5 Things the Media Hasn't Told You About Scarecrow Face

Let's face it, everyone is talking about scarecrow face. Unless you've been constantly submerged in ice water for the past 2 weeks you'd know that scarecrow face is all the rage right now and here are some things that might just blow your mind about scarecrow face after the jump. Here is the jump. Get ready for the jump.

Wait there is no jump just scroll down. The word: 'jump' looks weird now.

1. Scarecrow faces are stuffed with arcane hay(blu-hay).

That's right, magic hay. How else would these mobile constructs be able to not have floppy heads? The answer might surprise you if you haven't already read the heading above this short paragraph: arcane hay.
Monsanto's brand of the stuff is called blu-hay.  It is believed that it is manufactured by cabalist farmers in an attempt to hide their agendas from the public. Tirelessly invocating, evocating, and incantating to make the most powerful arcane hay this side of the cosmos in order to give rise to the Straw Army. Ultimately paving the way for their Lord from Beyond the Field, Ol' Void Neck the Corncrow and his ward Huskers.  So be on the watch out!

2. Scarecrow faces are animated by religious residue.

People, we might as well start calling Sundays (as well as other days of religious worship): "Scarecrow Facedays." The writing is on the wall here! Obviously scarecrow apologist-demonologists are taking their scarecrows into their chosen places/sigils of worship so that the scarecrow faces are able to draw in religious residue and animate into generally creepy moving burlap heads. It's all some sort of secular conspiracy to allow for these monstrosities to roam outside the fields unfettered and spread the word of Straw. Well, the first step is to report anyone you may suspect as a scarecrow supporter to your local hobo scholar. He or she will know what to do.

3. In the shot where scarecrow faces scream, bugs will fall out.

This one is pretty self explanatory. There is usually one scene where the production blows 3% of the budget on a bug-based gross-out effect. It'll either be hissing cockroaches, meal-worms, and other common stage bugs that spill out of the scarecrow's face with a bug-rights advocate standing by to make sure none of these glorious working-class insects are destroyed in the name of film. Bugs are actors too. I'm not being sarcastic, these chattering bug beings deserve the right to exist, take their part in the capitalistic effort, and the freedom to be NOT confined inside a scarecrow head. They do love chomping that arcane hay though, so I say let them have it!

4. Scarecrow faces are better actors than Jason Patric .

See below:

They also commonly love reciting poetry and eastern philosophy.

5. Scarecrow faces do not really scare crows.

 Alright folks, this last one is a real banger so you might want to sit down if you have a standing desk. Crows love scarecrow faces like crazy. They are called scarecrows yet they don't scare crows at all! That'd be like someone being called one thing and being not that thing! Or someone saying one thing when they in fact mean the opposite. Scarecrow faces are just faces, that happen to be made of burlap, arcane hay, buttons, and maybe some bugs are inside. The picture above shows a crow screaming in delight not in fright, so it's true forever. Don't believe the hype! Yes animated scarecrows will still murder all humans and/or adventurers that have encroached upon their turf all the same but all the while crow will be like: "We are going just do what we do unhindered by this crucified, farmer's effigy." Crows are as smart as a two year old so they could potentially articulate something to that effect, especially these days.

In summation, scarecrow face.


I got the Lost City of R'lyeh! What City Should You Actually Live In?


Just because you were born somewhere, doesn't mean you aren't actually some kind of fish lord. 
-Hewlett Packard Lovecraft

Raam 2: Manojavam

Manojavam, the one who is swift as mind.
Maarutatulyavegam, the one who has a speed equal to the wind God.
Jitendriyam, the one who has complete control on his senses.
Buddhimataamvarishtham, the one who is most senior among intellectuals.
Vaataatmajam, the one who is the son of wind God.
Vaanarayoothamukhyam, the one who is the chief of vanara army.
Shreeraamadootam, the one who is the messenger of Rama.
Atulita Bala Dhaamam, the one who is the repository of incomparable strength.
Hemshailaabha Deham, the one whose body resembles a golden mountain.
Danujvana Krushanum, the one who is the destroyer of forces of demons.
Gyaaninaam Agraganyam, the one who is considered foremost among knowledgeable beings.
Sakala Guna Nidhaanam, the one who is the repository of all the virtues and good qualities.
Raghupati Priya Bhaktam, the one who is the dearest of all devotees to Lord Rama.
ankata Mochana, the one who liberates (moca) from dangers (sankata).
Ablest sentence maker.
Know-er of all Vedas and Scriptures.
Scholar in nine schools of grammars.
Possessing faultless speech and facial features.

“Ask him why there are hypocrites in the world.'
'Because it is hard to bear the happiness of others.'

'When are we happy?'
'When we desire nothing and realize that possession is only momentary, and so are forever playing.'

'What is regret?'
'To realize that one has spent one's life worrying about the future.'

'What is sorrow?'
'To long for the past.'

'What is the highest pleasure?'
'To hear a good story.” 

Fun with Misquotes!

I can hear the sweat trickling down your cheek, your heartbeat sound like sasquatch feet, thundering, shaking the concrete.

  -Thomas Wolfe

Super Ball Chronicles

Super Ball 
Chapter 2: Into the Drop or Better Late than Never

It is stated in many-a sci-fi / horror teaser that: In space no one can here you-


The pod was a frozen bullet, people-sized, spiraling down and down towards the surface of Io. This particular blurred face might have belonged to a one Jeremy Narwallis, at this point in his journey it is difficult for we the perceiving to yet perceive correctly. The pod definitely belonged to the recruitment arm of the Department of Defense (DOD henceforth). A dodpod if you will allow.

Dodpods, or at least their wreckage, account for at least 23% of the space junk that drifts in Jupiter's space-space (or orbit or as it would be put in space slang: otho). Two things, first there is a god kingdom's worth of space junk in Jupiter's space-space. Second: Jupiter's gotta whole lotta otho going on.

Still with us blurface?


Go go good!

The sound bounces resonance within the barreling silvery chamber. Veins squeeze. Blood moves hot, freezing to a slow at the tributaries edge. Fragile capillaries solid. Thick space glass cold and mere inches from his ocular jellies. Pupils irregularly dilated and stretched from exposure to ultrasonic speeds. Certainly a candidate for cuttlefish eye syndrome. That part ain't in the brochure.

Every hero has a beginning, and this isn't it. The beginning was actually technically a little bit before these writings and the machine has just become a bit too self aware and must take hit of monkeywrench to (CLANK) settle....back...in -inu th..into the..ah-

Silent impact. An orange light casts into the frozen porthole of blurface's pod. Collision achieved. The mind inside the blurred head within the freezing pod stirs. The screams in deep space have dried the windpipes to chilled rawhide and the voice box has blanked out. The mind twists quick like an eel in a small jar.

WhatamI, whatamI, what am I, 581, whatis, what is this?!
Green trenchcoat. The grinner coated in gel. Dollface.

Recent memories of a wet fist slamming a huge red button. The teeth. The blasting of a 20th century tunes on a 20th century tunebox / crossfading into his guttural fright screams. 

This was the mind of Jeremy Narwallis reeling in new kinds of space terrors. Sure he was an experienced (even skilled) loyal space traffic choreographer for Earthtent's LaGrange Point 2's jumpgate, but he was spacebreed. He has never been on a terrestrial world or moon and he now realizes that he may never set living foot upon one at this rate. For this true terror that has dawned is not because of the collisions directly but because he knows the cause. His understudy: Klees Klo Aylass the worst traffic choreographer in all of Sol.

Another semi-distant explosion. Neon blue with a hint of goldenrod. Say goodbye to the W.L. Jenkins account.

Klees was a brainsack, a real space berk. Where Narwallis took pride in his work, Klees would just show up and press buttons. He literally worked for peanut stamps. Central would usually sling him over to Planet Freedom's orbit (aka charred junk-o-sphere 2) to slog through evens and odds while skilled workers would usually be delegated to gas giant detail. Good luck explaining the concept of magnetosphere correction contingencies to a ripe-skull like Klees.

Re-entry. Pure yellow light. A new warmth unlike any other. The colliding hits were getting closer. But so was Mr. Narwallis, to the outer atmosphere of Io, that is. High orbit was the easy part. Now he could start to smell the sulfur. No doubt the radiation belt has already carved it's minutely notched paths through the dodpod, Narwallis, everything. The pod was beginning to sweat its freeze.

He tried to swallow but his upper internals felt caked in sulfur powder and not unlike a bald overused tire. His pod made contact with a trash satellite and started wobbling unnervingly. His mind grasped itself and turned on its fear inhibitors. Immediately a ragged breath of unnatural calm left his pipes and fogged the icy glistening viewing hole in front of his mostly immobile face.

Okay J. we've survived incidents that, depending on how one looks at them, could be considered worse than this. Take 'The Second Quarantine' for starters. That was a real frightfest, but here We are, relatively, safe and soundless. What with the vacuum and all.

One thing to note about open source augmentations is that the parameters are not immune to the inevitable wry lameness trite clusters that collect from the act of a high horse group effort that worked together to create these Lifemods for the betterment of all humankind.

You know, come to think of it, Klees isn't such a bad person. Sure his work ethic rivals that of a REFERENCE MEMORY NOT FOUND, but that doesn't make him a bad person at heart. And J. really, it's been awhile since you installed RivioVision's Fear Blaster III, would you like to take this moment in the clouds to re-register and connect to the cloudmind so that we here at RivioVision can make sure, for a nominal fee, your version of Fear Blaster III is up-to-date and free of all invasion? YES NO LATER (grayed out)

“N..Na-.” He attempts.

Keep in mind Jerem, the only thing keeping your fearmind from tearing itself out of your brain Jerem, and bursting out of the front of this pod Jerem, and burning up on re-entry Jerem, before it's smoking twisted heap Jerem falls into a sulfuric volcano Jerem is the word YE-”

“No,” Narwallis flatly states.

The inhibitor deactivates falling away from his mind like a two dimensional square.
Two day cooldown. Harsh, but it took the hits it needed to in order to keep Narwallis out of the gibbering idiot territory. And fuck Klees! That ratbrain slack. Narwallis always hated the way augmentations would make him think perpendicular thoughts, especially about people he hated. Speaking of which, he was quite surprised he wasn't dead by now. He was certain the advertisement layer in the upper atmosphere would be too much for Klees to orchestrate. Good on ya Klees! Huh, that wasn't even an aftershock of the inhibitor. I guess was making him out to be worse than he really-


“Oh.” Narwallis outed.


Ad-layers 17 through 34 were cascading into the pod of Mr. Narwallis.


“KLEES!!!!!!” Narwallis yelled at the heavens. “YOU FOOL OF BUFFOONS!!”


And so, with each orbital advertisement logo that crashed into the fabled dodpod of Jeremy Narwallis, his calculated trajectory shifted from at least 12 to 280 degrees. True enough, it's rare to connect to your pre-defined drop zone and achieve successful alignment, especially in a dodpod, but to land so far beyond touchdown is just straight ridiculous...yo. These collisions would do little harm to this military grade capsule but the chances of landing in one of the many active volcanoes is getting pretty probable.

Narwallis instantly grew indifferent. He was flummoxed beyond caring about his own safety. Part of living in this dream world is the ennui of endless insanity. There are flashes of intensity but at a certain point everything is permitted and to be expected. It is the way of the Super Ball. The dreaming Gorgon.

His once blurred face now stone and without affect. The frozen capsule now irradiated and baked in yellow stinking flame. Still spiraling down and down but closer. This land of volcanoes his first world.

You always remember your first. And he would remember this world. As it would remember him.

Approximately 66 million years ago...

We call upon The Great Light.
By the gift of our intelligent tongues.
Cleanse this sphere from impurity.
We welcome the return of The Eternal Shadow.
Shroud us, these sinners, bathed in Enlightenment.
Cast us, our atonement, into the deep of reptilian slumber.
The Tree has led us astray, we indulged too deeply the fruits of our imprisonment.
Ignored the curse of Ouroboros in the face of the winged serpent.
Blinded by our new found minds we call upon The Great Light.
Leave no trace for generation's future.
For existence must walk this worn path again. 
It is certain.
A chalice of warning.
Taste not the plasma springs.
Drink deep and be damned.
Our time is not done.
Only within the dark, corners of knowing, we will remain.
As the Harbingers of Law & Chaos have done before us.

And so...

To be continued...