Cap'n Ben's Groggy Blog

In which I be orderin' ye to parlay, ye gutless, rat-scamperin' zipperlips!

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Lemurians Attack!

Last time ye’ll recollect Cap’n Ben be tellin’ ye o’ the Shastan Lemurians but there be Lemurians all about what ye don’t know of and o’ course that be how they like it. Do ye see, it be part o’ their secret campaign ter incinerate themselves inter society all quiet as ye please, dormouse-like ‘n’ stealthy, a campaign what begun years and years ago. Yer in all probability quite ignorant o’ the fact that they funded Edgar Rice Burroughs when he were just a midshipman, keepin’ him afloat until his Tarzan books could make him wealthy and respectable, but afore that he wrote a brace o’ fine subterranean adventure Penny Dreadfuls at the behest o’ the Lemurians: Pellucidar and At The Earth’s Core. The Lemurians were hopin’ ter portray th’ underground hollow Earth as the paradise ye’ve already encountered in the last damp bloggy post, the better their public image ter burnish and it weren’t such a bad effort at that.


But it were Hollywood what give them a real entry into the world we live in today. In MCMLVI Universal Studios ground out a Magic Lantern show entirely subsidized by gold coin from under the mountain, all aimin’ ter seduce the wee tots (”Give me the boy ‘n’ I’ll give ye the pirate”) what do fall under the spell o’ such things with quite amazin’ ease. Oh aye, they changed a few things the better ter mask their origins, but do ye really b’lieve Sumerian to be a credible substitute fer Lemurian? Well, anyroad, they did, and over there to Starboard ye can see one right from the lantern.

For it be The Mole People, and a right upended, benighted blight on the lantern world it be though faith, I’ve a certain fondness fer the thing e’en aside from the shameless Lemurian propagander what underlie th’ entire thing. I’ll not bore ye wi’ the tellin’ o’ the tale for ye can read the whole account here. What ye can take away be the picture of the “Sumerians” underground wi’ their race o’ moley slave people destined to revolt just in time fer the mountain ter blow up in everybody’s faces and end the show: convenient as Hell.

Nay lads, what I really want ter talk on is the beginning o’ the show. ‘Tis there that ye’ll find the most amazin’ bit o’ jaw-droppin’ scientography what e’er come out o’ the mouth o’ any ologist only it weren’t just any ologist what be speakin’; strewth, an’ they bribed a bloke (them gold coins again, an’ how they do speak loud!) called Frank Baxter ter tell the story o’ Lemuria, only o’ course he never used that partickilar term. Ye’ll be right astonished ter learn that Master Baxter do have his own star in the Hollywood walk, so grateful were the Lemurians fer his service in this, the greatest o’ all Lemurian broadsides inter the heart o’ modern culture, nor were he ignored by the good folk what handed out Emmy awards neither; ye can bet after ye see th’ introduction to The Mole People that there were some Lemurian gold involved there, too.

Now, there be very little benefit in tryin’ to describe this hortatory oratory so ye just better gaze upon the written word:

Ladies and gentlemen, it's amazing how much we know about the surface of our globe. ln the last 100 years, men have progressively studied this. Explorations have reached the North, the South Pole. There are really relatively only a few square miles left of the surface of our globe that are not known. During the same years, men have reached out into the stars three times further in your lifetime and mine, three times further into space than men have ever been able to go before.

Amazing knowledge we have of that and of this.
[Points to globe]

What's inside this globe? What is there beneath our feet as we stand on the earth? No one knows, of course. And science ponders about it and all men are curious but no one knows. Primitive man going into caves, reaching back and back, and down and down wondered what lay beyond, and in terror he fled out. And he remembered strange sighs and noises.

Now you go back to Mesopotamia and the beginning of Western civilization and you have the great hero Gilgamesh going down into the underworld. And so, too, with the Greeks. All down through time, religions of the past have postulated the existence of this inner habitable world. All through the Middle Ages, people believed in something under the surface.

Dante, the great Dante, saw great cone-like cavities stretching down to the very center of the earth. There's nothing new about this; lt's as old as man this belief that under the surface there may be areas inhabitable by man. And in our time and in the last 100 years, there've been a number of theories, very curious and strange theories, about what goes on in the center of our planet.

This is a very famous and interesting and odd one: a soldier... rather, a minor hero of the War of 1812 was a man named John Cleeves Symmes. And he had a sudden idea that inside our world like onion layers, there were globes within globes, five of them, some of them inhabited and that if you were to travel up through the icy wastes of our world the northwest edge of Siberia, you could go down through a hole, and go successively to these various spheres. Unfortunately, he was thoroughly obsessed with this, went around lecturing, and in fatigue, died before he could make this experiment.

Now, here's another theory much closer to us: this is 1870, about. A young American physician named Cyrus Reed Teed had a revelation: we are not living on the outside of the globe, said Teed, but on the inside; that when we think we're looking out at the sun, we're really looking in at the sun.

Strange, strange, the questing mind of man that tries to find answers to things that he can't understand.

This was a theory by Karl Neupert, in Germany, in the 1920s: he, again, imagined that we're living on the inside, rather than the outside of the globe.
[Points] And here's a real sun and a real moon and then a rather shadowy and formless mass of electric potentiality with little bright sparks in it. And they give us the sense of our stars.

So in this picture you're about to see, you'll see the culmination of a long series of such desires to look into the earth. One might well believe, philosophically, that some ancient culture engulfed by a great and tremendous upheaval of nature might linger on in some pocket of earth. This is science fiction, of course. It's a fiction! lt's a fable beyond fiction, for l think if you'll study this picture and think about it when it's over, you'll realize that this is something more than just a story told; it's a fable with a meaning and a significance for you and for me in the 20th century.

Thank you and goodbye.


Oh and I do agree: "Strange, strange, the questing mind of man that tries to find answers to things that he can't understand." That be the catchphrase in Benland nowadays nor can ye find a better, I'll wager. Kind o' sticks in yer mind, don't ye think it so? Yar!

And the lesson ye can all take from this is that this election year ye must look at yer choices and choose them what will do the most for or against the Lemurians, dependin' on yer persuasion; the subterranean lobby be powerful influential, but be it a force for good or ill? Strange, strange...

Mystical Mole Monks From Under The Mountain



To Starboard: a brace o’ Lemurians,
up to see the world, gold coins an' all

Old Cap’n Ben from time to time makes his stumpy way across the land the better to visit old shipmates ‘n’ ex-prisoners, all which he remains on the finest of terms and continues to praise most happily, the joys of friendship bein’ what they are. But the land be a passin’ strange place, and ‘tis there ye’ll find all manner of hodgepodgy beliefs, catechumins, oraculars, spindizzies and philosophicistical sump pumpers; in short, the daft.

Now harken to this: I be here to tell ye of a secret mighty race what live below the mountain! Belowdecks, as ye might say, but certain sure below what pass for real in any world Ben’s e’er sailed on, o’er, across, or even under (for oncet he were dragged a goodly league by a whale, and him losin’ the most part o’ his leg in the chase and now his tread a most unsubtle ta-DUMP forever and anon), aye lads, well below the waterline of reality it be.

And ye thought the Theosophists were cracked! Well then, sit yerself down and examine the landlocked loons what do inhabit the fabled land o’ California, northlike I be speakin’ on; and that bein’ the itty-bitty burg they do call “Mount Shasta”. Stankers alive but there be some half-rigged topgallants afore the breeze there!

Lemurians, don’t ye know. Castaways from the sunken land o’ Atlantis, queen o’ the Hyperborean myth tales. Under Mount Shasta.


When I were just a wee tadpole I mind hearin’ tales o’ the place: monks what come out o’ the mountain, all dressed in their robes they were, and gold coins for the barter’ o’ goods (not that any o’ the locals would turn down a fine golden ducat oncet he’d assayed it!), and the sound o’ great bells tollin’ from deep in th’ Earth as a traveller passed by under the strange and eery dishlike clouds what are wont to hover o’er there to this day. But I ne’er believed ‘em.

Aloft: Mount Shasta

Oh now, to err be human, to forget be da bomb, as me young snapper Pud be mindin’ me. Pud be only IX years old and ye’ll forgive his manners an’ all, but he’s a good boy and ‘tis thanks due to him that I recollect th’ origin o’ the word Lemurian as it were told me many cold winters ago: ye see, le mur bein’ the French for wall, it were plain they’d quite arranged to keep a tidy distance ‘twixt themselves and the rest o’ the world - down to this day it seems. I b’lieve them to be successful! Ah, but mûr (wi’ th’ wee carrot on top) be also a French word, and the meanin’ o’ the thing be ripe, and could you not cry aloud for the sheer ripeness o’ such a tale? The Ripe Ones, do ye really say so? Anyroad, the name stuck and Lemurians it be. Oh aye, do not get me started on th’ others, what be the lost continent o’ Mu and all the rest - one be enough fer this soggy tale. Take yer Pantologists, Astrologists, Scientologists and dangle!


To Starboard: Mount Shasta when the Lemurian Epoch begun
Cap’n Ben could not make up better spindrift than the Ologists o’ Mt. Shasta, and he be searchin’ far and wide ter find ripe examples o’ their unstoppered daftitude. Funnier in its original foreign lingo, it is - when put into proper Pirate it makes more sense so ye’ll be excusin’ me fer printin’ it like I found it:

Those who went underground, the survivors of these cataclysms, were able to gradually, little by little, develop a way of life underground that was far superior and wondrous than what surface people were subjected to. At the time, various bands of marauding extraterrestrials came to dominate and prey on the people of Earth who were struggling to survive as peacefully as they could[...]Life underground had much more security, stability and peace to offer then than life on the surface. Until today, this fact has remained the same...

We need to start perceiving that the kind of weather we are getting on this planet, as a barometer of the thoughts and emotions the mass consciousness holds.

In the subterranean cities, there are those who have evolved to a fifth dimension consciousness and those who have evolved to a fourth dimension consciousness, while retaining an immortalized body that is totally free of the human limitations we are still subjected to on the surface. All of them live in a kind of wondrous paradise they have forged for themselves over the thousands of years they have lived underground. Our ways of life here is very far remote from theirs.

Inside the Earth, the subterranean people live in houses that seem like very luxurious palaces comparing to ours on the surface. Wealth is unlimited for all. There is no money system, but a very effective barter system. There is no taxation of any kind, no I.R.S., no banking system, no credit card system, no realtors, no mortgage companies, no hospitals, no doctors because no one ever gets sick, no lawyers, no law enforcement officers, no labor unions, no prison nor mental institutions. There are no retirement homes because no one ever gets old, all can maintain perfect health, youth and vitality for thousands of years, until they chose to move into their next calling somewhere else.

In the subterranean cities, people are mostly vegetarians. The Lemurians under Mt. Shasta are totally vegetarians. No one eats any other, including the animals. All animals are also vegetarians, including the lions, tigers, panthers, etc. Because there is not the violence of the killing of the animal kingdom underground, their land is pure and very blessed. In Telos, they need only seven acres of land to feed one and one half million Telosians.

I could go on and on -


Oh, I’ll wager ye could aright, an’ ‘twould be six o’ one a baker’s dozen o’ t’other that sensibility wouldn’t enter into a bit o’ the gassy stuff. Eye has not heard, ear has not seen such rich fruitlike ripeness o’ thought these many years without it be summat to do wi’ folk from under the ground.

To Starboard: A Lemurian visitor in broad light o' day

To Port: the same monstrous Lemurian after nightfall











Now I do cry out “I have heard that before!” and upon my soul! I have. Now, where were it? Righty-o, give a listen:

One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fire was burning
Down the track came a hobo hiking and he said boys I'm not turning
I'm headin for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountains
So come with me we'll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains there's a land that's fair and bright
Where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night
Where the boxcars are all empty and the sun shines every day
On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees
Where the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains all the cops have wooden legs
And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft boiled eggs
The farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hay
Oh, I'm bound to go where there ain't no snow
Where the rain don't fall and the wind don't blow
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains you never change your socks
And the little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocks
The brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blind
There's a lake of stew and of whiskey too
You can paddle all around 'em in a big canoe
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains the jails are made of tin
And you can walk right out again as soon as you are in
There ain't no short handled shovels, no axes saws or picks
I'm a goin to stay where you sleep all day
Where they hung the jerk that invented work
In the Big Rock Candy Mountains

I'll see you all this coming fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains *


But just ye wait and see the news ol' Cap'n Ben has for ye in the next watery blog, for not content to stay under their California mountain, Lemurians went south...and ye've seen 'em!
Next: Lemurians in Hollywood[/SIZE][/B]

* Big Rock Candy Mountain by Harry McClintock
[/FONT]

Alaunt!

Th’other day me old grammer be a-watchin th’ movin’ image where the politicos their lies do spout like the blowfish they ape wi’ such shoutin’ out success. Belike she were listenin’ to our own local pile o’ color-changin’ ineptitude for she begun to steam about the ears and the imprecations come thick and fast. Have I not told ye she’s got a tongue on her? A smart man’d do well to steer clear when the fire be upon her but I’d not give warnin’ to this partickilar fish crotty, me not bein’ me brother’s kipper and all.

Harken to th’ conversation, only the one side o' which I be givin' ye:


"Gordoon!

"Take yer golf clubs and [CRASH]

"Cheese farts! Naught but cheese farts, I tell ye! Ill-favored petomane!"

(mutterin’, mutterin’)

"Say that again and ye’ll be leakin’ rheumy snot out the backside o’ yer skellinton’s cracktured pate, ye four-pounds-in-a-sack-o-three mountain o’ steamin’ squid johnny!"

(more mutterin’)

"I’ll remind ye that the only difference ‘twixt guest and gust be the letter E, a component ye be sorely lackin’, so blow yer stinkin’ ass ashore, ye poxy fart of a gossoon!"

(more mutterin’ still)

"Ye be naught but a slack-knackered malcontent! A peculatin’ whoreson of a man! A louse-infested scab on the shinin’ face o’ Piratude! Go peddle yer wares to the French, for only a Froggy’d be assheaded enough to cock an open ear to the tune o’ yer stumpy clangorband! Why man, the juice’d be runnin’ sideways into his nose from the sheer gravity o’ the situation! Can ye not see the world laughin’ at the state o’ yer sheer ineptitude? Are ye not knowin’ they call ye squbtubbler, wiggletoper, squibberjibber and wuggletump to yer face and them keepin’ the nasty words for the pimply backside o’ ye? That be bound to change, and soon, I warrant! I call upon the nine syphilitic gods o’ the tarry Marianas Trench to send ye down to the lowest slit in the black ‘n’ loftless abyss o’ iniquity, ye bleatin’, sheepy pustule of a rotten peckertip! Alaunt, now move!"


Update: And he did, too, by God! Give you joy, mates!

Pirate State University

While I were scannin’ the webby horizon this fine first October morn’ I seen this signal from afar; bein' from the finest trainin' ground o' pirates e'er to scamper up a ship's mast, all sent by flag it were:

Arrr! This pirate flag and motto - The knowin’ be the savin’ o' the ship - be not just fightin’ words on a landbridge what span the mighty Broadway causeway! Nay lads, our boardin’ cry be a right honest veradication o’ all what the knot-tyin’ school do stand for: the lootin’ and keepin’ o’ knowledge in cargo hold, cap’n’s cabin and steerage, and also do it come ter represent treaties struck wi’ splendid mates such as yerself.

Aye, now do be a most excitin’ time at Pirate State for in a host o’ glorious bloody sallies our crossboned skull be strikin’ mighty blows agin th’ ignoratude what do besmirch the city-bound landlubbers. We be pipin’ aboard more’n six brigades o’ newly-minted cabin boys, nor be there another piratical enterprise afloat this ocean what can match that boast! There be more’n thirty divisions o’ ex-pirates what graduated the ranks o’ this ship spread about the vasty globe! Why, just this last year alone our crew be reelin’ in th’ entire fortune o’ dead King Croesus to refit the ship’s guns and navvy skills, nor did we scamp on the writin’ o’ ship’s logs, shoreline maps, learned almanachs and other such weighty tomes.

I be keepin’ a weather eye on all them future sorties what be improvin’ the state o’ the ship’s navigation, boardin’, and seamanship skills while awhile makin’ our port a fit ‘n’ better call fer carracks an’ schooners from all about the world. I mind th’ Pirate’s Code what say this: Curiosity killed th’ best laid plans o’ mice and men, but every dog has its silver linin’. And it do signify, fer do ye lads and lasses but stick wi' us 'tis linin' yer own pockets wi' silver ye'll accomplish in the end!

Ahoy, mateys!

Cap’n Wim “No Quarter” Wievel
Flagship master and Commodore o’ th’ fleet what be protectin’ the Pirate State University

Truth or Counts o' Quinces

Me old grammer be hailin’ me wi’ the call that I be cap’n o’ the first all-pirate lingo blog, but I told ‘er she were swallowin’ whumpish bilge. Surely there be another tricorner afloat what be buildin’ a ship the likes o’ mine to sail, or even a commodore his rank the better to parade! So do ye know o’ such then hand me on a linky comment or three, or failin’ that ye might whisper in their knotty ears to pay me saloon a visit under a flag o’ truce.

Be the grammer spoutin’ truth or counts o’ quinces? As she oft do quote, in the country of the blind, the one-legged man be king, and surely me pegleg be kingmaker on this blind voyage.

All that fine squid ink and quills be wasted on them what don’t use ‘em, lads.
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