How Do I Get Back Home?

Alright. Now that I have had a minute to get my head together–I just went through a three-week long whirlwind where one minute I have a life in Montreal, and the next I am sittting here in front of someone else's computer in Key West–I am stunnned.

I am in Key West. I was just in Montreal. WTF! What am I doing back in the USSA?! Holy shit, this place sucks!!!

Holy shit!!! WTF!

I am seriously mindfucked: I was having a life a minute ago!

My life, my computer, my business, my career, and my dog are in Montreal . . . and I am here!

Am I laughing my ass off? You better believe it!

I have my health, amazing friends, and all limbs and digits are presented and accounted for. Whoo-hoo! But I am here!

All I can think is WWSMD, What Would Surely Mongog Do? Shite, that's me, and that is a good question!

Do what you like, I am staying tuned.

I'm Free

I always am. All of us are.

This is more than an update, this is the story.

Two and a half years ago, I fled the US, requesting asylum in Canada after renouncing my citizenship in the US (more on this later) at the US consulate in Vancover, British Columbia. This wass immediately after the US government declared war on and attacked the nation and people of Iraq. Canada, of course, refrained.

I became a formal guest of the nation and people of Canada, which I now know to be one of the most mature, humanly responsible nations on earth. My experience became a two-and-a-half-year field trip.

At the end, for practical and (empathetically responsible) reason, Canada turned down my request for asylum. This is after two and half years of gracious, considerate, and effective hospitality!

By hospitality I mean, medical, cultural, financial, and social. The grace of the people of Canada may know limits but I did not find them. (And this goes doubly for Montreal and Quebec. More on this also later).

The system as it is in Canada is humanitarian, and it works. More more more later.

Even at the end when I was temporarily held against my will in a Canadian immigration prevention center, I was treated with the utmost human respect and good will. As a former constituent of the US republic–and presently a resident former US constituent, having been deported and returned to my native nation of Florida, residing in Key West of the Conch Republic–it is my duty to report that even the food was good! And it is these seemingly inconsequential details on the part of the people, governments, and nation of Canada that in my humbled and traveled opinion merit Canada the right to proclaim itself the greatest nation in the world. But it doesn't per se and this is what makes the difference.

In any case, I am exhausted. I completed a 45-hour bus trip (ticket courtesy of Canadian immigration) and my computer, belongings, and life, as well as the amazing person who is a dog named Dr. Cuba Spok who I have lived with for the past five years are all in Montreal. But I, legal name Mongo Nicholl but more famously known worldwide as Surely Mongog (the last "g" is silent), am no longer incarcerated.

[To be continued . . .]

p.s My Ecto blogging software is on my G5. This is strictly infrastructure blogging.

Thank you, Robin, Garry, Nick, and Ames. And Peter.

This Is For Real

As dictated to Nick I.:

I am being held against my will.

As a free citizen of the world, and a world citizen in good standing, with no criminal charges or criminal history in this or any other nation of the world, i demand to be released.

Furthermore, i do require immediate internet access, and freedom to make arrangements for my departure from Canada.

MonGog nicholl
204C
immigration prevention center, Laval, Qc
450-661-4267

Yogi You

Ever imagine having your own bobble-head of yourself?

Us either, but when a variation on the idea came up, all of us dug on it.

Introducing Yogi You.

Yogi You's are tiny little, 4", hand-crafted mini-me yogi versions of ourselves!

They are like little superhero figurines of you at your best. The made-to-order site can even do custom bodies. For instance, theoretically, it could be your head on Fat Bastard's body. Or the Hulk. Or Wonder Woman's. From an action character perspective, the possibilities are infinite for such a simple toy.

Anyhow, it's relatively inexpensive to for such a cool gift. Like, for your boyfriend or girlfriend. Or, yourself! Sweet!

Like on your desk at work! Or your computer command center at home!

Anyhow, Yogi You is a winner.

Link.

We Make Money Not Art

We-Make-Money-Not-Art is a site verging on greatness. At its most ordinary, WMMNA is like an ace art students' Very Good graduation project. And at the site's ongoing peaks of glory, We-Make-Money-Not-Art is an inspired report on several takes on the new design and aesthetics of this future-present/at the beginning of the 21st Century, the world in which all of us now find ourselves living.

Interestingly, there is a absence of popular opinion in the vision that WMMNA presents as their vision of the world's vision. It seems counter-intuitional, rather than ironic or savvy the form and presentation is more unaccustomed and unexpectant, like seeing the world through the eyes of a non-traditional newborn–one raised in vitro.

All of which does not come close to giving credit where credit is due. Check out the honesty and nature of We-Make-Money-Not-Art for yourself. Then write your own impression of the site. And you'll see why H2RS keeps it in our mix.


Link.

Hoogerbrugge and Wiggle present FLOW

Hans Hoogerbrugge and Wiggle, together at last.

A Flashterpiece.

Link (via digg).

Ghillie Suit Bigfoot Costume

Ohmigod.

All of us have been laughing to tears for nearly twenty minutes now.

Oh silly humans, your frivolity never ceases to amaze:

(Like Mr. Pants says), "It's Bigfoot. With Guns." And–extra super-evil–crossbows!

But regardless what the stealthy hairless primapes are using them for (BWA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA), all of us want a bigfoot costume to play in, too!

Link (via misterpants.com).

Extra-round fun: read the "disclaimer" here. Hunters, flammable bigfoot costumes, cigarettes, woodland creatures witnessing a spectacular of flaming jute . . . BWAAAA-HAHAHAHA . . . oh, the humanity! Stop! Stop! We're dying over here!