The Lion Conquers the Stag

The year was 1975, the setting Manila during martial law, the BVC having been betrayed by their supposed allies in the Surely Sailors Collective Resistance (SSCR) led by that now familiar face of villainy Don Diabolico the world was in turmoil. With all the tension built up the BVC were in need of a beacon of hope, a sign that they could rally around, the guardians of Manila needed a Thrilla. Their prayers were answered by a brash and loud mouthed young man from the United States, Muhammad Ali. The reigning world heavyweight champion of the world, Ali sought to prove his dominance on foreign soil against the imposing Joe Frazier.

Many people are familiar with this fight, the Thrilla in Manila, but not many know the greater implications this fight had for the country and the order of the BVC, then known as the Boisterous Voice of Crustaceans.  With Ali’s victory and a country electrified the BVC were able to channel the positivity into the power they needed to rescue their homeland. It would take many years of tireless work until the Philippines were safe again and even today there are still remnants of these dark times.

The SSCR has continued their wretched existence to this day and act as a perpetual thorn in the side of the righteous order of the BVC. Last year it was a force of SSCR pupils that wrest the torch bearing privileges that come with the winning of the sacred tournament from our beloved champions. Many say that their victory was won by trickery and dirty dealings involving money exchanging hands, but never fear my faithful readers their brief reign has been thwarted.

It is with great pride that I announce to you that the BVC’s own Red Lions have reclaimed their rightful place as leaders of their country. I attended the final showdown between the Lions and the SSCR’s Golden Stags hosted at the hallowed sight where Ali had defeated Frazier and witnessed the brutality and grace of this epic battle. Like the titans who had pummeled each other all those years ago the two sides combated both scoring small victories here and there. Many times the SSCR attempted to use the dark ways they have become known for but our Lions did not rise to their petty challenges but rather marched forward with nobility unto victory.

Afterwards the celebrations could be heard round the entirety of Manila, the sky was illuminated with showers of blinding white and crimson conjured up by some of the older BVC brothers. For the first time on my journey I saw the full strength of the BVC as streets were closed to make way for revelry. Drinks flowed freely and the joy of the team and the community was like an electric current flowing through us all. Paco, Roman, and I have been around the world many times and experienced a myriad of joys but this was one that shall live on in my memory for a great deal.

To finish up I suppose I should inform you all that the Philippines is in the path of a Super Typhoon named Juan. While I have never met this Juan or done anything to upset him he has gone and ruined a trip I was planning on taking to one of the other islands. Very rude of him I must say. I am not too worried though as Paco and I have a current competition going on as to who can hold their breath longer underwater. We have gone for hours and adding a Super Typhoon to the wager will only make it more exciting.

Until next time if Juan decides there will be…

Battles Past and Reinforcements

Over the weekend Paco and I were toured by some of the youth of the BVC around outer Manila. Like a Filipino version of the Da Vinci Code we went from secret holy shrine to random yet meaningful obelisk standing in the middle of roundabouts, a dark and unusual path we found ourselves on. Thousands of people gathered at these places of worship and odes to past glories completely unaware of the powers hidden above, under, and within the tiles they knelt on.

I’m of course speaking about the secret Particle Accelerator that was built as collaboration between the Spanish, Americans, and the Japanese during the Vietnam War. All three countries felt that they owed the Philippines something after all of that colonization business. The accelerator was named Newton’s Tropical Playground or N.T.P. but goes by the nickname the Newt. The churches, obelisks, and holy thing-a-majigs act as detectors and other what-have-you’s. It is actually quite a coincidence that Churches were used as the mask for the detectors because the main objective of the Newt is to try and allocate the so called God particle.

Our brothers in the BVC are aware of the Newt and even help fund some of its research. Having been one of the advisors on the building of the Large Hadron Collider I must say that the Newt is quite a marvelous piece of machinery, a real testament to human ingenuity. The device though is a little old and when it really gets humming I can feel it shake my room at the BVC. While they have yet to create the God particle they have perfected the first instances of Time Travel although they haven’t been able to control it yet. I would offer some advice but I feel humanity must run its own course.

While the touring of the Newt was exciting Paco and I were much more excited about the arrival of one of our oldest friends and mentors Roman Paur. Roman’s real name has been lost to the ages but as he was one of the founding members of the Roman Empire the name Roman just kind of fits. From knife fights to equestrian tricks to a fantastic fiscal mind and a wunderkind with the stock market the Romski is a master of it all. Alas not all of his exploits are the most noble as it was he who trained Don Diabolico as well. It was decades after he had taught me and the Don had wormed his way into Roman’s good graces and Roman always having a soft spot for troubled youths thought he could reform him. Little did he know that he would help to mold the most fiendish mind the world had ever seen, as well as create a man who is my equal in most regards.

So now he is spending a little of his retirement joining Paco and myself. I am hopeful that his trained eye will help me root out some of his former students past and with the information maybe, just maybe, bring his reign of evil to an end. For right now though we are spending our time reminiscing over past exploits over the finest scotches and smoking fat cigars. You know high class stuff.

Oops the floor is a rumbling must be the Newt hard at work again…

Crackity Rages Against the New York Yankees

What in carnations? Wait what do flowers have to do with this? AAAGGGG I’m so mad I can’t even get my exclamatory remarks right. Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble, Rabble.I swear to all things holy and unholy, how in the hell can people take any pride in being a fan of the New York Yankees? We all know the reasons why they win, they sit back and wait for players to prove themselves in the league, become fan favorites and hometown heroes, and then offer them more money than their current team is worth. After they leave the team that made them into the players they trusted and loved, their old fans turn bitter and vengeful, booing and jeering them whenever their name is announced on the loud speaker. But what do the players care, they’re playing for the Yankees while becoming filthily rich. Of course then they are traded when they don’t hit at least 20 homeruns and a batting average of .270, whereupon they still have the pariah stamped on them from betraying the team that made them what they are.

So by now you’ve probably noticed that this post is a little different from my usual musings but we have entered playoff baseball season and I see the Yankees are up to their usual shenanigans. Right now they are playing a humble little team from the Midwest known as the Twins. Now I don’t like to play favorites but any team playing the Yankees is the team I want to win. While the Twins seem to be struggling to produce much offensively their defense in general has been top notch. It’s just too bad that the umpires seem to be on a mission to erase their hard work. Strike after strike is thrown and ball after ball is called. This indignant spectacle has happened twice now, a Yankee should have struck out on a pitch and then hits a lead gaining hit the next pitch.

Oh it is enough to make one weep, but then I remember there is no crying in baseball and of course I run for the liquor cabinet. But should we be really that surprised, this is the classic behavior found in all evil empires. They will do anything to win even if that means reshaping the rules to their own advantage. While this whole ordeal has been rather heartbreaking the worst part of all is the announcing of the games. The dialogue is filled with not so subtle favoritism towards the Yankees, and when they are not massaging the ego of the baseball giant they are filling the listener’s ears with the most senseless and pathetic dribble ever uttered in human speech. All it consists of is taking some popularized sports catchphrase and using it repeatedly at the most inopportune moments to create the illusion that they know something about the sport or about the team facing the Yankees.

Uggh I hardly know what to do with myself. Thankfully I have taken up the cooking duties for the monastery for the weekend. Nothing like the smell of my signature potato soup and fish frying to put me in a better mood. However make sure you are cooking for a large group as a surplus of food can do quite a bit of damage on the hips, they do not lie.

Back to the boiling pot, as you know if you stare hard enough it you can prevent it from boiling no matter how hot the water is, or at least that’s what I think the expression is. Bon Appetite…