That idiot play thing happened again. I won't attempt to explain it here. here? I uploaded the script some time ago, but it has since been modified and sincer been forgotten by me which file is the most recent so I'll have to look into that before I upload and link to it again. Find that if I let you.

This time there was an admission price, no excused classes and no promise of food afterwards. On a completely unrelated topic, there were far less people. Howevah, of those who were there, it may be suggested that a few of them weren't friends of anyone related to me, so I suppose that's remotely unbad. This is the advertisement image that shew up in a few places. It really is miracle-ish that anyone came. I don't remember how the price was decided on or who thought it would be a good idea to encourage the presence of young children. I wrote the thing myself and struggle to comprehend / find meaning in a lot of it

I confess that I actually have very little idea of what precisely this Edge No Boundaries thing is. Supposedly some visible benefit comes with being part of it. Supposedly this benefit is not revoked when you incorporate its logo into projectile armaments.

According to legend, a competent photographer was present, created some nice photographs, and then copied them onto a compact-disc which was passed around to certain people. I was not one of them, so only my own badly lit, blendy pictures are on this page. Like most others.

I aquired some pictures of one of the less interesting scenes, but I left the usb cable for the camera inside the spaceplace. The story for why I had it in there at all is a long one if you count all the excusatory comments I'd have to make, so let's not bother with it. Luckily, The Space is the sort of... space in which a forgotten object would be mistaken for intentional scenery, so that I wrapped it around a lamp will only ensure its safety.

All that for $1.99? Confess, NASA! What are you really doing with our taxmoney!
I'm just worried someone will show up with a twenty dollar bill and clean the place out.

Despite the U in usb, the camera's port is small in size, so it will accept naught but its own plugginer. I could not substitute the cord for, say, the scanner, which is a shame, because not three minutes ago (it was rather more like four) I stepped on it, breaking it, and thus fulfilling some sort of prophecy. The glass part which separates the scanee from the thing scanning it you might assume would be pretty easy to replace, that glass being made of glass. I would too. However, the thing that felled my last scanner was even easier to fix, and that never happened either. So. That's a mouse, a keyboard, a printer, a monitor and a scanner this year. Clearly, a great controlling force desires for me to follow those who came before me and abandon my trivial website to instead spend my days unlocking things in many Playstation 2 games.

I have been informed that The Space is owned whole or in part by Steven Q Rogers, a member of a musical gang called Mighty Purple.

It's always a good sign when the PEZ rocketship is not the tackiest thing in the room.
I certainly hope so.

The Space's performance area has been described to me as a 'listening room.'
Hey, look at that. Wow! Donkey Kong *and* Space Invaders marquee labels?!
That means don't try and do anything that you want your audience to be able to see.

As I said, for much of the time I was writing this page my camera was on a hiatus of sorts. These pictures are from the other time I went to space, to see the person who was to be our narrator this time perform a performance non-narratorial in nature.


I speak of the one on the right, eating his microphone, Kenyon Adams, with special guest Wilford Brimley (left).

I assumed that this one called Kenyon must have some degree of local popularity, for he had his very own poster advertising the show. Sure, I did too, but I know who made mine.
The narrator from the other time, whom I don't have any pictures of, and whose name I cannot recall probably doesn't know about, or at least doesn't read this website, so for now I won't worry with that subject.


This is Reverend Robert Bunny James the two. He anticipates my jokes and often knows of better ones. Ordinarily, I would fear, and even plot against such a person, but after seeing the good reverend dressed to resemble the pirate-hattled character from the pictures I made, I realize that rather than carry out revenge I should await it.

Hmmm. He doesn't have direct vision out of one eye (not explaining how I was able to take a picture like this, for it's the other one). I likely could have gotten away with insisting on an eyepatch too.

Also in attendance, another musician of the evening, KJ Denhert, whose name I know from the poster which she has conveniently chosen to sit in front of. She, as far as I know, can see properly with both eyes and was not in the play.


Even a big celebrity like the Maytag Repairman was there. I didn't have time to focus the camera (it's nice to have that excuse for once) because he might panic and run away if he thought he'd been recognized and his faked death plot found out. He was not in the play either.


The Bat-Man type person on the left, Michael Gaetano, was in the play the first time it happened. He was not in it this time. Nor the time between this time and that time. Those other people were not in it any of the times. This is actually a picture of a completely different play with a higher budget and an actual stage. Steve Martin also was not in my play, but he wasn't in their play, either.


This person was in the Jope play.


This person was not. Shelton has actually reigned for some time. However, he was then only the king of the ball he's holding in this picture, which my sources inform me is orange. He wants to branch out into other colors. You might wonder why a king would seek election. The current monarach of the colored balls, Charles E. Cheese is a tyrant with many legions at his command. Shelton knows that the only way to offer effective opposition is gain the support of the people. And he does this by writing poetry:


This is one of Shelton's classic works, from a time before I knew how to use the camera properly. Less so than now. At the time, I was not aware what he aspired to be king of. Now I know. And knowing is half the battle.


I have exited the building at this point. Here's that Michael again having a secret conversation with the person who inherited his role, who has signed my guestbook almost as many times as I have. I had full access to that room and could have listened in or even participated, but that wouldn't have made for quite so sinister a picture.

This next part I made after retrieving the usb cable for the camera, just because I don't feel like editing the previous part anymore.


At this very moment, on a supposedly haunted ship somewhere, a masked villain is catching and... I presume doing something terrible to Scooby Doo, who had planned to hide in this thing.


The purple and mighty ones tried to keep it a secret, but ultimately failed to keep me from finding out about their plans to build a robot clown.


For a dark and sinister purpose which no one ever fully understood, it was decided that we should have many Jujubes present. However, as shocking as it may seem, few stores carry the much beloved waxy bits of punishment. From an anonymous tip given by Edwin Colone, the actor who played Jope, the character who hates them the most, we were able to track down the delinquent candy (likely hiding from Naznazbes) to Richlin's Something or Other. It smelled like rubber. I don't know if that was due to all the automobile parts for sale, or the ingredients in 11 boxes of Jujubes (all of which we purchased) being in such close proximity to... apparently every other candy I would, under normal circumstances, never buy. I only feel bad about causing the riot which inevitably broke out when the regular customers who usually buy the Jujubes came across the crater-like gap between the Crows and the MiKE and IKE.

The Crazy Person responsible for the play happening and also the sinister plot to enslave the Jujubes does much management for the Open End Theatre, so we borrowed actors from there. The Open End Theatre is a non-profit (I never asked if this was intentional or not) performing group who puts on shows about real life issues and ask the audience to choose one of the multiple endings. I suppose that's great and all, but you know what would be even better? Multiple middles. They start and end the same way, but some variable irrelevant event occurs halfway through. Or best of all, multiple beginnings. Non matter where you come from or what choices you make, you'll always end up in the same place. A wooden box underground. Of the three Open-ended theatrelings I've heard about, one's about people getting shot, one's about people getting venereal diseases and one's about people getting abortions. I think those actually end up in garbage cans or toilets, but that's beside the point. 'Ey, two out of three? The point is, not enough people hate me.


As part of a pre-show ritual, the Open-End Theatre members bow before their master Grinka, the sacred salamander. The cruel reptilian's ancestry long having lost its sorcerial capabilities, Grinka's sole power is the loyalty of its followers. Realizing that they've been being bossed around by a four inch lizard, Michellle McMyshka advocates rebellion.


Uh-oh. Now they're mad. Only Quentin pleads for the life of the infidel. But the pleading was in vain. The rebel was put to death soon afterwards.

In a scene from the nameless play about guns and alcohol, Patricia and Jason attempt to enjoy a romantic evening with... guns and alcohol. If I had gotten a picture from a few moments later in which the gun is present, I could give you a more interesting caption. Just because they were there, these two were in the play that I had something to do with. Quentin Ferris to left, with pants on loan from Vitalstatistix, chieftain of a Gaulish village I know so well, is still anguished from the brutality exhibited ealier, and not left is Lauren Rumi, who apparently doesn't realize there's water in that bottle.


I know not when or where this picture was taken, nor why they agreed to be in it. The title baffles me. Foist of all, it's in comic sans, the font I only use when I quote someone who bothers me. Also, Jope is not here, and the other jopes indicated by the plural do not exist, as this is Jope the name, and not jope the vaguely defined insult. The one person here who is not to appear elsewhere on the page is called Joell Teron. That first half is pronounced Joe-el. Why would I make that up? He is one of the survivors of Krypton; such is not a thing to joke about.


This is pretty fancy for us. Certain set qualities came about because of some pictures I made without thinking that someone would actually try and replicate them. Scanning them would be pointless, not to mention impossible. Unfortunately, despite what you might have gathered from the photographs I've shown, inhuman mutants were not available to portray the characters, and I'd never be able to remember all the lines. Still, we kept the skateboard around just in case Denver the Last Dinosaur decided to show up.


Let's face it, I am.

Cue-Entin here appears to still be suffering, but it is not due to the memory of McMyshka, nor the knocking over of that prop window and/or cabinet thing, (for it was made of styrofoam or something) or even the sudden realization that he is wearing my bathrobe. At this moment, the character Greegorp is recalling a dream about Muppet Babies. Hilarious, I know.


Here, lurking behind numerous empty chairs (except for the one with the lacross weapon on it) and a piano we weren't allowed to move is either my not-yet-estranged brother Ianopolis as Doctor Ilpo Inchwelm, or The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (as itself). The lighting wasn't so good. At least as far as the focused, nonrainbow variety is regarded.


In this picture, you may also not see Edvyn being as Jope again. Inchwelm, or Bigfoot robbing a convenience store, is wearing a thing called a krenelin which is neither spelled, nor meant to be worn that way (indeed "crinoline" looks like the sort of thing I've been advised to "ask [my] doctor about").


Senator Kathleen Kneisel, whom you may know as Yeep, appears and promptly discovers where all the sufficient light was hiding. Also, Topaglieh dutifully props up the fallen window/cabinet thing, giving our set an oft-found to be lacking Weekend at Bernie's effect.


Originally the plan was to mark the Jope actor's fake-bald-object so as to not so obviously have been designed for a lighter pigmented person. This didn't happen because this is the sort of show where you can get away with not doing something like that. Although Edvin is baldish anyway, there needed to be some material present to attach the fake-nail to. The fake nail was there to appear as if it was holding in the feather. The fake nail is not there now because it fell off before the show began. However, the feather remained.

There was a party for the parties involved afterwards. It was at the house of someone not me, the sort place where I could not help but feel contempt for the owners due to certain things that they had placed in it of their own free will.

The owners (henceforth arbitraily referred to as the Neccowafers) were not present. Now I've said it again. The house was being tended to in their absense by our director/set designer/caterer/beastmaster who laughed in the face of the laughtrack of edutainmental situation comedies everywhere by proposing to hold the party there. I imagine the Neccowafers decreed this post necessary to prevent neighborhood ruffians from invading and having a party there.

There were television sets positioned so that you needn't spend all your time facing in one direction and just in case you don't like Diet Pepsi, a water dispenser. No, not a sink (although there were several of those), but one of those plug it in and affix a big blue-tinted water bottle to it and take a paper cup from the dispenser please type things you'd see in an office building. I don't even know where one would go to buy those. I guess the owners (henceforth arbitrarily referred to as the Neccowafers) saw two feet of empty space and then remembered that these things exist and so decided to have one put there. They surely thought a fourth television set in the immediate vicinity would look tacky.


This was the only picture I took because I had made so many pictures earlier in the day and the other time I went to the house was before the camera's wire thing was found. Right. This display communicates "speak no evil, see no evil, hear no evil." I don't know what that's supposed to mean nor why it must always be represented by monkeys. I doubt the Neccowafers who bought that thing no why, either. They probably just like monkeys. I hate monkeys.

Also within view, the Friends trivia game. I've never watched or wanted to watch Friends, and have been able to despise it solely based on its popularity and the non-merit of the folks who made it popular. Surely, they can't all be bad, but I fail to convince me that those not bad could make a game out of memorizing the trivial bits.
Outside were noise speakers who spoke the same noise as the inside ones did. 'Ey, if I'm going outside, chances are it's to get away from something inside. That's one less thing I might get away from.
Dwelling inside refrigeration unit was every possible object which got itself waved down the Food and Drug Administration conveyor belt one late Friday evening to acquire an “Atkins Approved” logo for itself. Ehhh! It's not the carbohydrates in the ice cream that are making you think you're fat. It's the ice cream.

Oh, oh! A Nintendo Gamecube. While it's true I haven't not been angry at a Nintendo product since 1996, I will concede that the company has many capable developers making games for its systems. That these exact same developers are also making the exact same games for the competitors really ought to mean something, but since I don't want to play any of them, for the purposes of this page it won't. However, at this place there was only one game. And it was The Sims. And I wanted to die. I want to believe the Neccowafers took the rest of the games with them on their sabbatical from the simple life, but that would mean they forgot their Cube, and then I think they're morons all over again.

I didn't think our party (a word which sounds dumber to me every time I type it) truly necessary, but it's been a long time since I've expected necessary. My problem is that, as a verb, I don't know what party means. This is regretful, for the non-singers yet also non-rappers Beastie Boys spent many years fighting for my right to do it. They began their campaign by mockingly pledging to have, quote, "soda and pie." To me, that's a good party. Even still, I can consume things detrimental to my well being for only for so long if it is my sole activity. There was a swimming pool, in use by others, but I dared not participate. It has long been the custom to wear minimal clothings while doing such things, but I knew I could not give me consent, so I didn't dare suggest it. No one has seen the lower half of my leg and leg for many years, and I suspect they have long since departed. It's hard enough to retain each corresponding foot with this as a secret. And let us not even discuss mia arma or the mass which keeps them from falling off. I would have been wet in the bluish water-related substance wearing my present clothing, but then afterwards I would have been wet outside of the bluish water-related substance wearing my present clothing. That seemed an unpleasant, longwinded and redundant scenario.
A game of Cranium was eventually proposed, but did not find itself initiated until 2 am, a good 2 hours, I'd say, after it should have ended.

But oh, I do so love Cranium. Where else can I illustrate "glue" with my eyes closed, sculpt the concept of "draw" using purple clay, and act out the legendary wit, charm, and undeniable character of Jaqueline Onassis all in one game? But more on this some other time. I shall have my revenge. I would right here, because I love nothing if not to digress, but I actually have a Cranium box here that I can take pictures of, and that means I have to, and I don't feel like doing that right just meow.
The card that really set me up for failure was one which demanded that I, through foolish actions and unfortunate speech, make another person say "saved by the bell." Now, what I should have done, knowing that the guesser does not watch much television, and also us having just performed a play in which someone's life is endangered by the bell, is refer to that scene not going properly, which wouldn't have been so far from the truth. Instead, all I could think about was the time I watched Celebrity Boxing, and Dustin Diamond, being borne in 1977 and not likely even alive when his oppenent's show was on, clobbered and taunted some other guy in a matchup far more entertaining than the only ones I can find pictures of on the internet. Right. So I was thinking of that. "He was a nerd, right? (I agreed with me) You (my thoughts pretend they're coming from someone else) should ask if someone needs help with their homework. No, not that kind of nerd, you fool! The kind of nerd that's always trying to be funny and failing and being laughed at for other things. The kind of nerd you used to be. They kind of nerd you still are. The kind of nerd that would appreciate an opportunity to impersonate Dustin Diamond in a game of Cranium."

Oh, excuse me. Am I boring you? I'm boring me, so I'll stop.

I don't believe, if it is at all, that the performance is being repeated again until November. Hopefully by then a petition to prevent such a thing will have been circulated and signed many times. That won't make a difference (does it ever?) but it will be nice to know that people are thinking of me.


Some people, anyway.