How big are your knees? A: Average B: Large C: Huge D: So big I can hardly walk
How often do you repeat your sentences? A: Never B: Occasionally C: Frequently D: All the time… All the time…
What sized dogs do you like? A: Small B: Medium C: Large D: Frighteningly Huge
What would be your favoured form of accoutrement? A: A nice pair of shoes B: A battered, wide-brimed hat C: Baggy trousers with plenty of knee room D: A creepy staff with a skeletal hand on the top
Where is the Master? A: Who? B: Dead C: Dead, but not as we know death D: The Master is Away
How often do you often hear an annoying, jangling, repetitive musical phrase? A: Never B: Occasionly C: Constantly, and it’s driving me nuts! D: Constantly, for such is the will of the Master
SCORING Mostly As: You are not Torgo. Mostly Bs: You are not Torgo. Yet. Mostly Cs: You might be Torgo. Mostly Ds: You should be looking after the place while the Master is Away! Not taking online tests!
On Monday September 16th 2024 at approximately 5:20pm I was a passenger on a number 41 bus from Elizabeth Quay bus station to Bayswater railway station. I was seated on the right hand side of the bus, in the fifth seat from the back (which is my habitual seat). The bus was relatively full, but there were a number of seats vacant, and no one was sitting next to me.
From behind me I heard a male voice say “Give me your bag”. The voice was insistent, but the volume was low – I initially thought it was someone not wanting to be overheard while speaking into a phone. “Give me your bag” and/or “Give me your fucking bag” were repeated two or three times total, followed by “Give me your bag or I’ll punch you”, which made me realise that it was unlikely to be someone talking on a phone.
This was followed by the sounds of a brief scuffle, including a yelp in a female voice, and an individual in a camouflage pattern hoodie (Individual 1) passed my seat at speed, carrying a woman’s handbag. He was followed by a young man in a baseball cap (Individual 2). Both men reached the rear door of the bus, where they were confronted by several other passengers, at least one woman (not the bag’s owner) loudly demanding that they give the bag back.
I do not recall exactly when the bus stopped in relation to these events, but by this point it was stationary at the Lord St After Bulwer St stop. Individual 2 grabbed the window-smashing hammer from above the door, I believe in an attempt to operate the emergency exit release. By now I had risen to my feet and was taking photographs with my phone.
The rear door of the bus then opened and the two individuals fled, running northeast along Lord Street and turning left onto either Windsor or Lincoln Streets.
A young woman (who I believe to have been accompanying the owner of the bag) made an attempt to follow the two individuals, but was dissuaded by other passengers on the basis that she would be putting herself at risk of violence. There was a fair amount of discussion between the passengers, the driver and another Transport employee who was present having been riding in the front seat to the left of the driver. I informed this employee that I had a clear photograph of Individual 2, but he indicated that the camera at the front of the bus would have captured both of them.
It was around this point that individual 2 appeared back around the corner, carrying the bag. He approached the bus, holding the bag out, placed it on the curb about 30 metres from the bus, then fled back around the corner. A passenger retrieved the bag and bought it back to the bus, where the owner checked it an confirmed that nothing seemed to be missing.
I obtained the mobile number of the bag’s owner and SMSed her the one photograph that clearly captured the face of Individual 2. She and her friend then left the bus, and the driver continued on the route.
I took a total of four photographs, one of which clearly shows the face of Individual 2, and shows him (I believe) attempting to operate the emergency exit button on the door.
Wyrms resemble muscular snakes about two metres long with trilateral body symmetry. They have three nostrils on top of their heads, three eyes, three mouths (although two are vestigial) and three finger like organs at the end of their tails. They have a substantially higher level of metaphysical (psionic) potential than humans.
Making things weirder they can shape-shift at will into a humanoid form that could probably pass as human on a dark night. When they shift they start out completely hairless, with no toe or finger nails, and with fish-belly pale skin and lips. Hair (including eyebrows and eyelashes) and nails grow in at a normal rate, but their skin (including their lips) darkens rapidly based on how much UV exposure they get. A humanoid Wyrm can jump three places on the Monk Skin Tone Scale in the course of one sunny day.
Wyrms in humanoid form have no external genitals, and no secondary sexual characteristics. Their skeletons are completely different to those of humans, resulting in their movement appearing ‘wrong’ to humans. A Wyrm visiting Earth typically uses a combination of prosthetics, makeup, specialised movement training and a lot of sunscreen to blend in.
The origin of the wyrm shape-shifting ability is disputed. Most researchers consider it to have been present prior to the Cataclysm (c4,800 BCE), but a vocal minority theorise that it developed as a mutation in the post-Cataclysm environment. A further minority theory posits that it was created via genetic engineering during the wars that led up to the Cataclysm.
Conversely a number of stories and folktales that can be dated back as far as 1,300 BCE claim that shape-shifting was taught to the Wyrms by a race of “pig-bats”, although no information is provided on exactly what a pig-bat may be. It has been pointed out that the phrase “pig that is like a bat” in ancient Aɞrwɓ̥1 (a post-Cataclysm language spoken on the Northern Continent) is pronounced similarly to another phrase that can be interpreted as “dimensional exile”, although this is considered nothing more than a coincidence by most linguists and historians.
Herein follows a list of strange and random phrases that my brain has accumulated from sources both common and obscure over the many years it has been operating in this, the most irritating of all worlds.
At any given time it’s a fair bet that at least one of these rubrics is bouncing around inside my skull, getting in the way of my pretense of being any kind of normal or functional human being (and if it’s not one of these it’s likely a quote from The Simpsons).
Shall we duel with death machines?
That’s as may be, but it’s still a frog.
God. It is Danzig!
Stick. Your ass. Up. A pole. Today!
Dockside Bars?
GO you big red fire engine!
I HATE CWAZY PEOPLE!
May I beg the thanks of Birmingham?
As a goat releases milk!
DROOM! DROOM! DROOM! DROOM!
Bread is good for you.
Oh, what a simply ghastly place!
Teenagers with automatic weapons and boundless love.
Lamb-in-a-basket!
Tanned Legs.
Soup! Soup! Soup! Soup!
Why do you do it? POWAH!
Tabouleh no good for me!
It’d my personal hell, where I roast in my shell,
Like a TIGHA!
I just didn’t think you were ready!
He promised me marriage!
My hypothesis is gone to the devil!
Excuse me ladies. You’re scantily clad and have nothing to do with the narrative. Therefore it’s sexist.
Morgan Morgan founded Morgantown.
Minnehaha has been checking her urine!
You. Accuse. Me?
Bloody wolves chasing me through some blue inferno!
Corn! Rich! Luscious! Nauseating Corn!
Predator bird!
I’m MC Horse and I’m here to say, my two main lines are rope and hay.
Why would a cephalopod have a skeleton?
I’m a horse, I’m a horse, I’m a grumpy old horse.
Doom! Doom! Take us all!
Obviously!
GHOST!!!!!! GHOST!!!!!! GHOST!!!!!! .?
Give me liberty or give me death or feed me!
There are many excellent skin products you can use.
The Chihuahua dogs got me! Which is to say that my very first effort to do some maintenance and upgrades has resulted in the Wyrmlog being inaccessible for large chunks of the last few days.
That particular problem has been dealt with. Please expect more problems to follow.
I’m warming up to making some much needed fixes and upgrades to the old Wyrmlog, so don’t be too alarmed if it suddenly vanishes, looks weird, or turns into a chihuahua dog appreciation site.
One of the strangest known sapient species of Local Probability are the beings known as Goatsuckers or (by those who find the name undignified or unpleasant) Caprisugiformes.
The body of a goatsucker resembles a sucker from an octopus or squid’s tentacle, made of a firm, white jelly, standing about a metre tall. A tail of coarse white hair, somewhat similar in form to that of a horse, extends from one side of the body, and a flexible neck of what appears to be cartilage extends from the opposite side. On the end of the neck is a head of what appears to be bone, strongly resembling an elongated goat skull with horns and prominent teeth. A blue glow is present in the eye sockets.
Goatsuckers possess prodigious metaphysical abilities, casually performing feats of telepathy and telekinesis that would tax the abilities of even the most talented practitioners of other species. While the upper limits of their abilities are unknown there is a famous instance of a single goatsucker telekinetically demolishing a four story brick building and neatly stacking its sorted components 350 metres away in under ten seconds, while apparently expending no particular effort to do so. Performing such a task in such a short period is considered impossible for even a skilled and practiced team of non-goatsucker Metaphysicians, let alone a single practitioner.
The biology and society of the goatsuckers is little known as they typically respond to enquiries about such matters with polite but firm refusal. They are not known to eat or drink and do not seem to possess the anatomy to do either. They do not appear to breathe, although some form of passive respiration cannot be ruled out. They do not possess organs of speech, but easily communicate via telepathy or telekinetic sound production. It is unknown if they are vulnerable to any weapons, as all known attempts to harm a goatsucker have been met with the instantaneous deployment of ludicrously powerful telekinetic shields.
Goatsuckers do not appear to have gender, or even a concept of gender – although some have adopted gendered pronouns to ease interaction with gendered species. The closest they seem to come to a concept of personal names is the use of adjectives – when asked for a name a goatsucker may reply with something like ‘fearsome’, ‘maximum’, ‘intelligent’ or ‘green’. This has lead to the practice of formally referring to individuals as “The [adjective] Goatsucker”, a practice the species seems to be entirely content with.
Their home world – generally referred to simply as ‘Goatsucker’ – is an arid planet of plains, deserts and salt flats with one small, saline sea. The goatsuckers live in tunnel complexes, but the social structure – if any – of these settlements is completely unknown.
Despite their overall strangeness and frankly terrifying levels of metaphysical power the goatsuckers are seen as a benign and on occasion even helpful species. There is not a single record of hostile action from a goatsucker, and all occasions of attempted harm against them have been instantly and calmly neutralised, with no attempt at retaliation. A number of goatsuckers have joined the Metaphysicians Guild, and have served on various government and private bodies throughout Local Probability, although their reasons for doing so remain completely unknown.