Before We Forsake The Subject Of Sturgeons

Some of the recruiting operatives in the chapter meetings this week expressed regret that although Richard Carey seems to have taken photos throughout his travels learning about Sturgeons for his book, The Philosopher Fish, he did not trouble to add any of them to the book itself.  I, like you, wanted to see the 14-foot Beluga Sturgeon stuffed and mounted in a certain Astrakhan palace of piscatorial love, and here is one of the photos I found on Google.  Note the fact that YEARS after swimming her last, this noble Sturgeon has continued to recruit Shaved Monkeys like these to the Cause, from her perch on top of what looks like a couple of music stands.  (Fun fact:  the little girl was NOT recruited on this trip, but her mother was.  Names withheld for security reasons.)

In general, I would like to COMMEND the Russian people for their appreciation of fish in general and Beluga Sturgeons specifically.  Carey states in his book that Vladimir Putin is quite the ecologically-minded fish advocate, and I HOPE HE'S RIGHT; as far as I know, when Vladimir Putin speaks, RUSSIA LISTENS.  (My equivalent Conspiracy Zone Leader in the far east is less than certain.  More on that later.)

CHEESY PHOTO PUBLICITY STUNT OR SINCERE PISCATORIAL LOVE?  Stay tuned...

THE PHILOSOPHER FISH, Or, Don't Panic, Please!

I had NO IDEA that assigning Richard Carey's book about our Sturgeon operatives would cause so much TALK at our chapter meetings, at conspiracy HQ and of course in our own homes and businesses.  I do admit there are reasons for concern, but ladies, PANIC NEVER HELPS!

CLIFFIE'S NOTES ON THIS PROVOCATIVE BOOK:

>> I want you all to notice that where they talk about Sturgeons reading newspapers, on page 149 of the hardcover edition, THEY WERE JUST KIDDING.  If the landscum knew we could read their literature, they would either kill us all off ON THE SPOT or put the few survivors to work WASHING WINDOWS or PUNCHING KEYBOARDS.  Or, in this case, PRODUCING EGGS.

>> I want you to HOLD YOUR NOSES (if you still have noses) and attend closely to the details of the caviar tastings the author attends in the course of this book.  ALL THAT STUFF THEY'RE TELLING YOU ABOUT DIFFERENT KINDS OF CAVIAR IS JUST SOMETHING THEY MADE UP.  If you blindfolded one of these supposed experts or their bowtied camp-followers, I really doubt they could tell one kind from another.  They think it's about quality, freshness, preparation, rarity and so forth.  WE KNOW IT'S ABOUT SPECIES.  If the species doesn't speak to you and draw you in, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN RECRUITED, and that's all there is to it.  If you only eat beluga caviar because it costs the most, you're part of the piscacidal monkey horde, NOT recruit material, and you need to be KILLED.  And EATEN. 

>> Some of the grisliest parts of the book, of course, concern the collection of Sturgeon's eggs.  The quote by Eve Vega, that you cannot UPSET a Sturgeon as you are gutting her and robbing her of her eggs because it RUINS THE FLAVOR (pg 59), was apparently meant QUITE SERIOUSLY.  If they think they are lulling their victims to sleep before delicately removing an unwanted part by what they keep calling a C-section, THEY'RE ON DRUGS.  Still, it only shows how LITTLE they understand what they are doing or how they are affecting us.

>> Look how, in fact, the humans treat us!  The author, on the surface, seems to feel piscatorial love, working his way up from a baseless HORROR of eating any sort of fish to attending caviar-tastings at foo-foo restaurants in New York and commenting on the subtle differences between sevruga and osetra Sturgeon eggs.  In fact, he REVEALS HIS TRUE MOTIVATIONS ALL OVER THE BOOK.  He exclaims over the good work of Sturgeon advocates, but also takes a gee-whiz-that's-too-bad approach to the way his kind used to feed OURS into the boilers of their steamships, by far THE MOST SICKENING PERVERSION IMAGINABLE of the interaction between Naked Apes and their admirers, the fish.  He doesn't really seem to see the problem, and yet he claims to be advocating for us. Even though he doesn't even seem to be sure he LIKES fish.  HEREIN LIES THE PROBLEM OF THIS BOOK.  The guy can't get off the fence.

But for me, THIS IS THE REAL POINT OF THE BOOK:  THE HUMANS KNOW NOTHING ABOUT US.  The Sturgeon population numbers are UNKNOWN to the Shaved Monkeys.  They aren't even really sure how many species there are. They don't know how to stop Sturgeon poaching, illegal trafficking of the Sturgeon's unborn children, or how to restock the rivers without making matters worse. The behaviors, the plans, the motives of our Sturgeon operatives are a COMPLETE MYSTERY to them.  They can't even figure out why a Sturgeon jumps out of the water sometimes.

(Ponder THAT conundrum.  How can a species so CLUELESS have infested the earth so completely?)

 

 

And, of course, this book is much less about Sturgeons than it is about the machinations of shaved monkeys.

 

Never mind, ladies.  The landscum not be left to feed the maggots up on dry land will be KILLED and EATEN by the fish in the rivers and seas.  A few lucky ones will be RECRUITED to our glorious Cause, and enter the water to dwell in wonder and glory forever with US.

And the Sturgeons will manage.  They always do.

Thought For The Day

Another Thought To Keep You Focused On Our Glorious Future

This is actually a young-adult novel of Piscatorial Love which I have yet to read for review (feel free to cut my wake and read it first!  ISBN 9780061914683, part 2 of a series -- follows Forgive My Fins, ISBN 9780061914669, and followed by Just For Fins, ISBN 9780062192158).  I just really liked the title and the implied promise of turning into a fish for always...

Another Security Leak!

 

It's now been confirmed by landscum observers, who have published it HITHER AND YON, that our Electric Eel sisters (see previous Cliffie's Note) know how to MESS THEM UP WORSE by making contact with the BUSINESS END OF THE FISH above the surface of the water (see image above).  I can hope that they misdirect this new information about our operatives by interpreting it as evidence of humanlike INTELLIGENCE -- as if we needed all those extra brain cells interfering with what we ALREADY KNOW -- but they could also see it CLEARLY, for WHAT IT IS, if our luck doesn't hold, and create a dangerous

SECURITY LEAK.

 

CROSS YOUR FINS, ladies.  It could really go either way.

 

 

I Have Rarely Felt This Transcendentally Offended

 

 

 

This REVOLTING item is a no-fooling FRANKENFISH.  Cobbled together from human tissue and that of our Electric Eel sisters, the "Electrostabilis cardium" designed by Agatha Haines -- a 100% Homo sap. artist -- would be used to defibrillate a flagging human heart that has already OUTLIVED ITS USEFULNESS and is trying to shut down, as Dagon intended.

 

I JUST WANT TO VOMIT UNTIL MY TAILFIN COMES OUT MY MOUTH.

ZOMBIE CROC

This spectacular film was released just this year -- February 9th, 2016 -- and WHAT A WOWSER IT IS.  I have never seen anything quite like it, and NEITHER HAVE YOU.  It combines the best features of a stupid movie about Voodoo, a stupid comedy about rednecks, a B horror picture, and A SOLID FISH CONSPIRACY RECRUITING FILM.

The movie stars Brittney Scalf, Apryl Crowell, Crystal Howell, Lafnmn Jones, and Ken Peebles -- and a ZOMBIE CROC!  I'd love to tell you who played which, but the movie for some reason is not yet listed at IMDb and I only know for sure that the protagonist, a female sheriff's deputy, is played by Crystal Howell, and Papa Chicken (THE STAR OF THE SHOW) is played by Ken Peebles.

PLOT SUMMARY:  A remarkably inept sheriff's deputy (Howell) is called to the scene of a suspicious incident while she's trying to learn to hit what she aims at with her police-issued sidearm.  The man who called it in proves to be one of the local drunks, and he's already boozy at 10:30 in the morning when she arrives.  After pointing out irritably that one of his previous calls for help involved a unicorn sighting, she goes out to see whether the screaming he says he heard has any basis in fact -- and runs into her partner, Roscoe, who's hyperventilating after having found a lot of body parts in the leaves nearby.  In the course of the investigation that follows, the deputy encounters Papa Chicken, a sort of straw man or stand-in for the real recruiter in this film: the ZOMBIE CROC.  We soon learn that his recruiting technique involves puffing magic dust in the faces of his recruits, which sends them on psychedelic mind trips into another dimension.  The deputy is led to the edge of the water by a ghostly little boy in a straw hat; he keeps warning her that "It's gonna get us!" but it is only later that she learns that "it" is a ZOMBIE CROC. 

CLIFFIE'S NOTES ON THIS REALLY ODD FILM:

>> They keep saying very specifically that the menace recruiter in this story is a Crocodile, not an Alligator, even though the story takes place in  bayou country where there are plenty of 'gators and very few other members of the order of Crocodilians.  They underline this point by having a guy show up who explains that he's been hunting Alligators AND Crocodiles in these parts for 20 years.  Umm, okay.

>> They keep saying that the Crocodile is 35 feet long.  But once you see the creature's head -- a fearsomely jointed papier-mâché puppet -- you realize it couldn't be much more than about a 10-footer.  To be fair, the head does look more like that of an Australian saltwater croc than that of the Alligators found in our Conspiracy Zone.

>> You are going to LOVE the POV shots of screaming, terrified victims recruits glimpsed through the incredibly long, sharp teeth of the recruiter, as if the operative's eyes were in the back of her throat.  Cool!

>> You are also going to love the way this particular Crocodile locomotes.  Throughout the film the sheriff's deputy fails to notice when someone is coming up behind her, crunching loudly through the ankle-deep autumn leaves that are everywhere in every scene.  (In one scene, the guy crunching through the leaves is Papa Chicken, preparing to brain her with a shovel.)  But this particular Crocodile moves SOUNDLESSLY through those same leaves.  We learn why during the party scene, when we get a glimpse of the creature's tail, suspended a couple of feet above the ground -- and then later, when the sales pitch comes, the croc descends from above on a screaming woman sitting in a lawn chair.  WOW!  THIS CROC CAN FLY!

>> I'm puzzled at the role of the Crocodile hunter, who apparently has the instrument needed to end all attempts by the croc to eat, I mean recruit, the rednecks.  But he never uses it himself and is strikingly passive-aggressive in passing that information on to someone who does want to use it.  WHOSE SIDE IS HE ON?  Ours, I suspect, but..?

>> I'm far more puzzled at the role of the scientific team in the proceedings.  Who called them in?  What are they trying to accomplish?  And where do they think they are?  The leader of the expedition, a blonde twentysomething research scientist, wears a pith helmet and safari jacket, and she's the only one who can communicate with her assistant, a guy in a dashiki and beanie who only seems to speak some unidentified African language.  They're more useless than the two sheriff's deputies, or the sheriff himself, who's dead drunk throughout the story.

>> What I want you to notice is that the only one on two legs who really appears to know what's going on is Papa Chicken.  I think that tells us everything we need to know about who this movie is trying to speak to.  US!

See it.  I can't believe you won't like it.

Someday, Ladies, This Will Be You!

There is NO SENSATION TO COMPARE with finally escaping your Shaved Monkey body and entering the water for good.  I thought I knew what to expect when it happened to me.  I WAS SO WRONG.

 

This little movie is from the horror film Piranha 3-D, and I really fail to understand why the landscum insist on framing this experience of BLESSED FREEDOM with something -- you know -- UNPLEASANT.  Well, all I can say is that if we succeed in recruiting them, those lucky monkeys will learn how wrong that is.  THE OTHERS WILL PROBABLY NEVER GET IT.

MAD MAX: FURY ROAD

Well,  MOST of us have seen this 2015 release by now and there's NOT A LOT TO ADD.  The Conspiracy Zone chapter meetings show we are very much in agreement about what this movie says about the Naked Apes.  But here are a few points that interest me:


CLIFFIE'S NOTES ON MAD MAX: FURY ROAD


>> The movie is hardly about Max at all!  He is drowned out completely by the wild, testosterone-fuelled POSTURING of males more alpha than Max, and those who WANT to be more alpha than he is.  Max -- not really the protagonist of the story, just a guy along for the ride -- is no more than a plucky survivor type afflicted with auditory and visual hallucinations of people he thinks he ought to have saved from some unknown menace.  SAVED FOR WHAT?  ANOTHER DAY IN THIS HIDEOUS WORLD?  A trackless desert travelled by thyroidal funnycars full of maniac killers?   The message may be that Max is a hero, not because of his incredible fighting chops, but because he doesn't want to be part of this game at all. 


>> I can hardly blame him.  This is what this world looks like:

I'd be screaming too if I had to live there.


>> One wonders how this male vs. female battle of the clans is likely to come out.  The matrilineal tribes from the Green Place are certainly painted as better than the alternative.  But they still ride around on motorcycles, shooting at their enemies (almost everyone) who fall into the traps they set for them.  At least they look relatively healthy; you can't say that for a lot of the characters in this story.


>> That alternative -- the Citadel, as they call the aerie of Immortan Joe (shown above) -- is where women go to be EXPLOITED and the men hope they can get to the top -- THE TOP OF WHAT, YOU ASK?  They want to be seated at the right hand of good old Joe, their dictator for life, who makes Dennis Hopper in Waterworld look pretty normal and reasonable.  There's apparently not much else to do at the Citadel but kowtow to Joe -- everyone looks like they're on the point of collapse.  Even their would-be war hero, Nux, takes Max along to the battle because he needs a source of constant blood transfusions.  Yeah, he's one of their top-flight soldiers! 


>> If you look out the window you can see they are, in fact, headed in this direction, AND IT'S UP TO US TO SAVE THEM. 


And here's the thing:  THEY APPEAR TO KNOW THAT, TOO.  Here's a quote from Joe, who has a monopoly on all the water in the desert:

"Do not, my friends, become addicted to water.  It'll take hold of you and you will resent its absence."

Is he freaking serious?  That's like being addicted to oxygen.   

So if you think about it, the real heroes of this story are US.  The fish.  Come with us and we'll lead you into the water, where you will dwell in wonder and glory forever.