That reminds me of a story.
I was sitting in the Charles H. Lounge of the Seoul Four Seasons Hotel, in the patio section, of course, drinking Singapore Slings with mescal on the side, with Tiger beer chasers, hiding from the brutish realities of this intensely foul year, two thousand and twenty, CE.
After a record-breaking stint in Best Korea, brushes with officious and covert undercover agents, an impromptu bacchanal that got us ejected ass-first and in the nick of time out of the country; I was due for a spot of rest & relaxation.
But not this enforced, ‘pandemic’ incarceration nonsense. OK, I’ll forgo my impressions of this little global overreaction and just wait for the high-pitched wails of "OK, Boomer!” to die down.
Suffice to say, we’re on the right-hand side of the bell curve and this little piece of nonsense is slowly going the way of all previous pandemic plagues. It’s burning itself out and no matter what the mask-wearing, Purell-soaking, bubble-wrapped cadre believes; it would have done so if people had done precisely nothing other than employ and exercise common-sense symptomatic medicine.
Well, you may think that quite the broad statement; and it is. But you see, I have this little thing called ‘science’ on my side. There is no control study group so that everyone jumping up and down congratulating themselves on ‘flattening the curve’ is spouting nothing but 100% USDA-grade horse, bat, and bullshit.
They don’t know that, in fact, they can’t. That’s why I dismiss them and their lack of scientific proclamations.
I, at least, have the benefit of analysis of the previous history of nearly a dozen similar outbreaks in the last 110 years which have all followed the same bell-curve. Some were worse, some were not, but all followed the same etiology. Many had vaccines developed after-the-fact. That kept them in line until the next virus Andromeda Strained its way into view. Well, that’s viral pathology for you. And no amount of mask-wearing while you drive alone in your car or distancing your socials will change that rock-solid fact one iota.
Which was why I was so surprised when a very dapper looking individual, an employee of the hotel evidently, sought me out while I was in the bar waiting for commercial jet aircraft to once again fill the air so I could once again ply my global trade.
“Dr. Rocknocker?” he asked.
“Yes?”, I replied between puffs of the massively damn fine Oscuro non-Cuban cigar the hotel somehow procured for me during my enforced overlong stay.
“I have this communique for you. I was told to deliver it personally.” He said, without so much as a quip or sneer.
He was bearing a small silver platter, about the size of a competition Frisbee™, but not near as aerodynamic, exhibiting a small envelope emblazoned: “Doctor Rocknocker. FEO”
“Hmmm”, I hmmed.
“’FEO’. ‘For Eyes Only’. This could be fun.” I mused.
I went to reach for the envelope, when the courier, resplendent in his sharp, snazzy suit sneakily backed away a step or two and said: “Sorry, Sir. I must first see your identification.”
“Fine, fine.”, I replied, “But first I want to see yours. Quid pro quo.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“It means I’m pretentious,” I replied.
He was obviously confused.
“It means I need to see your ID before I show you mine. I need to ascertain that you do indeed work for this hotel and are not some sort of insidious secret agent of a dark, rival foreign power.” I noted shady and sincerely.
He produced a hotel ID card. Thus satisfied, I capitulated and allowed him a peek inside my red Diplomatic Passport, complete with its really awful picture of me inside.
It wasn’t the camera nor the photographer’s fault. I admit it was mine alone.
Thus satisfied, he presented the tray to me and I took possession of the envelope. I left 5,000 KRW, South Korean Won, on the tray in its place.
Thus satisfied; he smiled, executed a small bow in my direction, and withdrew without a further word.
“Well”, I chewed it over, “That was weird even by today’s standards.”
I stuffed the envelope into the pocket of my incredibly garish, and newly tailored, Hawaiian shirt. Here in Seoul, in the garment district in such places as the Myeongdong Market, Dongdaemun Market, and Lotte Department Store Myeongdong, I was able to locate many, many fine shops just loaded to the gills with bolt after bolt of incredibly horrible, polychromatic, and nausea-inducing textiles. The perfect fodder for new Hawaiian shirts.
I purchased several meters for each new shirt, as I took a well-fitting and comfy Hawaiian shirt, with all my new cloth samples, to a local tailor. There, he could reproduce the existing shirt in the media of the new textiles which I had procured.
The result was a quintet of the most appalling, comfortable, and insidious Hawaiian shirts on this side of an explosion in a paint factory. That was next to an abattoir. That burned down. And swirled into the remains of an ice-cream factory that had been abandoned due to lack of sales. Along with the dairy and stockyards next-door.
They were awful. They fit perfectly and comfortably. They were perfectly awful. I intended to get more, but first, let’s see what Mr. Secretive Envelope has to say.
I open the envelope at the bar, well away from prying eyes, and the card inside simply stated: “Dr. Rocknocker. Sir, please be in your room at 1800 hours local time to accept an important phone call.”
No “From”.
No “Thank you.”
No “Live long and prosper.”
Just this enigmatic card and the overly polite exhortation for me to be somewhere for a bloody phone call.
“Well, me ol’ mucker”, I thought between puffs of my cigar and slurps of my drinks, “Here we go again.”
“When, how, and where did this old Baja Canada boy take the wrong turn in life to deserve this?” I pondered.
I decided that I required a little more old thought provoker, called the bartender over, and bought him and myself the next round of drinks. Several, actually.
Back in my suite, it was rapidly approaching 1800 hours local time. I couldn’t figure out who might be calling. I already talked to Esme back in the states. She was staying with her mother back in Brew City since it was still lockdown-central back in the Sultanate and the girls, both being ‘essentials’, were working.
I spoke with Rack and Ruin and they claimed innocence.
But, then again, they always do.
“No idea, Doctor”, Agent Rack related, “However, whoever it is, we know you’ll update their dossier or create new ones if the situation demands.”
“Hell, Racko”, I replied, “These could be nefarious uber-stealth agents from a dark and dismal land out to silence me before I spill the beans on whatever they don’t want beans upon spilt.”
“You flatter yourself, Doctor”, Agent Ruin laughed as he chimed in. Little did I know this was a conference call. “You’re important to many, but not that important.”
“Well, hell’s fire”, I said, assuming the martyr position, “Here I go and give you all that good, deep undercover intel and this is how you repay me.”
“Yeah, right”, Rack interrupted, “We had to have your reports cleaned of cigar ashes and rings from vodka and whiskey glasses.”
“Well, there’s a novelty”, I replied, “Considering I send all my reports electronically.”
“Yeah”, Ruin chirps back in, “And if we figure out how you do that…”
We all had a good chuckle. They admitted that they weren’t behind the forbidding phone call and Esme was equally innocent.
“But, Herr Doctor”, Agent Rack reminded me, “We will need updates as soon as new data are available.”
“Y’know, guys”, I said, “With all this global lockdown nonsense, I must be about the only one feeding you new and constant data. I think that deserves some form of recognition in the line of duty. Preferably monetary.”
“Once a mercenary…”, Agent Ruin continued, “…always a mercenary. We shall see. You already got your stimulus check, correct?”
“Oh, jolly joke, Agent!”, I swore mildly, “You know that we’re exempt from that. Expat, out of the country; out of sight, out of mind? Except every 15 April.”
“Not to us, Herr Doctor”, Agent Rack crooned. “Just to some of our cronies over across the way at the IRS.”
Remind me to be nasty to my agency contacts the next time we meet.
I rang off, poured myself six fingers of iced Old Thought Provoker, Oriental Division, as it was rapidly approaching call time. I needed the few minutes to get comfortable, fire up a cigar, and assume my position at the desk of taking phone calls and notes for dossiers.
Precisely at 1800 hours, my room phone rang. I let it ring a few times to show whoever was calling that I wasn’t that anxious about the whole situation.
Finally: “Hello?”
A monotone voice replied, “Is this Dr. Rocknocker. Late of the Middle East and Baja Canada. Now in unsolicited lockdown in Seoul, South Korea?”
“Yes…”, I replied, “But since you’re the one calling me, you must already know that. What’s, uh, the deal?”
“Please hang up and answer the phone when it will ring in exactly five minutes. Thank you for your understanding.” As the robotic voice called off with a click.
“OK. Shit. This is getting too weird.” I considered. “What the flying Philadelphia french-fried fuck is going on here?”
Well, five minutes later, I had my answer.
“RING!”
“WHAT!?!”
The tone simmered down once the gentleman on the other end of the line explained what indeed was transpiring.
“Dr. Rocknocker…”He began.
“Call me Rock, it’ll save everyone time.”
“Yes, indeed. Fine, um…Rock, I am Dr. Purshottama Mirchandani of the Alang-Sosiya Ship Breaking Yard in the Indian state of Gujarat.”
“I see. Hello, Dr. Mirchandani. How may I be of service? What’s cookin’?” I said, thinking enough of this cloak and dagger bullshit.
“Yes. Right”, he continued, clearing his throat, “I represent a consortium of individuals, primarily Japanese and Indian, who have executed a Memorandum of Understanding to try and bring education, safety, and sensible protocols to the Indian ship-breaking industry.”
“Interesting.” I replied, “And how does that concern me?”
Dr. Mirchandani tells me that India recently passed the "Recycling of Ships Act, 2019" which ratifies the Hong Kong International Convention for the safe and environmentally sound recycling of ships,
“Doctor”, he continued, “Traditionally, ship breaking is an extraordinarily dangerous, toxic, and very hazardous undertaking. It was customarily done with a surfeit of manpower and a lack of education and safety. We propose to reverse that situation.”
“Admirable”, I said, “And still, I am wondering why we are talking.”
“Doctor”, he continued again, “We know that much more can be done, more cheaply, more efficiently, and more safely with explosives.”
“Ah!”, I said as the penny dropped, “Now I think I have a bearing on the conversation.”
“Yes, indeed”, Dr. Mirchandani said, “We have been searching around the world for those educated and certified to handle explosives as well as capable of training and willing to do so. The candidate will have to have experience with noxious gasses, high-pressures and temperatures, hazardous conditions, and multiple cultures of a workforce; with varying, ahem, ‘degrees of education’. Every time we enquire, in several various industries, your name comes up. From Russia to Japan, South America, to Central Asia. We saw that you were last in North Korea, so you’ll please excuse our need for security and seeming subterfuge.”
“Yeah, that was a bit of a hoot.”, I had to admit, “So, Dr. Mirchandani, you got his attention. You’re talkin’ to the hookin’ bull. What do you propose?”
“As we were told to expect. No flowery dialogue, right down to business. Fine.” He replied, “We’d like for you to travel to India, inspect the yards, and do what you think necessary to implement the use of explosives in ship breaking, to develop safety protocols, and train the workforce. Would that be of any interest to you?”
“Well, Doctor”, I replied, “Since we’re being all upright, forthwith, and personable about this whole arrangement, I can tell you that (1.) Yes, I am somewhat interested, (b.) I am available right now, for the foreseeable future until this virus nonsense burns itself out and (iii). You’re going to have to agree to my terms before I lift a single stick of TNT.”
“As we were foretold”, Dr. Mirchandani said. I could almost hear him smiling. “We will send you, by courier, a packet with the proposed project prospectus. If you find it acceptable, please submit, in triplicate, your terms and conditions.”
“Nah.” I replied, “You guys handle the reproduction. I’ll send my T&C as well as my contract. You make the needed copies. We green?”
“Green, Doctor?” he said. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Are we in agreement? We on the same page? We smokin’ the same hookah? You diggin’ me, Beaumont?” I said.
He laughed heartily, “Oh, yes, Doctor. The American sense of humor. Most impertinent. Oh, yes, we are very green.”
“I await your curried bundle”, I said, “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s way past Happy Hour and I’m behind schedule.”
“Yes, of course, Doctor.”, Dr. Mirchandani said, “You will have our prospectus by this time tomorrow.”
“Groovy.” I replied, “Looking forward to it.”
He laughed again, said good-bye, and hung up.
“Yeah. Here we go again” I said to no one in particular as I chose a ghastly new shirt, grabbed a cigar, and headed for the lounge.
Later, I told Esme of my next little job.
“Shouldn’t be too long. At least it gets me out of this fucking hotel and back in the field.” I said.
Es agreed and was pleased that now she could stay in the states a while longer and not worry about going shopping with her mother. Hell, I was gainfully employed and working while the rest of the world was under lockdown.
The parcel arrived the next day and was hurried to me in the bar. Just how they knew where to find me remained a mystery.
I zip it open and there’s a very, very official sheaf of papers for me to digest. I take it, my cigar, and drink over to a booth in the back in the corner in the dark, away from prying eyes. This is official shit. Time for security and introspection.
OK, fairly standard sort of project. Teach people how not to kill themselves, with and without explosives, and safely reduce large sea-faring craft to smaller bits. Actually, it sounds like it has the potential for some real fun. Plus, I get to blow up ship-loads of shit.
Now, I have a go at modifying my usual pirating-forms, ah, contract, to conform especially to this particular situation. This is so much more fun than doing taxes, I muse. I get to go all carte blanche here, but no too far overboard. They let it slip that I was Numero Uno on their hit parade, so that little slip is going to cost them.
Hey. It’s business.
I spent the better part of that night and into the wee hours of the next day modifying my typical contract. There were some new things added, at which they may balk. However, they want me to ramrod this little project for them; the contract, besides being iron-clad, is more or less non-negotiable.
Once finished, I run it past Rack and Ruin and get their input.
“Jesus, Doctor”, Agent Rack said, “Are you wearing an eyepatch and have a parrot on your shoulder?”
“Ah, you’re just jealous”, I snickered back.
“Fuckin-A, Bubba”, Agent Ruin retorted.
I see I’ve trained my agency boys well in the vernacular of the industry.
They had no objections and were pleased with the new intel. Of course, now I had to provide dossier-filler on everyone above the rank of Tea-Boy for them.
Thus sated, I sent the contract back to Dr. Mirchandani. I collapsed in bed and slept the sleep of the wrongfully sleep deprived.
I fully expected to be awakened by a phone call.
I wasn’t.
Shower, shower scotches, and down to breakfast. Still no call.
Back to the suite and go about updating my field notebooks. New code here, new dossier entry there. It’s almost noon and still no call nor Email.
“Fuck it”, I said. I grabbed the latest issue of the Journal of Explosives Engineering, grab a bottle of Korean high-octane hooch, a couple of cigars, and draw a nice, foamy bath in the Jacuzzi.
“If that doesn’t generate a phone call”, I said as I settled back in the frothy foam, “Nothing will.”
A few hours later, and still no call.
“Ah, well”, I commiserated with myself, “Looks like they had champagne tastes and a near-beer budget. Guess I was too pricy for ‘em. Oh, well. Go cheaper. Think hiring a professional is expensive? Wait until you hire an amateur.”
The phone began to rig at that very moment.
“Yes?” I said into the raprod.
“Dr. Rocknocker?”, the voice on the other end of the telecoms device inquired.
“Yes?” I said, slightly annoyed. Who else would be at this number?
“This is Dr. Mirchandani.” He said.
“I surmised as much”, I replied, “How may I help you?”
“Um. Yes. Your contract”, he continued, “It’s very, um, explicit.”
I’ve had my contracts called lots of things: “Piracy via paper”. “The ramblings of a crazy man”, and “Outright legal theft.”
“Explicit” was new.
“Yes”, I replied, “I suppose it is. Beyond that, any further observations?”
“Yes. Dr. Rocknocker”, Dr. Mirchandani said, “However it’s explicitness, we agree. When can you begin?”
“As soon as you can arrange a flight for me, minimum Business class, from here to there,” I replied.
“We can have an Air Force plane at your disposal this time tomorrow. Will that suffice?”
“What kind of plane? I’m not keen on aging Russian transports.” I said.
He bristled a bit, but I knew of the Indian Air Force. Many of their planes had instruments that were marked in Cyrillic.
“We were able to arrange a Gulfstream G700 for you. It is normally reserved for star-class military individuals. But, this was an unusual situation. Will that suffice?” he asked.
“It’ll do, “ I replied, “I will need, as per my contract, transport from the hotel to the airport and in this case, directly to the aircraft. You sort all that out, and I’ll pack.”
“Yes, Doctor”, Dr. Mirchandani said, “Everything you desire done will be done.”
“Good”, I replied, “Cable me the itinerary and I’ll be ready to go. In the meantime, I’ll send you a list of equipment that I will require upon arriving. Will that be acceptable?”
“Of course, Doctor”, he said, brightening somewhat, “I look forward to meeting you.”
“Same here, Dr. Mirchandani”, I said, “Now, when I send my list, no short-sheeting me. I need the best supplies available. We’re not making chapattis here. I am the best only because I work with the best. I’ll also need an assistant. One educated in the geological sciences, and a speaker of English and Hindi. We green?”
“Army green!”, he replied.
Not my favorite shade, but I guess it will just have to do.
I had a few hours, so after a ski-ball tourney down at the lounge, I’m later in my suite, going over explosives companies catalogs. Say what you will, but going from primitive, near-dial up internet connections in Best Korea and the lightning-fast, rip-your-lungs out fiber-optics here in the south is like going from the Neolithic to 2001: A Space Odyssey.
I pondered and paused. I leered over some new devices and got to know some old friends, many in new togs. I was going to cut apart ocean liners, VLCCs (Very Large Crude Carriers), ferries, military transports, and ships of many shapes and sizes. I am going to be training a crew of locals who will in turn train more locals. I’m not going to be in-country long, a week or two max. I not only want the best, but I must also have the best.
Like Grandad always said, “Shoot once; you might not get another shot.”
I finally shut down my laptop at 0200. I was tired. Really bone-deep tired. I had a 15-page email that I transmitted to Dr. Mirchandani.
“Damn.”, I thought as I prepared to hit the rack, “Just the bare necessities. I hope we can find more once we get in-country.”
The next morning, I showered, had only two shower beers before breakfast, packed, and went down to the restaurant. It’s going to be a long, flighty day and I don’t like to eat much on days like that.
So I had a couple of Greenland coffees, a brace of buttered scones, and a nice light Maduro cigar from the hotel’s walk-in humidor.
“That’s right”, I remembered, “I’m going straight to the plane where they’ll doot my passport and take my luggage. No duty-free this time. Best stock up before I hit the airways.”
Back in the room, after last-minute calls to Khris, Tash, Esme, and my Agency buddies, I was waiting for my call that my ride to the airport was here. I was already essentially signed-out, as I wasn’t the one paying for the suite. The UN and other such agencies would be handling that.
I decide to call a bellhop and have him transfer my luggage downstairs, where I would await my ride. I officially checked-out, tipped everyone who had made this part of the trip most enjoyable, and sat outside, under the veranda, awaiting transportation to the airport.
OK, here’s the drill. It’s a balmy 21⁰ C. I’m in Cargo shorts, ‘“Protest Dinoflagellates” Mesozoic Society Against Perverted Practices’ T-shirt, ghastly Hawaiian shirt, field vest, field boots, Scottish knee-high woolen socks, complete with tassels, and my Black Stetson.
Yep. Field clothes. Check. Ready to travel.
Oh, I also had a large, very dark, very ominous looking cigar lit. Plus, the bartender topped off my emergency flasks, so I was sampling one or more of them while I whiled away the time.
A large automobile pulls up to the hotel. Gray in color, no distinguishing decals, totems, or stickers. The white license plate displays a few numbers and a series of black stars.
It wheels up to a hurried stop, and a uniformed individual of obvious Subcontinental heritage pops out. Another shady looking character sits behind the vehicle’s steering wheel.
“You. Yes, you”, he points to me.
“Yes?” I reply.
“You are the ‘Dr. Rocknocker’?” he asked in quick, clipped, and very British-tinged Indian tones.
“Yep. ‘The one and only.’” I drawl in reply.
“Your luggage. Will go into the boot of the car. We will be leaving.” He snaps.
“OK, sure. But be careful, I’ve got some seriously delicate scientific apparatus packed within the luggage.” I reply.
“I will wait while you put your luggage in the car. We are in haste. Hurry. Now!” He snaps again.
“OK, look Colonel Chuckles or whoever you are.” I snap back, “Let’s just take a little assessment of the situation. You are sent to collect me and my luggage for transport to the aircraft. Correct?”
“Yes, yes, yes”, he snaps, “Now hurry and load your gear. We must leave.”
I sit back down and re-fire my cigar. He goes positively crimson with barely contained rage.
“What are you doing?” he literally screams, “We have a tight schedule. You must…!”
I stand up and get right in his face, which is a bit difficult as I’m easily 25 centimeters taller than him.
“NO! YOU must…”, I replied in kind, “…shut the fuck up and listen to me. You got that Colonel Chickpea or what the fuck is your name. You never even introduced yourself.”
He stutters, stammers and sizzles; but remains crimsonly silent.
“OK, here’s the deal, Herr Mac”, I tell him, “I’m the hookin’ bull here, or haven’t you had the chance to read my contract? Your government, at levels so high above yours they’re orbital, contracted me for this job. As such, I am the boss and what I say goes. Errand boys like yourself don’t get the chance to order me around. In fact, no one on this little trek does. Now, go ask the nice Bell Captain, one Yi Kyung-Jae by name, to find a bell boy or porter to load us up. After that, we can be off. But rest assured, I’m not one of your minions and you try pulling rank on me again, and you can explain to Dr. Mirchandani why the fucking plane arrived back in India empty. You diggin’ me, Beaumont?”
He sputtered but realized he’s crossed swords with someone who brought claymores to his butter knives and complies.
After I tip the bell boy nicely for loading my gear carefully into the limo’s trunk, I stroll over to the rear door and go to grab the door handle so I can slide inside.
Colonel Chickpea, or whatever his name was as he’s not yet introduced himself, goes noisily apoplectic.
“Your cigar!”, he rages, “It is forbidden.”
“Not for me, asswipe.”, I calmly replied, “Call your bosses or read my contract. I’ll wait.”
I was going to slip my cigar into a special travel tube I always carry. It quietly and without any fuss extinguishes your cigar and safes it until you decide to relight it to enjoy again. I wasn’t about to get in the limo with a lit cigar.
Until that point.
I stroll over to one of the seats out in front of the hotel. I relight my cigar and Yi wanders over asking if he could get me anything.
“Well”, I reply loudly, “Since we’ll be here a while, I’d like to see the wine list.”
Colonel Chickpea is as close to a personal volcanic eruption as I’ve ever seen in a specimen of his species.
“YOU! WILL! ENTER! THE! CAR!” he literally screams.
“Sure, chuckles”, I reply calmly, “Right after I have a look at this wonderful wine list Yi just brought me.”
Colonel Chickpea realizes he’s fucked. He can’t out-stubborn or out-rank me, and he hasn’t obviously read my contract. Plus I might just be telling the truth.
“I……apologize.”, he finally says meekly. “Please, into the sedan, we need to meet your transport.”
“Well, now. There ya’ go”, I smile, “That didn’t hurt too much now, did it? Sure. Let’s make like a baby and head out.”
I slide into the spacious back seat and greet the so far silent driver.
I tap him on the shoulder and ask him if my cigar would be a bother. He grunts a monosyllabic negative.
“Colonel Chickpea? Cigar bother you?” I ask.
“No.” was the only reply.
“Good”, I reply, “As long as one of us is being reasonable”.
I didn’t light the cigar. I’m funny that way.
It’s about 40 miles, give or take, from the hotel to Inchon International. I just sit back, figure it’s going to take about an hour, and decide to continue the article I was writing for Bastards and Blasters Bimonthly.
I pull out my notebook, emergency flask #2, and tappy-tap-tap away.
The ride to the airport was in total silence, save for my typing and sipping from my flask. The traffic wasn’t too terribly bad, as the Cheap Mexican beer virus lockdown idiocy extended over here as well.
We exit the main drag for the airport and instead of heading to departures, we head to Air Cargo.
Past this checkpoint, past another, into the warehouse and air customs district. We pull up alongside a nondescript, weather-beaten shack. We slide to a stop and Col. Chickpea tells me this is customs. I am to take my passport so it can be stamped. My luggage is not to be searched, thanks to my contract and Diplomatic Passport.
I wander over to the shed and see there is one military type sitting in the lone chair behind the lone desk in the place. I knock first and I hear a grunt of “Enter”.
So I do.
“Passport!” the unsmiling character behind the desk commands.
I handover the red leather-encased document.
He flips it open after looking at the Cyrillic on the cover and being slightly confused.
“You are…Doctor…Rocknocker?” he asks.
“Yes.”, I reply.
“Do you have any identification?”, he asks.
“Look in your right hand,” I reply.
He bristles somewhat. I answered truthfully. He knew that as he didn’t ask for “any other identification”. He was going to raise a ruckus when he sees my whole-page special UN North Korean visas in my passport.
“You traveled in North Korea?” he asked.
“Yes, I did. Five fun-filled weeks”, I replied, “At the behest of the Untired Notions and Best Korea’s leader supreme.”
He stiffened visibly. He stamped my passport, stood, saluted, and handed my passport back with surprising alacrity and politeness.
“Doctor.”, he said, “Thank you for your time. Pleasant journeys.”
“Thank you”, I replied, “Let me tell you, of the two Koreas, I prefer the south.”
He smiled and nodded.
Nice chap.
Back outside, the limo driver was leaning on the car, smoking a cigarette. Colonel Chickpea was nowhere to be seen. There was another Indian military fella standing next to the car.
“Doctor Rocknocker?” he asked, as he walked toward me, hand extended.
“Yes, that’s me,” I replied and received a hearty handshake.
“I am Major Nakula Dattachaudhuri, your liaison for this part of your trip. I will be accompanying you to Gujarat. However, time is of the essence, and we’re running slightly late, so if you would please get in the car, we’ll be off.”
“OK.”, I replied, “Major… ahh…”
“It is a mouthful”, he smiles, “Please, ‘Major Nak’ will be fine.”
“Groovy. Call me Rock”, I said as we shared a handshake once again.
In the car, we were whipping past commercial airliners that haven’t moved for the last 6 weeks. This virus business is killing international air travel. It’s really going to take a global toll once it’s all done and dusted. Luckily I have a fully functioning immune system and can still travel.
“Major Nak”, I asked as we zipped past a Meraj Airways 747 that needed a good wash, “What happened to Col. Chickpea or whatever his name was who brought me here?”
“Ah, yes.”, Major Nak replied, “Lieutenant Dhuleep’s behavior was noted. I am replacing him for the remainder of your trip. You see, I have read your contract.”
“I see”, I replied, noting the only one to rat out the rambunctious Lieutenant was the silent driver, so I need to open a couple of new dossiers.
“I’d like to know the name of our driver. He’s been very polite and I wish to commend him in a letter I wrote for Dr. Mirchandani.” I asked Major Nak.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” He assured me.
“Oh, I think I should note exemplar conduct and deportment as well as that not so. His name?” I asked again.
Major Nak looked rather uncomfortable. The car slowed to a stop. The driver slews around in his seat.
“I am Aryabhata Ranganekary of The Indian Research and Analysis Wing, Doctor. Please convey my regards to Agents Rack and Ruin the next time you should talk together. Happy trails.” The driver says.
I am flummoxed.
The car starts up and we drive the last mile and a half in silence.
We pull up alongside an exquisitely appointed and brand new looking Gulfstream G700. It’s a beast of a private jet. Twin engines, tasteful white and blue exterior, and just a small circle of five black stars betray it as something not fresh off the showroom floor.
The trunk lid pops on the limo and my gear is whisked away to the cargo hold of the jet before I could get out of the car.
“Careful with that, it’s…oh, never mind…” I say as my gear disappears.
I walk over to the driver’s window and give a slight tappy-tap. It rolls down.
“I’ll give Rack and Run your best, Agent Ranganekary”, I say and hand him one of my best cigars. “Please, enjoy.”
He smiles and shakes my hand. “Do not forget, Doctor. Hello to Rack and Ruin. It’s been years.”
“No worries, mate,” I say, and with a tip of the Stetson, he departs.
I’m escorted onto the jet. It’s plush, lavish and all of this is entirely wasted on me.
“Have a seat, Doctor. Any actually. You and I are the only passengers.” Major Nak notes.
This is one of the few times in my career that the passengers on the flight will be outnumbered by the flight crew.
I pick a plush seat on the left-hand side of the jet. Major Nak chooses one opposite. A pair of stunning, nubile, young Indian misses arrive. They help me sort out the in-cabin storage and put my carry on gear safely away but readily convenient.
The captain, co-pilot, navigator, and security agent, I suppose, come aboard and greet Major Nak and myself personally. They promise it will be a smooth flight.
“Normal flight time for this trip is 7.5 hours. We’ll be flying above 50,000 feet at Mach 0.90, so we should be able to shave that to 6.5” Major Nak informs me.
“That works for me”, I reply, “I may be a seasoned world traveler, but the less time in the air, the more I like it.”
“You will enjoy these hours.” Major Nak assures me, “You are but the second VIP to travel in this aircraft. The first was the General Vishnu Heravdakar of the Indian Armed Forces.”
“I am honored”, I said and gave a little clasped hand bow.
“Very good, Doctor. Can I interest you in a drink?” He asks.
“Only if it’s large, cold, and free,” I replied with a chuckle.
“Rushpa!” He calls.
One of the Indian cabin crew magically appears.
“A drink for our guest. And one for myself as well.” He orders.
She smiles, executes a quick little bow, and hurries off to the galley. Moments later, a very tall, nicely iced vodka, lime, and carbonated citrus cocktail is finding a home in my hand.
“As per your contract.” Major Nak smiles.
“I didn’t specify what drink I required.” I protested.
“Your reputation precedes you, Doctor.” Major Nak says, “Aish'!” which is the Indian equivalent of cheers.
I reply “Salaamat'!”, which is an Urdu equivalent of ‘Cheers!’, a term which I use in the Sultanate from time to time.
He looks surprised that I know this and begins to rattle off in machine-gun cadence Urdu something or other indecipherable.
“Sorry, Major”, I say, “But that’s the extent of my Urdu.”
He laughs and says that he was saying how unusual it was for some ‘gora’ to speak Urdu.
He goes on to explain that ‘gora’ means ‘white’ and is not meant to be derogatory.
“Oh, no problem, Major”, I say, “I’ve got a really thick skin, yaar [mate].”
Major Nak laughs, “You’re going to fit in perfectly.”
Before half my drink as gone, we were wheel-up and headed south. I have to comment again, I have never seen international airports this quiet, and I’ve been I some in countries with active shooting wars. This viral business is taking a serious toll, and I don’t mean just in human life. Though, that is a regrettable statistic, but not novel.
Anyways, we’re whooshing to Angel’s Eleven and according to the readout on the bulkhead of the cabin, we leveled out at 54,000 feet above mean sea level, at an airspeed of Mach 0.87.
We were cookin’ now.
I’m looking out the window and seeing the tops of clouds and not much else. I smell smoke and turn to see Major Nak lighting up a Gold Flake King cigarette.
I’d have never thought to fire up a heater in a plane, much less one nudging the sound barrier at over 10 miles altitude.
“Oh, Doctor”, he says, “If you’d like, I’ll arrange an ashtray for you.”
“Please,” I said, slightly confused.
“Vijaya!” he barks. One of the other of the pair of cabin attendants materializes out of nowhere.
“An ashtray for our distinguished guest.” He orders.
She departs with a smile and a slight bow. She returns with a standing ashtray that somehow locks into the floor and hands me a new drink.
“I saw your drink was almost finished.” She purrs.
“Thank you” I said, “Aapaka bahut bahut dhanyavaad.” [आपका बहुत बहुत धन्यवाद।,Thank you very much.]
She beams and retires to wherever they store the cabin crew on these flights.
“So, Doctor, tell me. What brings you here?” Major Nak queries, obviously making small talk as he’s already admitted to reading my contract.
We spend the next 5 or so hours just chewing the rag, talking things over. I gave him a play-by-play of my experiences over in Best Korea. He laughed so hard at the way we spent our last night in-country, I thought he might wet himself. That he was not so covertly trying to match me drink-for-drink I think might have helped elicit his raucous response.
We had a choice of Western or Indian food as an in-flight meal. I like Indian food, but sometimes, it doesn’t return the favor. I asked for the Western meal, and Vijaya asked me how I’d like my steak.
Well, that was weird on several levels. But since they offered, I replied, “Blue, please.”
It arrived blue as blue can perfectly be on a 2” thick T-bone. There was grilled corn on the cob, small, whole buttered parslied potatoes, and camp beans on the side.
Of course, a fresh drink accompanied the meal.
Major Nak decided to take a nap right after tea. I didn’t want to wake him. Poor soul.
He was just too high-strung...
To be continued…

DEMOLITION DAYS, PART 93

CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP CHOP
“OK”, I think to myself, “We’re traveling at 120 knots, due wet, i.e., offshore, in a vintage BELL 412 SP/EP. Yep. Oh now look: 121 knots.”
So far, so good.
“No compass. Radiotelephone was non-responsive. VHF, HF, and UHF radios are all kaput.” I note, “We’re tailgating behind another newer crew transport helicopter because we’re carrying specialty bespoke hyper-magnetic logging and retrieval tools. Of course, no chopper’s that shielded against magnetic flux of that magnitude.”
I spy a blood-red, rapidly flashing warning light blinking merrily “1-2 AHRS FAIL”. This warning light’s blinking, meaning all electronic helicopter heading information and guidance was completely lost.
But, we expected that, right?
Now, I’m certified to fly rotary wing aircraft as I have over 1,500 hours of stick and rudder time, and a US/Russian license. But there’s the rub, we’re not in the US. Oddly enough, I can fly choppers in Mother Russia. It might be time to let my employers know this fact. With my dual license, I’d just have to send the properly-acknowledged documents to the proper ministry.
That fact alone would give my sponsors the jibblies if I only would let on…
We’re currently thrashing the hot and humid summer air into submission about 300 meters above the Persian Gulf just offshore of a very small GCC Arabic peninsular country known as Qutur, headed for their Norse Field. It is the world’s largest non-associated gas field (Reinick & Blandings, 1997), meaning its reservoirs contain only natural gas and no oil, but they do contain condensate.
Why? Because I’m the goddamned Chief Geologist out here, and the cement-headed drillers twisted off the BHA, or bottom hole assembly, at 27,459 feet measured along hole; as the well was a long-reach lateral. It wasn’t horizontal nor vertical, but approximately 45⁰ along the trajectory when the driller fell asleep, was out getting a blowjob or doing something other than watching the goddamn Martin-Decker; the big gauge that indicates the weight on the bit at the bottom of the hole.
The torque built, the BHA stopped spinning, the mud system clabbered up, the bit and mud motor along with the directional gear seized up and snapped right the fuck off the drill string.
Now I have a ‘fish’ at the bottom of an over 5-mile deep hole and I can’t latch on, in, or over the damned thing. And the fuck if I’m spending the money in sidetracking around the fucking fish. Bottom hole temperatures here are reaching ‘HELL’, or Hostile Environment Logging Level and are HPHT, High Pressure, High Temperature, intensities of over 175⁰ C and pressures in excess of 25K psig bottom hole in the Kruff Formation of Permocarboniferous age.
Plus there’s H2S, CO2, and nasty ol’ nitrogen. N2 forms noxious and toxic compounds with down-hole gasses and oils, and loads of high-API gravity (60⁺⁾ hot, high-pressure condensate.
I’d rather spend some time with a tricked out, high-powered, ‘rip your fillings out if you’re Slavic’ high intensity, ubermegagauss fishing magnet and go in with a ream and junk basket to try and drill it up. Rather than have to drop a cement plug, set a whipstock, back off the hole, come up a few thousand feet, and start a new trajectory over the fish.
Another fun fact of which I was somehow denied knowledge was that local, intense thunderstorms were predicted for this part of the Persian Gulf today.
So, I’m with my pilot de jure, Dasharath Phuyal, late of the Royal Nepalese Air Force, Pro Station, and Tire Salon.
“Dash”, I ask, “We’re you excepting any weather today?”
“Umm,” he replies, querulously, “No Doctor. We checked the weather radar and it was clear.”
“What weather radar?” I inquired. Qutur doesn’t have any of their own yet, particularly those of the Doppler^® variety.
“The one from Dubai”, he says.
“And when was this?”, I asked.
“Oh, late last night”, he smiles back at me.
”Just watch that chopper in front of us”, I grumble, “Last night? You do know things tend to change a bit quickly out here…”
I never got to finish that sentence as I was rudely interrupted by a huge clap of thunder.
The sturdy, but timeworn, airframe of the Bell helicopter juddered, shimmingly and shakily.
“Ooh-whee!”, Dash whoops, “That was a close one.”
I reminded Dash that I was much closer and he should pay more attention to the job at hand rather than whooping up our impromptu roller coaster ride.
Luckily, the water here in the Gulf isn’t that deep, is bath-tub warm, and while it is home to some nasty, toothy critters, it’s not like being dumped in the South Atlantic around Cape Town in August.
Still, going for a swim after escaping a drowning helicopter just wasn’t on my list of fun things to do today; and I wanted to keep it that way. I mean, we do have to get our THUET, or Tropical Helicopter Underwater Escape Training, certificate. It’s an annual good time. I’ve been through it over 20 times, but novices and tyros really get grumpley and pukey once the mock-up of the chopper spins upside down and ker-splashes into the cold pool water.
I just sit in my seat, slowly undo my restraints and watch to see if anyone is in real trouble. Sure, they have rescue divers all around, but sometimes they are distracted by a full-load of novice characters losing their collective shit and lunch. I like to help out when I can. I’m no savage.
We also have to obtain T-BOSIET (Tropical Basic Offshore Safety Induction & Emergency Training), Basic Hydrogen Sulfide (H2S), T-FOET (Tropical Further Offshore Emergency Training), Compressed Air Emergency Breathing System (CA-EBS) and Travel Safely by Boat (TSbB) certifications. They just don’t let any breed of dummy out on an active offshore platform. You have to be a dummy that can stay awake through hours and hours of boring droning instructors.
I am one of the very few that also hold an AHUET, or Arctic Helicopter Underwater Escape Training, certificate. That’s a very cool time as well.
Anyways, we’re being slammed around like the last squash ball in the tin. It’s not raining yet, but there’s thunder, lightning, waves, and teeth-rattling thunderous repercussions of storm shock waves rebounding off the warm, Gulf waters.
It’s weird, but in the north, you get some severe summer and fall thunderstorms. All you need to watch out for is lightning, downward, and lateral thunder-shock waves, and rain. But out here, you get all that and the added bonus of thunder-induced shock waves rebounding off the warm waters of the Gulf, upward. It can drop your craft into the water just as certain as an angry downdraft can.
“So, Dash.”, I say, “We’re going to try and avoid any of that today, right?”
Dash ignores me as it’s raining now like a cow peeing on a flat rock and the wipers aren’t doing such a good job keeping up with clearness. Considering we’re probably 50 or so feet behind another helicopter, our safety guide, that margin for safety could go away almost instantaneously.
He’s sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market, striving to keep the tail rotor of the helo in front of us just out of our reach and just within visible range. I decide I’ll read him the riot act later, once we are safely landed on the platform.
This goes on for a few minutes more when suddenly, the rig pops into view and the sun breaks through the roiling, cloudy deck.
But first, there are some protocols that must be satisfied:
These procedures will be based on the following requirements, or equivalent, which define when an approach is considered stabilized:
a. The aircraft is on the correct flight path and the correct navigational data has been confirmed as entered into the navigation system for final approach to the desired airport, heliport, or helideck and the aircraft is stabilized for the approach.
b. Only small changes in heading/power are normally required to maintain the correct flight path, unless the environmental conditions on a particular day may require power changes larger than normal.
c. All briefings and checklists have been completed, except for the final landing check.
d. The aircraft is in the correct landing configuration.
e. The sink rate is no greater than 750 fpm upon arrival at the altitudes prescribed below, or as recommended by the manufacturer. If an approach will require a rate of descent greater than 750 feet per minute, a special briefing should be conducted.
f. All flights should be stabilized by 1000 feet above landing elevation in IMC and by 500 feet above landing elevation in VMC unless the following flight profiles are in use:
– For helicopters where the transit height is less than500 feet above landing elevation, the aircraft should be stabilized by 300 feet and 60 knots ground speed above the landing surface.
– For some operations, such as seismic work involving a high level of low altitude external load operations and remote landing sites where it is necessary to complete an overhead flight reconnaissance before landing the typical profile may require modification by the operator.
g. Anytime an approach becomes “unstabilized” (out of compliance with the above guidelines) a go-around / missed approach should be executed immediately unless the operator has established a limited number of deviation protocols that can be safely used to return to the stabilized profile.
i. Once the approach minimums (altitude, time, etc.) are achieved the correct airport, heliport, and helideck are confirmed.
OK, got all that? Good, you have 5 minutes and you’re traveling along at 123 knots just 250’ off the deck, with no instruments or compass. It’s raining, blustery and the wave tops are seemingly slopping over your toes.
GO!
We plop down gracelessly on the helipad and I’m glad Dash was stickhandling it today; as he immediately goes through the shut-down procedures.
Guess I’ll need to buy him a beer rather than chew him out when we get back to shore.
I hit the klaxon and several logging company hands run over to the helipad. I tell them to wait until the chopper’s secured and then they can drag that fucking magnetic tool off the bird and over to the drill floor.
Once we do a little cuttin’ and chewin’, we’re going magnet fishing 5 miles deep.
I go over to the doghouse, a steel-sided shelter that serves as the onsite office, communications center, rig top command center, tool and safety equipment storage, first aid station, and extreme weather shelter.
And my fucking active drilling office.
“WHOOT! WHEET!” someone yanks the alarm when I appear on the rig floor. “Boss man’s here. Everyone quit fuckin’ up for a while!” The horn is only local, on the drill floor. It doesn’t resonate back through the rig very far.
The drill floor is immaculate, as it should be. We haven’t cut a foot of new hole in the last week. I give everything a quick visual and everything seems to be in order. A floor hand arrives instantly with a mug of hot black coffee for me.
“No, you can’t go home early, Jake”, I say, “But thanks large for the java.”
Jake looks slightly depressed, but every time he hits 11 or 12 days on his 14-day hitch, things start happening at home. Dog’s pregnant, wife’s pregnant, Uncles dead, Granma’s dead; half the family’s dead and the other half are pregnant.
Every single fucking hitch.
And Jake’s not even married.
Into the doghouse, my chair is still warm as it the monitor for my workstation.
“I find the asshole that’s been accessing PornHub through my workstation and he’s or she’s shark bait. The cocksucker never leaves the unblocked URL so we can visit the website.” I growl.
The internet is a dodgy thing in the Middle East. All of a sudden, international instant access to porn, ideas, forbidden subjects, and well, you name it. It’s a hilarious cat-and-mouse race to watch one group try and block all the nasties and the other group finding easy ways around the blockages.
Still happens today, but with VPNs and such, the Ministries of Censorship just gave up. They went back to hand-coloring British Women’s magazines that show too much thigh or cleavage in the summer swimsuit issues.
It is such a weird place.
I call a meeting with the section heads and everything’s about ready for go. I give the OK and we’re tripping back in the hole with a concave cone-buster reamer and going down some 5 miles to chew up a metal bottom hole assembly. After that, we’ll run-in with the magnets and junk basket. Hopefully, in a day or three, we’ll have the hole clear, circulated, conditioned and ready for drilling again.
Tripping back in the hole some 5 miles means running in some 400 or so stand of ‘tribbles’ or three-30 foot (10 meter) sections of drill pipe already screwed together, or made up. We will need to make another 399 connections and RIH, run in the hole before we even arrive at Fish Central.
So, I’m off to the head; ‘chopper potty’ is not a joke. One tends to get sequentially homogenized on long trips and your bladder takes a harmonic beating. It’s not at all pleasant.
Then some chow, a movie, maybe the gym, and off on the platform to the back smoking area. No hurry, I’ve got at least 24-36 solid hours of boredom in front of me.
Before I go, I give Esme a call and see if she has any further information on Lady and her travels. She was supposed to meet us here and start her short quarantine period before she could join us; even though we’re still at the hotel. The company we’re paying huge sums of money to handle her transition are being royal pains in the ass. Nothing but excuses.
“She got a late start. No room for a dog that big on the flight booked.” Sounds sketchy as hell.
“She’s so big, we needed to have a new travel carrier constructed for her.” Ka-ching! Another call for more money.
“She got stuck in Zurich. She’s fine and will be here shortly.” “Zurich?” She was to go from Houston to London to Duhu.
Esme answers the phone.
Not a single word was spoken. I knew right from the start there was trouble.
“Es, it’s me. I made it to the rig OK. What’s the problem? Are you OK? The kids alright?” I asked.
“Oh, Rock”, Es cries, “I’m fine. The kids are fine. Lady’s dead.”
The shock hit me like a direct lightning-bolt strike and an immediate in-chest thunderclap. I actually thought someone lit off the flare boom directly behind me.
“Es”, I stammered, “What happened? Plane crash? Terrorists? Economy class chow?”
“No, Rock”, she sniffed, “Brown recluse spider.”
“What?” I spluttered.
“According to the assholes to whom we’re paying so much money, Lady was in a “climate-controlled” warehouse waiting on her flight out of Texas. She was being walked, fed, and watered on a regular basis. Just before her flight, they went to walk her and she was ‘unresponsive’.” They said.
“They let my dog, my boon companion, my children’s best friend, die in some overheated Texas warehouse from a motherfucking spider bite?” I roared.
My mind went into overdrive. I could snake the chopper and be at the international airport in less than 2 hours. Wheedle up a flight to London or Amsterdam, then one to Houston. I could be kicking the shit out of these assholes in less than 36 hours.
“Es”, I ask, much more angry that sad; as that would come later, “What do you want me to do?”
“Rock”, Es sniffles, “As much as I’d like you to go back to Texas and blow the fuckers up, I’m afraid it is what it is. There isn’t much we can do, in fact, nothing will bring Lady back. They already got her to Dr. Tom Nokhoi (our vet in Houston) who will handle the red tape. I’ll tell the kids tonight,” Es continues”, “But if you could call Dr. Bob, our family attorney, and let him know what happened, I’m certain he’ll make their lives not worth living from here on out.”
“Es”, I stammer, “I never said I was sorry to you about all this. I apologize deeply. Guess I’m not hitting on all 12 cylinders. I’ll get Dr. Bob going after these assholes. He’ll have their guts for garters. I’ll be home in a few days, or sooner if you want.”
“No, Rock”, Es rationalizes, “You have your job to do. I have mine. Don’t be surprised if you come home and we now have a pony, a new aquarium, a herd of gerbils, and a kitten or three.”
“Whatever it takes, “ I reply, “The kids will be devastated. They’ve known her…all…their…lives…Oh, fuck. This is a shitstorm on so many levels. Let me get after its wild ass and turn Dr. Bob loose on them.” Right now, the idea of Dr. Bob chewing on their metaphorical and economic asses…well, that’s the only thing that is giving me any sort of solace.
“OK, Rock”, Es sniffs, “I’ll take care of the home front, you release the Dr. Bob on these assholes. Stay safe. Come home to us in one piece. Love you.” She sighs and signs off.
I am beyond pissed. Past furious. Way past livid. I’ll let Dr. Bob take whatever he can get from these asswipes. The money doesn’t matter. I want revenge. A reckoning. Vengeance. Reprisal. Retribution, not restitution.
I sic Dr. Robert ‘Bob’ Roberts, JD, Esquire, of Kingwood, Texas on them. He knew something was askew when I called him at 0300 hours. He really liked Lady. He’s going to make these assholes an example for the Texas Law Journal. Or the Houston Chronicle obituaries.
Beyond that, there’s not much I can do. I wander back to the smoking area on the backside of the rig, pull out my secret flask, and a new cigar. I finished both solo to Lady’s memory. I didn’t even go to my office nor check-in, I was so pissed off. The important people knew I was here, that was enough for the time being.
I know one should adhere to the rules of the rig and out here, 125 miles from the coast in an Arab land, ‘no alcohol on the rig’ is pretty much a given.
Guess they need a real introduction to the Motherfucking Pro from Dover.” Besides, this time, it’s medicinal. Either that or I break into the explosives locker and I begin to blow up shit until I feel better. Guess which one will probably take fewer lives?
In the doghouse again, we’re back on bottom with the custom-made mill I had custom fabricated in Texas, and we’re grinding away. What we’re doing is sensu stricto not legal, as we’re chewing up the LWD/MWD, Logging While Drilling/Measuring While Drilling tools, and they carry some radioactive sources.
In the States, in the event of a loss involving a radioactive source, the tool and hole must be filled with cement, plugged, and abandoned to safely entomb the sources. These sources are infinitesimal amounts of Americium-241, and Cesium-242, much like what is found in commercial smoke detectors.
But, the stuff we’re currently turning into expensive metallic confetti is 5 miles deep in the earth and with a half-life of just 150-5,000 years. It ain’t never, no way, going to make it back to surface. We just keep calm and carry on grinding.
Drill, grind, shred. POOH, pull out of hole, run in hole with the magnet, and junk basket, energize, and POOH. Rinse and repeat. Finally, we’re making some headway until we hit the tungsten carbide insert drill bit.
These are usually classified as ‘undrillable’. Lose one of them, and it’s Sidetrack City.
Usually ain’t no other fuckin’ way around them.
Or is there?
I have them C&C the well, that is, circulate and condition the hole, so it’s stable top to bottom and not stratified; the mud column in the well is homogeneous in nature. Then we POOH again and I’ve got this cunning plan. Stick a tail on it and you could call it a fox.
If we can’t drill up the bit, perhaps we can just nudge it out of the way. We can steer our bottom hoe assembly, so maybe a push downward…It’s like hitting an oncoming asteroid. You don’t have to destroy the thing, just deflect it a mite. If we can literally shove it out of the way a few feet, we can slide by with the new Bottom Hole Assembly, save days and days of rig time, at some US$1.85 million/per 24-hour period, and get back to drilling.
I have the floor hands rig up a special BHA of my own design: a heavy, concave-faced lead impression block at the front, then hydraulic jars, shock sub, heavyweight drill pipe, and remex crossover sub that connects to the drill pipe.
It’s not ‘elegant’, basically a power hammer with a steerable trajectory. But, we get onto that bit and get good contact, we might just be able to hammer and power slide that SOB out of the fucking way.
It’s worth a try.
So, we RIH, run in the hole, and down the obligatory 5 miles until we make contact. We achieve what seems like a good seat and try to slide under just the weight of 24,000+ feet of drill pipe; over 1.65 million pounds of hook-load.
We’re blocked.
OK, that’s fine. That means the lead impression block is molding around the bitter end of the bit like a custom hand-in-leather glove. Now when we apply the hydraulic horsepower, it’ll have to move forward. Give a little more juice left or right, up or down and we should be able to steer it out of the way.
We can’t just build a ‘hump’ in the well path around the bit. With sliding, reciprocating, and rotation, that’d be what we in the industry call ‘a bad thing’. It would key seat, wear preferentially and cut holes in drill pipe and casing…just causing all sorts of grief.
So. We need to steer it out of the way of the pre-ordained well path and hammer it the fuck out of the way. We’ll pull back, drop some cement in the bottom of the hole, trip back in and drill our way back on target.
Jarring and hammering with the rig is a slow, tedious prospect. Keeping an eye on all parameters, more so than usual. If you inadvertently punch into a sub-seismic fault zone, an area of overpressure, or a high-pressure gas zone, you could well and truly be fucked.
So, it’s a slow, deliberate go. I personally run the show for the first 15 hours until I’m certain we’re off the predetermined well path and the bit’s being stuffed off to Bolivia, or Greenland or… I don’t care where just the fuck out of the way.
I hand the rig over to the rig superintendent and tell him that unless anything funny happens, we’ll keep hammering and pushing until 0800 hours. That way, the bit will be out of the way and we can trip back in, set a cement plug, and get back to drilling.
I’m exhausted, still mightily pissed about Lady, and thought about calling Dr. Bob.
Nah, too early, besides I need some chow and rack time.
Chow first.
One thing about every offshore rig I‘ve worked on, the food is fabulous. Amazing quality and quantity. And if you get a specific head chef, like Huib Klein Huismink from Dutchland or Đỗ Trọng Nghĩa from Ho Chi Minh City; you’re gonna have a good tour.
They don’t just cook, they chef. In their own inimitable styles.
We’re lucky enough on this project to have Đỗ Trọng Nghĩa, or Doh!, after a famous American cartoon sitcom noise.
He can make the most amazing SE Asian dishes. How he and his crew does it three times a day for over 145 hungry bodies just beggars imagination. He also keeps a supply of high-octane ‘cooking juice’ available for me in exchange for some of my cigars.
It’s called the barter system and has served mankind for billions of years.
“So, Doh, whaddya know?” I ask, walking up to the steam tables laden with not dinner and not quite yet breakfast chow.
“Fucking morning warnings to you very much, Doctor Rock”, Doh smiles by way of greeting. His English is as dodgy as my Chichewa.
We’re the best of friends.
I hand him a box of Cubans I confiscated from Duty-Free back in Amsterdam. Pricey, but that box will last Doh and me the whole project. So, economically, it makes sense.
“Doctor”, Doh asks, “See anything you like or want Doh to make you something special?”
“Doh”, I reply, “I require meat. In great, gory, giant, bleeding hunks. And a couple of your world-famous rice-paper shrimp spring rolls for starters. Also, some of that incredible Vietnamese Iced Coffee you got me hooked on.”
I loathe sweet iced tea and coffee. Except for Mr. Doh’s. With heavy crème, strong boot-black coffee, and a very secret liqueur over ice in a French Press. It’s ambrosial.
Mr. Doh quickly hands me a small 2-cup French Press, ready to go. He tells me to sit, savor a soupçon and he’ll have my dinner-breakfast ready before I start on the second cup.
The coffee has enough caffeine to give a cadaver a chubby, and it helps me to throw off the general funk I‘ve had afflicting me since I spoke last with Es. A double-pair of shrimp spring rolls arrive as amuse-bouche before Mr. Doh’s main event.
Before I can pour another cup of his amazing coffee, a prime dry-aged porterhouse steak, easily 36 ounces, charred on the outside, blue on the inside, arrives. I don’t know how he does it, but he makes some sort of flower-pepper grilling sauce that so light, so subtle, and so sneaky, you’re halfway through the steak before you break out in the sweats and your brain happily melts.
It’s marvelous; in every sense of the word. Always make friends with the chefs, especially when you’re part of a captive audience. No Qwik Stop, 7-11, or Stop-n-Robs just around the corner out here.
Properly satiated, I wander back to my room. Now, on a rig such as this, where people work in 12-on, 12-off shifts, most folks that are not management ‘hot sheet’ it. That is, they share a bed with someone on the opposite shift. Hey, there’s only so much room on a drilling rig platform, one must sometimes make concessions.
But not me. I’m running the show and as such, rank has its privilege. I have my room which is also my on-rig office with en suite full bathroom, in-room refrigerator, fax machine, computer with non-governmentally interfered internet lash-up, work desk, chair, monitors for every aspect of the rig and a private, encrypted telephone.
It’s my room, my office. Imagine my surprise when I round the corner and see a line extending out of my room and down the hall.
I walk straight on by, as most everyone on the rig probably wouldn’t recognize me.
Like hell, they wouldn’t. I run safety orientations, resolve onboard personnel issues, greet new hires and boot slackers and goldbricks. Besides that, I run the operations for this vessel. Like hell, they don’t know who I am. But I haven’t made my presence back on the rig generally known.
Yet. They think that by ignoring me, I won’t be able to see them.
I walk 10 feet to my room/office, see it’s a shambles. Shambles as in all my cigars are gone, someone’s on the Internet ‘Turning Japanese’ over amateur-midget leather-fetish dog-n-pony show porn. Plus, there’s actually someone or some three in my damned bed.
Vesuvius in 79 CE had nothing on me when I went off.
“WHAT THE FLYING FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!?!” I bellow, “What the fuck are you assholes doing in my office?”
Yeah, kindly ol’ Dr. Rocknocker is a wee bit pissed off.
“Up against the wall, you redneck motherfuckers. Each and every one of you.” I roar. I hit the klaxon in my office to call security when I notice that three of them are currently holding up a piece of bulkhead.
“Looks like we’re gonna need a crew boat, the Federales and some new security officers,” I growled.
The vast majority of these goombahs are East Indian or subcontinental ex-pats. They’re paid a pittance and do all the shit work. But, they knew the job was dangerous when they took it, no one is holding a gun to their head in Mumbai or Chennai or Islamabad forcing them over here. It wasn’t me.
One or two decide to make a break for it, thinking I wouldn’t notice. My size 16s made short work of that ill-formed idea.
“Next one that tries that goes over the side”, I growl loudly, telling them of an impending 225-foot straight south swan dive if anyone gets cute again. “Don’t think I won’t do it. You’ll be holding just enough C-4 that’ll detonate just before you hit the water. The local sharks will love that.”
They all know of my proclivities for solving problems with devices that generate rapidly expanding gases. Most of them shudder at the thought that, yes, I am that pissed and that unhinged to actually make good on my threats.
Rig Security arrives and I first chew them a new asshole for allowing such a disaster to happen.
“They were probably selling raffle tickets”, I roared, “How the fuck could you not know this was going on?”

“OK, if that’s your response, I’m calling it. Rig shut down! NOW!” And I go to get into my office and hit the big, shiny red Panic Button. One smash of that and the reactor’s scrammed, metaphorically speaking. That is, all power is cut to standby, the well’s made static, and all electrical power is diverted to the doghouse until the well is shut-in and steady.
I press that button and it’s easily $4-5 million dollars down the drain in lost time and productivity; as we have previously completed wells flowing through the tubulars of the rig. We’re not just a drilling platform out here, we’re a production platform as well.
“So, Dr. Rock”, the tribunal asks, “Why did you think it necessary to hit the Panic Button?”
“Because these motherfucking brain-dead security shitheads couldn’t be trusted enough to keep the other assholes out of management’s offices. Can you imagine the state secrets they’re selling to the guys just 20 miles north across the border in Irun?”
At least, that’s what I would have said if a couple of the security guards hadn’t fessed up and admitted they knew what was going on. They were actually taking kickbacks from workers so the workers could take showers, use my bed which was by now, indescribably filthy, and the spooge all over the Internet.
“OK. Let’s see. You, you and you, hand in your cards. You’re done here. Get to the rec room and sit there until the next crew boat arrives. No choppers, those are for workers.” I inform them. “You get to wait for the next crew boat and hopefully a really nasty thunderstorm.”
Two comply, but the former Sergeant of security protests that I’m too draconian. Besides little damage was done.
“You’re lucky I don’t hold you in irons, Sgt. Shitheels. It’s Rule of the Sea out here, bucko. You’re damned fucking lucky I just don’t stuff all your asses in a rubber raft and set you off adrift, left to your own devices.” I snarl back, as they knew I could legally do so.
By now, real security had arrived. I told them to collect each and every one of these assholes green and yellow cards. The green ones allowing them to work in the country, and the yellow ones allowing them to work on the rig.
“I want a list of names, I want a list of sponsors, I want phone numbers, and I want my office back in order within the next 3 hours. That doesn’t happen, then you all can explain yourself to the tribunal I’m calling back onshore.” I snarl, almost slathering.
“I will be in the rec room,”, I inform security. The rec room is a pretty good-sized open area for ping-pong, pool, snooker, TV, movies, smoking, and drinking your non-alcoholic drinks when you’re off duty. I’m commandeering it as an ad hoc jury room.
“I want to personally see each and every one of these asswipes before me starting in 15 minutes. The first ones I want to see are the three assholes caught in my bed. We green?” I snarl.
I am handed a couple of stacks of green and yellow cards.
“First one, 14 minutes. We green?” I ask again.
“Oh, yes, Doctor. Very green!”
“Goddamned idiots,” I growl and walk down to the rec room.
Luckily, I have a locker in the rec room where I keep some extra personal items. Gym stuff, spare shades, safety gear extras, earhole plugs for well tests, and a box or two of cigars. Smoking is allowed in the rec room, but being enclosed, I’m usually Dr. Nice Guy and don’t fire up a heater in there.
However, today is different. Very different, sorry to say for the group of laughing boys I’m going to be interviewing starting in 10 minutes.
I’m sitting behind a table with a notepad, a lit cigar; OK, I did fire up the in-room Smoke Eater, and a transcribed list of names and cards, all alphabetized. I‘m ready to dispense some maritime frontier justice.
The first three show up and they’re the ones getting all cuddly in my bed. Besides being personally squicked out about all that, even though I don’t give a shit about a person’s personal proclivities, I do at least ask, respectfully, to keep it the fuck OUT of my bed.
Consenting adults can do what the fuck they want as far as I’m concerned. But doing it on the rig floor, on top the helipad when we’re trying to land, or in my GODDAMNED bed sort of pushes the edge of the envelope a bit.
“So?”, I ask holding up their cards, “These yours?”
They all nod. They can barely speak Urdu, Pashto, Hindi, or Outer Buttfuckistanese much less English, Russian, or Mandarin. I dragoon one of the driller’s hands into being an improvised translator. I want to make certain that these characters understand the thunder they’ve called down.
“Can you understand me now?” I ask.
“Yes”, “Yes”, and “Yes”, came the hang-dog replies.
“Why we’re you in my bed?” I ask, further, “You must have known whose office that was. What the actual fuck, guys?”
No replies other than a sudden interest in the rig’s riveted and engine-turned metal floor.
“Look”, I say, “Right now, you’re all on the way back to Calicut, Lahore, Kathmandu or whatever other gritty shithole you assholes call home. You’re all fired. Done. Finito. Plus I keep your green and yellow cards. Good luck finding a job where ever you end up. Should have spoken up when you had the chance. Next?”
They hear the translation and all the color drains from their faces. One of them, an engineer of some sort, screws up the courage to call me an asshole and says “What difference does it make. You weren’t there and it wasn’t being used! You asshole.”
“OK”, I smile, “At least we’re communicating. You married?”
He puffs himself up. “Yes. Many years.”.
“Yeah”, I smile, “Me too. So it’d be OK for someone from your town to be fucking your wife right now, correct? I mean you’re not there and she wasn’t being used. Right, you asshole?”
I thought he was going to explode. He was livid, enraged, and otherwise peeved a bit.
“Fuck you goddamned big American asshole. Fuck you and your family too!’ he spits.
“Whoa!”, I smirk, “Guess I hit a nerve there, didn’t I? Going to go out anyways, may as well go out in a blaze of glory, right you little smirking dooly-boy cocksucker?”
He just stood there and fumed.
“OK’, I say, “Use a little of that ire and give me a reason not to toss your ass to the wolves; or sharks, as the case may be.”
“It cost us money. To pay off security guards. They started it. You weren’t even here and your room was empty. They sold it off in pieces for the most money. Say anything to boss people and you will go away. They threatened us.” He averred.
“Oh, ho! Right. OK, let me see if that’s the case.”, I call over to one of the security guards I could trust and tell him to go get those other 3 erstwhile guards and bring them over.
To be continued

I fucking hate that casual racism against Indians/Pakistani/South Asians is seen as normal.

An Introduction to Hermes' Cautionary Twins.

Basic Information

theme: BOOGIE by BROCKHAMPTON.

Name	Aliases	Date of Birth	Age	Godly Parent	Sexuality
Romulus Viajero	Rom, Lu	June 30th, 2004	15, and a minute and 34 seconds older.	Hermes, messenger of the gods.	Heterosexual.
Remus Viajero	Remi, Mouse	June 30th, 2004, but a minute and 34 seconds late.	15.	And other things like: travelers, thieves, traders, athletes, and something called animal husbandry.	Heterosexual?

 REMUS: "—weird name or whatever." TWIGS: "Oh, shit." ROMULUS: "Hm? Why?" TWIGS: "Sorry, I forgot to record." ROMULUS: "Oh, that's cool. Do I have to say everything again?" REMUS: "Mama listening to these?" ROMULUS: "Uh, why? 'Cause you basically said that she has a bad taste in na—" [PAUSE 00:00:54] ROMULUS: "Romulus was the guy who founded Rome. Remus was his brother. If we do get through this, I might not have to kill him at the end."

Additional Information:

Remus collects buttons, button pins, bottle caps, ballpoint pens, compasses, ornate beads, pennies, pocket watches, wrist watches, cogs, snow globes, globes, bath bombs, bangles, coasters, small plates, and seasonally: round Christmas ornaments. Also, anything that spins would most likely catch his eye.
Romulus collects bus tickets, parking tickets, foreign currency, American currency, receipts, letters (and that includes other people's mail), the crossword section of newspapers and specifically that page alone, missing dog/cat/person (except for children) posters, postcards, candy wrappers, stickers, and invitations.

Spotify Playlist: Coming Soon.

Appearance

Romulus	Remus
• Faceclaim: Uno, dos, tres.	• Faceclaim: One, two, three.
• Eye colour: Brown, but sleepier. Completely harmless, but judgmental.	• Eye colour: Brown, but darker. All intense-like.
• Hair: The twin with the afro. Distinct, despite the fact that it's literally a voluminous mop of ink and copper coils on a stick. He preferred it au naturale.	• Hair: Also the twin with the afro. Even more distinct, since letting it grow into a fluffy behemoth was not his style. He learned that during third grade.
• Height: 5'9"	• Height: 5'9"
• Physique: Skinny and not so legendary, but he did have legs to last for days, weeks, months. Either nose-deep in a book that's neither short nor in English or face buried into folded arms in Detention.	• Physique: Lean. Obviously spends more time outdoors and in Physical Education than three hours of pointless silent shunning because he couldn't keep his trap shut.
• Usual attire: Jacket, loose pants, white socks and black Chuck Taylor's. Sweatshirt but he's no runner. He dressed for comfort and not for many other reasons, unless there was an occasion, well, he would show up to school in boxers and a shirt he forgot to put in the laundry (if he could—the school wasn't too accepting of improper decorum.) His palette was bland. Not much to look at.	• Usual attire: Dresses up with a purpose. The diversity in his closet comes from his sense of style, unafraid to show a bit of bold color and catchy patterns every once in a while. Stylish, but not flashy. As for bottoms, he has an array of sweatpants to go with what seemed like a new pair of sneakers every week.
• General Impression: His class's description of him was something along the lines of 'sleepy bitch-faced pothead.' He'd agree with the first two adjectives of the phrase, though he had to break some hearts with the last one. Air pollution was the only thing he was willing to fill his lungs with. Quiet, as if he's constantly cooking up some master plan. In reality, his preoccupied state was mainly provoked by thoughts of which girl to take to prom. He's lonely. And a nerd.	• General Impression: Trouble. Looks like trouble, smells like trouble, causes a lot of trouble. No help needed in making the ladies swoon except when he finally talks and stops smoldering. Although he was the younger twin, he had a warmer brotherly feel. In contrast to Romulus whose expertise lied in looking like he couldn't give a damn even if he wanted to was above average. he had a knack for acting like he did care. Constantly distracted and only pays attention when it's something he's interested in or if he needs to... act like he wasn't distracted.

Personality

Twin #1	Twin #1 minute and 34 seconds late
• Overall: Romulus was the sleepy wonder-boy of Class 2019-2020. Unbothered, unmoved, unamused. Does homework for cash. Except for the occasional bout of stirring pots, watching peers strip each other's layers of patience one by one, getting paid, and performing magic tricks that get him into and out of trouble, he never really smiles unless something obviously causes him to. He's hard to please and often drives a hard bargain, but it was his brother who was the perpetual sealer of deals. Owing people seemed to bother him, since he would very much like it to be the other way around. Actually, people in general seemed to bother him which might explain his short fuse. As reckless as Remus looks to be, appearances can be deceiving. Romulus perceives the world to be his playground, more often than not inconsiderate of consequences.	• Overall: Remus was the dumbass everyone wanted to be friends with. He exuded charisma, clearly brushed his teeth, and was an unintentional flirt. The first thing that pops in his head isn't the first thing that comes out of his mouth, much to everyone's surprise. Even every goofy comment is carefully thought of in one way or another. Most of the time, anyways. His humor tends to get in the way of being taken seriously. Not something he wants anyways, being taken seriously, but no one knows that. For him, negotiation would be easier if the speaker did not have bad vibes (e.g. when Rom looks at people in the eye too hard when they talk to him.) He wasn't the short-tempered type and acted as his twin's extra fuse.
• Hobbies: Skating in Queens, eating, reading, playing any stringed instrument, predicting the future, doing other people's homework, further entertaining distracted spectators, binge-watching shows and movies of a certain actor, and drawing real or made-up maps.	• Hobbies: Running, eating, solving any kind of puzzle, video games, graffiti, skating anywhere while eating, listening to music, scaling, parkour, pick-pocketing all the distracted spectators, and making his own puzzles.
• Dislikes: The Boston Red Sox, non-existence of guacamole in dishes meant to be slathered in guacamole (e.g. burritos), massages, rom-coms, boring people, touchy people, people who think they're buddies, fidgety people, handshakes, when nothing goes right, when Remus knows when nothing is going right and tries to comfort him.	• Dislikes: When Romulus does that thing with his face when he acts as if he's this edgy apathetic teenager who gives zero shits but in actuality he is about to cry, disrespectful people, people who don't know when to give up, Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare, Batman vs. Superman, and horror movies. Oh, and the Boston Red Sox.
• Likes: Remus when he's asleep.	• Likes: Romulus when he's asleep.

Abilities

Romulus' Powers:	Remus' Powers:
• The Navigator — As Hermes is the messenger of gods, he also has domain over travel. It was natural for Romulus to have the power to memorize destinations with ease, decide on better routes, and harness a growing expertise on cartography. His powers have only ever been proven to work great on land, however never in terms of seafaring or aviation. Although vehicular transport might be a more convenient way to go about things, his navigation skills heighten when he travels on foot. His asthma, however, impedes him from running long and running fast. To aid this, he resorted to roller skates and skateboards. Opting for the more stylish option, he was better on skates than on a wooden board with wheels.	• Roadrunner — Sports and athletics were also Hermes' thing. A part of it, at least. Can't deliver messages on snails, especially on emergencies. While Remus didn't exactly have wings on his shoes (though he would admit that his presence exuded the words 'often impeccably fly'), he could definitely outrun a Romulus on wheels. If he tried and trained hard enough, he could possibly beat Usain Bolt and hit that 30 km/h mark, but he was a long way from that. The fastest he had ever ran so far was 20.45 km/h, which he would constantly argue to be 21.
• Sleight of Hand — Alongside his lordship over travel, Hermes is also the god of thieves. The messenger was the cleverest and the most mischievous of all the gods, often depicted in myths, if not a messenger, a trickster. Or, in some readings, both. Romulus had a penchant for stealing things that weren't his. It was when his supervisor offered him an alternative that he moved on to perfecting magic tricks, alongside thievery—but that was hardly notable. Hiding things in his sleeve and making them 'disappear' is his specialty. Quick, sticky hands.	• Sleight of Tongue — As Hermes is the god of trade, Remus could deliver a tasty pitch in a few minutes. A real maestro when it came to silvery tunes of persuasion. He could easily exchange a safety pin for a pair of comfy indestructible socks if he wanted to (and if indestructible socks existed.) His mother, however, was the one and only person he could never fool into buying anything. Either way, if he did want something, his mother had a knack for surprises and kept promises.
• Watch Your Language — If the god was not so widely praised and became a god of variety, Romulus would not have a clue on how to say "I have to go—don't check your pockets. Bye!" in five different languages (that's excluding English.) Of course, he could learn more, but so far he could only collect Urdu, Hebrew, Spanish, Italian, and a tiny tidbit of French to impress the ladies. He doesn't have the ability to learn it instantly; he merely picks up on it easier. In a span of twelve hours, he could run through basics quickly (and that isn't minus the time he would spend doing accents in front of the mirror and acting out a scenario in which he'd be using the phrase). Another twelve hours, he would usually be able to learn more intermediate-level communication. His knowledge depended on his sources as well. On very rare occasions, with a little push on the brain, he could fart out words he wouldn't even have prior knowledge of.	• Writing on the Walls — While Romulus might be the language expert, Remus dealt with deciphering code. Unless something was in any decipherable code, his dyslexia often acted up. Since their father had a considerable amount of intelligence to back up his antics, Remus had a thing for solving puzzles and, yeah, he was one of those kids who could impressively finish up a Rubik's cube in a bare maximum of thirty seconds. It was something he had 'studied' (non-academically; it made for a cool party trick anyways) for an ample amount of time. Codes were a mixture of language and pattern, making it a handy extension for his brother's fluency in learning new vernacular.

Additional Information

Alignment:

 REMUS: "What do you mean? Like, center-aligned? Like—like a paragraph?" ROMULUS: "Wow. Paragraph. Be careful; that's a big word." TWIGS: "Uh, no. That's not it, Rem, but relatively close." [PAUSE 00:07:37] REMUS: "Okay, so I dunno what this falls into but, like, imagine Spider-man but the spider made him a klepto. But it's all good, 'cus he helps people." ROMULUS: "I think what my boy is reaching for is that we are Neutrals."

Residence: 643 Barretto Street, Bronx, NY 10474; Hunts Point
Hometown: Sabbana Grande, Puerto-Rico.
Occupation: Students at Nueva Madre School for Wayward Teens.

 TWIGS: "That the only school you've been to?" REMUS: "We were St. Ignatius boys, then they found out who kept putting bullfrogs on Father Martin's chair. He thought it was a sign of the Second Coming." ROMULUS: "Heh. Yeah, that was funny." REMUS: "Mhm. Funnier when Mama beat your stupid ass." ROMULUS: "Funniest part was when she found out you tried to kiss Marcus Brown." TWIGS: "Wait, what?" REMUS: "What?"

Family:

 MARISOL: "Marisol Viajero, 32, and the mother of Remus and Romulus Viajero." TWIGS: [INAUDIBLE 00:15:04] MARISOL: "¿Qué?" TWIGS: "I said 'it would be helpful if we were all honest.'" MARISOL: "Ah—lo siento. Thirty-two plus six more years. Mother to the twins, currently married to no one. Their uncle, Manuelito, is their second father figure." TWIGS: "The first is Hermes, yes? Have they been visited by the god himself?" MARISOL: "It's you, you stupid goat. I haven't seen that bastard again ever since I gave birth to those diablitos. You're Santiago Orejon, the guardian of these children. You can't have the blind lead the blind." TWIGS: "Sol, that's flattering to hear, but I'm just—" MARISOL: "Just doing your job, yes, I have heard it a million times before. Romulus trusts you and he doesn't even like it when I touch his dirty clothes. Remus eats the food you cook. I trust you enough to let you touch my kitchen, let alone step into my house. If I didn't know you were going to be a good influence, I'd have kicked you out of the complex. But I didn't. That's as good as family." MARISOL: "Are you crying, Twiggy?" [PAUSED 00:16:30]

Backstory (In Summary): 23 year-old Marisol Viajero never, for one second in her life, thought that she would be having a child out of wedlock. That, and the whole demigod thing. She was a young waitress for a pizza bar back in her hometown Puerto Rico. One day, there was this American tourist who spun his finger around her curls and told her a joke she did not understand. But alas, she laughed anyways. Why? Because he was cute. Although this stranger could not speak Spanish to save his life, he was hitting all the right moves and she was impressed, for a lack of a better term. Two pepperoni pizzas later and the next thing she knew was that she was meeting with this stupid tourist guy after her shift. The same stupid tourist guy, whose name she had forgotten after he kissed her spontaneously, ended up serenading her into his hotel. Figure out what happens next after knocking down about four or five cervezas and drunkenly dancing around to whatever was on the radio. Everything was a fantasy for a while until she had to tell her parents she was pregnant. And that she had just met the father. And the father was neither Catholic nor Puerto-Rican. And that they were moving to America.
Fast-forward to the swelling belly and the broken water, he left an hour too early. Much to her dismay or utter and total grief, the father did not even get the chance to see his children. He left her enough money for the bills, at least, and enough to start a small living in the Big Apple. To the government, Ryder Traver was deceased. To Marisol, he was neither a ghost not a fever dream. He was a coward.
So, imagine the surprise when a man in crutches and khakis, who looks like he's about to share the message of Yahweh and hand out flyers in a neighborhood like Hunts Point, knock on their apartment door. Asking for 12 year-old kids who had stolen a dozen DVDs from Blockbuster and a turkey sandwich from a bodega. And when this man claims that he is associated to Ryder Traver, the biggest disappearing act in Marisol's life and the only trick that seemed real. When she brought another stranger into her home, her main intention when she heard the pseudonym was clear: she was going to kill him. Unexpectedly, she was let down.
Can't kill gods, unfortunately. Boo-hoo.
Safe to say that after three years, the sandwich-snatcher and the binge-watcher grew up to eat more turkey sandwiches and watch more movies. Instead of the usual protocol of picking the kids up and going, Santiago "Twigs" Orejon got sucked into the idea of having a family to come home to. No falling in love though, 'cause that's weird. It was a nice arrangement that worked for all of them.
Uh, until it didn't.

Present.

Fire, demigods, and cyclopes. These were the ingredients chosen to make the perfect mess that was Cousin Chia's Quinceañera. Nope, she wasn't one, gladly. Her two guests were though and, oh, were two meals way better than one. Moments ago, they were merely selfishly enjoying the croutons at the party's salad bar. The next minute became unexpectedly gruesome. Guests screaming, more guests stampeding, and fragile things shattering. At one point, Twigs toppled over the cake and almost lost the keys until his nimble fingers caught it from breaking in two. Romulus had almost lost Remus until his nimble fingers caught him from having his leg broken in two. The next thirty minutes were even uglier, as if anything could get worse than running through a thick forest in a rental tuxedo.
So, imagine that. Come out of a blazing party as a trio. In no less than an hour, take one out of the equation. In sum, you have two teenagers in their suit and tie, slumped against a random wooden cabin in Long Island. It was late. Really, really late. Perfect for a night jog, if any of them were in the mood for that. Late night snack? A movie? A back rub? The possibilities, now that they were safe. Remus didn't know the area or had a clue on where to even begin. Since the navigator of the duo was curled up into a tight ball trying to deal with nausea among other things, he would have to be the man who stands. Patiently planning, silent as ever, but more focused than he had ever been.

[/u/careless - March 17, 2016 at 07:31:47 PM] Addressing some concerns regarding /r/aww's part in fighting spammer account

Recently a well-known moderator, allthefoxes, started commenting with giant walls of text in /aww - sample below. The intent was to get spammer accounts banned.
While I always appreciate feedback, I'd vastly prefer it if you used modmail instead of spamming giant text screeds into the comments.
Now, since you appear to have an axe to grind with the /aww mod team, let's talk. Oh, and I used this post because I have some work and responsibilities to take care of, and a Slack conversation would be difficult to follow.
Here's the text screed:

Warning

It is very likely that this account is an "account farmer" or karma farmer!
Account farming is creating many accounts and posting low-effort content in an attempt to age them and build karma so they can be more useful for spamming, SEO, or vote manipulation.
Also known as "account fattening" and "karma farming", account farming is presently dominated by Hindi/Urdu speakers, with clues suggesting the major hubs are in Pakistan and India. When questioning some of the users we've identified as farmers, we've been able to glean that some are following tutorials posted on YouTube, which means that there is a cottage industry that has grown up around using reddit and other social media sites to make money.
It is not clear that they are all organised into a handful of companies directly hiring people to spam reddit—although that is happening as well—but that there are hundreds and possibly thousands of independent opportunists who hear about ways to make money online, read a few blogs or YouTube videos about it, and start following one of the many tutorials available.

Monetisation

The main ways they make money from account farming appear to be:

Promoting monetised YouTube channels and accounts
Promoting/SEO-ing an ad-supported blog or web site
Selling seasoned accounts to account dealers such as [rm'd, banned link]
Selling seasoned accounts to vote manipulation firms such as [rm cant use this link]
Spamming porn or streaming video sites

They need accounts with age and karma in order to overcome the account-based obstacles that reddit and its mods have erected to deal with the spam problem. /videos uses AutoModerator to remove any posts from accounts below a certain karma level, for example. Creating a subreddit (popular with the streaming sports video spammers) now requires an account above a certain age and karma level. And the bot that auto-shadowbans accounts reported to /spam ignores accounts above a certain karma level.
We also suspect, but do not know, if reddit discounts upvotes from new or low-karma users, but it would explain the use of account farming from those intending to sell the account to vote manipulation firms.

Characteristics

This list is constantly growing as the more sophisticated or ambitious account farmers try new techniques. In the beginning (only a year ago as I write this), it was rather easy: FirstLast## account names (eg: "JohnSmith56", "MaryStuart47"), new user, low-effort posts, and robot-like posting. Many continue to try the FirstLast## formula, and they are probably newcomers reading old tutorials.
Unfortunately, the leading characteristic is still a poor grasp of English and a general ignorance of western culture, which means you need to be careful and avoid banning an innocent user. You are not Deckard, and sometimes you can retire a human by mistake.

Their user history starts out in /aww, /wallpapers, or /funny
"Cute cat", "Cute dog", "Funny animal", "Funny amazing dog", "Amazing pic", "Nature beauty", "Amazing place in the world"
New York City skylines, Sidney Opera House, the Eiffel Tower, or London's skyline / Big Ben — these are their top Go-To pictures, although we don't know why
Stock nature photography or novelty pics with bland titles (example)
The title implies a gallery of many pics, but there's only one. EG: "10 amazing places to visit in New York". This may be because they're reposting something by re-uploading the first pic to imgur to get a new URL, but are too lazy to copy over the entire gallery (example)
Their user history starts with posting a monetised YouTube video to /videos, receiving their automated notice of removal for low karma, and then quickly start posting to aww, wallpapers, funny and pics.
Asking banal questions in /AskReddit
Using /AskReddit like a quiz show (asking a common trivia question or trick question, then waiting for someone to give the correct answer, or providing the correct answer). We think these are attempts to build comment karma
Posting old yawners to /Jokes. One of the YouTube tutorials we found (now removed), explicitly describes searching Google for jokes and posting them on /Jokes
Word-for-word reposts where the title implies ownership of the pic or subject (eg: "This is my dumbass cat"). These can be detected with KarmaDecay, and I recommend installing their browser extension to make it easier to use
Comments stolen from the imgur-hosted thread, or the YouTube-hosted thread (recommended: install the reddit image info script and it will identify comments in a reddit thread that were copied word-for-word from the corresponding imgur thread.)
Comments stolen from elsewhere in the same thread
Comments stolen from other web sites. If a user's history seems to switch jarringly from awkward or simple English to sophisticated use of language, try cut-n-pasting a sentence of their sophisticated comment into Google. You can often discover that their entire comment was stolen whole-cloth, or frankensteined from other sources
Pics of familiar western cultural icons, but with titles that suggest the OP doesn't know who/what they are. EG: Spongebob Squarepants is "funny animal" or Boo from Monsters, Inc. is "funny cartoon girl"
Posting lots of stock photos, especially beauty-shots of major city landmarks and natural wonders
An old account (4+ months old) with no posting history at all until very recently. This may be a purchased account
Little to no comments in their history, or extremely short and low-effort comments
Bizarrely mis-titled posts, such as this one
Crap-pics with mis-spelled titles, such as this one
Reposting something that's still at the top of the front page
Awkwardly naive or child-like enthusiasm in comments, as if they're trying too hard (example)
"Magic upvotes" on posts that have been quarantined by AutoModerator. A YouTube tutorial we found included instructions for pasting the URL of new reddit posts into a private Facebook club, where other spammers will upvote and comment on them for you
Comments from other suspicious users with "wao nice pic", "nature beauty", and other inane compliments
"It's my cake day" posts on accounts that aren't anywhere near a year old, yet
A series of rule-breaking posts (especially animations or memes) from different accounts that have no other history and are all exactly the same age
Posting holiday greetings on the wrong day (eg: "Happy Valentine Day" when it's the 15th in every time zone)

Anti-characteristics

As important as the above are disqualifying behaviours, since there are lots of users who can exhibit the above characteristics but turn out to be false-positives anyway.

Meaningful comments that Google or Ctrl-F can't confirm were stolen from somewhere else
Pics that Google's reverse image search, or TinEye can't confirm are reposts
Self-purchased reddit gold
Multiple gilded posts or comments, especially if they cover posts spaced apart more than a few weeks
Trophies other than "confirmed email" or a yearly trophy. EG: a gilding trophy, secret-santa, "orangered/periwinkle blue", etc.
Talks and engages like a human being when directly queried in comments, private messages, distinguished removal reasons, or a ban notice

No offence /aww, but you guys really need to get a handle on this issue. At /pics we are doing all we can to stop it
Reddit gold for up to 5 people, I bet that within 3 months the OPs account will be used for spamming or shadowbanned by then

My friend died a month before her wedding

Volunteer to make a course for Urdu

Funny story about my childhood

Kumail Nanjiani Is the Romantic Comedian We’ve Been Waiting For

Kumail Nanjiani Is the Romantic Comedian We’ve Been Waiting For
by Eliza Berman via TIME
URL: http://ift.tt/2tOJiqC
Kumail Nanjiani is worried about Optimus Prime. On the first night of June, in the bunker-like Playstation Theater beneath the thrum of Times Square, the 39-year-old comedian is onstage talking about the robotic leader of the Transformers. The fifth installment hits theaters June 21, two days before Nanjiani’s romantic comedy The Big Sickopens. “I thought there couldn’t possibly be anything new they could do,” he says of the explosion-laden Michael Bay movies. But he was wrong: “Optimus Prime has a sword. We’re so f-cked.”
The joke gets big laughs, but the simmering anxiety underneath is genuine. On the phone a few weeks earlier, when asked how he’s feeling since the movie he co-wrote with his wife, Emily V. Gordon, sold to Amazon for $12 million at Sundance in January, he explains, “A lot of people have significantly invested money and themselves into this.” The movie was acquired for considerably more than the 2006 indie hitLittle Miss Sunshine, which went on to gross $100 million worldwide. “It would be great if that investment paid off,” he adds.
Nanjiani—who grew up in an Urdu-speaking Shi‘ite Muslim family in Karachi—is stepping into leading-man territory, where his presence is still a novelty for slow-to-change Hollywood. The movie depicts a Muslim family with a rare intimacy, the relevance of which wasn’t lost on the Sundance viewers who saw it the day of Donald Trump’s Inauguration and a week before the President issued his first travel ban.
But The Big Sick, directed by Michael Showalter, isn’t about any of that. Based on Nanjiani and Gordon’s real-life courtship, it stars Nanjiani more or less as himself, Zoe Kazan as a version of Gordon, Ray Romano and Holly Hunter as her skeptical parents and Zenobia Shroff and Anupam Kher as his. It’s your typical boy-meets-girl romance. Except here, the boy charms the girl by writing her name in Urdu on a cocktail napkin; then he keeps the girl, who is white, a secret from his family; then he signs a release to put her into a medically induced coma when a mysterious illness befalls her, soon after she discovers he’s been begrudgingly meeting prospects for an arranged marriage.The Big Sickis not about the happily ever after. It’s about all the messiness that comes before.
Nanjiani grew up a minority in Pakistan, where Shi‘ites are far outnumbered by Sunnis. His mother instructed him to keep their religion a secret for fear of violence. But it wasn’t religion that made him feel like an outsider. “I didn’t fit in because I didn’t like the same stuff that a lot of people liked,” he says. “I was obsessed with movies and video games, and that’s all I wanted to do.”
He learned English by watching films likeGhostbustersandGremlins. When he arrived in the U.S. for college, dropping down at Grinnell in the middle of Iowa—hardly the skyscrapers he’d come to expect from American TV shows—he became obsessed with comedy. During breaks, he’d travel to his uncle’s home in Florida, VCR in tow, and tape hours of HBO standup. Finally, his friends persuaded him to do an open-mike night. It went well enough that, after graduation, he moved to Chicago, land of Second City and Belushis, and worked in tech support while moonlighting as a comic.
In his early standup, Nanjiani resisted relying on his experience as an immigrant, but he later relented. It was too much a part of him to categorically exclude. He built an entire show around it in 2007, calledUnpronounceable, and returns to the topic frequently. In his 2013 Comedy Central specialBeta Male, he agonizes over his conflict between his love forCall of Dutyand his frustration with the Karachi-set game’s street signs, inaccurately scrawled in Arabic instead of Urdu. At the Playstation Theater in June, he mocked Twitter trolls telling him to “go back to India:” “Do they hope I have an awesome vacation?”
By the time his stand-up career had taken off, Nanjiani had also broken out on shows likePortlandiaandInside Amy Schumer. And, most of all, HBO’s Silicon Valley, on which he plays the unlucky-in-love software engineer Dinesh Chugtai.He’d also fallen in love with Gordon, who worked as a family therapist before becoming a writer and producer. A few years after the acute trauma of their rocky first year had subsided, they discussed the idea of turning the story into a film. Gordon wasn’t quite ready to relive it, but in 2012, when producer Judd Apatow heard the tale—the cross-cultural family, the dramatic medical episode—he agreed that it would make a pretty good movie.
Being anointed a Sundance sensation brought with it scrutiny previously unknown to Nanjiani. After _The Big Sick_‘s rapturous reception at the film festival, the life he had been living in America for 20 years was suddenly deemed relevant. Until recently, he says, “I never felt pressure to represent anything other than myself.” Now, it feels unavoidable.
“Some of my people are upset, like, ‘We want more representation, but why this guy? He’s not funny or good-looking or a good actor or smart,’” he says. “And I agree! It shouldn’t be me!” But right now, along with a handful of high-profile performers of South Asian descent like Aziz Ansari, Riz Ahmed and Dev Patel, itishim, and he’s adjusting. “I’ll do the best I can. But I don’t think anybody should have the pressure of representing a whole group of demonized people.”
Nanjiani and Gordon acknowledge the importance of the film’s nuanced representation of a Muslim family, but when they were writing, they treated it mostly as a “happy side effect.” Still, there were a few points they handled with care. She was adamant that Nanjiani’s family speak Urdu onscreen. “My in-laws are always speaking Urdu, and I’ve never seen that in a movie or a TV show that wasn’t them planning something nefarious,” she says.
“It was very important to us that my family be a real, fun, Muslim family that’s loving,” says Nanjiani. But he didn’t draw them that way to make a statement—he did it to raise the stakes. Explains Gordon: “We wanted it to be a big deal if he were to lose them.”
A longtime rom-com aficionado, Nanjiani believes the form can be used to explore situations not often seen on film. “The best ones are always about something more than just the couple getting together.Sleepless in Seattleis about grieving.When Harry Met Sallyis about people getting to know each other over decades.” When done well, romantic comedy can be as provocative as drama. “People don’t want escapist, mindless entertainment right now,” he says. “People want stuff that really speaks to something.”
Still, Nanjiani doesn’t conceal his love for popcorn blockbusters of theTransformersvariety. And if he has his way, one day he’ll be in them, not just competing against them at the box office. But as the wheels of change sputter and creak in Hollywood, he believes his prospects in the realm of spandex suits and mechanical shapeshifters aren’t exactly manifold. “I can’t be Captain America,” he says. Instead, he has his eye on a new comic book series,Ms. Marvel, about a Pakistani-American teen growing up in New Jersey.In his estimation, Marvel’s not going to turn around tomorrow and spend $100 million on a tentpole starring a brown woman. Says Nanjiani: “It’s going to take a lot more smaller movies with brown leads.”

[Table] IamA guy who assigned himself a Life Deadline and made the purpose of my life to complete a very specific Bucket List. AMA!

Verified? (This bot cannot verify AMAs just yet)
Date: 2013-11-06
Link to submission (Has self-text)

Questions	Answers
I am cynical. I want to be able to phrase this nicer, but all I see is a rich guy listing out the run things that he wants to do with his money. How is it different? (also, what is up with the Ron Weasley stand up in your "Burning Man" picture?)	Feel free to phrase it however you want :-)
	I hear you on the rich guy talking about how cool he is thing. It something about this project that bugs me.
	This is kinda going to sound like bullshit but I am being heartfelt here. I started this project during a really rough time in my life and used it as a ladder to get myself out. Money is a huge factor in enabling me to do this but it is only fair to note that I didn't have very much money when I started and I don't have a lot now. I just keep my other expenses way down and focus all of my financial resources on the list.
	Regarding Ron Weasley, it was burning man. I don't even know how that got there :-)
Do you think those covers for gutters that are supposed to keep leaves out really work or will I end up having to clean them out anyway?	You are going to have to manually clean those suckers. I hear they keep out leaves but not the dirt that is in the rainwater.
So does this mean you're killing yourself on that day? If so, how?	Well before I do anything I am going to throw a really big party that day. This is a bit of a morbid idea but I am treating that deadline as my dead day and prioritizing the things in my life based off of that.
	Am I actually going to kill myself on that day? Doubtful but it would be quite fitting if I got hit by a bus or flattened by a train carrying buckets or something.
So apparently, everything you've done since highschool is related to self-promotion, marketing and SEO. How is this any different?	Hey ReluctantMuffEater,
	I'd say that is oversimplifying my life a bit but generally I think that is correct. I am 26 now so since high school those areas have been my primary focus. I am sure that will expand as more time passes.
	I find a lot more meaning in this work. I really enjoy storytelling and this list gives me a lot of new stories to tell. I hear your sentiment though, I do feel a little uneasy about how self-promotion this is. But its an AMA, so naturally its going to be a bit uncomfortably about me.
What's the best live music gig you've seen on your travels? who, where, why was it the best?	Deadmau5 in a tiny club in Seattle. It was the first time I had heard his music and it completely floored me. This was about 3 years ago.
2017...why so soon?	The entire purpose of setting the deadline was to force myself to prioritize those kind of things in life that everyone says they want to do but never actually make time to do. I picked a date that was close enough make me feel pressured to start asap. Otherwise I knew I would keep putting things off.
Have you anticipated the arrival of a potential girlfriend/children? Anything that may derail your aim?	Funny you say that. I have thought about this a lot. I think there are three big things that could prevent me from finishing my list.
	I become too ill to complete an item.
	I run out of money and can't afford to complete an item before the deadline.
	I meet some amazing girl and she convinces me to change courses.
	As you implied, I think the last one is the most likely situation to arise. So far the girls I have dated have been adventurers themselves so we have completed items together so this hasn't been an issue. That said, it is something I think a lot about when I am dating someone new.
So how was burning man for you?	In my opinion, Burning Man is a must do for anyone who has the freedom to make it happen (the logistics of living in the desert for a week is not for everyone). I have been 5 times, each time was completely different. (I even went with my boss once :-p)
Just curious, why would want to be a pickpocket? Or at least learn the skill? I can't think of a noble reason for this one. Your list is cool, but that admission seemed odd to me.	It certainly wasn't noble. It interested me at the time and freaked me out a little bit so I added it to the list (this was in 2010).
Edit: I guess you could be a performer as a pickpocket?	Having done it, I am actually happy it was included on my list. It was definitely not something I would have done otherwise. I learned a lot about weird human quirks (personal space is relative to the amount of people in one vicinity) and about how to protect myself from pick pocketers.
Alright, how about this? You did an interview for me a couple of years back for Search News Central. When are you going to be in Utah? I would like to say hello.	Hey Corey! I'll be in Utah sometime early next year. It looks like that is one of the only places in the States to do Olympic luging. If you are nearby when that happens, lets grab a beer.
How were some of the World's Greatest Parties? What was your favorite experience? What was your least favorite?	Queens Day in Amsterdam has been my favorite by far. That day something like 3 million people pack the streets of Amsterdam and have an all day and night giant street party. I had gone in with low expectations because I hadn't really heard much about the event but was blown away by the super cool people (they were really inviting) and the general positive attitude of the crowd.
	Least favorite is relative in that they have all been fun (I mean they are giant parties) but if I had to pick one I would say Sant Joan in Spain. Its a big beach party but just not as fun as the others.
You said you've been to all 50 states, including Alaska. What did you do in Alaska? Also, which state was your favorite to travel to and why?	I have actually been to Alaska a couple of times (there is a ton to do and see there). First time was to see the aurora borealis and go dog sledding. The most recent time was on a cruise with my mom :-p Two very different trips but both very fun.
	My favorite state to travel to is California (even though I am from Washington) but that shouldn't come as much of a surprise. The one that surprised me the most was Nebraska. I had a great time road tripping through that state.
Do you really have a tattoo on your ass? Plz send pix thx.	Yup its tattooed. Not going to post a pic though, I think the Internet is better off without my digitized ass.
What happens if you don't complete everything on the list by the date?	The plan is to throw as big of a party as I can afford and invite all of the people who have been part of the List journey or have supported me in some other way throughout my life.
What was the most exciting bucket item you've done so far?	The most exciting item so far would have to be mountain climbing in Antarctica. I had an item to visit all 7 continents before the end of 2012. Trips to Antarctica are really expensive and although I spent a year looking for a deal, I couldn't find one. As a last resort I bought a one way ticket to Ushuaia, Argentina (the most southern city in the world) and vowed to stay there until I made it to my last continent. It took about two and a half weeks but I randomly ended up on a ship which took me there.
Can I join the party? :)	Yes.
Do you genuinely find this pursuit fulfilling?	Absolutely. That is why I keep doing it.
This is awesome, but how do you afford it? I can't even imagine those travel expenses, and trying to get all that time off...	One of the first things I had to do when I made this my life purpose was to leave my job. You are right, if you have a traditional job, it is not reasonable to take as much time off as is necessary for this mission.
	I currently work as freelancer so I have more job flexibility than I used to.
	As far as affording the travel expenses. It is actually not nearly as high as I had assumed it was going to be. For example, I am currently living in Vietnam where my cost of living (office space, apartment, cell phone) is slightly less than $300 USD/month. For airfare, I mostly travel on miles at this point but to be fair, this took a while to build up and isn't the magic bullet most people are looking for.
How do you stay in one place for enough time? I think most countries have a 90-day stay limitation.	There are a lot of factors at play. (The biggest one being your home country.) Generally I do a visa run (if it is acceptable) or pick a new country.
the same question for natural thing?	I think I have been the most wowed by the Grand Canyon. It is extremely hyped but even more amazing than I had heard. (The Red Woods are a close second. Mostly because the sheer number of them.)
I'm really curious about a lot of things on this list. But I'll pick two as to not overwelm you (ones that I'd personally like to do myself).	Hey trashbaugh!
, I'd love to start a business. I'm currently in school for Management so I know my stuff, but I'm more curious as to what business you started and what you went through starting it.	Also a huge discussion :-p First business was a social network (Eastside Link) before social networks were cool. It blew up in my face because I had no idea what I was doing and tried to outsource all of the dev. The next business (Moz) was not actually mine (I was an employee) but I learned a TON by being one of the first employees and watching it go from 5 employees to 80. Next business was a small agency (Intriguing Ideas), that one is still going well and is my primary income source. The most recent one was Making it Click where I took on the role of lead dev (Also did a lot content creation and video production). The best advice I can give is you just need to start and get in the trenches. If you are going to start your own business, you have a HELL of a of work ahead of you. I have had "passive income" (I had a "2 hour workweek" at one point), it was the hardest earned income I have ever had. Totally not as advertised.
a 3rd even though I only said two, have you started thinking about how you want to get listed on a patent?	Hope that helps, sorry for the brief responses and generalities :-/
What language are you learning or planning on learning?	Spanish (although I see a good case for learning Mandarin). I lived in Spain for a while and really enjoyed the pace of life and the people who I met. I am tentatively planning to move to Madrid to double down on this life list item.
What were your dreams when you were a kid/teenager?	They mostly revolved around wanting to start a startup. I ended up doing that a few times (twice unsuccessfully) and now I have new dreams :-)
Hey how long did you live in Spain for?	3 months. Next time I am going to look into better ways of extending my visa.
What are some of the more extrememe things you would like to do, but probably wouldnt be able to in the allotted time?	This isn't part of my Life List but I'd love to be fluent in the world's 5 most popular languages (Mandarin, Spanish, English, Hindi-Urdu, Arabic). This would enable me to speak with over half of the world's population.
Are you gonna write a book about completing this when you are done? Because I'm down to read that. I'm serious.	Yeah I think so. More just to get the thoughts out of my head. Ideally I'd like to write something to help people out with the logistics on how to do something like this themselves. I don't want to get ahead of myself, I need to finish the list first :-)
Are you afraid you'll have 'nothing to live for' after you complete this list? Like a couple who are filming a porno together and lose all excitement about each other in the process?	I have worried about that before (that I will be become too jaded). Then something happens like I fart and find myself giggling like an idiot and I stop worrying. Some problems just stay purely intellectual.
Why do you do these things? Like what is the ultimate purpose? You want to gain recognition for your feats? What is the thing that keeps you going?	This isn't the hollywood answer that you might want to hear but... there is no ultimate purpose to this. I am clueless about life just like everyone.
	I was going through a really rough point in my life and used this mission as a ladder to get myself out. Since then, I haven't stopped.
Hi, this'd be rather atypical question for you to answer, but I'd give it a shot. I'm sort of a college student right now, but in all honesty, I do not enjoy it, nor I see reason to continue doing it.	I can tell you about my experience but it really only applies to my unique path. I am a college dropout and it has never held me back. In fact it moved me forward in that I had a head start with my first career relative to my peers who were still in class. When I was in school, I realized I really wanted to study the Internet. Unfortunately, there is not a degree in that. (well there wasn't at the time) I bounced around degrees for a while (Computer Science, Comparative Lit, Informatics) and eventually just ended up applying to all of the startups in my area (Seattle). I told them I would work for free and bring my own laptop, I just wanted to learn. Good luck man! School might not be the right path for you but do keep looking. Regardless you still have a lot of work ahead of you. Try to make it something you enjoy.
What's the most challenging item that you completely didn't expect to be a challenge?	So far the most unexpected challenge has been getting a six pack (abs not beer ;-p). After losing all of that weight and running a marathon I had wrongly thought that I was disciplined enough to keep the insane workout/diet routine that is required.
(Also, I really enjoy following your journey! Best wishes!)	No excuses on this one. I have formally started this item twice now and failed both times.
What is one thing that you think everyone should do before they die?	It is admittedly cliche but my answer is travel as much as possible.
What was your favorite city to visit?	Barcelona. I love the people, pace, weather, architecture and women there. :-)
What is the task you haven't done, but think will be the hardest to do?	So far the hardest has been getting a six pack. I have tried twice and failed twice. I am also worried about getting a patent as it is time consuming, expensive and unpredictable.
How's life?	Listed? (sorry :-p)
Your thing for Australia was to see the Sydney Opera House...is there really nothing else in Australia that interests you to see? Great Barrier Reef, Uluru etc.	Yeah it sounds like there are definitely a lot more things worth seeing in Australia. I guess my list can't include everything though.
When are you going to make a LifeListed Facebook App?	:-) I am not sure exactly how that would provide value to people.
I now have a bucket list made up of one item: Go on a submarine. (Guess im going to Hawaii!) You said you only found one company that offers submarine rides to the public? What was the name of the company? Edit: With a quick google search i think i found it. Link to www.atlantisadventures.com correct?	200 feet? The part I remember the most wasn't the depth it was the authentic submarine noise :-) Also, going deeper was not necessarily better (heh) As you increase the amount of water between you and the surface, you lose colors. At the bottom, the only color that made it through was blue.
Did you have to sit in the middle the whole time? You couldnt walk about or go near the windows?	No, I was right up against the windows the entire time.
How many crew members were there? And how many other passengers were there? Was it just you? If so was there room for more? Aka, if i went, could i bring at least one other friend?	3 crew, something like 5 other passengers. I think it could hold 20.
what do you plan to do after the list is done? Start a new one?	I don't know yet. I am just focusing on the time before the deadline. See this for fuller answer: Link to www.reddit.com
Also what would you do if you cant make it to one of your destinations? like to the Olympics ?	The idea of that really freaks me out. So far I have gone way out of my way to make sure this hasn't happened (like for all 7 continents before 2012, I got nervous as the year was ending and ended up just flying to Ushuaia to figure out in person how to get to the last continent)
Is there anything you regret putting on the list?	Nothing that I regret exactly but there have been some let downs. I didn't enjoy my time in Moscow and St Petersburg and wasn't inspired by the Forbidden City.
	That said, I am really glad I gave myself a strict deadline. There have been lots of items that I never would have done (expensive, super inconvenient, plain scary) if I hadn't made time a factor with this mission.
what were the harder things to set up ?	The hardest item to set up was the first big one, moving to Buenos Aires. It was only hard because I had never done it before and it was a huge transition. For the first time in my life I ran into problems like how to negotiate rent when you don't speak the language? How do you get a remote visa when shipping is completely unreliable. It turns out they are all very solvable.
	After I learned a lot from that experience, the next hardest one was getting Antarctica. It is easy if you can throw 10k at it but that wasn't an option. I ended up just brute forcing it by moving to Ushuaia and staying until I could figure out how to get on a boat.
Was going to ask you about this. Your site says you made it to the Greatwall but didnt make it to the forbidden city? how did that happen? (both in the same city) And now you're saying you weren't inspired by the Forbidden city? meaning you actually did go?	Yeah sorry that is confusing. I went to the Forbidden City just last week. I haven't written the blog post for it yet or updated the List page. In the meantime I moved to Vietnam so that put me a bit behind on the site.
You came to Australia but not the Great Barrier Reef to Scuba? And the GBR didn't make your natural wonders list? I am just curious to why?	Fair question. I don't really have a good reason. I guess the list can't include everything. Doesn't mean I don't want to see it though :-)
Wow you have been to Singapore but not Malaysia? should have gone. could have saved yourself some flight tickets. Btw i'm from Malaysia, hope you will enjoy our country.	I actually just spent a little under a week in KL. I just haven't written a post on it yet. I liked KL but want to explore more of the country (KL was basically just like any major city but had some interesting additional flare)
Where did you visit in Africa? and how was the experience?	I visited Cairo a couple months before the revolution. Admittedly, I have not done Africa justice in my travels. (yet!)
So basically, you're trying to become the most interesting man in the world?	No, that guy is old. :-p.
How do you afford to do these things? I completely identify with your reasons for starting this as I've been really depressed with my stagnant life as well but because I'm dead broke can't see how I can accomplish anything to save me from this really down head space.	Yeah, I feel you :-/ I don't think the general population understands what it feels like to have absolutely no motivation. Depression, for me, wasn't about being sad, it was about being stagnant and unable to make changes.
	When I started I was broke too (common with people facing depression) so I started with what I could do. My first item was getting a straight razor shave (which cost the same as a normal hair cut). I then moved (slowly) forward from there.
What are you going to do after?	Honestly I haven't figured that out. I am purposely (and maybe even irrationally) hyper-focusing on the time before the deadline. I know that I tend to be a procrastinator so I am using the deadline as a tool to force me to prioritize activities that I would normally never do. I'll figure the rest out later.
	I had an interesting and pivotal moment where I was thinking about contributing to a Roth IRA. It forced me to really think about how seriously I was going to take my deadline. I realize money in that account now is worth more to me than money I add later but adding now also detracts from my ability to complete items in the near future.
	I ended up not contributing and instead using the money to invest in an experience from the list.
Go to law school! It's what all the cool kids are doing.	That sounds very expensive.
How did you see the great wall and not the forbidden city? you can do that all in the same day! also, whens the next time you're hitting asia?	I actually did see both of them while I was in Beijing. I just haven't posted about the Forbidden City yet as it happened about a week ago :-)
	In Asia right now. Greetings from Vietnam.
Do you miss working at SEOmoz	Mostly I miss the people there. I am still good friends with many of them and we talk pretty frequently. They have a super cool team and I am proud of what they have done so far.
	That said, I am more happy with my current lifestyle. I really enjoy traveling and working for myself.
Do you know that New Zealand is not part of Australia?	What? That can't be true!? (I am kidding, I'll take it I have a typo somewhere, where did I mess up?)
Just under "Go to the World’s Greatest Cities" Auckland is under the Australia heading. :P. If you don't want to make a separate heading for each, you could change the heading to Oceania.	Cool thanks for the heads up. I'll update that after this thing has played out.
What if you do not make the deadline?	I am treating that as if it is not an option. The deadline is tattooed on me and it will be REALLY awkward if I fail at this.
Where/what are you up to now? I see "learn an instrument" is still unchecked and I'd love to teach you guitar, ukulele, or piano if we happen too be near each other at some point (and you're interested in one of those instruments).	Wow thanks! I am based in Siagon (Ho Chi Minh City) at the moment. With whatever instrument I pick, I want it to be very portable so out of those three ukulele? (Better yet, harmonica?) Where are you?
What would you say is the best way for a person to start accomplishing things on their own bucket lists?	Start small and local.
	Building momentum and paying for things are the two hardest parts. Luckily you can start tackling the first one without having to solve the second one.
Houston? I could have told you not to go to Houston. Also, you can't become an Eagle Scout after the age of 18.	Yeah, in hindsight Houston wasn't really one of "The World's Greatest Cities". But I didn't know that at the time. :-)
Live in the wilderness for a month? Holy shit, good luck man. How are you planning for that one?	Not to die :-) (I haven't figured out the logistics for that one yet. I actually plan to have that be my last one so I can get some writing done while I am out there.)
One of your rules is that you couldn't add anything to your bucket list. I imagine that could've been really frustrating at times that you thought of something really good. Did you have anything you couldn't add to the list, but really wanted to? What were they?	If that happens, I just do them anyways (assuming I have the resources). Only catch is things on the list take priority over things not on it.
Hey man, fellow Ruby developer here also considering traveling around a bit while I work (looking for remote gigs).	Also, I totally recommend getting out and traveling! Even if you don't have an income while doing it, is is worth doing for the short term.
When you visit Vancouver, would you like a ride to Whistler?	Yeah! :-) That would be great.
Surprised no one else said it but with a name like Danny Dover, you have no need to be depressed. You have either the perfect pornstar name and if all else fails, 80's buddy cop character. Hi, I'm Danny Dover now bend over.	Yeah that was surprising! This is the longest I have ever gone in a public thing without someone making a BenDover joke. :-p Good tagline, I am going to file that away.
After reading this you've inspired me to get off my ass and make my life as wonderful as possible. Thank you	Awesome man, that is the idea! :-)
You said you code and do marketing to pay for everything. I am just curious what your annual income is, even if in general. I work for myself and was curious how much money is needed to do a life list like this.	I make 5 figures. (Sorry I can't be more precise than that. I know clients and potential clients will be reading this and it would hurt my leverage in rate negotiations to give an exact number) Biggest takeaway I have had with money throughout all of this is that it is MUCH easier to cut expenses than to increase income. The latter is reliant on someone else (a boss, client, etc) whereas the former you can do entirely yourself.
	It is also worth noting that I am single and don't have any kids. That means I have much more flexibility over my budget than other people.
I see that Mount Everest (Sagarmatha, as we Nepalis call it) is on your list. If you just want to see it, then you could see it from the Base Camp without actually climbing it. Also, the Lukla airport (no other access to the mountains) is considered the most dangerous airport in the world.	Good advice! Base Camp (or think it might technically be called lower base camp - you know better than I do) is my tentative plan for seeing Everest.
P.S. Recommended read: 'Into Thin Air' by Jon Krakaeur.	Big fan of Krakaeur, I've read most of his work.
No question, just wanna say you are a pretty damn cool inspirational person. Just an awesome idea you have. Makes me want to have my own list. Ya, i know how that sounds reddit and I still typed it!	Thanks man, best of luck with your own list! Let me know if I can support you somehow.

Last updated: 2013-11-11 03:18 UTC
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