Regina Noctis

The biggest one being, that I’m going to consult with a lawyer.

There have been many things, most of which have never found their way into this journal, which feel as if there has been a long-term, ongoing persecution going on at work.

How else is it supposed to feel when you’re informed by your lead that you have to reach in and clean out the toilet on the second floor… despite the fact that there is a cleaning service paid to come in and do this?

And then, later, you, and only you, are informed that you are no longer permitted to use the facilities on the floor on which you work? “If you need to use the bathroom, in an emergency, you can go to the first floor or the fourth floor. You can’t use the bathroom on the second floor anymore.”

And then, told repeatedly, that “everyone in the office but Gene and Javier” are complaining that you smell? Despite showering once, and sometimes twice, a day… clean clothes… and even, for the last month, a deodorant, freesia-scented body mist? “We’ve told you repeatedly, and now we’re terminating your employment because there has been no improvement whatsoever, and we’ve gotten more complaints on the 25th and 26th.”

I got cornered by co-workers after these talks. They wanted to know why I was upset, and since I was feeling pissed off and confrontational, I told them. Every time, the response has been pure and angry bewilderment. “What the hell? I haven’t said anything even remotely like that. I’ve never had a problem. I don’t even know anyone who’s had a problem.”

Then they tried to hustle me out of there without anyone knowing I was leaving today. I refused, and packed my stuff up, and made my goodbyes. To a number of people who are now very angry that I’m gone, since they have had nothing to do with this and don’t appreciate all the extra work they’ll now have because I’m not there.

For the last several weeks, I’ve been doing data entry for the day crew, since they were behind, in addition to my normal duties on the closing crew. I have been staying on later to help out the funding crew, doing copies for them, when I get the chance to do so. I’d requested, yet again (as I have done repeatedly for more than a year) to be trained on fundings, since we’ve been getting out early when it’s not the end of the month. Since I was paid until 1am anyway, I figured I could work and help out the funders. They might as well get their money’s worth out of me, right? And I was more than willing to do the work. I just needed the training, and would have been happy to help out the funding crew.

And after telling me that yes, the training could finally happen, for two weeks they put me off again, and then fired me.

I have been spending seven hours a night, after work, unpaid, working on decorations and graphics for the upcoming State of the Division meeting decorations for our department. I have been brainstorming ideas for the theme, and working like a maniac to get the graphics together for the theme.

Conveniently enough for them, I got fired the afternoon after I sent them the list of concepts and ideas for the meeting, the research I did, the price analysis on various options that had been bandied about, and samples of the graphics I was proposing for the decorations. I had their whole thing all planned out, on my own initiative and time, so work for the rest of the department to prepare for this thing would be minimal.

When the first complaint hit, I started showering twice a day instead of once. I thought perhaps it was the waterproof, hot, no-way-for-anything-that-might-build-up shoes I was wearing, and changed shoes. I changed shoes every two or three days, so there’d be no possibility of that being the issue. I wore, and always have worn, clean, fresh clothing to work. I was told people were still complaining, and the next time they talked to me, I’d be sent home with my last paycheck. I picked up the freesia-scented deodorant body mist (not cheap) and have been using it religiously every day since then. All I or any of the people I’ve talked to have been able to smell is freesia, and then only when very close to me. And still, they say that there are complaints.

I have noticed, though they may not realize that I’ve noticed, that there were a fairly large number of people from the “Goth” or “alternative” end of things. There is no real official dress code for the night crew, beyond no blue jeans (which I don’t own) before 5pm, no spaghetti straps, and nylons or socks at all times. Fine. I obeyed, that, but still dressed comfortably. For a crew that works at night, after the air conditioning has been turned off, and that spends a lot of time running from printer to copier to computer, and hauling around huge stacks of files, power suits are not really an option, especially for women. Skirts and hauling around stacks of heavy files, bending down to the floor to pick up files, etc, just don’t mix. And yet, I’ve seen how the alternative people have gone, one by one. I have seen that either they couldn’t take the working conditions anymore and left, or they were fired. I’ve seen how there were only really two of us left, and as of today, there is one. I have heard from friends who used to work there how people (managers included) were complete cunts to them. I have watched some of the people who cause legitimate problems get a slap on the wrist followed by preferential treatment. I have felt all of this for some time. And then I experimented. I spent a month wearing the most professional clothing I own, the most conservative dresses, and not a single complaint. I showed up at work the last three days wearing clothing that would actually make it less onerous to process files, particularly during the last week of the month, when we’re so slammed. And I (at least supposedly) got complaints about smell and got fired. Followed by every single person I talked to denying any knowledge of these complaints and any knowledge that there was any problem to complain about.

So, yes, I am going to request that I have a copy of every piece of paper in the file that they have on me. And then I’m going to consult with a lawyer to see if I have legal ground on this. It has felt, for months, like persecution and discrimination. And if I have a leg to stand on, I will quite merrily take them to court.

Fuckers.

My employment has been terminated.

That is all.

That was a quote that my mom was very fond of. From Henry Miller, apparently. I’ve not read Miller. I tried, off and on, but his is a style that I just have never been able to warm up to.

In spite of that, I’ve always loved that quote. And she always said it after a wonderful, relaxing night of wonderful food and conversation.

Tonight has been one of those nights. Life has loveliness to sell.

I decided I was going out to dinner, and I was bringing someone with me. was up for the challenge, so she came over, and we headed off to a Persian restaurant she knew.

I’ve had one Persian dish, and it’s one that I make myself. Chicken cooked in a sauce made of, among other things, ground walnuts and whole pomegranate seeds. So I was interested to try more.

Listed on the menu was a meatball dish called Koufteh Tabrizi. The description and the name reminded me of an Afghani dish I’ve had a few times called Kefteh Tagine. So, I ordered it.

As it turned out, it was nothing like Kefteh Tagine. Yeah, it was a meatball dish, but Tabrizi was as different from Tagine as you can get and still have it be a meatball dish.

Kefteh Tagine is basically a meatball stew, with normal, bite-sized meatballs. Koufteh Tabrizi, on the other hand, is one HUMONGOUS meatball, stuffed with fruit. It was wonderfully yummy, but nothing like what I’d been expecting.

When it arrived, Dancer and I both stared at it for a moment before I ventured to try it. It was bigger than both my fists combined. Huge is the only way to describe it.

Dancer let me try a taste of her soup, and I offered her a taste of my dinner. However, Dancer flatly refused to nibble on my ball. I swear, some women. Take them out, buy them dinner, and they still won’t nibble on your ball. :D

Conversation wandered over many subjects while I stuffed myself silly on the biggest meatball on the planet. Among other things, I told her about the postcard my mom sent me from Morocco. The goats in Morocco, it seems, are blue. And I mean blue. Not the shade of gray that’s sometimes called blue, like the cat called the Russian Blue. I mean serious blue here. And these goats climb trees. So I have a postcard with a picture of a herd of blue goats perched in a tree for lunch. The easiest way to get to the leaves after they’ve demolished everything close to the ground, I suppose.

And then was dessert. We each had one thing, each different, that had caught our eye, and one in common that we were curious about, since neither the name nor the description gave any clue what it was. So we ordered our one thing, plus the third to share.

The third turned out to be very moist egg-shaped pastries that had been soaked in honey and rosewater. Very sweet, but oh so good. Dancer had Persian-style rice pudding with pistachios. And I generally have a serious dislike on for rice pudding, but this was really good. Even I liked it. The biggest revelation for me, however, was the Persian ice cream that I’d ordered. I have officially found something that replaces my previous ice cream addiction of Cold Stone. This Persian ice cream was a scoop of rich… what? I don’t think it was vanilla, or not strictly vanilla. I’m not sure quite what flavor it was. And it had pistachios soaked in honey, rosewater, and cardamom mixed into it. It was like no other ice cream I’ve ever had, and it was just heaven. I was stuffed after that big meatball, but the ice cream was so good that I determinedly ate every bite of it. I’ve been obsessing on it since. I may have to go there again. Maybe when comes down here next weekend for the BayCon meeting, I’ll drag him off to this place. For dessert, if nothing else. I must have more of that ice cream!

OOooooo, and when and are staying here at the apartment with me…. and while Serena and are up here for the wedding… Yes, yes. More people to drag there, to give me the excuse of having that ice cream again. If they get addicted to it or not is immaterial. It’s all about me. :D

After dinner, Dancer came back by my place, and I showed her the postcard from Morocco. It’s been on the refrigerator, because no matter how many times I’ve seen it in the three or so years since my mom sent it to me, it never fails to give me a giggle. We talked for a bit, and I got to show off the watercolor I’m working on (even if I didn’t draw the picture.) When she finally left, I was sorry to see her go, as I always am. I just adore Dancer.

Then Angel arrived, and we headed out to watch Daredevil. It was a fun movie. I liked it quite a bit. Though what I’m really waiting for is the next X-Men movie. Angel and I are both salivating over that one. We have a movie date for the third of May. I won’t be able to see it on the day it comes out, since movies always premier on a Friday, and I’ll be working. However, I’m damn well getting to that flick as quickly as I can thereafter!

And now, Angel has gone to sleep, and I’m working on winding down enough that I can sleep. Tomorrow begins the last week of the month, so it will be busy, busy, busy. This kind of day was exactly what I needed before a busy week. Especially all the giggling we did because of that huge ball of meat.

Friday, was talking with our Mr. Spann.

She was telling him that he’d been standing at just the right spot, so it looked like the plant she has situated high in her cubicle was actually growing out of his head.

I said, “That’s all we need. Mr. Spann, the Chia pet.”

Kat and I chuckled, Mr. Spann said his usual, “Oh my God.”

And then Kat and I both gave each other a Look. The same thought occurred to both of us at the same time. She pointed at me by way of telling me that now I had to create the image.

And I did. And it was Chia.

So, once again, Mr. Spann has found his way into another slice of life.

Ch-ch-ch-Chia

has become the UN regional delegate for the region I started over on NationStates. I didn’t even know that so many of my friends had joined, much less gotten together and made him the regional delegate. I hadn’t been over to NS for several days.

So I logged in briefly, just long enough to give Sylvan the endorsement from the one UN member nation out of the five I have in Fnord.

Must remember, when I’m not spending my time trying to complete the current project, to log into NS and say hi to everyone who’s showed up.

In a rather feeble attempt to distract myself from the goings-on down in central CA (feeble because it failed miserably to keep me from thinking about it,) I mutilated another picture. This is the one I was talking about before, proof positive that if there’s a hell, I’m going straight there, do not pass Go, do not collect 200 pixels.

Here it is.

Now I can begin on the next, even more ambitious project… involving six of my co-workers. I just hope my manager doesn’t mind her face getting colored green. :D

The Psycho Cousin, as is usually the case, kept his distance. He tried to test the boundaries once, failed miserably, and stayed out of the house the rest of the time I was in Hellano.

What set me off is what’s happening to a large segment of the rest of the family.

Quite some time ago, my uncle John was interviewed by the local paper. There had been an Incident in his neighborhood. Over at a nearby park, a group of people was holding a memorial service for someone that had been shot and killed. An innocent by-stander who lost his life in a drive-by shooting. There was a lot of publicity in the area about the event, and it got a lot of people seriously stirred up. Including the gang that had done the drive-by. There were anonymous threats phoned in to some of the organizers of the memorial.

The police department considered these to be serious threats, or so they said. They at first tried to discourage the people who would be attending the memorial. But it went ahead as planned. The cops said that, since they were sure that there was danger to the people attending the memorial, they would keep a heavy presence there, patrolling around the park.

Patrol they did. For the first fifteen minutes. And then they decided that the threats had been cranks, and left.

Twenty minutes after the cops vacated the area, the people at the memorial, as well as a number of people who were just there to use the park, were gunned down in a drive-by. Many were seriously injured, several lost their lives.

When the local news was covering this, they convinced my uncle to let them interview him. He was reluctant, but agreed in the end. And he said in the interview that he didn’t think that the police department handled the situation very well.

Ever since that event, the family down in central CA has been persecuted by the local law enforcement.

It began with one of my other cousins, Jamie, getting pulled over, purportedly for speeding. He wasn’t. He was in the car with a friend, and after the cops pulled them over, they claimed that they had reason to believe that the two of them had some species of controlled substance in the car. They may have said what, but I don’t recall now what, or even if they did. So the cops searched the car, doing a fair amount of damage to the car and my cousin’s personal possessions. When the cops didn’t find anything, they let Jamie go with a warning.

It has only escalated from there.

Sometime later, Jamie was sitting out on the front step of my uncle’s house. He’d come by to keep an eye on the younger set of cousins while aunt Cheryl was busy with other things. My uncle was actually there at the house as well, but he was involved in some studying for the Lieutenant’s exam so he could get a promotion at the prison he works at. He needed someone to keep an eye on the kids while he did that.

So Jamie was there, keeping an eye on the kids, sitting on the front step, and enjoying the day. A Bakersfield PD patrol car pulled up in front of the house, This was around one in the afternoon. The cop walked aggressively up to Jamie, and started hollering to the effect that Jamie was on parole, and he was taking Jamie in. Even if Jamie had actually been on parole, which he wasn’t, he wasn’t actually doing anything that would have violated parole.

My uncle John heard the cop hollering, and came out to find out what was going on. The cop repeated what he’d been saying, about Jamie being on parole and he was going to arrest him. My uncle said that no, Jamie wasn’t on parole. The cop insisted, and said that he had paper in his car to prove it. John demanded to see the paper. At first the cop tried to refuse, but finally went to his car and pulled out a piece of paper. He held it against his chest, so what was written on it couldn’t be seen, and said that this was it. John demanded to see what the paper actually said, but the cop refused. Finally, after much yelling and threats, the cop left.

The next day, John went to the station and found out that there was, indeed, a piece of paper claiming that Jamie was on parole and had been in violation of that parole. However, the automatic time stamp on that report was five minutes before the cop went off duty at six PM on the day that he’d been attempting to take Jamie in.

Uncle John hired a lawyer and sued Bakersfield PD for the harassment. He was awarded $80,000 in damages. But that didn’t put a stop to it.

Cousin Joseph had borrowed Cheryl’s car while she was at work. Toward the end of her shift, he was sitting in the parking lot of the neighborhood school where she and my cousin Jacqueline work, so he could give them a lift home. More of Bakersfield’s Finest (ha!) showed up and started harassing him. They pulled him out of the car and were preparing to roust him off downtown when Cheryl and Jackie showed up. The cops didn’t waste the opportunity. They rousted all three and took them off to the station. The three of them were held there for a while, for “questioning” that never happened, and finally released.

Then it was Jamie’s turn again. He was driving home from work, and was stopped, this time by a county sheriff’s car. They didn’t even try to claim he was speeding this time. They pulled open the door, hauled him out of the car, and threw him on the ground. His arms were covered in bruises where they grabbed him, and his chest was bruised and abraded from being thrown to the ground. They cuffed him and hauled him away, and claimed that he got the bruises while “resisting arrest.”

Uncle John hired more lawyers, and the case against the PD for these incidents is pending.

All of which brings us to now.

Joe was driving home. While at the last stop sign before reaching the house, he noticed a cop right behind him. Since he’s very aware of all the harassment the family is going through from the police and sheriff, he was extremely careful not to give them any reason to stop him. In the end, his caution didn’t matter.

As he was pulling into the driveway, the cops flicked on the lights on their car. Joe got out of his car, and the cops got out of theirs. They started yelling at him, telling him to get back in the car. He asked what was wrong, what he had done, but they didn’t reply. They just repeated the demand that he get back in his car, so he did. As soon as he was back in the car, one of the cops walked up to him and sprayed him in the face with pepper spray.

Cheryl’s niece, Lisa, had been at the house, and when she heard the cops yelling, she came out. She was just in time to see the cop spray Joe. She started asking what was going on, and the spray-cop’s partner grabbed her by the arm, swung her around by it, and threw her eight feet across the yard.

While the cops were distracted by Lisa, Joe got out of the car and tried to stumble to the house, blinded and fighting to breathe around the effects of the pepper spray. The first cop put away his spray, grabbed Joe, and threw him to the ground.

All of this was attracting the attention of the neighbors. Cars driving along the street stopped. A bus driver pulled his bus over, and everyone got off the bus to see what was going on.

The cop that had thrown Joe on the ground cuffed my cousin’s hands behind him. And then he grabbed the short chain between the bracelets of the handcuffs, and lifted Joe off the ground by it so he was dangling there by his arms. Joe was screaming to please stop, they were breaking his arms, please stop. So the cop that was holding him that way reached with his other hand, grabbed his billy club, and hit Joe on the head with it. Joe doesn’t remember being hit, but the witnesses saw it happen.

The one who’d thrown Lisa also reached for his billy club, and as he raised it, an old woman who’d been riding the bus walked up to the fence and started yelling, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare hurt that child!” So the cop but the club away.

They dragged Joe to the car and threw him in the back, hitting his head on the car as they did so. And that’s when aunt Cheryl got home.

She was standing there, talking to the cops, trying to calm everything down and soothe them so she could get Joe out of there and to a hospital to be treated for the pepper spray. Joe, meantime, was sitting in the back of the cop car. His eyes were completely swollen shut, and mucus was pouring from his nose and mouth. It was coming so thick and fast, he was choking on it. He could barely breathe. In terror, he started hitting his head on the window, and fighting to catch a breath. When he was able to get enough air to do so, he was gasping for help, saying, “I can’t breathe! Help me! I can’t breathe!”

So the cop opened the door to the car. And sprayed him in the face with the pepper spray again. And he slammed the door and ignored Joe’s choking and obvious near-suffocation.

His partner, meantime, cuffed Lisa and threw her in the other side of the car. And the cops drove away with Joe and Lisa, under arrest for nothing.

Cheryl called uncle John, and he went down and bailed them out, and rushed Joe to the hospital. Joe nearly died, suffocated by the mucus his body was producing in reaction to the double blast of pepper spray.

John’s calling his lawyers. This is another case against Bakersfield PD. And this time, there’s an investigation by Internal Affairs on this incident and all the rest of the persecutions against the family.

My mom can’t believe all of this is happening. She was raised with the idea that, with certain very rare exceptions, the police are the good guys. I can’t say I’ve viewed cops in that way. I don’t tend to trust anyone with a badge. But this is still more than I’m able to completely comprehend at the moment. I don’t and never have seen cops as being above this kind of thing. What makes it difficult for me to accept as reality instead of some fucked up movie is that this is the kind of thing that happens to someone else. It doesn’t happen to my thoroughly average, middle-class family.

But it’s happening. And we’re all “someone else” to someone else.

Well, here’s to a fun-filled three days in Delano.

Yeah, right.

Off I go. Back sometime Monday night, probably late.

(Well, okay, I didn’t have to be a joiner, but hey, how can you not when it’s the Goth Goddess herself?)

You are George Jung. You’re intelligent, crafty and
if you set your mind to something, there’s a
good chance that it’s gonna happen.

Which Johnny Depp Are You?
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(Proof positive that I don’t watch much Johnny Depp… there was only one of the results that I’ve actually seen and know the character, and this one ain’t him.)

Your Heart is Blue

What Color is Your Heart?
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(Ooooo, big shocker there. And of fucking course, they had to put one of the my most loathed cliches in the result. Fuckers. And hey, you who wrote the test, learn to spell.)

How evil are you?

(I didn’t even try to stack the answers on this one. I figured I’d come out neutral, actually. Guess the truth will out, even when I think I’m answering with relatively neutral choices.

And by the way, since when was Canada a European country?)

YOU ARE THE LOVECHILD OF JON BON JOVI AND MARIAH
CAREY!

Which Celebrity Lovechild Are You?
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(*shudder*)

Psycho. You are overwhelmed by anger. You may even
hate the world and everything in it and you
believe revenge is the way of the world. An eye
for an eye.

How Emotional Are You?
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(Hmmm… I think I’m sensing a theme here. Maybe I shouldn’t take these things when I’m not in the best of moods.)

Lyda Borelli

***** Which Diva Dolorosa Are You ?*****
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(Well, I suppose it would apply to someone who’s self-admittedly Queen of the Moodswing.)

You are… Peter Murphy!

Which Bauhaus Related Project Are You?
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(Fuck yeah!)

You are Manic Panic Cotton Candy Pink hair dye.!You
are extreme and do not care what people think!

What Gothic Cosmetic Are You?
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(Ummm… okay, if you say so…)

Chicken Noodle

**What kind of SOUP Are you**
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(I’ll certainly agree with the loony part!)

Now, off to attempt to sleep. Must be up to run a few errands tomorrow before I hit the road. Yay for days off from work!

The rain today has prevented me from further picture mutilations.

I have one more head to insert into the current one, and I can’t trust my hand to be steady enough to isolate just the head of my co-worker from the rest of the picture she’s in, so I can insert her head in the picture she never in her wildest dreams thought to be in.

Even telling about it is probably proof enough for most people that I have a one-way ticket to hell. But at least I’m enjoying the trip. :D

I’m inserting the funding crew entire into a shot of the Village People.

Please come visit me in the hospital the day after this picture appears as the desktop wallpaper for everyone on the funding crew. Hehehe

is that it’s a damn good thing Darian secretly enjoys the attention.

That was by request from one of the night crew, otherwise I probably would have gone with something else tonight. Though once it was done, I was fairly happy with the way it turned out.

I should never be allowed near a graphics program and pictures of people I know, that’s all there is to it.

And this time, if Darian doesn’t kill me, Aide will.

I wonder if I can find a good spot to hide in the office, so I can survive Aide and Darian looking for me…

Today sucked for me being anywhere or doing anything that I said I would.

Today was the BayCon meeting. I set my alarm to get me up far earlier than I wanted to be, so I could make it to the meeting. Then I slept through both of the alarms. I didn’t wake up until a 4pm call woke me up. Oops.

So I puttered around the house for much of the day, and didn’t start getting hungry until late. I spent a lot of time trying to get hold of two friends in particular, since I’m off to see them on one of the mini-vacations I scheduled throughout the coming year. I finally did get hold of them, around tennish. We talked for an hour, on YM, and while I was talking to them, I was also talking to another friend, to make plans for when she’s up here next week. All well and good.

I finally started getting hungry, and realized that I hadn’t had anything to eat since dinner the previous day, so I started to sign off… and got messaged by someone I haven’t spoken with in months. I was hungry, and figured I had just enough time to eat and then make it to the Daybreak to meet as planned, but I hung around for a few minutes anyhow, since I hadn’t talked with this particular adopted sister in so long. She was having connection problems at first, and just as I was about to give up on her and log off, she finally got connection back. So I tried to have a conversation with her, but after she sent me one message, and I replied and asked a question of my own, she never said anything more. So I eventually gave up and told her I had to go.

I stopped to grab dinner at the only thing open at this time of night, good ol’ Denny’s. And while I don’t usually have too much trouble there, the server I had tonight was incredibly slow. With no reason to be. It’s not like the place is packed at 11:45 on a Sunday night. So, by the time I got out of there, it was 15 minutes past the time that Sniffles said she’d be at the bar. I hauled ass out to the Daybreak. When I got there, there were all of three cars in the lot, and none of them was Meerkar. I drove through twice, just to make sure I wasn’t missing someone parked in a shadow or something. Nope. No Meerkar.

So, I gave up and came home. I pretty much wasted the entire day, between missed appointments and time spent on the phone and online trying to track people down. There were many things I planned on doing, but they just never happened.

Sniffles, can I have a raincheck on meeting up at the Daybreak? I’ll be out of town next weekend, but I’d love to be able to hang out with you. We never do that anymore, and I miss you.

I love doing my taxes. That may change someday, but right now, I love tax season.

And, being the lazy sort, doing my taxes online, with programs that enter most of the information for me, is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Pity most of my refund is already spoken for. I’m using it to catch up on a few things that need catching up on. But I should still have a little something to play with. Yay!

Consumite furore!
Consumite furore!
Consu’ furore!
Venite in facinum, O spiritus tenebrarum
Venite in facinum, O spiritus tenebrarum
Magne Asterothe, te iubeo.
Implete hunc lapidem, implete eum viribus
Sulfuratis vestris.
Consumite eum iris vestris, istas vires adsumem!
Iubeo te!
Venite in facinum, O spiritus tenebrarum
Magne Asterothe, te iubeo.
Consumite eum iris vestris.
Istas vires adsumem. Iubeo te!
Iubeo te! Iubeo te!

My co-worker, Darian, is the Most Picked On Man that EPIC has ever seen.

The current fad at work involves his picture. We have one, a group shot taken at the one and only party Darian and I attended together. ’s birthday party from last year. It’s Darian and the rest of the funding crew, as it was at the time.

Someone at work scanned the picture, so now we have a digital copy. And Darian’s face has been turning up everywhere.

Yesterday, on his computer, his new wallpaper was a group shot of the Muppets. Darian was there. His head had been pasted in over Kermit’s. Darian the Frog.

We’ve also had the Incredible Spann (the Incredible Hulk,) SpiderSpann, SuperSpann, Spann (Spawn,) Darth Spann (Darth Moll,) Spannerine (Wolverine,) Chef Spann with a couple of the kids from South Park, and WonderSpann (my co-workers even found a DJ who had and was willing to play the Wonder Woman theme song from the 70’s. It was played as a dedication to Mr. Spann one night.)

I hadn’t been helping with the Spann picture effort.

Until last night. I saw a pic, and imagined Darian’s face in it, and just had to do it.

So, today’s wallpaper for Darian is Spann Wars.

I have joined the Dark Side. I couldn’t resist.

You will drink too much gin. Not the worst way to
die, but you won’t remember too much of your
life. Hey, at least you made some people laugh!

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
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