mrs. Caputo after contact with the Dark Nethers.


8:03 SUNSET: Sealing of  One Thousand Years

(Black Chamber, Location Unknown)

Silent Watchers ONLY!


Thank you for attending. Please destroy this document as soon as the service is over.

FP Jerome, FBI Director

Dear President Trump;

I never doubted you. So I hope you’ll consider me as your new director of the FBI. With James “James” Comey being fired - good move, I hope you used your signature “You’re fired” line on that guy - I know you’ll need a replacement.

You’ll need a renegade with top-notch investigative skills, willing to fight crawfish-men, handle city-wide issues, infiltrate secret bunkers, climb into murder holes with strange beast-men, and sneak into corporate board meetings.

You like to think outside the box, and I like to think outside the cube. That’s why I think you should do some real outsider logic here and not hire some law-man to run your central law-man agency. You should hire an outlaw. Outside the box? Outside the law. It’s all the same thing.

That’s not to say I don’t have experience. I know the X-Files in and out, like the back of an old hand I found in the swamp.

Therefore, as your soon-to-be FBI director, this is exactly what I am capable of doing, what I will prioritize, and what, I am sure, the American people want - far more than whatever it was James “No you have to call me James” Comey was getting up to. Mostly, just convincing disturbed people that they should become terrorists, and distributing child porn. Therefore, I think you will find that this is a much better use of taxpayer dollars.


I will get to the bottom of alien abductions.

I will find out who in the government is covering them up.

I will investigate the killer - who only I know exists - who can stretch himself to impossible shapes and sizes.

I will investigate the Jersey Devil. The mutant one, not Chris Christie, unless of course you really want me to.

Ghosts. Real? I’ll find out.

Malevolent AI. I’m sure this is a threat the American people would like to be dealt with, Mr. President.

ASTRONAUTS. What are they up to? What do they bring back with them from space? I WILL FIND OUT.

Secret human cloning projects. Why are they secret? Are they humans? Why not just fuck? Few people can discern the truth to questions such as these. I am such a person.

Spontaneous Human Combustion. I feel like we can have more of that. SHOULD have more of that. Why so spontaneous?

Psychic mediums. I have a brilliant plan to see if any of them can contact US from beyond the grave.

Shapeshifters. They could be anyone! ANYONE. I alone can ferret out this threat.

Possession by the dead. I figure that if possession is 9/10ths of the law, then I can 9/10ths handle this.

Creepy baby-salamander hands. That can’t be good. No good comes of a hand like that.

Faith healers. No joke, I think we can probably just put an end to that.

Insects that suck people’s blood out. I mean, it’s common, it’s more dangerous than terrorism, and I have the swamp knowledge to handle it.


Reincarnation. Nope. We’ve got to put a stop to that. One life is plenty enough, if not, in fact, too much.

Telepathy. I don’t trust bald men for this reason. I feel like I can solve this case with that secret knowledge.


Mr. President, I hope you find this application to be useful and may it guide you to your new FBI director, who, I should point out, should be me, as I am just as qualified as anyone else.


Thank you;


Alex Jones and Me

With apologies to the Counting Crows.

(also if you don’t remember this song, you can use that link to get this weird, weird joke)

 This is the most "illuminati plot" picture I could easily find. 

This is the most "illuminati plot" picture I could easily find. 

Sha la, la, la, la, la, la
Uh, huh
I was down at the Alamo
Starin' at a secret owl
Alex Jones starts yellin out a conversation
With anyone who will listen
You know, that they will listen to him because he’s a human
And it’s suddenly beautiful, we all want something beautiful
Man, I wish I was beautiful
So come shout this message down through the warring
Sha la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Uh, huh
Cut up, Prison Planet
Show me some of them Bohemian rituals
Pass me a bottle, Alex Jones
Believe in me
Help me believe in anything
'Cause I, I wanna be someone who believes
Alex Jones and me tell each other fairy tales
And we stare at the beautiful owl
She's looking at you
Ah, no, no, she is looking at me
Smilin' in the bright lights
Comin' through in stereo
When everybody sees you
You can never be lonely
Well I'm a paint a picture
Paint myself behind the prison bars
All of the tiny messages are very, very meaningful
Yeah, well you know, flouride is in my water
Everything was symbolic yesterday
If I knew George Soros
He would buy me a mind control guitar to play
Alex Jones and me look into the future
Yeah, we stare at the liberal elite
They’re looking at you, and also, they’re looking at me
Standin' in the eye light
I bought myself a gay frog
Chemtrails make everybody love me
I will never be lonely
I will never be lonely
Said I'm never gonna be lonely
I wanna be a human
A real live human who is alive
We all wanna have big, big feelings
Yeah, but we got different reasons for that
Believe in me 'cause I don't believe in anything
And I, I wanna be someone to believe
To believe, to believe
Alex Jones and me staring at the chemtrails
They make all the frogs beautiful women
It’s perfect for you
Man, it’s perfect for me
Bob Dylan was in the illuminati
Alex Jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky
When everybody sees you
Ah son, that's just a Panopticon you see
Mr. Jones and me starin' at the video
When I look at the television
I see the illuminati starin' right back at me
We all wanna be real humans
But we don't know why and we don't know how
But when everybody listens me
The globalists are just as mad as they can be

Alex Jones and me, we're gonna be big stars

Nor-Man and the No-Force

Occasionally, I do the “writing prompt” thing. This one was from Saladin Ahmed on The Twitter:

“New prompt: Bad Guys (interpret as you like) rule the future. What does well-made but complicit entertainment look like? Avoid easy parody.”

We never do.

“Suck it, Nielson.” Norman Jones said, temporarily replacing the gleaming cityscape window with an HD overlay of his media empire. Ratings, eyeballs, time spent, channels changed, links clicked, all of it was populating moving charts and in.

“The Media Empire” was what the TV stations, newspapers, and websites that he owned called themselves, anyway. There were others, of course, split up from The Wave, and they got along just as well as the things they’d replaced.

Back then, he’d been The Normalizer. He was glad The Wave had taken place a decade or so after that unfortunate flirtation with “Nor-Man” in the 90s, when everyone had immaculate curls, belts, pouches, and Big Armor.

He sighed, squeezing his temples, remembering the boots and the epaulets. “We were all on those damn Exo-Steroids, that’s the only explanation.” That was always the explanation, when they all got together - those who were left. Still, though, sometimes he woke up at night screaming when he thought about what they’d done to those consultants and fashion designers.

A finger poked at a graph he didn’t like. It expanded, he scrolled it around, closed everything with a pinch and a snap.

“Get me a feed on Drone Strike.” He said, one window displaying producers and directors and writers and Generals, the other blossoming into the familiar footage over somewhere that was inevitably either dusty and parched or green and flooding.

This time it was flooded. He pursed his lips and watched the red cursor float around the screen for far too long. He pushed a button and somewhere an editor was fired.

“Movies.” He said, flustering the digital assistant as piles of movies he’d recently watched started queuing up on the screen.

Chicago: Death’s Mile, Septimius Severus, Patriot Wave, Shooter, Sea Shepherd: The Horrors of Deepwater Horizon, Entourage, The Purge, they all populated the screen for a moment, each still color coded. Norman’s queue saw a lot of blue filters and Mark Wahlberg, he hated those movies, they always got the details wrong about The Wave, but since he paid good money to make them, he did, at least, watch them.

“Mag-Lord’s balls, that’s not what I meant. Show me the movies we’ve got playing in theaters worldwide, international releases only.”

Lines going down. Some of them red. The psychics and telepaths were finally right - The Wave wasn’t bringing them out anymore. They’d had enough shattered buildings and blowing dust, enough dim lights and shaky cameras.  It was time for something new. Something bright. Something colorful and ultra-violent.

He pushed a button to talk to a real person. “Get me some artists, I want designs on Nor-Man and the No-Force for the big screen. The nineties are coming back.”

Homebrew Your Own - Sake



"Sake!" You can yell for a serving of it and you'll feel like a samuari. You can drink it warm, clear as vodka - with that 'water of life' burn - or drink cool, milky rice wine that tastes like amazake and smooth champagne. 

What I've made here - and what I recommend for the homebrewer - is a more sour, rustic, homestyle sake, like the itenerant ronin might have gotten from an indifferent housewife who'd much rather have been left alone with her cats than get all mixed up with wandering mercenaries, no matter the thrill of the romance. 

So, here's what you'll need:. All this will be explained later, so if you don't get a point, just keep reading - that's life advice, kids. Also, a word on CLEANLINESS will follow.

 Rinsed, soaked, drying rice

Rinsed, soaked, drying rice

1 kg (2.2 pounds, you American dolt) of short grain rice.  

200g of koji  

A steamer

A colander that won't let rice through

Some muslin cloth. 

An appropriate fermentation vessel

Very clean water

Champagne yeast

Here's some specifics:

The rice: Get a short grain sticky rice. Many speciality stores stock sushi rice or short grain sticky rice. Visit your local Asian market, your local coop, and stay out of Whole Foods, because they're weird kale-powered aliens who plan on harvesting your inner juices. That's why they want you to be so healthy - so your essence is best for The Harvest. 

If you can't find sushi rice or sticky rice, Arborio rice will work nicely. For whatever reason, it tends to be more expensive. I dunno. 

The koji - if you're lucky, you'll know someone who has koji. If not, you'll need to order it online, likely. Rare is the local shop that carries koji. You can get it online, no problem.  

A WORD ON CLEANLINESS: In brewing, most people try to attain a sterile environment. For the homebrewer, this is next to impossible. From fermentation circles, I have heard the aphorism, "Clean, but not sterile," and that's what I strive for. (Thanks, Lauren) Wash your hands, clean everything with soap and water, rinse well, and use boiling water for any sort of sterilization. Try to avoid bleach and chlorinated water - you're attempting to harbor microbial life and make it work for you, and it can't very well do that if it's dead, can it!?

For clean water, I like to boil tap water then let it sit overnight with a lid on. It's clean and it has minerals. if you want to go to your local coop or fancy water place and get a few gallons of reverse-osmosis filtered water, that's very good too - for most of your homebrew stuff, the mineral mix isn't vital. Plus, it's clean and has zero aftertaste.  

ANYWAY, back to making sake. Wash that rice in tap water. In the colander. Wash it once, then again. Now let it soak for 45 minutes and rinse it off twice. You're basically trying to get all the dust and silt off the rice - it can contribute to off flavors.   

Now, let it drain dry for like an hour. You'll want it to be fairly dry. It doesn't have to be bone-dry, but it will need to NOT be wet.   

Now comes the tricky part. You want to steam the rice without getting condensation and water on it. So line a steamer with muslin cloth and lay a layer of rice on it - the thinner the layer, the better, but you do want to get it all in one go. Don't let the water touch the bottom of the rice, and make sure your muslin cloth is wrapped over the top so the dripping condensation doesn't run through the rice.  

Steam your rice for an hour-ish. It may take longer and it may not take that long. Don't let your steamer run out of water. Run the steamer low if you can. 

The rice is done when it's just a bit crunchier than you would like it to be before serving it. 


Now, paddle all that rice into your Earthen crock. Pour in a quart of room temperature water, put a tight lid on it and let it cool.  This will take a while - a workday or an overnight sleep are good time blocks to let that rice cool. It needs to be room temperature for you to add the koji, or else the heat will kill your koji!  While you wait, acclimate your koji by pouring your 200 g of koji into a CLEAN quart jar full of clean, room-temperature water. 

The next day (or when you get home from work or whatever) add that koji-water to your crock. Stir it well with a clean paddle, spoon, or spatula.  

Let this sit for 24-48 hours. What's happening inside the crock is the koji is coming to life and fermenting the starches. Unlike most fermentators, koji turns starch into sugar (not alcohol or acid) - and you're going to soon turn that sugar into alcohol! The more you let your koji go wild, the more sugar you create and the more alcohol you'll have, but be wary - the process also creates earthy, sour notes that can contribute to flavor you may not like. 

However long you let this process go, don't do it more than 48 hours. The koji will doubtlessly have done all they can after 48 hours. So, about 4-8 hours before you're ready to get this thing boozy,  take your champagne yeast and add it to another room temperature quart of clean water - we use champagne yeast because they're hardy, give it a good bready flavor, and can survive in a good range of pH levels. 

After that 4-8 hours is over, add your yeast water to the mix. Stir it again.  

Now, a word on your fermentation vessel. For a short term ferment like this it's best to have a wide-mouthed barrel-or-bucket style vessel. A fermentation crock for sauerkraut works, a butter churn can work, and primary fermenters for starting beers can work. It's best not to do it in plastic - but it won't hurt, either. If you use a plastic fermentation vessel, just don't leave your rice in there too long - five days at max - it can soak up some plastic flavors. 

So now you let it sit somewhere at room temperature as long as you'd like. The longer it sits, the more alcoholic it gets and the more sour it becomes. After about 10-12 days, you'll wind up with something that tastes like alcohol and yogurt, which isn't the greatest flavor. Shorter ferments are going to be weaker and sweeter, longer ferments will develop strength and sourness. Five days is the minimum you'll want to go for.  Any less than that, it's going to be barely alcoholic amazake. Shoot for 7 days. 

Now, the bottling. Pour your sake out through a colander and into a large bowl or container that will allow you to pour it into a bottle with a funnel or with a cup that has a spout, like a large measuring cup.  

Whatever bottle you want, make sure it's clean - sterile if possible, this is easy to accomplish by pouring boiling water into your bottle then pouring it out, be incredibly careful there, though. Wine bottles are nice, it a bit big, beer bottles are good, go for the swing-top bottles either way, as you'll be opening/reopening/closing the bottles.  

Keep it refrigerated. Drink it how you want. Drinking it warm will lead to more alcohol flavors and less of the earthy and sour notes. Drinking it cold will focus the sour notes. 

Get out there and enjoy! And save me some.


St. Patrick Jerome's Day

 The sideways world from which the Cray-Men derive their mystic powers.

The sideways world from which the Cray-Men derive their mystic powers.


In Ireland, St. Patrick is known for... something, I'm sure. We here at Pearl River Flow are only somewhat certain that Ireland exists. It seems likely.  

In America, St. Patrick is known for having a hellaciuos day where once a year, people live out weird technicolor versions of things that may or may not be Irish stereotypes. Again, there is a high amount of uncertainty surrounding the day and the history and lore. 

What most people do not know about, however, is St. Patrick Jerome's Day, celebrated only in Jackson, Mississippi. It is a celebration of the local hero Patrick Jerome, who, upon arrival in Jackson in the Year 2000, after vanquishing the 32-story Y2K "Bug" that was eating trains in Pickens, took it upon himself to drive out the murderous and terrifying 'Cray-men' that crawled in the sprawling underground tunnels and outlying swamp of Jackson. 

The Cray-men - a sort of evolved crawdad, about four to six feet in length, with vaguely humanoid faces and a series of small fingered hands running down their torsos, in addition to their massive claws - were created when GALGERAN [REDACTED] in 1881. 

And since that day, they demanded tribute. Terrorizing Jackson, they snatched children and pets, drunks and the sick, from the swamps and the city alike. Cunning and stealthy and able to breathe water, they were considered such a nuisance that, during Prohibition, local bootleggers offered a bounty for their head - a gallon of moonshine - a the infamous "Gold Coast" was particularly beset by them.

Patrick (not yet a Saint) was not fond of the creatures, they had a strange cultish religion that was attempting to use Cray-magic to brainwash local leaders into building a large lake abutting the city, into which they would build their underwater city and become unstoppable. 

 And so, he set to drive them out. With GALGERAN-given talents, he began the crusade that introduced him to the swamps and trash alleys of the city, the dalliances in graveyards and ruins that would one day become the backbone of the mighty media empire that is Pearl River Flow. 

We have only a brief snippet of that battle from that long-forgotten epoch, contained in something known as an "American Online," which we must assume was a sort of telegraph-based service sending individuals to your home to "cyberchat."  

March 17th 2000. AMERICA ONLINE

CrayCraw94: You'll never stop us all. We have assumed control of your leaders. 

PATRIX_Y2OK: You're not from my X-Files chat room. 

CrayCraw94: Duchovny is overrated. Anderson can't act. We have tunneled underneath every major gas main in the city and will destroy you all if you attempt to move against us. 

PATRIX_Y2OK: I just screenshotted that and sent a picture to the Mississippi David Duchovny fan club president. 

CrayCraw94: IS THAT WHO IS IMing ME NOW? 

PATRIX_Y2OK: LOL! Also I speak mole thanks to GALGERAN. They've constructed a tunnel from your spawning grounds into the Ross Barnett reservoir. You want a lake, go suck on that one. 

CrayCraw94: But it's too racist there! The Ghosts of Ross Barnett haunt it still! It cries out for release! We can't handle his boiling hatred! 

PATRIX_Y2OK: It's your new home now! You better hope someone creates an internet page or news channel thing where those ghostly ideologies can flow freely, or you'll be haunted by racist ghosts for as long as you live. 

CrayCraw94: You haven't heard the last of us. We've planted our champion's eggs in the walls of your water pipes! In the years to come he will hatch forth and ruin your infrastructure, there will be no stopping the crawdad kaiju!











THE_REAL_DAVID_DUCHOVNY: Hey, REDHEADFBIGIRL is that name Red head F Big IRL or Red head F Bi Girl? 


While reports of depravity and the predations of the Cray-Men increased along the reservoir after the year 2000, we still, to this day, celebrate St. Patrick's victory every March 17th, with a massive parade held in Jackson each year, traversing many of the routes St. Patrick would use in his future Pearl River Flow project.

Pearl River Flow historian FPJEROME

Herbs and Hating in Jackson, Mississippi

 The secret tab marking the entrance to this bunker. 

The secret tab marking the entrance to this bunker. 

The Situation Room: Deep Underground


They meet deep underground Jackson, Mississippi, because it’s reasonably located between Florida and Austin, Texas, and for some God forsaken reason, Donald Trump likes it here. I was crawling through the maze of lizardman tunnels and secret underground fracking zones when I found them, screaming at one another in a government bunker.

“Goddamnit, Alex, these things are amazing!” I heard a voice, a voice from the pile of crushed up pills, a voice like listening to spit sizzle on a hot sidewalk in a part of Manhattan I couldn’t afford to visit. It was a voice smeared into a nose-sized cone of dust, a whine on the surface of the desk.

The voice belonged to the 45th President of the United States, the 75th Shadow President, the 33rd Double Secret President, the billionaire, the flim-flam artist, Donald J (the J stands for “Jonald”) Trump. The pile of crushed up pills belonged to Alex Jones, a REAL HUMAN BEING with REAL HUMAN EMOTIONS. The desk belonged to the secret part of the United States Government, the Secret Secret Service, that maintained voluminous underground bunkers for reasons that the President can only guess at. The things scattered on the desk were three pens, one unbuttoned khaki T-shirt, and a daily planning blotter that had been knocked askew into pill dust.

I was cataloging everything. They didn’t seem to notice me as I walked casually through the madness. The clipboard with a map and sunglasses I was wearing seemed to mollify them.

“That is selenium!” Alex Jones shouted, struggling, red in the face with his shirt, trying to rip it off. “You’re snortin’ selenium, President Trump! Snorting selenium that we FOUND IN THE DIRT! The DIRT! God’s DIRT! Through the miracle of science, we turned it into PILLS!”

Alex grew louder and louder, veins bulging in his neck, screaming at the T-shirt. “I am a real human being! I love my wife! I love GOD! Get this fucking shirt off me!” He continued screaming at the shirt as I angled up to the President’s desk to pour myself shots of tequila and be ignored.

“What is this stuff, Alex? It’s the best. Goddamn it’s good. Yes. The fucking best!” Donald said, the speech punctuated by his nodding head, staring at something we couldn’t see. He obviously hadn't heard the explanation, or perhaps, I noted, Alex Jones sometimes just ranted about selenium spontaneously. 

I saw the sweat beading up on his forehead, saw his nostrils flaring. Red and orange splotches grew on his skin. “We gotta get this and sell it to people, Alex. It’ll change their lives. They’ll fucking love it, Alex!” he got louder and louder. Jones stopped when he heard him, then stared with his bulging eyes at the President, one eyebrow twitching.

“One step ahead of you, Donald! It’s natural! Do you hear me? It’s natural! All natural! All great things come from the Earth, Donald! Everything we ever needed! It's in Brazil Nuts! Brazil nuts, and the sheeple keep eating almonds when they should be eating Brazil nuts and fucking selenium and BRAIN FORCE PLUS!” He had the shirt off now, was screaming at it in a rage that reddened his face, made it like a bright blister.

“Brazil? Where’s that?” Trump asked me. I pointed at the map. “Holy shit! Mexico! Yeah, Mexico! This Brazil! This shit’s in Mexico! We gotta get Brazil. We are going to invade Brazil, Alex! We are going to…”

Trump faded off as Alex erupted in, somehow, an even greater rage.

“Damnit, Donald, you’re channeling lower dimensional beings here! War minds from the void, from under the Earth, from a realm of fire and brimstone and sulphur and pain! And…” Alex was shouting, trying to tear the khaki shirt, grunting and howling like a wild beast.

"That's how they sound, Donald! The demons!" He wailed and rolled his head about, eyes rolled back in his head. 

“Besides it’s made with mustard seeds! Faith like a MUSTARD SEED LOADED WITH SELENIUM!” Jones screamed, pouring Bio-True Selenium directly into his mouth.

“Whoa, what happens if you snort Brain Force Plus?” Donald asked, grabbing a bottle and squinting his jumping eyes at the small print. “A neurological tonic with.. Ayruvedic …. Choline? Alpha GPC?”

In a moment of blind and startled patriotism I found myself snorting the line of Brain Force Plus to save the President from doing it himself.

“Flip the switch, baby! Supercharge your mind!” Alex Jones yelled as President Trump downed fistfull after fistfull of Brain Force Plus, washing it down with expensive champagne and cheap tequila.

“Ahhh fuck, all I see is families being turned away from my towers, Alex! The towers.. The twin towers… America, turned away, nothing but backs, I can’t see their eyes, Alex, what’s in this stuff, for the love of God I can’t see their eyes!”

“The trip’s gone bad!” I shouted at Alex Jones, who was twisting and writhing in his chair, tugging the khaki shirt into increasingly tense knots and lines, the strain in his arms visible, fingers digging into the cloth. "We gotta get him somewhere calm! Don't let him on Twitter!"

“I LOVE GOD!” Alex shouted, pounding the desk. “They don’t want you to love God! See! SEE! You gotta have good eyes, Donald! You’ll never be able to spot them! The shapeshifters!”

Donald Trump jumped up, knocking the bottle of tequila to the floor as he shoved me away, snatching the clipboard map from my hands, shoving the map into his mouth. "I eat the world, Alex! The world!"

“They’re killers, Donald! Killers in the See-Eye-Fucking-Aey! It’s right in the name, Donald! See-Eye! Seeing Eye! The eye in the pyramid! I can see that shit, that’s for sure, oh man, can you see it, Donald?”

Alex saw it everywhere, and as the Brain Force Plus kicked in, I could see it too, on the knobs of the equipment in the bunker, in the angles that the wires came into the boxes and panels. I saw it bleeding through the surface of the blotches on Steve Bannon’s lifeless skin.

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Trump shrieked. I jumped, recoiled, thought I’d been found out, but he was pointing at Steve Bannon.

“How could you not see him?” Alex yelled back, throwing handfuls of OCCU POWER pills toward the President of the United States. “Take these! Take all of them! They’ll fix your eyes! You can see what the eye in the pyramid sees, Trump!”

Trump gulped them down and shouted at me to bring them more tequila. As I came back from the ice-chest I could hear him.

“Now I see the skinwalkers! Oh shit this is bad, Alex. We gotta fight a war against someone who could be anything! Anyone! Why is Steve still here? Why are you still here, Steve?”

Steve Bannon’s bloodshot eyes opened onto the scene, the streaks and curls of the veins in his face drew me in for a vertiginous moment of stupifaction before his face snatched back in horror.

“SHIT! ALEX! DONNY! WHAT THE!” He shrieked, gurgling on the last bit of his terror as Alex Jones scampered in an oscillating path across the bunker. He tackled Bannon in a cascade of knit and oil that arced into a broken couch.

“It’s him!” Steve Bannon was struggling and pointing at me. “He’s come through time from the past to stop us! It’s me before the hate and the booze and he’s going to kill himself and I’ll cease to exist!”

I backed away as Donald Trump screamed, thinking he had his hands on Bannon’s throat. He had him by the collarbone, but he was starting to squeeze.

“It’s the occu-power!” I shouted, just then realizing the pun. I doubled over, throwing a galaxy of herbal supplements to the floor with the broken bottle of tequila.

“Shut up about the occu-power! Bannon needs the Liver Shield!”

“His liver! He’s me!” Bannon was hoarse, wild-eyed, blood streaked on his face. “Give me his liver! No more liver shield! Blood! Blood!”

“Oh so now you need blood?!” Trump laughed, pouring a vial labeled “Secret 12” into his gaping maw. “Fucking adenosylcobalamin!” He laughed, reading the label. “How’d I read it the first time, Alex? It’s that brain stuff working! The brain stuff is working! I’m gonna have the best brain, Alex! The best!”

“I need blood!” Bannon growled, throwing Alex Jones off him and rolling in the shattered glass of the tequila, licking it off the ground.

“Give him the liver shield, Alex! Give it to him! Big baby needs the shield for his big fat liver!” President Trump said, spinning around in his chair. He spun over and over, it was clear he didn’t care if Steve got the advanced liver protection of Liver Shield or not.

Now I was screaming, the Brain Force Plus and the Occu-Power and the bottle of something called DNA-Force wasn't helping at all. “Goddamnit you flaxen-scabbed monstrosity, the man needs to know! His liver’s toxic! It’s like a bomb, a bomb primed with old oily rags and shoreline moonshine! A bomb that could take us all out in a heartbeat, you fucking lunatic!”

Bannon rolled to and fro, hands on his sides, laughing. “I told you he’s me! He’s come from the past to stop us all, Donald!”

Alex muttered a bit then jumped to his feet. “Toxic shit in the food supply. Drugs…PHARMACEUTICAL DRUGS!” Alex Jones screamed, landing a solid blow across Bannon’s cheek.

The scene was getting bad. Bannon wanted my liver, and they were now all funneling big bottles of Super Male Vitality.

“This is the stuff! This is the good shit, Donald!” Alex was pacing as I started to drink the bottle in front of me. It tasted of patriotism and victory and I heard the sky-piercing call of a red tailed hawk when it hit my tongue.

“This is it! The superior vitality! This is what gets me through the day. The twelve hour days, Donald, the fight for freedom, it’s all thanks to THIS!” He was red, screaming, in a rage. The elevator panel lit up, the three went quiet.

“He’s on his way down.”

“Who?” I asked, snorting a giant line of the “Wake Up America: Patriot Blend Coffee.

“Phil Bryant!” Donald Trump said, the first time I’d heard anyone happily say those words. I backed away from the elevator, sliding into a back panel that had led me there in the first place, bottles of Super Male Vitality pocketed in order to give me the drive and focus to climb through the labyrinthine tunnels to the surface world.

Phil Bryant would have been too much. Soldiering through the twisted visions given by 38 different herbal extracts and the pound of selenium in my bloodstream, I began the arduous crawl to freedom, just to tell you this story.

I can only hope that you believe me.