Am I an ad(d)-orc?

I had a lengthy discussion (no yelling, I am SO learning to behave, it’s disgusting, really) with she-human about this new facebook thingy. You know, collecting all kinds of information about you, now even more than ever. She said that the organization wants more data about their users in order to individualize their advertising. I didn’t understand even half of it. What I DO know though, is that you never give your enemy more info than absolutely neccessary. Or simply wrong information, which makes it a lot more fun.
So, if I were to register at facebook, would they send me orc-related ads? What could that possibly be?
A “pillaging-do-it-yourself”-starter-set?
“Axe-polish, for the daily beheading”?
“Monster shop, everything for your pet”?
Actually, I think I’ll get myself an account and see what they’ll come up with. How will facebook deal with orcs?

No flowers in MY hair. I’m bald.

I’ve been going through she-human’s tin-music (everything human comes in tins, remember?) and laughed my ass off (not really, as it is massive and it would need more laughter than any lung could possibly hold in order to laugh it off), when I came upon something called ‘Flower Power’. I mean, really?
What kind of power should a flower have? Could you hit me on the head with a rose? Of course you could (if you dare to face the consequences) but to what effect? That I should laugh myself to death (see problem above)? That I shall faint due to the penetrating sweet fragrance? (Might actually work, orcs have a very sensitive nose that needs a certain amount of stink.) And even if it were poisoned, might I remind you that I am an orc? (Please, don’t tell me you haven’t grasped that fact by now). We digest rusty nails and old shoes.
Where I come from, there grows some nasty fungus and there actually might be a flower that is gigantic and could (and would) swallow you whole. But in this world?
She-human insists that the term refers to a time when people wore flowers in their hair as a form of protest against war. That was the moment when I almost suffocated from laughing so hard (which was perhaps her cunning plan to get rid of me. Hm). Only drug-meddled humans could come up with such an idea.
Anyway, we listened to that flowery music and I also had a good look at the names of those who once played these tunes and were now captured forever in those round tins. I wonder if there’s a way to release them in order to smack them in the face with a flower, hehe.
The names, I mean, can anyone honestly hope to be taken seriously when your name is ‘who’? Who ‘who’? Or ‘The Byrds’, obviously with a spelling problem? Besides the drugs. Really. The constant yelling that someone’s fire should be lighted was getting on my nerves rather quickly, but what made me really angry about that tune was the never-ending organ. Almost made me kick the playing device out of the window. She-human and I for once agreed that it’s possibly one of the most horrid songs ever composed. And it was definitely the reason someone invented the skip-button on the device. On the other hand it might prove useful as a battle song, annoying the hell out of your enemy. But only if your own army wears ear plugs.

But there were obviously some highlights as well. To be called ‘Steppenwolf” seems quite alright and to sing something like ‘Born to be wild’ shows good spirit.
Only the gods know (at least I hope they do, someone should) what ‘Do Wah Diddy Diddy Dum Diddy Do’ could possibly mean. It certainly irritates the listener but has no resemblance with a battle song in any possible way.
But my absolute favourite definitely is a similarly confusing song called ‘In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida’ and the band’s name is so incredibly orcish that it actually made me wonder about their origin: Iron Butterfly. What’s not to like about that, right? I dearly hope, they didn’t wear flowers in their hair.

Sausage-people and orcs – common ancestors?

As I told you in my last post, I seriously consider writing a book about the origins of orcs. So, for once I did what she-human suggested, I read another book. Only this time it was short and rather entertaining (no females in lace). What really surprised me though, was the sheer overwhelming similarity between kraut- or sausage-humans and orcs, especially their fighting style. If you don’t believe me, here’s a copy of said book:

Also, I think that this Tacitus guy has done a really good job of presenting his topic. To honour his spirit I’m thinking of writing my own book under a different name. I think I like Thracitus.

Who better than me?

I should write a book. Seriously.
As I found out, the human I am currently sharing a flat with has quite a substantial number of books (don’t make me count them, let’s say: a lot). And some of these are about orcs. ‘Hang on’ you gonna think, and rightly so. How come that humans write books about creatures that
a) do not exist around here (at least to their knowledge, we know better of course) and
b) are not their own species?
How dare they.

So, by all means, I should be the one writing such a book, correct? Correct. Because who would know everything orcish better than me?
I asked she-human about those books on her shelve and she told me a bit about them. Either the orcs in those stories are nice and misunderstood, which makes us look like the better humans (in fact orcs are indeed the better humans, but in quite a different matter. We enjoy the pillaging and looting and do not pretend to be oh so sorry for taking away everything that matters).
Or the author portrays us as mindless stupid canon-fodder. We are mindless and stupid but that actually makes us incredibly dangerous and by no means an easy target.
If I had written these books, the outcome would have been different. So maybe I should give it a go. As I do not enjoy the bloody typing (claws still don’t go well with the little electronic device or the thing that she-human calls ‘keyboard’ which is attached to a bigger device that I occasionally use with her permi . Well, I use it. I consider dictating my ideas, and her typing them. On the other hand, to make sure she writes down exactly what I say, I would have to read it afterwords. What fun could that be, reading something I already know? Okay, I’m gonna write it myself.
It should be about the history and origin of the orcish race, the incredibly impressive ways that we found to adapt to the natural environment. Did you know that there are sea-orcs? Forget about those funny human pirates. Orc-pirates rule! Naturally.
And then there are snow-orcs. Actually I think this Yeti-guy could be one of us. Still considering a trip to this mountain where it has been spotted.
What do you think? She-human seems to like the idea, she suggested to take a look at someone else’s work to see how it is done. This Tacitus guy obviously has written a short piece on the sausage-folk a couple of years ago. Short is always good (well, not ALWAYS), so I will have a look at it. I’ll let you know when I start writing. You can also make suggestions what you would like to read about in particular.
See ya.


I had a proper look around, these last couple of days, despite the crappy weather. And I realized: the humans around here should by no means be called krauts. True, that stuff is available at those market-like buildings, stored in tins (everything concerning human comes in tins). But I never once saw anyone actually eat it.
What they DO eat, constantly, is bread and sausages. It comes in various forms and tastes, and it is available literally everywhere. Humans enjoying their favourite pastimes (football, not internet-trolling) – who’s already there? A sausage-seller. a remote place, deep in the forest, a carpark, and? Right. Sausageman. Or Sausagewoman. the humans do not seem to mind who sells that stuff as long as they get it, preferably with a slice of bread and some green stuff called mustard. THAT is fantastic shit, I tell you. And it does funny things to the nose, when you eat at least a mouthful of it. I love it all.
So, today I may proudly say I am a sausage-orc. With a mustard-mustache. Life is great. Fuck the rain.