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Update Troll hole 16

I woke this morning to find a glowing pink globe mounted majestically on the clothing storage compartments. It would seem the food cooker lady has purchased some type of mystical lamp. Confused by the secretive addition I questioned it, prior to the 48 hour rule she uses for foot coverings. - (The 48 hour rule apparently states if something is discovered in the digital fortress after 48 hours it’s always been there and questioning us not allowed). I was informed that the ongoing fortress upgrade install was interrupting the Feng Shui and creating something called positive ions. Unschooled as I am to the woo woo nature of CHI I immediately reached for my drool rag to prevent an embarrassing moment as she chanted on. Though not necessarily bad, too many positive ions can be negative and depressing; I suspected a duel meaning with that statement but the lack of sideways glance assured me she was still on topic. Positive ions are actually searching for negative ions to complete the cycle of life and this Himalayan salt lamp produced the magical ions needed to correct the overly positive environment. She continued on but I found her intellect to be dizzying and leaned heavily into my drool rag.

In an effort to divert conversation I then offered myself as a great example of a negative ion. The attempt to end the educational onslaught of food cooker ladies intellectual repository, accumulated from her Pinterest degree with a minor in You Tube, through sarcasm failed. The lesson continued with a fervor fueled on by what I can only assume was aided by the channeling of a Himalayan mystic.

In a desperate attempt to cease the conversation I interjected a need for more lamps to which she agreed. I expect to see several readily available now that spring has arrived and the neighbors have begun their yearly home purges. Soon they will filling their garages with rare and unique trend setting objects for sale such as the mystical salt lamp and the legendary pocket fisherman.

Observations from The Homeless Youth

Recently, with the assistance of Male Parental Unit, and at the behest of the Oral Torture Palace, I was instructed to have some of the bones in my oral cavity removed, and others to be filled with chunks of rocks. I have been informed that this is likely caused by my affinity for sugary foods and carbonated beverages, which I apparently consume “too much” of. If such things were as bad for me as they say, why would they taste so good? Either way, after I arrived, the woman at the counter handed me forms to fill out asking me a variety of probing, personal questions about my medical history. Naturally, to protect my secrecy, I lied on all the answers — who knows what diabolical things the receptionist had planned for my medical history and personal information. Not long after she took the forms, I was escorted into the back while the Male Parental Unit set up his portable computer. They sat me in a long brown chair, and explained to me just what they had in mind at this upgraded facility. The sound of a drill in the background began to unsettle me as they pulled out a bag with a needle attached. They covered my face with a mask which pumped air into my face. They said it would have a calming effect, but I assert that the funny-smelling air did not live up to its intended purpose, although Male Parental Unit disagrees. Next, they attempted to stick me with their needlebag, which they claimed would render me unconscious for the duration of the procedure. Unfortunately for them, apparently I have shy veins and they missed the first stab. No matter. They tried again on my hand. And missed again, rendering my entire arm apparently unusable for their diabolical purposes. Unfortunately for me, I have two arms, and the veins on my left arm are much less shy. Before too long, [ERR: DATA MISSING. Please check with the System Administrator] Then they told me the procedure was over and handed me a small bag of the bone chunks that used to inhabit my mouth. They ushered me back out into the lobby, still full of whatever mind-altering fluid that was in the needlebag, and informed Male Parental Unit that I was done before handing me a small bucket of ice cream and telling me to be careful around food for the next few days so as not to get food into my fresh new holes, otherwise I’d have to come back and they’d have to make new new holes to clean out the new holes, and to drink lots of fluids. When we returned home to the Digital Fortress, Male Parental Unit made one last foray into the exterior world to acquire a magical bottle containing what I believe are called analgesics, with the instructions to take them every four hours as needed. And that’s why it was the best weekend ever.

Troll Hole 16

I have been summoned to the local court house with other local human assists to potentially decide the fate of another in a fair and balanced fashion. The overlords will replace me with another minion type to complete my daily finger wiggling for them. This reinforces for me the insignificance of my position and the frailty of the world, but that is another therapist visit altogether. While all of this seems a bit daunting I've just now realized this will require that I appear in public wearing non-stretchy non-soft big boy clothing. I will also be forced to make not only human speak but also friendly filtered human speak. .....in further confirmation I have discovered I must be fully 100% disconnected from all digital input streams during the captive time frame of service. Will I return unharmed ? Physically perhaps - but mentally I can only hope that what doest kill me ... Makes me stronger.

Troll Hole 16

The food cooker lady continues to push forward relentlessly with the install of house 3.15

Our feeling is that testing is not fully completed but the executive appetite for change is at an all time high. We are being directed to proceed with a break fix philosophy to achieve the targeted environment.

Clearly a bigger picture plan beyond our pay-scale security clearance is at work here is driving the install. Defects have been reclassified as low and we march forward claiming as always it’s working as designed...why does grey come in so many colors

#pinterest #pinteresthell

Troll Hole 16 Observations From The Upper Deck

A text message from Male parental unit this morning informed me that today was The food cooker lady’s celebration of annual solar rotation. I am not entirely sure what this means for the residents of the domicile, but it appears to be a day of some significance, as the progeny of The food cooker lady - Sporty Youth and Girl - have made treks from their own residences to visit their own female parental unit. In celebration of this, The food cooker lady has asked if we all want to go to the foreign furniture emporium, a place I believe she called “Eye-Key-Uh”. Male parental unit informed me shortly thereafter that it was not an offer, as it had sounded, but was of a more mandatory nature, before issuing another “suggestion” to use the warm hygiene fluid, and to adorn the decency fibers that recently had the same treatment.

After piling into the harsh sunlight and heading to the foreign furniture emporium, of which I had only previously heard legends, I found myself quickly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people in this “Eye-Key-Uh”. Apparently, this was a very popular location for people to shop, although I found myself perplexed as to why. It did not seem to confuse The food cooker lady and Male parental unit, as they examined each piece of furniture with surprising detail - The food cooker lady tried it while Male parental unit simply took pictures, all the while using words such as “renovate” “update” and “remove”, related to the general living quarters on the upper deck, and, more worryingly, the kitchen area.

At last, when it appeared we were at the end of our tour of the foreign furniture emporium, the end appeared to be in sight. We stopped to try the local cuisine - Male parental unit suggested I should try the cow spheres. I was not overly sure if this was a suggestion, or a “suggestion”, and decided not to press the issue. The food cooker lady and Sporty youth enjoyed what I believe to have been chicken, and Male parental unit had what appeared to be a pinkish paste which, while I cannot confirm it, he claimed to be something he refers as “Gnasch”. He seems to like “Gnasch”, since he claims to have a lot of it when examining the food stores, but I digress.

As we got up to, as I presumed, leave, I was treated to an alarming fact - we were merely on the upper deck of the foreign furniture emporium. As we descended into the depths, The food cooker lady produced a small list from a bright yellow bag. Apparently some of the items of the upper deck had caught her eyes, and we needed to go to the depths to find these things. The Sporty youth seemed to share my general enthusiasm, although he did not show it. I am suspicious of Sporty youth at times. He is quiet, lurking just out of sight in the depths of the domicile usually, and seems hesitant to discuss thin. I fear he may be plotting with Male parental unit, as they are often in the depths together, although I cannot confirm this.

After we located the items on The food cooker lady’s list, we finally made our way to the lighted numbers which I believe often signify where currency is transferred, or special deals are located. I prayed for the former as we approached through the cavernous space of the warehouse. As Male parental unit handed over the currency, The food cooker lady seemed pleased with the trip to the “Eye-Key-Uh”, and I was overjoyed with the prospect of returning to the upper deck, to the safety of my quarters, far away from the crowds and bright colors of the emporium. Note to self: purchase sunglasses, as the exterior of the domicile is brighter than remembered.

#ikea #submission

Update from Troll Hole 16

I believe there is a conspiracy afoot. The food inventory grew, suggesting the homeless youth or food cooker lady have used the beer getting machine to retrieve food, unlikely. A more likely scenario is that one of them is stacking the provisions to simulate a programming bug in the inventory database. I will install cameras and keystroke logs to validate my hypothesis. **note validate roommate agreements on undocumented inventory changes and breech of contract evictions. The digital fortress visual theme updates continue. Food cooker lady is relentless in her demands and pace. She continues to interface directly via android with a growing online cult. They call themselves "Pinterest". Their following seems to be made up of food cooker lady types who have a desire to repurpose and update as well as share their on updates back to the collective. This self-breeding behavior is a genius cult model. The logic is brilliant and I can see there is no hope of escaping it's horrific grasp. My only hope is that it is cyclical and not constant. The scope of the cults reach is alarming. Recently I was lured out in public with the promise of fancy coffee and specially fruity filled pastry type objects which in the end turned out to be scolding hot colored water in a paper cup and some type of piping hot goo pie from a Scottish resturant named McDonalds where you never have to leave your car. While the never leave the car idea is brilliant clearly the have overlooked a well rounded quality assurance team. After the weak attempt to fulfill her promise I was taken to what was previously considered a hardware store frequented by men whose hands were sculpted by the test of a hards days labor. The once noble place was a mere shadow of its previous glorious self. In a clever marketing ploy pinteresters have maintained the H and replaced the subsequent letters with OME. It is now a "HomeStore" with entire sections targeting pinteresting food cooker lady types. In a final death blow free weekend classes that encourage pinteresters to do ...it...themselves, share the past secret time honored secrets of the tradesmen. The upside of the trip is that there seem to be no employees in the vast warehouse that force me to make the human speak. It has been simplified to bar codes and scanners. While food cooker lady was distracted by wall covering pigmentation I was able to sneak a solid metal locking mechanism into the paycheck sucking pushcart. If all goes as planed I'll be able to secure myself inside troll hole 16 for the duration of the fortress update.

butt10dot1

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Friday. Friday night. A movie. That seems to be what humans in these parts of Earth do on the evenings of Fridays. So last night I attempted this.In general, I am somewhat confused by the ritual of...

butt10dot1

trollholecentral

In the world of sub/post/quasi human trolldroids, there occasionally occurs an event known as Friday. Friday is typically a harbinger of a series of two or so other events that are equally as foreign,...

Troll hole 16 Observations From the Upper Deck

Today, I found myself roused from my plush rectangle sleeping space by the clanking and clattering of construction coming from outside the door to the quarters I have been so generously provided by The food cooker lady and Male parental unit. After listening to the clamor for entirely too long, I decided to investigate and discovered that metallic stairs had been erected in the hallway. I suspect this is a plot by The food cooker lady to keep me out of the kitchen, claiming the premise of “updating” the conditions of the domicile.

I fear she has enlisted the help of Male parental unit in this plot as well, as I have seen him combing through the food stores with a crude checklist, perhaps maintaining an inventory? Either way, I have planted a box of crackers in the food stores and a block of cheese in the large white cooling box to throw off his counts, just to be on the safe side.

As the sounds die down over the course of this update, I secretly plot to get past the metallic stairs while Male parental unit and The food cooker lady are apparently distracted and pulled away - perhaps by the loud beasts who roam the upper deck with me regularly. I shall have to reward them later for this diversion, perhaps with some of Male parental unit’s food store, to further obfuscate his counts.

I just hope I can return to the safety of my quarters before I am found beyond the barricade.

butt10dot1

Skipping ahead two hours. My purple protein filaments are now laundered, dried, combed. My under clothing, overclothing, deodorant, and face paints have been all applied, I hope to the correct parts and in the correct order. The phone rings; I have received my instructions to mobilize. I spend...

Update from Troll Hole #3:

The Hens haven’t laid any eggs in weeks, but their spirits remain decent and they’ve had no frostbite on their combs this year. These are the blessings we count, the little daily victories to celebrate. I’m undecided about how to tell them the Ducks are coming.

Mom would say, “Don’t tell them!” But how can I not give them a heads-up?

Imagine being at Human Workplace one day when someone suddenly herds a group of fresh young talents into the conference room adjacent to your group’s work area and shuts the door. You can see the lights blazing in there and hear snippets of youthful chatter, a language with an unfamiliar cadence and tone, but similar to your own. What special project are they here to do? How long will they be here? Why didn’t YOU get the project? How much longer will YOU be here?

I need to tell the Hens, but I think I need to tell them on a Friday. No one decent ever fires anyone on Fridays therefore they will know they aren’t being let go. It’s expansion, truly and plainly. Then on Saturday and Sunday they can supervise the conversion of the large cubicle across the aisle, the only one with a floor drain( but technically draftier).

And while we are out there working, I do believe they would like their roosts lowered just a bit this season. I see that the height that used to be nothing to them when they were one or two years old has become a navigational burden. Definitely six inches (a Hand and a half) lower on the back roost; the side roost looks good but could be tightened. I do believe that would please them greatly. That’s the difference between the Farm and the Human Workplaces of the world—all those other bosses are always raising the bars, never a thought to lowering one ever. Shame they can't learn from Mother Nature.

Troll Hole 16

The overlords have casually requested a hardware test to evaluate the benefits of more RAM for Gertrude Lenovo. I immediately spoke in the affirmative without consulting her. Gertrude has since increased typos and throttled connection speeds between 12 and 4 pm (GMT-6). In recent couples therapy via Skype with our therapist I have come to understand this was a choice we should have made together. We are currently rebuilding trust pathways.

Recent troll hole re configurations with theme and color choices have been saved. In a peace gesture food cooker lady has allowed a personal coffee station to be installed. I have accepted the peace offering and a treaty has been struck.

butt10dot1

Perhaps I will write a manual.

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Brilliant

Troll Hole #10 adventure (part 1) - From Behaviorally Underdeveloped Telecommuting Trolldroid (BUTT10.1)

Some of my equipment has been malfunctioning as of late, and on this particular morning I had an appointment to bring it in to one of the Overlord’s corporate facilities for inspection and possible replacement. I should probably clarify: this is not the flesh-like corporeal equipment of which I am composed and of which my last blog entry was focused, nor is it any of my typically attached peripheral equipment such as the iPhone or the other iPhone, both of which might as well be appended to my body (note to self to explore this upgrade in future). This Is the equipment connected to the keyboard on which I do my daily fingerwiggling for the Overlord. So another adventure. This one would require a bit more work than the last. For starters, I seem to recall something about a “dress code” at the Overlord’s facilities. For those not familiar, a dress code is basically a sort of protocol which prohibits slippers, robes, and any other sort of fuzzy or otherwise troll hole appropriate clothing item and in their place mandates uncomfortable foot coverings, even more uncomfortable undergarments, and clean and pressed pieces of cloth to cover those undergarments. Dress codes typically also require that the protein filaments on top of the cranial covering be washed and arranged in a somewhat cohesive manner so as not to disturb the other occupants of the facility. Now last I was told, my own set of supercranial protein filament offshoots, or ‘hair’ as they’re collectively called, is purple. Would this disrupt the office dwellers that I would have to interface with? I seem to recall that most outside humans do not have purple hair. Should I wear a bear mask to cover them? I suppose that would not be the best idea since I would be trying to pass as a human to gain admittance to the facility. Also I did not have a bear mask. Something I now feel compelled to remedy via Amazon. Now for undergarments, because this part may also require some explanation. Female humans are expected to wear a sort of primitive apparatus which contains all sorts of heavy wires, straps, bands and hooks, designed to be applied and fastened, often by way of extreme bodily contortion, around their mid to upper torso. The purpose of these ‘bras’ as they’re called, I’m only vaguely familiar with: it has something to do with counteracting the gravitational pull against the female mammary attachments, as well as containment and constriction of these elliptic paraboloid protuberances. Fortunate for trolldroid females, having few occasions to venture out of our troll hole habitats, our species is able to spend a majority of our day unencumbered by these primitive pieces of armor. Humans of both the male and female persuasion, as well as a sizable crossection of the TrollDroid population, also wear a softer sort of armor over their lower regions called ‘underwear’, ‘underpants’, and a myriad of other names. Underwear is a topic for which I could go in to a full exposition, and probably will, but let’s save that for another day; however, I will mention that another challenge of dressing for the overlord’s facilities is finding an optimal combination of fancypants (the technical term for the suitable pieces of cloth to cover the human lower regions) and underwear which do not allow others to see the outline of the latter through the material of the former.

This is exhausting, to be continued….

#trolldroid #nearHumanTelecommuter #submission

Troll Hole 16

The troll hole color was reconfigured today from a warm hugging red wine color to white. The food cocker lady has informed me it is not white. The color swatch confirms the color to be “sterling setting” but I secretly disagree . I am skeptical since in revisting my hex table #C0C0C0 looks nothing like this bright blinding mixture I was forced to roll in the walls of the hole .

With weather central predicting a cold front all week long I fear more net new projects looming. I will begin the search for Mother Nature. Perhaps I can convince her to increase the bandwidth on spring. With spring sun and warmth the food cooker lady with venture outdoors and leave me be during my brief non VPN timeframe.

I asked the homeless youth where to find Mother Nature online … He suggested dark net.

Update from Troll Hole #3:

It was 2:07 am and I woke like a horse coming up from a twilight cocktail. My head was too heavy to lift and my eyes rolled beneath lids that I almost couldn’t open. “Sleep.” I made this suggestion to myself but it wasn’t taken. My eyes opened fully.

I turned to let the left side of my body rest and put the burden of the next shift on the right. A blast of carbon dioxide met me and repeated, rhythmically. I tried to angle my head up for a current of something cool and fresh. “Sleep.” I envisioned the word behind closed lids.

Old Man Winter rolled waves of frigid wind across the yard and field as if he was shaking out a blanket of snow. He whistled loudly, enjoying his work. “Cool and fresh,” I thought, and climbed the stairs to the spare room, leaving Husband and Dog below. I burrowed into the down comforter and wanted to call out to Cat to join me but cats never come when you want them to. I waited an hour for him. Two hours later he came.

“There were three bunnies in the yard,” he said, “not just the two.” As if this explained why he couldn't come sooner.

“This fantastic report is very impressive but I am still sleeping,” I told him.

“You are trying. You are not actually sleeping.” His tail thumped the comforter.

“You want breakfast.”

He could have said more but he simply purred instead because he knows I like it so much. And coffee. He knows how much I like coffee and I would soon be wanting coffee. Very soon.

Cat and I got up in the dark.

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