Travel Plans

BLACK VATICAN (VP) - The Black Pope will soon hit the road for the 3800 mile odyssey that is the annual pilgrimage to the unHoly Lands (Orange County, California). Reading from a prepared statement today, a Black Vatican spokesman said that His Sinfulness is excited to see Raksha and his relatives (especially the dark niece, who now has about 10 teeth), but he is less than thrilled with the snowfall of recent days. His Sinfulness insists that despite this latest weather attack by Rome he will depart on Saturday, regardless of the conditions, using all the might of the Ministry if necessary.


Vatican Staffers preparing the Papal Dog Sled

Sources close to the Sable Pontiff say that he is so irritated by the time lost to travel and weather, he has ordered a "temporary troop surge" in the R&D department to speed completion of his pet project, the Cybernetic Afterlife Vessel. When asked about the manpower reallocation at his daily press briefing, the Dark Primate spoke candidly about the decision. "This is not the first time those clowns in Rome have tried to use snow to impede the smooth functioning of the Black Vatican. This temporary troop surge may mean that some personnel will get less time to rest between deployments, but until that Star Trek-style transporter I ordered is completed, the jump packs on my CAV are the best hope for making these weather attacks obsolete. Of course, once the interstellar models are complete, I'll no longer have a need for any form of travel on this puny hu-man planet..."

At this point, the Black Pope began to stare off into the distance and mutter to himself. As he was led away by his specially chosen honor guard of 6 foot tall redheaded BCPs, he shook his fist and was heard to say, "Someday, Benedict... you think you're so damn special with your little bullet-proof car..."

Regularly scheduled Black Vatican missives will be suspended until HSBP can get to a secure internet connection - possibly until December 27th or even later. Until then, His Sinfulness wishes all of his Flock happy hollowdaze, and an infernal new year!

The Battle Within

Darth Furious speaks...


To bask in the warmth and order of light, or embrace the chill chaos of darkness; each must choose. Not once, but daily, in a million little decisions that all tally upon the soul. The path of least resistance - the path taken by most - is a smudged line that wavers where shadow and brilliance merge. A step into the light, two into darkness, a remorseful dash back into the light - a cycle of weak indecision that yields a dull, predictable sine wave of mediocrity. It is the rare few who stride unflinchingly into radiance, and even fewer who delve the deepest reaches of the blackness within. Most give in to that hazy grey, settling the internal combat with a sort of bland, ethical d├ętente.


Some, however, fight the battle still...







There is no emotion;
there is peace.
There is no ignorance;
there is knowledge.
There is no passion;
there is serenity.
There is no death;
there is the Force.




Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me.





Peace over anger.
Honor over hate.
Strength over fear.





Do not let your anger blind you.
Rather, let it consume you
and in the purity of your hatred
you will find the deaths of your enemies.

Adductor Longus



Eventually, everyone writes a check that their body just can't cash...

Do you know where your adductor longus is? Its origin is the anterior surface of the body of the pubis, just lateral to the pubic symphysis, and its insertion is on the middle third of the linea aspera, between the more medial adductor magnus and brevis insertions, and the more lateral origin of the vastus medialis.

In other words, it's in your inner thigh. I discovered mine only just recently, when it tried to tear itself free and leap from my body during a particularly spirited game of handball doubles. Most unpleasant, that.

Due to my usual hyper-competitiveness and the power of my boundless rage, I decided to continue playing despite the injury... for another 90 minutes. Though not as stupid as the time I went to the Estrella War with a torn calf muscle, it does rank in my top twenty-five list of personal asshattery. Maybe number seventeen - just ahead of the night I tried to drink Mezcal in Baja with the locals, and just behind the the time I went skateboarding on dirt without helmet, pads, or even a shirt (incidentally, we didn't have dirtboards back then...).

I am out of action for the nonce, but fear not - I am on a strict regimen of ibuprofen, amaretto sours, and whining - I will soon be back on the court. Until then, be on the look-out for a very angry, hobbling and cursing sable pontiff, and steer clear - I am particularly irritated by the able-bodied right now. If trapped in my path, it's best to affect a limp until I have passed...