Kipper's ramblings and build
Deep in Kipper-Lair, somewhere under the North Sea, a small sack of beans had arrived. Evil Kipper had put down his own gallon mug and cat, brushed the cigarette ash from the keyboard, got the grimy bits from under the plastic cover on his Wacom, and was now lying on his purple leather sheeted gothic 4 poster bed (fashioned from railway sleepers), with eyes closed in contemplation of the ensuing battle of minds, logic, and template abuse.
His minions stood by his bed, fanning him with the pages of un-read Adobe manuals, and watch the pulsing veins throb on his forehead (the only signs of life while he is transfixed in his beer fuelled meditation). An iron door opens in the wall of the chamber and through it a monk like figure dressed in old fishing nets, enters. Still fanning, the attendants turn, and see 'Fish-Monk', pull a viking horn from under his garb, raise it to his lips and blow.
The chamber fills with sound, and Kipper begins to glow a gentle green. The attendants step back in dread that it is time for their master to rise... But the colour subsides and the minions relax again.
'Is it safe?' one asks of Fish-Monk
'Only for a few more days. We must prepare for his task. Send riders to the west, and remind them to take sandwiches for the journey, a puncture repair outfit, and spare batteries, for we know not what they may encounter.'
A few minutes latter a lone fishing boat crew observes the surface of the sea is broken with a might breeching that might be that of a whale, but as the spray settles 7 black pedalos can be seen, making for the coast.
"...oh no..." Mutters the oldest of the fishermen. "I have heard tell of this."
"What is it?"
"A portent.."
"A portent of what?"
"Did you not read Ol' Stormy's pages when you were a child?"
The younger fisherman slowly shook his head.
"Shame on you, boy." Then turning to watch the pedalos bob amongst the waves, the old fisherman clutched an amulet around his neck and crossed himself.
"It is almost time..."
His minions stood by his bed, fanning him with the pages of un-read Adobe manuals, and watch the pulsing veins throb on his forehead (the only signs of life while he is transfixed in his beer fuelled meditation). An iron door opens in the wall of the chamber and through it a monk like figure dressed in old fishing nets, enters. Still fanning, the attendants turn, and see 'Fish-Monk', pull a viking horn from under his garb, raise it to his lips and blow.
The chamber fills with sound, and Kipper begins to glow a gentle green. The attendants step back in dread that it is time for their master to rise... But the colour subsides and the minions relax again.
'Is it safe?' one asks of Fish-Monk
'Only for a few more days. We must prepare for his task. Send riders to the west, and remind them to take sandwiches for the journey, a puncture repair outfit, and spare batteries, for we know not what they may encounter.'
A few minutes latter a lone fishing boat crew observes the surface of the sea is broken with a might breeching that might be that of a whale, but as the spray settles 7 black pedalos can be seen, making for the coast.
"...oh no..." Mutters the oldest of the fishermen. "I have heard tell of this."
"What is it?"
"A portent.."
"A portent of what?"
"Did you not read Ol' Stormy's pages when you were a child?"
The younger fisherman slowly shook his head.
"Shame on you, boy." Then turning to watch the pedalos bob amongst the waves, the old fisherman clutched an amulet around his neck and crossed himself.
"It is almost time..."
Comments
""You are in a maze of twisty passages, all alike." - Zork temp domain http://spidergriffin.wix.com/alphaghostapps
I have awoken briefly from my slumbers to add to my journal and eat. The staff seem somewhat perturbed by this but after some minutes coaxing them out from behind the pot plants with my mighty ‘Kipper Stick’, they have returned somewhat bruised to their posts by the bed.
I’ve been trying to raise my powers beyond the natural awesomeness of a standard smoked fish in preparation for the contest. The results of abstaining from my usual diet of bottom feeding plankton and getting stuck into 14 pound of horse meat a day are stunning and I can now count to something above 2. This rise in my powers leaves me in a hormone driven confusion but I do now find pleasure in email discourse with middle ranking primates such as gibbons, use of primitive tools seems intriguing, and I hope after lunch to be able to operate powered machinery (I take no medication). My primal urges driven by hormones are not yet capable of being controlled by my meager intellect yet but I understand that once I have conquered fire (aiming that for this evening) I will be able to up my IQ with a higher intake of protein aided by cooking, but for the moment I will have to settle with reading the Daily Mail, and watching Fox News.
While mulling what might be done ‘out of the box’, I am beginning to form a plan. I have decided not to cheat by forming a team as my Grandfather once gave me a small piece of paper with a formula for success. This equation reads as follows-
Options X Idiots X infinitely reconfigurable machine configurations = hours
Cheers Kipper
"should we wake the master?"
"No, let him sleep. We will tell him when it's time to fed him again." replied Fish-Monk. "His transformation must not be disturbed or he may be angry."
The beast flinched and it's eyes opened. "what is it? what have you heard?"
Fish-Monk fell to his knees and bowed his head. "I am sorry master, but the time has been announced."
"And when is it?"
The now shaking monk lowered himself to full prostration. "I am sorry sir, but it's... It's... 7.30 am..."
"By the clocks in California?"
"No Sir... GMT..."
Kipper stood and spat. "They dare to break my slumbers so soon after sunrise! Ha! It is some wicked plan to favour those who do not drink like the mighty fish. They know of my weakness for ale and prune juice and wish to do me down. I shall avenge them by doubling my efforts. Bring me a pony and a fork."
"What is that noise!" Demanded Old Kipper.
"Nothing my Lord, but a poor RSS fed updating my pitiful Nokia." Muttered Fish-Monk.
Kipper took his stick and probed his servant's attire. A lowly device fell to the ground, still vibrating from the incoming message.
"So what does it say?"
Fish-Monk manoeuvred the text through its tiny window.
"It's says the Storm Lord has decreed that there shall be no teams."
"Pah! I care not."
"But what are we your servants to do?"
"You are no use for little beyond the fetching of vittles, beer, and maidens."
"But my Lord, what if the judges were to Skype you?"
"I shall play them at their game! Lock me in the smallest room with my infernal machines and be done with it."
"And how to feed you Sir?"
"I can exist on forms that may be slid under the door or through a rubber hose through the keyhole. Break open the frozen pizzas!"
Kipper come on Skype!
Keith
Fish-Monk had finished shoving his master's breakfast of ground horse meat and yogurt down the rubber tube, and was now wondering how he might flush the tube before pouring the requested caffeine intake down the hose.
From behind the locked and barred door a voice spoke out.
"Have the pedalo riders reported back with news of the theme?"
"No Master. They approached a couple of the less scrupulous judges last night, but your allowance of 4 dollars per judge was... laughed at..."
There was silence from behind the door for a few moments. Then the Kipper lord spoke again.
"Damn them! Perhaps if I were to offer them the scrap value of your Nokia it would turn them?"
Fish-Monk looked nervous.
"I doubt it. The current value of my Nokia is about that of a wet digestive biscuit."
"Very well. It looks as if we are to be forced to play fair. I shall just have to get creative..."
The sound of the now monstrous Kipper Man mix thinking could be heard form the smallest room (not unlike popcorn going off in a distant microwave oven).
Then he spoke again.
"Bring forth the Kipper Presentation board and chalks.I wish you to take down possible themes..."
*what the heck must i make :P*
"Master, they have published the matrix for the scoring system. It does not look good for us... you..."
"What does it say?"
Fish-Monk relayed the points system to a now quiet Kipper. After a few more pops from Kipper's brain he spoke.
"This is going to be tough! Wash down the Kipper board and ready yourself. I need to get more original."
Fish-Monk did as his master bid him and was soon scrawling again in a frantic manner to capture the creative stream of consciousness that flowed from behind the door.
do you know the spoon killer?
""You are in a maze of twisty passages, all alike." - Zork temp domain http://spidergriffin.wix.com/alphaghostapps
The nerves are building and despite the intake of more horse-flesh, I cannot say I am unaffected. It’s been a difficult afternoon.
And why? A few weeks ago I decided to send for a self-build workstation to give me the edge in the world of app development and I thought its construction would while away the time while I was waiting for 9.4. But it didn’t arrive until lunchtime today. It is an advanced model and I am assured that I will soon be able to render all my apps cross platform and resolution independent. It even comes with it’s own dev. sdk. Fish-Monk took delivery and then let me out of the smallest room. After 15 minutes with a crowbar, we managed to unpack it with few structural injuries to the components. A certain amount of skin on my part as lost though while trying to assemble it. It did however not go well and after increasing levels of frustration I decided to place it in torpedo tube and ‘fire and forget’. A lesson learnt. I am sticking with our Steve’s kit!
And now the good news! During the periods between various upgrades I had also started to feel someone spurned by the forum. It seemed that most of the members were getting personnel messages from someone who wanted to help them all out. But not me! Not once did I get one of these offers…
But this afternoon as I was about to return to my closet there was a scuttling noise, and out of the bottom of our post tube came a stoat carrying a letter addressed to me. These day I fear the post as its rarely anything but a bill since the junk mail has all gone electric, but this letter was scented and wrapped in a pink envelope and had a stamp of the postal service of the United States.
‘What could this be?’ I thought. I unsheathed my Italian stiletto and in a jiffy and a cloud of dried rose petals, the scented typed note was in my hand. Someone out there wants me to feel included! Double joy! It almost made up for the loss of skin and new workstation.
I reclined on the chaise-lounge, while Fish-Monk read the note to me and wafted the petals over me. A moment of bliss!
I may well take this new friend up on his first offer, but the second is impossible as even though I am becoming ever more humanoid, some parts of me are still very much fish and anatomy will not allow. I thank him anyway and suggest he tries developing such practices with middle ranking primates (like my other friend ‘Gibbon’).
AN ANNOUCEMENT!
Fish-Monk has suggested a wondrous thing! He has just downloaded and listened to the book ‘The Dice Man’. As he nailed me back into my workspace, we chatted. The topic of the book, as well as the project about to start were spoken of. And suddenly Fish-Monk blurted out, “Why don’t you do that Master?”
There and then the deal was done! Dice guidance it will be for TOTB3!
... he finishes his brown fluid... and ponders...what are these Dice he speaks of...
After a hearty last supper of yet more horse, I am in fine fettle. I've exercised myself with a few swings of the bullwhip, and now am settle in for the next 3 weeks. My limbs seem flexible in a way they never were when I was pure fish. With my increase in brain function, Skyping with the apes has become very dull. I am on form!
And how to use this brain in the hours before the storm? Preparation! I once saw the film Memento and it has given me another idea. Least I forget anything I have decided to make notes and diagrams on my body with an indelible marker. This should be fine as I have no intention of washing until the competition is won. So far I have managed to draw up a flow chart if a bottom up AI system on my belly and chest, a schematic of interaction theory on my legs, and made crib notes of interactive story telling based on the works of Chris Crawford on my feet. After shaving my head I had to use biro to get the fundamentals of Apple's guidelines for UI on the visible part of my head as I only have one small mirror- a polished spoon (fortunately it acts as a lens as I have had to use tiny writing). I think this system will work as long as I don't sweat too much. I have saved my buttocks for a speech system I have an idea for.
I have prepared my Ouija board in readiness to steal a march on the other contestants, but I am little nervous about using it as last time I did the Kipper-Lair appeared on Google maps. Not good for a villain of my stature. If it happens again I may have to find new premises.
http://www.villainsource.com/lairs.html
So until tomorrow. I shall leave you with a quote-
"Take my camel, dear," said my Aunt Dot, as she climbed down from this animal on her return from High Mass.
It now came back to him why the alarm had sounded. It was the day and very nearly the hour. He sat back up punched the keyboard and computer came to life. Leaning forward he moved the mouse to the system settings and then to the screen display. By using a custom retro setting or 320x200 on his 27display he could just lie on his back watch the open forum window, and if he kept clicking the mouse on the refresh, twirling down the page he could wait from the moment...
The master seems perturbed. After some screaming about 7.31 it grew quiet and we have not heard a sound since. I am getting worried. He's normally is only this quiet when he's hunting the fishing casuals for the North sea on Craig's list, but this time on a Saturday morning most fish are asleep after a hard night on the beer.
The theme is a worry. It is too close to home and life as a fish from the inside can often seem dull. We need to spice it up a bit and get very creative. Who would be interested in the everyday goings on of a Fish Super VIllain with a lair, a fish based super computer, plans of world domination, and arsenal of fish related weapons and pastimes?
You're obviously a designer too.
Looking forward to how your ideas play out.
At first reading of the theme I was shocked. What was I to do? It seemed like a curse was upon me. But now I am at one with it and shall use my fish powers and experience of bottom feeding to help me slay this thing. I instructed Fish-Monk to aline the boards near the my door and to add numbers to a selection of game types. This he did as below-
1). platformer
2). point and click
3). RPG
4). adventure game
5). SIM
6). physical party game
With a toss into the air the dice fell and lodged itself between the wall and the wifi box, at an angle. Not one but three faces were uppermost. What was I to do? Immediately I reached to throw again but then I stopped. Would it not be to my advantage to use more than one genre?
I called out the numbers to Fish-Monk and he called back my fate.
'M'lord you have indicated SIM adventure point and click... no...no.. SIM adventure physical. Sorry I can't read my own handwriting. Are you mad?'.
I scoffed... 'Of course I am mad! But are not all genius fish? It goes together like updates and crashes.'
Taking in the the answers to my throw I begun to see that there might be something in it. But how to use my fish powers in conjunction with this fate?
'Sir, what are you thinking?'
My mind was almost blank and then a small light brightened in a lobe near the rear.
"I have it!"
""What is IT?" asked my minion in hushed tones.
"I shall offer the user an entree to my world and philosophy, and in doing so seduce them to the cause."
"But how?"
The light grew brighter, and my mind raced at the audaciousness of it all.
"Brain control. I shall port Henry to GS!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" screamed Fish-Monk. "The world is not ready for that. Do you realise that once he was out of the mainframe he will be unstoppable? How could you do such a thing?"
"Drag and drop, and lots of instance attributes!" I replied.
"That's not what I mean. How could you do such a thing morally?"
"There is no place for morals in this world. Morals at a thing of the past, for bankers, politicians, Android users, and the other weak minded!"
"BUT SIR..."
"Hold your peace Fish-Monk. It is decided. It is the port! It will not be easy and I suspect if the world finds out what we are up to then they may try to stop us."
"There will indeed Sir and who could blame them. To unleash Henry would be a cruel thing to do evil for even an Evil Fish Overlord such as yourself."
"But who could blame me. I want that booty, and if it works... I shall have an installed base, which I can offer a free upgrade to, and then with in app ads, the seductive game center, and that devilish link... I shall rule the World!"
At this point I have to admit that I laughed in a most evil manner, and spat on the floor.
And so dear reader, I am married to the idea. Quake, for the time is here. The moon is in the seventh high and Kipper is alined with his workstation. IT SHALL BE DONE!