My last blog entry was very important and vital.

Today I went to see papal wizards do their thing in a Godcastle.

I'm something of a papist myself, but the wonder and mysticism of our rituals never fails to entertain and terrify me.

I mean, I've seen the Chronicles of Narnia, and everything, and there's no wizard out there that can hold a candle to a crowd of chanting Catho-sorcerers. I left the ritual feeling as strong as I have ever since I was first plunged into that steaming bowl of holy water (which I happen to have on video).

*This photograph is not, in fact, one of the many taken at my baptism. It is a public domain image of a native Hawaiian hunting for tidal babies. The hungry look on his face was nowhere to be seen at the removal of my original sin, although the rest of the picture captures the general feeling pretty accurately.


Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I think "Which one of us is the real Dandy?"

Well, it seems the secret is out.
My "alter-ego" has been discovered, and there is a fracas the likes of which the midewest has never seen.

That's right, the world now knows that Dandy Chesterton is one and the same person as "Frisky Chesterton."

Frisky was initially just a silly name I made up to go along with some silly things I did (I don't want to incriminate myself, but think "Punk'd"), but he has become so much more than that now. Now I sometimes wonder who is more silly, Frisky or Dandy? Who is more fun?
Who is more real?

Maybe Frisky and Dandy aren't as different as we used to think.

Oh, also, I did end up bringing home a little orphan from Vietnam. He was horrible and irritating, and he is called diarrhea.
I killed him with antibiotics.


Mordor, where the shadows lie

Well everybody, here I am, Master and Commander, on the far side of the world.


The Vietnamese are just the most delightful people in the world - they're like wonderful little bird-people. They're so little, and cute, and they just flap around cheerfully everywhere, living off Coca-cola and rice (and some off only Coca-cola - like hummingbirds!). And communist Coca-cola is nothing like what we have in America. It's much sweeter, and much more brown, and I don't like it one bit.

Vietnam itself is truly a magical place as well. Apes scream in the trees, tropical snakes slither through the streets, and misty green mountains are everywhere, full of apes and snakes. It's no wonder why Tolkien chose to set his fantasy series here. One doesn't have to stretch his imagination far to turn a screaming ape into a shrieking goblin, a slithering snake into a hungry dragon, or a darling little Vietnamese into a lovable little hobbit (or some kind of magical bird).

You know, I think Tolkien was stationed here during one of the wars. Not the Vietnam War that we know, but the one before it - Vietnam War I, I think. He was a tank-oiler, or a bomb-polisher, I'm pretty sure, so he had lots of time to hallucinate and stuff.

My quest for a child to adopt is going just as planned - not at all. I originally thought that I might tour an orphanage, but as soon as I got a look at the orphanages around here, I changed my mind. Those places are gross! Gross gross Gross! If little kids actually want to live there, I say let them. You know? I mean, it's their funeral, and I don't want to have anything more to do with those icky places than is absolutely necessary (not at all). Besides, I've picked up some great souvenirs already: a hand crafted sword, a baby alligator head (sword-severed, I imagine), and this weird little doll. I think the doll might be some kind of Power Ranger knock off, except that it has long, bright green hair, like a troll doll. Anyway, I figure that thing is at least as good as getting a kid. Plus, if I ever get tired of the doll, I can just chop it up and burn it.

I think I should be signing out soon - I'm at an internet café, and the owners only accept payment via agricultural product bartering. I don't exactly carry around bags of vegetables (and if I did, I wouldn't want to share them), so it looks like I'm going to have to run for it. I'm not concerned - the tallest person in this country comes up to about my belly-button, and all their weapons double as farm tools. They do have handguns, though, which they use for shooting fruit out of trees. But I think my doll is thick enough to stop bullets, which is more than I could say for any orphan.

From the dark side of the Prime Meridian,

Dandy Chesterton

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