Posts Tagged ‘China’

We wish to find the truth, no matter where it lies. But to find the truth we need imagination and skepticism both. We will not be afraid to speculate, but we will be careful to distinguish speculation from fact.

– Carl Sagan

The Missing Plane

We are living through one of the greatest aviation mysteries in recorded history. Nearly a week ago, Malaysian Flight 370 disappeared after leaving Kuala Lumpur for what was initially a Beijing destination. Very early into its flight, the Boeing 777 (one of the safest passenger planes in the air) ceased all communication. In the first few days of the mystery, the conspiracy circles were abuzz about the Malay government stalling their disclosure of evidence to buy time to spin a story to tell China and the rest of the world. Then it became apparent Malaysia wasn’t hiding evidence – they had no evidence! The next wave of information proved the flight plan was adjusted and the plane changed direction and continued travelling west towards the Indian Ocean after losing communication. This news sank my Bermuda Triangle Space/Time Vortex theory, but spawned so many new questions:

Where was Flight 370 going and why?

Path of Flight 370, as far as we can tell...

Path of Flight 370, as far as we can tell…

What is clear is the plane’s transponder was turned off by someone within the cockpit knowledgeable of such things. The plane then flew under the civilian radar and managed to apparently avert even military radar (though Thailand and Indonesia have not provided their military radar findings). Every other lead uncovered in the press has been contradicted by other reports or retracted by the original source.

So where are we left? Nearly where we started.

All we can do from here is speculate, which is where I come in. As you, dear reader, may know – I, Vic Neverman, am something of an accomplished paranoid and fearlessly feral when it comes to wild speculation. I often consult with businesses and provide disaster recovery analysis using my expertise with shit-splattered fans. To put it mildly, I dally in doomsday prognostication. It is what keeps me optimistic, really… think about it – life is all about perspective and if you expect the worst and get mediocre, Huzzah! Such occupation is why I have been continuously sought-out this week to provide my baddest news speculation on what happened to Flight 370.

What we know: Sabotage is at play

Unknown parties dismantled the damned transponder and evaded radar. Said parties are knowledgeable of such things, possessing an expertise of sorts. Whether they succeeded or failed in completing their mission, we do not yet know nor may we ever.

What was the motive?

Immediate terrorism is ruled out as no terrorist group has claimed victory. Grander scale terrorism is still open as a possibility, but more on that later.

Kidnapping or termination of certain passengers is possible, but hardly the most efficient manner to go about it. Stealing a plane for profit is equally possible, though inefficient.

Potential for Profit Gain?

The Andaman Islands, possible destination of Flight 370 once it went off-air

The Andaman Islands, possible destination of Flight 370 once it went off-air

If the plane lands and the saboteurs are successful with their heist, they may ransom off the passengers for monetary or political gains. If the plane does not land, we may never know. Similarly, the plane or the sum of its parts may be sold to the highest bidder on the black market. Yet… to any business man adept at pulling off such a scheme would realize it does not qualify as a reasonable venture when analyzing the risk/reward ratio. The meager reward would easily be outweighed by the world’s mass as it investigates further.

Therefore, we can rule out the Profit Motive.

The script to the planned sabotage of Flight 370, whether fulfilled or not, must have a dreaded Second Act.

The Doomsday Scenario

The only reasonable logic to pulling off such a disappearance act is if there was to be a grandiose follow-up.

We know the saboteurs knew what they were doing and they likely knew where they were going. If they want to use the plane for future endeavors, they will need to have a satisfactory runway to land without damaging the craft and to later take -off (assuming the plane is not dismantled and shipped, which we shall assume here). The saboteurs would have a place in mind, perhaps some remote island in the Andaman Sea, where they would have a runway they could quickly cover when satellites and other snoops come flying by. In order to continue a journey, a hell of a lot of jet fuel would have to be procured ahead of time. Procuring jet fuel would leave a paper trail, but would be easier done before the disappearance of Flight 370 than it would be to do now when the whole world is watching.

The saboteurs could then potentially have a vehicle for transporting a nuclear device. They would not need to crash it into a city; they could merely fly high into the atmosphere and detonate over a major metropolis in that corner of the world to set off an Electromagnetic Pulse, or an EMP. Such an event would completely knock out the power grid for a wide area and plunge the region into chaos. The more developed the country is, the more financial ruin would result (bringing Southern California into the Stone Age would have a bigger impact than nudging Burma into the Stone Age).

Who would want to create a mass destruction vehicle out of a Boeing 777? It may be easier to first discuss potential targets in the geographical vicinity… India has her fair share of foes, beginning and perhaps ending with nuke-ready Pakistan. Could a rogue militant group of Pakis be planning an attack on the subcontinent? Of course, China has been stirring the pot in the South China Sea, drawling ire from every neighboring country in Southeast Asia. Could a militant group of Filipinos/Malays/Vietnamese financed by Japanese neo-Imperialists be planning an attack on the People’s Republic?

Time will only tell. Except, of course, post-Electromagnetic Pulse, in which case your watch is fucked.

Comments from other paranoids…

All sensitivity aside, I mean, someone has got to state the obvious. UFO’s jacked the airship and stole away

– Jim Tuscan of APOPKA, Fla

Don’t forget Flight 19, the fleet of Navy Torpedo Bombers who became disoriented off the coast of Florida and never found their way home. Can’t rule out Bermuda Triangle phenomena just yet. Pam Am Flight 7 was lost between California and Hawai’i and it took them a week to find it… in 1957. Something weird, something paranormal is going on here.

– Rufus Holdsworth, SPACE COAST, Fla

It’s a red herring to take the world’s attention away from Crimea. Did you notice an American drone was shot down today by the Russians? Yeah, no one did. No one but me. Everyone else was talking about the missing plane while secretly gossiping about Lindsay Lohan’s bedroom roll call.

– Reverend Chette Williams, BIRMINGHAM, Ala

Electromagnetic Pulses are not a matter of theory, they are a matter of eventual fact. Sooner or later, a nuclear-empowered kamikaze is going to wipe out a metropolitan area and sink it into chaos. FEMA used Katrina as a dress-rehearsal to some New World Order event already in pre-production phase where a region of the United States will suffer an EMP and FEMA will have to come in and clean the place up, which means take our guns. To quote a wise man, myself, ‘the end is near and it is just the beginning.’

– Cyrus Lee Hancock, NASHVILLE, Tenn

A Higgs Boson from CERN was stolen and they were going to hop it to China when the particle decided to take charge and zap them all into another dimension.


Back on the subject of EMPs, Rev Chette is thinking about going vintage. First, as a way to get away from roving marauders after the apocalypse, and second, so it will crank. Only cars without electric ignition will crank after a devastating electromagnetic pulse.

– Reverend Chette speaking of his vintage Stingray (below), Birmingham, Ala

Chette's revving up

Chette’s revving up


This isn’t a wake-up call to the American people; this is just a wake held for the death of democracy…

I’m no idealist. Rule by the people is as only as strong as the people’s will to be just. Let’s face it; we’ve grown up into children trying to take as many blocks from the Kindergarten play-area as our chubby little t-rex claws can carry back to our isolated corner. We’ve become too rigidly stubborn and once our snotty noses get a whiff of the end of all we think is holy, we became outraged. Moderation-be-damned, we all became extremists and this polarity has tossed the globe into an unrecoverable wobble.

syria_civil_war_rebel_control_map_2013-08-22I speak not just of the United States; I speak of Humanity. Look at the Arab Spring – the people stand up against oppression and once the iron fists fall, extremism fills the power-vacuum. Venezuela and Thailand are in turmoil over transitions of power, but these games of thrones are to be expected. It’s the authoritative repression of uprisings in Syria and Ukraine that have become the new norm, coming to a town near you and likely to plunge us all into the next world war. The Militarized States of America and her Western Allies play democracy patron by arming Syrian rebels (or by allowing friends like Saudi Arabia to continue funding Sunni-extremist Al Qaeda to fight Syria’s Assad) while Russia assists the demagogues of Damascus (as Russian pet pit-bull Iran funds Shiite-extremist Hezbollah to defend Syria’s Assad). If you haven’t read up on your histories, such complicated strategic alliances at odds eventually trigger global war. As if alliances were not complicated enough, we have the China vs. the World over the South China Sea trade-routes where Japan, the Philippines and Australia are shoved aside or bought-out entirely.

Territorial-Claims-South-China-Sea-Map1Wars, of course, are fought over resources and no level of diplomacy can overcome that. The Petrol-Dollar is about to tank as Russian and Chinese oil baron oligarchies undermine the Anglo-dominance in black gold. Once the Artic melts in a couple days from now, war will certainly erupt over rights to drill the North Pole. What Bitcoin I haven’t lost to hackers I have been using to fund the legal fees for Green Peace’s Arctic pirates. Not that there is anything to be done to stop the inevitable.

There is an epidemic of American bankers committing suicide. It is 1929 all over again, yet unlike the days of “the crash”, today Wall Street seems strong. There is something rumbling under the surface you and I cannot see. What is it these dead bankers knew that drove them to jump (or to be tossed out the window)? A complete financial collapse? Some cosmic fear is driving Wall-Street mad with despair.

With war abroad and collapse within… What’s to be done?

What’s to be done when Iranian generals insist there are Hezbollah sleeper cells hanging out in America, just waiting for Israel to bomb Tehran before striking us where it hurts? These sleeper cells could be in the apartment next door, could be manning the Starbucks drive-thru, could be wearing a kilt and serving haggis out of a food truck. The American Police State hovers overhead domestically in their spy blimps, seeking out readings of radioactive isotopes, hoping to find the Jihadist nearest you.

sleeper cellsShould the sleeper cells erupt, or more likely, should a soon-to-be impoverished American populace rise up in protest, Homeland Security will be well prepared. The Security Agencies of the Fatherland recently purchased 1.6 billion rounds of ammunition, which is enough to fight a hot war (using Iraq bullet usage as a reference) for 20+ years. This is Homeland Security, not the Pentagon. Homeland Security, which compromises the Coast Guard, FEMA and the airport bouncers of the TSA. What do they need with 1.6 billion bullets?Frighteningly, many of these rounds are sniper bullets. Is this just the Military Industrial Compliance scratching its own back or is there a pending domestic threat to the Establishment around the corner?

What do we have in store? America will survive in her legacy of corporations, but will those corporations assist the people of America? No. As the domestic environment crumbles with the dollar, these international entities will pick up their right foot here and lean on their left foot firmly planted on the other side of the Pacific. We, the populace, will be left behind, a bunch of hungry bellies without a valuable dollar to consume. If you do not have job security with an international like Google or Lockheed Martin, then you are no more than a member of a vulnerable citizenry.

Pretty fucking bleak. Aye.

So again, what’s to be done? Fellow fear-mongers advocate guns, the more the better. Fuck that 18th century worn-out concept. Guns are nice for killing your neighbor, not overthrowing the Government. Of course, the survivalist prophet Cyrus Lee Hancock would argue, “I am not just arming myself against the New World Order, I am arming myself against the highwaymen who want to steal my gas, I am arming myself against the neighbor who covets my wife, I am arming myself against the creatures that rise out of the lagoon.” So what’s to be done? Find yourself a friend like Cyrus Lee Hancock; just don’t find yourself siphoning his gas or coveting his wife. Find yourself a government spook of a brother-in-law who has a shit-hit-the-fan reservation to the nuclear bunker under Cheyenne Mountain. Teach your children to use a crossbow and how to speak Mandarin. Find yourself some Apocalyptic church full of wacky Revelations nuts because they will likely be better prepared for the collapse than your Fantasy Football League. The solution is community. Build one, join one, make yourself useful to one.

spy blimps be damned...

spy blimps be damned…

Okay, enough writing drivel from my blimp-proof tub for now, I need to continue binge-watching House of Cards and praying the world lasts long enough for me to catch the finale to True Detective. I will have good beer and warm thoughts as I do, no sense wasting the good times while they’re around.

Aye, dear reader, the conspiracy theorizing has been light of late. Not for lack of controversy, but because I am working on another project for future publishing on this here site. While recently in Portland, Oregon (prior to the current “Sno-pocalyse ’14”), I was asked to put my paranoid skills to task in order to investigate a missing person. Investigation now complete, I am putting my findings into prose to present as an anti-fiction story, “Unbecoming” to be published here this spring.

In the meantime, here is a teaser of a late night conversation with a villain we shall call “Rook”

Chinese Cigarettes: an excerpt from “Unbecoming”

I must have said something comical as Rook let out a laugh that sounded more like a an alpha-jackal barking another wild dog off its carcass lunch. Rook turned towards me, his sleepy eyes the eyes of a man who’d been drinking since nightfall with dawn peaking at the horizon; sleepy, yet maniacal with a crazy energy and something new resembling acceptance. His smile, framed by an impossibly dark beard, gleaned menacingly as the overhead light reflected off of jackal saliva. By now, I was entirely convinced in a past life he had been an anarchist blowing up Franco’s bridges in the Spanish Civil War just for fuck’s sake: shits and giggles as it were.

“I’ve got something to show you.” Rook said and stood up, his balance as wobbly as his words. I followed as he left the den for his kitchen. He paused before the stove and leaned over, steadying himself with an outstretched hand on the nearby sink. He let the oven door fall open with a metallic crash and then withdrew something from within. He attempted to stand upright, the vertical momentum taking him off balance to the point he had to take a couple backward steps in my direction. I waited for the fall; hands ready in case I had to catch him. Rook found his balance and turned towards me to display his prized treasure: a cartoon of Chinese cigarettes. “I present to you, the future.”

Rook and his Contraband

Rook and his Contraband

I chuckled as I imagined Rook as Sir Walter Raleigh returning to England to show a stogie of Virginia tobacco to the Queen, “Your Majesty, I presenth to thou thy futyre.” It was a light chuckle and quickly dismissed when I realized I was playing the part of the Virgin Queen.

“Right.” Rook nodded along to my dreamscape. He was still wearing Elizabethan sea dog garb and I realized I was within a waking dream. Too much sleep deprivation had me hallucinating.

I played along, “How are Chinese cigarettes the future?”

“Right? Okay.” Rook turned back to the box of cigarettes as if his spiel were etched in Chinese Characters. “So they are going to legalize pot everywhere. Marijuana is no longer viable as, you know, a profitable contraband. Cheap cigarettes; that is where it is at.”

“Aren’t cigarettes legal too?”

“Economics, my dear kind sir.” Rook lectured. “Cigarettes are cost prohibitive. Taxed to fuck, what? So.” Rook closed his eyes for a brief cat nap. He erupted in sudden wakefulness, “So cheap cigarettes on the black market is where it is at.”

“You’re going to sell Chinese contraband?”

“Mmhmnth.” Rook hummed through his nose.

“Where do you get your Chinese cigarettes?”

Rook leaned in close to disclose his secret, even though no one else was in the room, “the Chinese.”

“The Triads?”

Rook shook his head and patted my chest with a meaty bear paw. “Nah, the Triads are just the militarized arm of something bigger.”

“Something bigger than the Triads?”

Rook nodded, “The International Chinese Waiters Union.”

“The International Chinese Waiters Union?”

Rook nodded, “The ICWU.”

“The ‘icey double-woo’?”

“Yeah, think about it. Every shit town in America has three restaurants: a McDonalds…” He paused, though held his gaze firmly on my face. “A country buffet.”

“And a Chinese restaurant. Okay, I get it.”

“Who works at Chinese restaurants?” Rook asked before hinting at the answer. “Not some pimple-faced Appalachian white kid. No, who works at Chinese restaurants?”

“Chinese waiters?”

“Chinese waiters.”

“You’re mad.”

“Damn fuck, I’m mad. This…” he held up his cartoon of Chinese cigarettes. “This is what I have to resort to in order for America to be able to afford to smoke cigarettes. I thought this was a free country Vince.”


“It’s not. Not a free country. I’m like…”

“Paul Revere?”

“Paul Revere.” Rook nodded and then walked away to fall asleep in a corner somewhere, leaving his carton of cigarettes on the counter and the oven door ajar with the bounty of contraband kept within.

As a dog returns to his vomit, so too a fool repeats his folly

– Proverbs 26:11

Put the potato peeler back into its sheath, this is not déjà vu you are experiencing. 2014 has risen like a Phoenix (or at least a Tucson) out of the ashes of yesteryear and has presented us with this… Vic Neverman’s 2nd 2014 prediction blog.

YES, dear reader, we are two weeks into the new year and already we have a second blog of unlikely and equally-irreverent prognostication. Surely a harbinger of ill-tiding! We can only pray to our deity du jour there shan’t be a third. By now, you have read the original  2014 predictions which is ultimately all you need to know. Yet so many of us tingle with a yearning for knowledge of what we do not want to know and this is where Vic’s Predix Part II comes in. Instead of using my own uncanny inductive logic to foretell the future, this blog post is entirely composed of sails blown by the gusts of guests to the NeverVerse. Far and wide comes forth peoples inclined to contribute and herein lies the fruit of their labor.

IT SHALL BE NOTED the following predictions are not made by professional futurists like me, Vic Neverman. And by “professional futurist” I am referring to someone who earns a living off of predicting the future. And by “earns a living” I mean “attempts to earn a living” and when I say “predicting the future” I mean “gambling on sporting events whose outcomes have yet to be decided”. So, just as an FYI, keep in mind the below contributions are by amateurs.

Since the blog will write itself like a blind mosquito being guiding by the trade-winds right into your ear canal, I shall take the night off and cook-up something I like to call, “Vic’s Ridic Taco Salad.”

Without further ado, I present the future according to random people I kinda know:

Rufus Holdsworth – camping near Turkey Point where the nuclear warmed waters keep him and his manatee friends warm in the chilling South Florida climate

  • China’s lunar rover, Jade Rabbit, will uncover artifacts of an alien race long left vacant. Because the Chinese are not
    Vic's Ridic Tacos: boil sweet potato chunks and add to stir-fried meat, onion, green pepper and garlic. Then pour in taco sauce of choice.

    Vic’s Ridic Tacos: boil sweet potato chunks and add to stir-fried meat, onion, green pepper and garlic. Then pour in taco sauce of choice.

    following the same protocol of American, English & Russian imperialists, they will not hide the truth from the world and instead will broadcast their strange findings of an ancient civilization on the moon in attempt to demonstrate to the “hidden watchers” that China is the crème de la crème of Earthling civilizations and the one to negotiate with. Ultimately, the progenitors of the human race will laugh upon their celestial watch tower as the Chinese lunar rover picks over yester-millennium’s takeout.

  • Remains of a Sasquatch are dug up and the DNA matches Vic Neverman.
  • Turkey invades Sochi ahead of the Olympic Games, holds captive until granted access into the European Union.

Reverend Chette – Agonizing over the Fallen War Eagle somewhere near Muscle Shoals, Ala

  • In 2014, armies of homeless will learn how to write programming code and will overthrow the financial sector via assault en masse.

Frieda Johnson – ‘Fashionista Philanthropist of the Year’ in Winter Park, Fla

  • Due to the inclement weather ahead in 2014, ice hockey will become the U.S.A.’s new national pastime.
  • #1 Most lucrative pop-up business in 2014? Gay Wedding Chapels
  • 2014: The Year of the Sticker Book

(Note from the editor: Sticker books are books that hold stickers. While Frieda was speaking strictly of childlike fancies, she did confirm my suspicion of the potential for adult sticker books to venture into markets with “50 Shades…” and “Game of Thrones” themed stickers).

Heat up black beans with some chocolate stout  for flavor

Heat up black beans with some chocolate stout for flavor

  • 2014 will be the year of the Vintage CD coaster. Silver is the new cork!
  • With Cycling and gas prices on the rise, Tricycles for Adults will hit WalMart like wildfire in October 2014

Desdemona Riley, texting from some brew-pub in Oakland

Sometime between 2014 and 2016, marijuana will be legalized in California and the Bay Bridge will collapse as I am commuting to San Francisco. In my will, I leave my cats to Vic Neverman as well as my ashes, should they find my body at the bottom of San Francisco Bay. Vic should then proceed to feed some cremated ashes to the boys in their cat food and then mix into the following beverages: 1 shot Jameson Irish Whiskey, 1 draft Russian River Sanctification, 1 draft Great Basin Mayan all to be consumed by him, Vic Neverman. Whichever ashes are leftover shall be sprinkled wherever Vic wanders on his swashbuckling trips.

Captain Dick Neverman, happy-houring from somewhere on Florida’s Mosquito Coast

Vic’s Uncle belches his favorite quote, “Only Captain Dick knows what happens in 2014 and he ain’t sayin’.”

Erasmus in between his classes on Foreign Relations at Otterdam Military Academy in the foothills of North Carolina

A covert Iranian Republican Guard force will infiltrate the World Cup to kidnap US players, however the Brazilians will intervene by getting them hammered on caiprinhas and doing the samba until 3am the next day

Cyrus Lee Hancock – Apocalypto-Evangelical smoke-signalling from the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee

  • Squirrel hunting becomes the new national sport due to the sudden and precipitous decline in other game populations leading to a famine.
  • Wombat populations explode down under. Many stow away on import ships. The wombat becomes the newest and most devastating invasive species.
  • Ammo shortages worsen. Machetes and hatchets become the new weapon to stockpile — these have proven effective while researching the apocalypse (watching ‘The Walking Dead’)
  • Chancellor Merkel pisses off the right wingers by doing a George Bush impression that gets secretly taped on an iPhone by the NSA. All German shepherds are now referred to as ‘freedom shepherds’.
  • Iran suffers many unexplainable and sudden setbacks to its nuclear program. Israel definitely has no idea what they are talking about
  • The Federal Government finally stops enforcing its ban on weed. Hippies around the country celebrate. The national average IQ plummets another 7 points. This is great for our (post apocalypse) movement. This makes for easier targets when (the) SHTF. Zombie fodder population boom.*
pour that shit into the rest of the taco meat

pour that shit into the rest of the taco meat and Keanu Reeves will win an Oscar .

  • Keanu Reeves will win an Oscar (7th Seal of John the Revelator’s Apocalypse!). 
  • Gun lobbyists will finally get legislation passed to include .22 caliber hand guns in McDonalds ‘Happy Meals’ (13th Seal of Charleton Heston’s Damned-Dirty-Ape-calypse)

*Zombie Fodder is a reference to those startled and helpless citizens in a “Shit-Hits-The-Fan” situation when the rush for resources (nutrition, shelter, drinking water, prophylactic) forces “civilians” to turn on one another. Cyrus’ intent here is to suggest a narcotically impaired civilian has a greater chance of becoming a victim in cataclysmic situations.

Layla Santana Crow-Hancock – nursing the wounded in the wake of her betrothed Cyrus Lee

  • Hashtags will begin being used on tombstones and in obituaries (#yolo,#lol)

Conversations with the Puerto Rican Psychic Sidekick from Milwaukee

From within the food court of a north Orlando mall, a single table exists amongst many and is populated by two suspicious familiars. She is bearing a disposition unseasonably malevolent and is disguised as someone who is not from Milwaukee. He is in sneakers and disguised as a jogger with shin splints. The stranger-pulp around them feast like jackals and the floor is awash of smoothie sample jetsam and mayo-packeted flotsam. They are Vic Neverman’s Puerto Rican psychic sidekick from Milwaukee and Vic Neverman. They are discussing the future of what’s left of 2014.

Vic: You’re my Puerto Rican psychic sidekick even though we both know you are not truly from Milwaukee, so give me three good predictions.
Vic’s Puerto Rican psychic sidekick from Milwaukee: Predictions on what?
Vic: You’re the psychic! What do you see in 2014 for Vic Neverman?
Vic’s PRPSFM: That’s all you want to know? Three things that will happen to you in 2014?
Vic: Yes, me
PRPSFM: You will become aware of your own hubris.
Vic: What hubris?
PRPSFM: It is a long year yet. Prediction number two is Vic Neverman will learn how to shop for his own clothes.
Vic: I can shop for clothes; I just don’t know what to buy. Plus, that is what I have you for.
PRPSFM: To remind you of your own hubris?
Vic: That too, whatever that is. Give me a third prediction. Something meaty. With gristle. Sniff some incense and give me something from way back in your psychic psyche.
PRPSFM: Vic Neverman will learn the whereabouts of his unknown child.
Vic: Oh yes, the mysterious offspring I don’t yet know about.
PRPSFM: Hey, at least I am only predicting the one. Your own aunt thinks there are fifteen.
Vic: She overestimates my fertility. Tell me more of my bastard spawn.
PRPSFM: (scoldingly) This is your child, why would you call it a “bastard”?
Vic: “Bastard” is the medical term, I think. Where do I learn the whereabouts of the mystery bastard?
PRPSFM: On the internet from an anonymous email.
Vic: Okay, but where are the whereabouts of the spawn-in-question?
PRPSFM: I’m thinking Vietnam, but your child isn’t Vietnamese. Or he or she is Vietnamese, but isn’t in Vietnam.
Vic: That narrows it down. What if I don’t open up any anonymous emails in 2014?
PRPSFM: Oh, but you will.
or is it?
Toss the contents of the taco meat, beans, sweet potato, et al over a bed of ARUGALA because Arugala is the finest weed worth eating. BOOOOM ridic taco salad

Toss the contents of the taco meat, beans, sweet potato, et al over a bed of ARUGALA because Arugala is the finest weed worth eating. BOOOOM ridic taco salad


Vic in the Amazon

Vic in the Amazon

In the Amazon, I had a machete-artist of a trailblazer who spoke the language of birds. He would emit various guttural calls to macaws, egrets, toucans. Within moments, the winged & unseen voices would reply from their secretive nooks betwixt the jungle. I asked my Indian wife (a marriage of convenience, legally-binding only in Peru – mind you… and your sister, should she be so disposed) to ask my steadfast guide in their shared indigenous tongue what fowl message he was receiving from the birdfolk. Roberto would smile his gold-toothed smile at us and interpret the avian squawk. What do the birds say? “When comes the jaguar”.

Hmm, I contemplated whilst stroking the beard grown strictly to be stroked within contemplation. This was strange black magic fuckery, indeed!

Turkish Espresso: a looking glass into the future

Turkish Espresso: a looking glass into the future

In a gas-station outside Ankara, a Turkish woman divined my future by reading the sediment remaining in my coffee cup. I wish I could understand her Turkish like I understood the message I read in Chicago from a fortune cookie that told me to “Duck!” Tarot readers, Gypsy palmists and psychic mediums have all told me the same thing: my “dark and secretive nature” would bring me to ruin. Nice advice, but paranoia, like pregnant housekeepers, cannot be unscrewed.

My point, if there is to be one, is that prophecy surrounds us.

Fear prophets, Adso, and those prepared to die for the truth, for as a rule they make many others die with them, often before them, at times instead of them.

–Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

I, Vic Neverman, however, am not a prophet. To read the ripples of a cannonball before it hits the water – this is prophecy. I, rather, am a futurist. A futurist sees the burning fuse of the cannon pointing out to sea and predicts a splash. No prophet, I am just a gambler. Albeit, a lousy gambler; my guestimate of 2013 events proves as much. Nevertheless, Never-the-Man, I am here to boldly pronounce what I – and you with all eventuality – expect to occur this year of 2014 in order of confidence.

Good old Nostradamus, he knew the whole damn time,
There’d always be an East from West and someone in the fight

– Modest Mouse, Education

1. The Downfall of Vladimir Putin

Aye, you might notice that this was my number 1 prediction for 2013 too. Keep the faith, my readership. This is a linear path, my dates are just off. Vlad’s stay of execution as Russian Premier is entirely because of the umpteen billions of dollars invested by the mafia state into this winter’s Sochi Olympics. To overthrow Vlad pre-Olympiad is bad for business.

In a fast-grab for good PR, Vladimir has pardoned some of his biggest foes, most notably oil magnate Mikhail Khodorkovsky and 66.6% of the imprisoned Pussy Riot (curious note – the other 33.3% that is Nadya Tolokonnikova hasn’t been seen (at least reported on) since she was shipped off to a Siberian work camp in November). This good press is rather transparent and will not save Vlad from an Olympic Games that are doomed. This week’s bombs in Volgograd are a bleak picture of the threat of sectarian terrorism within Russia. Even the Olympic Torch seems cursed.

Sochi 2014 - Vlad's greatest triumph or his undoing?

Sochi 2014 – Vlad’s greatest triumph or his undoing?

Vladimir Putin has never been as powerful as he is now, especially after playing the part of peaceful negotiator (fans of the prophetic visions of John the Revelator will find a similarity with the revelation of the anti-christ) in regards to Syria in 2013. Yet, as powerful as this villain has become I have read in the works about heretics, “the Devil mocks his familiars.” Has the devil ever possessed a more greed-infused pawn than the likes of Vlad Putin? Has a tyrant (other than that Hitler guy) ever stood before the world as host of his own Olympiad? Yes, the rising tower of Babel will crumble. If not this year, then surely in 2015.

2. Sushi-Bomb! Fukushima Renders Seafood Unpalatable

The Corporatized 4th Estate tends to only report stories in their own best interests, which is why we never heard about the recent overthrow of banks & government in Iceland and why we hear little news of the increasing nuke pollution threat out of Japan. Fukushima was apocalyptic bad and it has only gotten worse. By the end of 2014, any sushi you eat out of the Pacific may very well drop the mustache right off your face. Gulf of Mexican shrimp, while likely toxic, are far healthier by comparison. Oceanic fisheries are low and mercury is high. Sinbad’s 7 Seas are a sad state of affairs. So much for the Age of Aquarius. You should begin going to your favorite sushi restaurant with a Geiger counter.

3. Sriracha is Hottest Condiment Commodity of 2014

srirachaHeinz or Hunts or Kraft or Tobasco will buy out all of the Sriracha factories in the United States to incorporate into their own product line. If they do not, Sriracha will buy them in 2015. Yes, I know I am tragically known as the futurist who predicted that the eggroll in 2012 would overtake the taco as America’s favorite food… But Sriracha is for real.

4. Bitcoin stays Valuable despite Alternative Currencies to the Alternative Currency

There is the old adage, “if you can’t bury it in your backyard, does it really have a value?” Quite simply, yes. Bitcoin is not only a means for the darkest crevices of the cyber-world to transact business, it has an ingenious ceiling attached to its quantity. A limited supply always increases demand. The fact there is a program built in to limit the number of Bitcoins forever contributes greatly to its very value… And it will spawn off rival coinage similarly programmed.

5. Pope Francis brings many to the Faith, Pisses Off Others

The Argentine pope will bring plenty of new converts to the Catholic Church in 2014 and even win several unconverted back with his liberal stance on many of the longstanding dogmas of the papacy. His liberal approach, however, will offend many and lead to the spawning of heretical groups of orthodox (and perhaps ‘bigoted’) fanatics. They, secretly sponsored by the Establishment (or certain conservative parties within), will undermine Frank by attempting to tie him to scandal and hack into Vatican coffers. Pope Frank, however, will not be deterred despite being labeled a “heretic” by his antagonists. Fortunately, he will not ask Benedict to come out of retirement to jumpstart a new inquisition (though ‘Inquisitioner Ben’ could be a reality show to rival ‘Duck Dynasty’).

6. Negligence towards the Infrastructure leads to Mass Blackouts

A brutally chilling winter will lead to a desperately dry and hot summer. Air conditioners, refrigerators and cell phone chargers will trigger manageable brownouts across the country as the disintegrating web of our infrastructure fails to keep up. Eventually, however, systematic brownouts cannot control the increased demand and an epic blackout will sweep across the Northeast through the Midwest.  The old and young will perish, riots will erupt in marketplaces, sales of pools and fences will rise.

7. The Superbowl No One Went To

In order to finance the construction of the monstrosity of MetLife Stadium which supplanted the previous field that served as Jimmy Hoffa’s gravestone, a Superbowl event was granted to East Ruth, New Jersey. Not the less climactically hostile New Jersey of 20 years ago, but rather the New Jersey of tomorrow… I do not speak ill of New Jersey, mind you, only ill of tomorrow and any host city of the Superbowl north of Tampa that doesn’t put the game in a dome. The climate is changing, storms are becoming more violent and frequent in areas where such storms were once rare. In 2004, Florida was hit by 4 hurricanes in a single summer & there hasn’t been shit since. There is nothing rational about contemporary meteorology – weather patterns now resemble Rorschach ink blots used as gin & tonic coasters. This year’s Superbowl could very well exist in such dismal conditions that no one attends the bloody thing. As a result, the NFL will holographically impose half-naked fans in the stands so the watching American public assumes someone gives enough of a damn to attend the game.

8. All the Tea in China is Steamed over Latin American Waters

In their resource grab, China will buy Nicaragua’s Lake of similar name and Peru’s Lake Titicaca as a means to obtain most of the fresh lake water in Latin America. The former Mayor of Toronto does a line of blow and calls China to offer them the Great Lakes.

9. China’s Terrestrial and Lunar Conquests

China will lay claim to regions of the moon its Jade Rabbit is hopping around. In 2014, China will also own so much earth and precious minerals under Africa and Australia that the popular American restaurant Outback will begin serving eggrolls and will insist you eat their steak with one knife and one chopstick. Ehh, excuse this weak attempt at xenophobic comedy at the expense of the stark reality China will one day own everything.

10. Spy Blimps will Hoover over America

An oldie, but a goldie… I have been predicting this since 2011 and each year spy blimps become more and more a part of our vertical scenery as they scan the populace with their thermal and cyber imagery. You might toss away your cell phone in an attempt to hide from the grid & the NSA, but hope ye not! The multiple spy blimps overhead will train their audio equipment from a mile away and capture each of your ecstatic gasps of delight as you bugger your favorite inflatable so they might store such animal grunts in their bottomless pit of a mainframe.

Food Blog – (noun) a writing assignment recommended by Vic’s life coach to transfer his attention away from less paranoid matters to something more digestible.

MiscellAsian – (adj) describing a quality of miscellaneous Asian origins.

Nestled in between Central Floridian train rails and Interstate #4 sits the thin strip of Ivanhoe, a brief median between alternative transits where the most vulnerable curators oversee shops of antiquities and wine cellars rub sports jacket-patched elbows with archaic furniture priced for someone above your station in life. At the southern end of Antique Row rests “The Hammered Lamb”, a sportsy bistro invested in its own irrelevancy between signs for the railroad and the freeway. With every train pass comes a free shot of revelry booze that is hardly free from consequence. It is the kind of place where you find hipsters of bygone decades sporting fedoras along with their grunge-era concert tour shirts. It is the kind of place where you find Erasmus.

I speak, of course, of Erasmus of Otter Dam Military Academy, the professor of military analytics and a foreign policy aficionado. A creature spawned, nurtured and de-virginized during the Cold War, Erasmus is of a skeptical nature and only agrees to see me every Winter Solstice or so…

Now I, Victor Ulysses Neverman, am not entirely certain of my birthdate thanks to the gypsy nature of my parental units’ fact collecting, but I can reverse-engineer the very month of my birth based on the characteristics of zodiacs and horoscopes. For someone as dark, secretive, passionate, distrusting, conniving and sarcastic as your narrator, it is obvious I was born a Scorpio in the Chinese Year of the Snake. Given that, my Winter Solstice horoscope was one of suggestion, “You need to indulge in a power struggle today – so make sure you are ready for whatever comes! It’s a good time for you to strike first, because surprise may be your only asset.” Well said for someone born under scorpion and snake signs.

Advised by the stars, I arrived at the agreed upon destination with a sharpened wit and a pair of brass knuckles I won off a Persian in a contest of Fantasy Football. Did I expect antagonism from Erasmus? Well, no, but one would be wise to consider the stars.

hammerd lambI met Erasmus and we ordered draft ales, some of those popular craft beers of high gravity alcohol content reminiscent of eating moldy cinnamon toast. Simply lovely. I began the chat with an Arctic inquiry, If a government fell in Iceland and no one was there to report it, did it really make a sound? I was referring, of course, to the revolution in Reykjavík, where the banking and political establishment was entirely upended without the American media ever noticing it. Erasmus shrugged it off, “It is an island nation of 300 thousand people, you cuckolding’s your neighbor qualifies as a power coup in Iceland.” Yes, yes, but the fact that a government and its banks were overthrown by the people, the fact the American media did not report this; doesn’t it say something about the corporatization of the fourth estate that they would censor such details from us, the American public? Erasmus again shrugged, “Iceland isn’t exactly a microcosmic example of what is possible in America. There isn’t anyone in Iceland that isn’t in some way a relative of anyone else in Iceland. If America is a melting pot, Iceland is mutton.”

And so the lamb quesadilla arrived. It was very lamby. I am not big on lamb, so I went on…

“I foresee the Sochi Olympics this winter being an absolute disaster. The Olympic torch has become unlit umpteen times and has set several Olympic torch-bearers on fire. Seems a bad omen. What other kinds of disaster can we expect in Russia this winter?”

Erasmus, between hammering lamb quesadilla betwixt his molars, commented, “I like the way Obama slapped Putin in the face by assigning openly gay Olympians to the American counsel. It may be more of a back-handed slap, but a power-play nonetheless. Sochi is a shithole. The fact the Russians were able to turn it into a winter sport Mecca overnight speaks to the efficiency of the mafia running that corrupt state.”

I hurried to the next subject as the house-wings arrived, “What do you think about China on the moon?”

“China doing what on the moon?”

“Just having a lunar rover roaming around and taking pictures?”

“It’s eventually going to come to arms, it is sadly inevitable.”

“You mean open conflict?” I sought clarity.

House Wings, worth tearing through like a mugger on a sacred cow

House Wings, worth tearing through like a mugger on a sacred cow

“Yes.” Erasmus confirmed, handling a house-wing like mugger pulling a sacred cow into the Ganges. “Out of a demand for resources. They’ve bought the ground underneath the feet of Africa already.”

“And Australia for mineral rights.” I added. “China owns most of the earth at this point.”

“Fortunately…” Erasmus spat out a bone of one of the fallen. “America has found enough resources under us, as far as natural gas, as long as we are not too big of a pussy to draw it out of the ground.”

“Fracking has got some long-term bad mojo, man.” I countered.

courtesy of

courtesy of

“And so does China. And don’t overlook Japan, man. Since World War II, Japan’s military has been strictly defensive. With China annexing the waterways of the South China Sea and setting new air defense perimeters, Japan is starting to get edgy.”

“Especially with North Korea.” I offered. “North Korea is China’s gimp in the box. China can keep Pyongyang in check or they can let Kim Jong-un loose and shrug their shoulders at the result as if they had nothing to do with it.”

“Sure.” Erasmus agreed, washing his pallet with some dopplebock elixir from a domestic brewery. “Given all of these threats, it might make sense allowing Japan to assume proactive military measures, but I warn you… beware waking the Shogun. We’ve kept Japan’s military in check since World War II for a reason. Just because half of America is driving Japanese cars doesn’t mean we can trust them.”

Paranoid Food Blog Rating – loud and festive atmosphere at the Hammered Lamb, good for conversations not to be overheard. There were fanatical holiday-goers, but nothing too tinsley. 45 out of 63 NeverStars.

If you do not hear back from me in 48 hours – alert the authorities!

The itchy finger of fate beckoned like a cocaine-laced carrot before a tweaking donkey, tickling the fancy of my pride until I, your narrator, abandoned all faith in reason and renounced all hope of suspended mortality by accepting the challenge – nay, dare! – to rendezvous with my sometime ally/sometime nemesis, Cyrus Lee Hancock, in the thick of the most untamed wilderness in slightly-off-center Central Florida that the golf course developers have yet to claim. Oh, suuuuure… the suggested meeting came innocently enough via message bouncing between the nervously twitching cycloped cell towers littering the suburbascape until the unsightly text appeared on my pocket-apparatus; “innocent”, that is, to the untrained eye! But these eyes – the Neverman optics – have been laserly enhanced for 20/15 bullshit vision. Mine eyes saw through the flowery perfumed scent covering the deception as my flaring nostrils smelt through the smoke and mirrors of misdirection. This invitation from Cyrus Lee Hancock arrived in an envelope reeking of malice and accompanied by decorative glittery bits colored in spite, vengeance and even more than that – revengeance. Despite knowing all this, it was an invitation I could not refuse.

Does Cyrus Lee Hancock have his crosshair sights set on an early demise for Neverman? Only one of his potentially many destructive personalities may know for sure. Consider this blog posting my insurance policy. Should I not respond to this posting by this time two days from now, take this message to the police. They should look no further than Cyrus Lee Hancock as the culprit for the sudden disappearance of yours truly, Vic Neverman.

You’re out of the circle of trust and in the square of hate… 90 degree angles anyway you look.

–Cyrus Lee Hancock to Vic Neverman, according to Vic’s handy drunk-journal from a seemingly friendly night out on the tiles last month

Vic and Cy, post paint battle

Vic and Cy, post paint battle

Of course… Vic and Cy have gone on many expeditions into the Florida scrub before. We’ve traded paintballs in simulated warfare, or at least I mostly accepted his splattered gifts. We’ve rope-climbed vexing vertical walls for the sake of… fuck, I dunno, but those damned walls were climbed. Together, we’ve explored the cryptic labyrinth that is the Masonic playground of Denver International Airport. We even attempted to liberate an unjustly convicted lady-thief whose innocence I believed whole-hearted-ish-ly in. Why then, why now would the Neverman trademarked paranoia be more perked towards peril in the presence of Cyrus Lee Hancock than ever before? Allow me to count the ways…

27 Motives, Circumstantial Evidence, Signs, Gut Rumblings and Tarot Readings that suggest that Cyrus Lee Hancock’s innocent rendezvous is just a façade, masking his ulterior motive of terminating Vic Neverman:

  1. When interviewing Cyrus Lee for our book on Hurricane Preparedness, one of the first rules he mentioned was to proactively scope out the neighborhood for chief threats among neighbors to be neutralized when they least expected it. For example: When Hurricane Pedro hits, do not think the launching of the airborne lawnmower at your head was simply accidental.
  2. On my first arrival to the Hancock Compound, I was ushered through the house and into the backyard jungle preserve where I found Cyrus Lee shooting dozens of squirrels residing in the canopy of trees overhead, much to the delight of his hungry canine. Cyrus Lee smiled in my direction as the rodent corpses rained down from branches above, “uninvited guests.”
  3. Vic and Layla Santana Crow, climbing walls

  4. At night I hear a harbinger of death over the waters outside my bungalow. Called “the Banshee of Bayou Saint Basil” by my neighbors, this howling raptor may be an eternally injured hawk being slowly eaten by Brazilian fire-ants, or it may be a cacophony of hungry nested osprey hawklings or it just might just be a banshee predicting my soon demise.
  5. My car was mysteriously sabotaged once last fall and very few people at the time knew where Vic Neverman rested his chariot. Cyrus Lee Hancock knew.
  6. My car was mysterious sabotaged a second time last fall and very few people at the time knew where Vic Neverman rested his chariot. Cyrus Lee Hancock knew.
  7. I opened a fortune cookie, “YOUR PREDISPOSE TO HAPPINESS” … in bed. Bollocks. This isn’t a fortune; this was a statement of the obvious. I insisted the purveyor of Hunan Delights purvey me a second cookie. This one read, “SURPRISE RIGHT ROUND CORNER”… and then you die. Hmm, a warning, perchance?
  8. Neverman intern, Bo Lynn Bell, caught grave illness this winter and blamed her Bubonic ailments on the government agents determined to undermine our joint ventures. Who, other than I, knows the true identity of the NeverIntern? Who has seen her face? Who knows which city she may reside? My government-contracted spook of a brother-in-law does. And so does Cyrus Lee Hancock.
  9. My government-contracted spook of a brother-in-law was “friends” with Cyrus Lee Hancock before I ever met Cyrus Lee. Once my government-contracted spook of a brother-in-law removed my family and replaced them under Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado, Cyrus Lee Hancock started showing up around my neck of the woods. Emphasis on “my neck” and “wood” as in chopping block as in decapitation as in me being dead.
  10. In 2011, Reverend Chette Williams was the pseudonym of my anonymous informer. Once Cyrus Lee started coming around, I no longer heard from Reverend Chette or his apocalyptic prognostications. Was Chette actually Cyrus Lee? Probably not. Was Chette silenced by Cyrus Lee? Likely so.
  11. In 2012, Cyrus Lee gave me a gift. It was a book about punching dolphins. I, Vic Neverman, am not only a scientist who studies river dolphins; I am also a fan of a professional football team whose mascot happens to be a helmeted porpoise.
  12. I plan to write an exposé on Cyrus Lee’s wife, Layla Santana Crow, and her dinosaur-denying cult followers. They may not have been too keen on my intent.
  13. Cyrus Lee Hancock is from Maine. Practically Canada. Perhaps he is Canadian and a spy for a Canadian-Chinese alliance that looks to undermine American claims of Arctic Ocean territory as the glaciers melt and allow unadulterated access to the holiest of oil holes at the North Pole.
  14. Canadian Duplicity meets American Paranoia: Cyrus Lee Hancock and Vic Neverman

    Canadian Duplicity meets American Paranoia: Cyrus Lee Hancock and Vic Neverman

  15. CLH has tattoos in Asian script and other tattoos that feature bamboo. Even if he isn’t Canadian, and I am sure he is Canadian, but even if he weren’t, he is definitely in cahoots with China Red.

13 & ½ . I likely had it coming anyways.

Okay, I know I promised 27, but I feel doubly sure about what I have presented thus far. Plus, the homemade chigger-remedy* I have been ingesting is starting to affect my cognitive skills. I would hate to see what 13 & ½ further motives, circumstantial evidence, die tosses, guttural rumblings may bring, so I shall halt my prose here.

*Cure-all for chigger itch: 3 fingers gin, juice of 2 freshly squeezed limes, chopped basil. Taken orally.

Dearest friends… And really, anyone who might have read this far must be a dear friend or at least paid by the government to monitor the ramblings of yours truly. Or paid by the Chinese, which would have to be outsourced since I doubt anyone in the censored China cyberspace would ever be able to see this Anglicized drivel. Either way… main point, friends, is please notify the authorities of this blog posting should you not hear back from me in a reasonable amount of time. If anyone can save Vic Neverman – it is YOU, dear reader. Or, at least, there is the presumption of you by Cyrus Lee Hancock who shall now second guess his murderous intent given this, my insurance policy…

Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.

― Søren Kierkegaard

Friends, Paranoids, Countrymen, lend me your ear… I come to bury 2012, not to praise it. I speak to you now not to relish this year’s numerous personal victories or weep over dearly departed milk, spilt from the cereal bowl of the disenchanted dreamer. No! I am here, at the twilight of this year, for one purpose only – to review my 2012 predictions. I do so ascending from the embers of Hades as my own Devil’s Advocate with a callous and critical forked tongue. As a trend-analyzing futurist, I am held accountable for my predictions; I am not some haphazard weather man pointing the direction of the wind like an iron rooster atop your barn. You, dear reader, deserve to have my words tested over the hot coals of hindsight. Well, the grades are in… And the truth is: I fucking nailed it!

Here it is, my 2012 predictions regurgitated from my 12/18/2011 blog post. Also included, on a scale of 0-10 is how hard I nailed this particular prophecy.

1 – “The Mayan Calendar date that is approximately 12/21/2012 …will not bring the end of the world.”

On an accuracy scale of 0-10, I scored a perfect 10. The Maya date of significance came and went. The world continues to turn without so much as a wobble. The Apocalypto aftermath, however, did draw an end to my social calendar. As you, fellow traveler, likely already know I became something of a celebrity in the latter half of this year thanks to a local magazine’s article on adventure racing featuring non-other than Vic Neverman. My social status brought some fame amongst Central Florida’s doomsday prep crowd and I spent many nights at speaking engagements, feasting on free meals prepared by my host/hostess. At a 12/22/2012 post-apocalypse party, my Gratis status soon became Non Grata due to my possessing an anti-social behavior more befitting a baboon than a privileged member of civilization. I have now returned to being shunned by society. Which is fine, I am more comfortable here anyhow.

2 – “…the spiced fowl appendages we have all been eating at Buffalo Wild Wings come from the genetic freak of a six-winged chicken engineered by those Frankensteinian mad scientists at Mansanto, evil motherfuckers they are.”

Score of 9. “Monsanto is the devil”  My agricultural industry insider, M. Von Love told me. Our ability to feed the world has grown leaps and bounds thanks to innovation in the science of managing fields and the technology of machines. Monsanto’s monopoly on seeds and proliferation of pesticide, however, is crippling all gains by slowly killing the world’s populace. Monsanto is not out to cure hunger, It is out to control the world’s food supply. This prediction would have been a perfect score, but the Washington Post never went public with their exposé.

3 – “Occupy the Democratic National Convention’ will be infiltrated by agent provocateurs”

Score of 10. Sometimes predictions can be so powerful, they undermine the very event they attempt to forecast. In this case, instead of risk being ripped apart by agents provocateur, the Occupy Movement simply agreed to become bored with it all and disintegrate. The thing about revolution is that it is a bitch.

4 – “2011 was the year of the drone… 2012 will be the year of the spy blimp.”

Score of 10. Drones were still prevalent in 2012, sure. And stealth helicopters stole headlines after the bin Laden raid in Pakistan, but who can deny the sudden omnipresence of blimps watching us all from above? To quote an anonymous bathroom stall poet, “Privacy is dead. And death is the only chance for quality alone time.”

5 – “Vlad Putin will win the Presidency of Russia”

Score of 10. I wish I were wrong on this one. If I had been wrong, Russia wouldn’t have cock-blocked us in Syria and Pussy Riot would still have their freedom and obscurity.

6 – “By 2020, 80% of our fastfood nutrition will be hidden inside of an egg roll.”

Score of 10. Not only are egg rolls, and their tasteless spring cousins, now a fixture in Americana cuisine, the Chinese have secured all the rare mineral rights in Africa and Australia, ensuring only they and Monsanto will be the global super powers in 2050.

7 – “Illegal phone applications will utilize facial recognition software”

Score of 10. Again, sometimes predictions can have such an impact on the future as to dismantle it. My paranoid ravings about cell phone applications have started petitions against social networking sites to ensure this new technology will not be released onto the public. By my being so goddamned accurate, I prevented this horrid future from actually occurring. Yet.

8 – Robots will take the place of TSA agents, romantic companions, line cooks and pets.

Score of 10. While I haven’t necessarily had my cavities explored by a metallic TSA agent or robo-gyrl, it is really just a question of expense. Think about it – 20 years ago, we could have all had mobile phones and home computers, but it was cost prohibitive. In another 3 or 4 years of cost-reducing innovation, most of my carnal delights will likely be provided by the delicate skill of my pocket automaton, Lucy.

9 – “WikiLeaks will reveal President Eisenhower met with the Emperor of the Greys (those almond-eyed, naked, grey-skinned aliens) and made a peace treaty stipulating an allowance for alien harvesting and testing of human subjects and livestock.”

Score of 9. I do not necessarily hear anyone claiming this to not be true. The deduction of the one point, like the Buffalo Wild Wing prediction, is simply due to the failure of the 4th Estate to reveal this truth.

10 – “It will be learned the Vic Neverman blog was nothing more than a Stuxnet cyber-worm burrowing into your computer and creating random gibberish upon your screen in order to keep you from creating your own nuclear weapon arsenal.”

Score of 10. Of course…

For a final tally of 98! That’s an A+ in my book. Good job, Vic, and a Happy New Year to All!


Interesting 2010 predictions made by Vic Neverman for 2011

-The NeverBrother-in-Law will attempt to frame Vic. This actually did happen in 2012.

-Osama bin Laden will be found in New Jersey. In 2012, he was actually found in Pakistan.

-China will use its weather devices to send more hurricanes to make landfall in unexpected American locations. This didn’t occur in 2011, because as I said at the time, the United States countered with our own weather manipulation technology. In 2012, however, Super Storm Sandy hit New York City just prior to the Presidential Election.

The Man Before Nugent

“I don’t want to alarm you.” Begins Reverend Chette, which is nonsense coming from a man of the soiled cloth who delights at fear mongering. To hint at alarm while suggesting it is not his intent, in itself, is his method of instilling indigestion in his weary listener. He continues his speech discussing his sources, always talking of his sources, “My sources who have seen the President’s ‘Kill List’ for domestic threats claim they might have seen your name just above Nugent.”

“Kill List?” I question my choice of ordering oysters. The last slid down easily enough, but its ascent began as soon as my mind envisioned Obama using his Wii to control predator drones over Yemen. “But I am not a terrorist!”

Reverend Chette, “Right, right, might be some clerical error.” He waves off the notion with a cavalier indifference designed to be unnerving. Schadenfreude is the word the Germans manufactured to describe the joy that can be found in the misery of others. The good reverend is a friend of schadenfreude.

“Clerical error?” I think of the woman at the DMV who was unseasonably kind. Might she have been some sort of fraud or some inept county clerk who deposited my application for a drivers license into the wrong bin? “Did you say Nugent? I thought we traded him to the Chinese for the rights to the blind guy… Chen.”

“Chen Guangcheng” Chette confirmed. “No we just stole Chen so he could start blogging for the Huff Post. Ted Nugent is still on the loose.”

“And your sources say ‘Neverman’ is ahead of Ted Nugent on the ‘Kill List’? Nugent, the ‘Motorcity Madman’? Please tell me it is organized alphabetically and not by degree of threat. I don’t even own a gun.”

“Crossbow?” Rev suggests with a shrug.

“What? No! I don’t own a crossbow either. My defense strategy is think and hide, not necessarily in that order. My only weapons are a tennis racket and a samurai blade my sister gave me I mostly use for stir-fry.”

NOTE for the unawares: the NYTimes has recently shed light on “Terror Tuesday”, the weekly meeting at the Oval Office where Obama and Axelrod meet with various “intelligence” officers to devise “the Kill List” compiled of names of both foreigners and American citizens who are “up to no good”. This isn’t a list for arrest warrants, this is an order of death by remote control. The 5th Amendment’s guarantee of due process can now “be satisfied by internal deliberations of the executive branch”. What does this mean? If Obama and Co. think you look suspicious, they send in the killer drones. Yup. Straight out of the George Zimmerman School of Neighborhood Watching.

For a $50 gift card to Chilis and a case of Wild Turkey, my instigating ally Chette is going to look into this list and do what he can to get his “sources” to reverse my fate. In the meantime, I need to get the hell out of Dodge.

Bug Out To Ireland

From stage left enters Cuda, a fellow adventurer of Vic Neverman’s since our serendipitously simultaneous boyhood. He’s an idea of where I, Vic, can hide: within the ranks of a collegiate team he coaches as they travel for an overseas competition.

NOTE: For the sake of the innocent and to keep from my getting sued by involved parties, I have altered the names of the school, coaches and even the sport.

I was already in Dublin, easy enough. I bussed my wanderlusty arse to the airport with a sign made of fish & chip newspaper with “Cuda” written in tartar & grease. At the arrivals gate, I met my old friend, coach of the University of “Catawampus” “Feralcats” “Competitive Dance” Team. After a brotherly hug, each of us excusing our foul breath, I nodded towards his team, “Not as coed as I expected a collegiate dance team to be.” Indeed, Cuda’s team seemed to be decidedly, almost exclusively, 99% male. He, being Cuda, nodded his confirmation, “We’re the Men’s squad.”

My cover story suddenly became drastically less interesting.

And so we loaded onto the westbound bus. I had a fairly safe cover. No one was looking for me in Ireland. Cuda could be trusted, so too his assistant coaches. They knew my story and didn’t flinch about having a conspiracy-theorist-on-the-run as a stowaway. Assistant Coach Drambull was the disciplinarian and looked like he should be coaching the Catawampus Feralcat football team’s offensive line. Drambull brought an intensity to the squad and had a fondness for cider. Assistant Coach Pax was the sharp-dressed Spaniard (really a Cuban exile from Miami, his story changed frequently) in the sweater vest romancing a pint of true Irish stout. He was chief choreographer, you could say, and his calming presence was well balanced with Drambull’s passion. And, of course, there was Cuda who could gut a catfish and use its barb to pic his teeth before you could bait a hook, all of which made him a hell of a competitive men’s dance coach.

You, dear reader, might have noticed my wording “almost exclusively” and “99%” in terms of the male/female ratio. Along our journey west, treading water within the tides of testosterone, there was, in all factuality, one dame. She was a free-spirited, ukulele-playing, tagalong and she was suspect number 1. I asked Cuda if she was a competitive dance groupie of some sort. He denied this and mumbled something about meeting her on the flight from Chicago. She needed a ride to Galway and the Feralcats happened to have a bus. Convenient. A little too convenient.

“And who are you?” the spritely lady inquired me, sensing I stood apart from the rest of the “dancers”. It was one question too many. Wouldn’t she like to know who I was? I didn’t break my cover and gave her the carefully detailed story about being the team journalist. She provided her story, some generic background her NSA handler must have picked from out of the “how to be a spook” manual, something about college friends and backpacks and sick greataunts. Standard faire, really. “I thought you looked familiar.” I sneered, letting her know I knew who she was (or was not). She played it off pretty well, feigning bafflement, but really overdid the confused doe eye look. Please. If my homeland’s national security complex was going to send a spy to keep tabs on me, this is exactly who they would send: a musically inclined young woman in a summer dress and cowboy boots. Her tailored description is probably the first thing mentioned in their bio of Vic Neverman. Fortunately, this lady-bait received my message loud and clear and didn’t bother speaking to me for the rest of the trip. She was likely biding her time – time she would not get. I told Cuda we needed to ditch the broad and we did so, leaving her at the Galway bus station, much to the dismay of half the team and at least one of the assistant coaches.

“Ahhh!” Cuda relished the salty air of Galway upon our arrival as if he were auditioning for an advertisement on Irish soap. “Welcome to Ireland!”

And so began my new life as a competitive men’s dance journalist.

If you spotted the shadowy figure order his latte and lurk into the back of the cafe for a seat where his internet transgressions digressions might go unnoticed, you may have recognized an extra twitch to my squinted glare. Trust me, friend, this is not Vic Neverman making nice with a friendly wink. My nervous system is more tweaked than norm thanks to this additional latte and the endless hours of scouring the Gobi Desert via GoogleEarth in search of the mysterious formations the Chinese military has made in their desolate backyard. Indeed, the only thing more horrifying than the bulge of my twin orbs from their ornery sockets is the enigma that lies in wait, mystifying, from the other side of the planet.

View from Google's Spy Sat of criss-crossed runways in Chinese desert

I’ve stared at the pictures below for so long, their images remain burnt into my eyelids where they dance mockingly every time those lids find the nerve and moisture to blink. Like the unheated leftovers of Szechuan pork, this enigma brought my innards to the point of revolt. Yet, in that enlightened state of dehydration and reverse-nourishment, I, Vic Neverman, managed to flush out some theories…

The Neverman Theories on the Desert Weirdness in China:

1 – Satellite calibration. Yes, this is a popular theory and I will say it has some merit. In Casa Grande, Arizona, there is the white cross with which US satellites were calibrated against during the 1970s.

A strange grid of massive roads to nowhere

2 – China is practicing using their giant earth movers. Why does China have giant earth movers? Simple. Either to reform the land bridge over the Bering Straits and invade North America or to create an Arctic Island (a chilly Hong Kong if you will) to claim as their own to assist in the future war for resources in the melted North Pole.

3 – Message to Mars (or elsewhere). This much is obvious. These Chinese formations can be seen from space, it is possible the Chinese are trying to communicate with some sort of extra-terrestrial dragon riders. This would parallel nicely to the Nazca Lines in Peru where the ancient Nazca civilization created various mysterious shapes and geometric figures (which I, Vic Neverman, have studied first hand) as a display to their old “gods” who descended from the sky and taught them the ways of agriculture and animal husbandry.

4 – Spy satellite testing grounds. Certainly not everything in these desert photos can be clearly defined by the almost all-seeing eye of GoogleEarth. These various formations may be something of an eye chart, judging the effectiveness of China’s latest spy satellites.

Giant fortune cookie is missing, this script is translated: "remove all obstacles to strive for victory"

5 – Perhaps the most probable explanation is that the Chinese Capitalist Machine (faux Maoists they are) has allowed a wry sense of sarcasm to develop amongst the secret masters. Sardonic behavior is rare in non-competitive environments, but heightened in the more ruthless dog-eat-dog climates (especially where dog is a delicacy). It is possible China’s economic whore house behavior has developed such a sinister sense of humor amongst its madams of ill repute that this entire demonstration is a “fuck you” prank to their great antagonist, Google.

What in GoogleEarth? Chinese Stonehenge with jetliners running the obstacle course

Now, one would think an expert of South America’s Nazca Lines – someone who has also studied Cereology (cereal manipulation, or in layman’s terms, crop circles) at a uni in the United Kingdom – would be of value to the Central Intelligence Agency in deciphering the Asiatic mind-fuck in the Gobi Desert. But, alas, my phone remains silent (which I mean only figuratively, of course, I have no fixed number with which to be contacted). I call you out, Spook Central. Is there that much bad blood between us we cannot work together on this one? Come on, Petraeus, I reach to you, Afghan conqueror. Call off the dogs and put Vic Neverman on the payroll… You already have my resume and you may consider my work here as a pro bono offering.

Sincerely, Victor Ulysess Neverman.

Should the reader fancy a look at the Chinese Stonehenge themselves, put this google map address in your browser pipe and smoke it:,93.31314%09&hl=en&ll=40.458626,93.313301&spn=0.003265,0.005724&sll=40.458018,93.392587&sspn=0.0208,0.040426&vpsrc=6&t=h&z=18