| Trip Report: Master Cleanse Lemonade Diet |
[21 Aug 2008|08:37pm] |
Motivation: Eating late in the evening has fattened my figure. Additionally, I would like to clean out all the mud from my guts. Hello, Master Cleanse Maple Syrup Lemonade liquid fast.
Day One: Socially Difficult
 The routine is straightforward. While fasting, every morning you will wake up and immediately drink a full glass of lukewarm sea water. Immediately following this, your body will double-cross you, and attempt to throw up your hard work. So you will have to hold it down, because if you don't you'll need to have another glass. This is the hardest part of the Master Cleanse regiment. For the remainder of the day, you must feast on Master Cleanse Maplelade:7.50 cup(s) of filter water
0.75 cup(s) of lemon juice, from lemons
0.75 cup(s) of grade-b maple syrup
0.50 tspoon of cayenne pepper You will bring this to work with you in an empty grapefruit juice jug, and your co-workers will guffaw straight away and recommend you just eat right instead of "not eating real food" and say it looks like you're drinking diarrhea water and/or old urine. If you really like maple syrup, and you're okay with fresh lemonade, it may still taste delicious to you, regardless. Sweet, sour, and spicy. It will also make you feel sick a little bit, which, in turn, helps to reduce hunger for lean cuisines, panini sandwiches, or other non-lemonade foods.
PRO-TIP: Drinking maplelade all the time is horrible. To effectively manage this daily pain, always look for things that reduce you appetite. Hoodia, cigarettes, broken heartedness, yelling, and maplelade itself are all good choices.
The vast majority of people don't make it past the first day of Master Cleanse. Here's one person on the internet who is managing:
awandra on March 12, 2008 6:41 am
trust me my fast but didntnt think i was going to make it the first dag on day however with god in my life he has brought me threw the third day now that an accomplish ment how ever i havent went to the bathroom yoe it appear to me that my stomach intestince is filld wil much waste more then i can think of the first time i tryed is was 3 weeks ago i could take it i had servere headache now i tryed it againe i still had a headache but this time i drank as much warter that i could hold amazeing the head ach went awat now i am trull scared to use sea salt im scared my pressure will go up how ever i really need a good laxtive that will work the hearbal tea wont work ive tryed it, ok let me ask how much sa salt am i sopose to use and do i use it every day please email me asap i really need to know i proud of myself that i lasted three days can you help me please i trying my best but i need your suport to help me to be more motivated laxtive help how much maybe im doing it wrong?
Day Two: Grim Business
Last night I picked up two dozen lemons and made an Amazon order for more delicious maple syrup. I also came home to a well-cooked dinner, compliments of my girlfriend who suggested I just eat some, not all, because it "is so delicious".
Referencing Pro Tip #1, I yelled "Comeeeee Onnnnn" and immediately felt hungerless. I took Master Cleanse mandated laxatives and fell asleep studying databases.
In the morning, I paced around looking at a large glass of the sea water I needed to drink prior to showering. Not quite Count Chocula cereal, but I imagined I was drinking Wonton soup and managed to get it down. It's pretty bad, but there's no aftertaste. Unlike yesterday, it immediately swept through my system like the Red Army. I will not elaborate, because I'm certain no one wishes to hear about how this waste water looked exactly like Lemapelade. Needless to say, I stumbled out the door feeling extremely fucked up, but determined to last ten to seventy-five days.
The work day was fairly easy. Co-workers now admired the fact that I have the willpower to drink "diarrhea water" for two days in a row and mostly disregarded the jug on my desk. Periodically, I would untwist the cap and knock back a gulp and moan with delight. Mmm, Lemapleade.PRO-TIP: The primary purpose of Master Cleanse is to rid toxins from your digestive tract. Naturpaths believe that your body retains intestinal mucus which harbors disease and parasites. Lemonade breaks down that mucous. Apparently there is no such thing as mucoid plaque, however. Of the many thousands of biopsies and autopsies done by medical professionals, no evidence has been found for it. One feels a boost of energy on the second day or third of Master Cleanse due to the body's starvation response. Therefore there is no reason to do the Master Cleanse detox diet.
Day Three: Body Aches And Mental Cloudiness
I am having difficulty focusing on work. My body aches like I did an unsuccessful backflip. Still, I took my jug of crap to work today and took delivery of $40 worth of organic maple syrup this morning. The scale says I have lost 7 pounds, which I have to imagine is water weight and bone powder. I feel enthused to be doing something good for myself, and really want to concentrate on eating raw foods and a healthier diet after I finish. But first, I think it's time for some Applebees.
Okay, so I just went to Applebees (TM) and ate some quesadilas (TM) with some guys from work. I still have half a jug of Master Cleanse, and a lot of extremely sub-par white person maple syrup. I have considered eating two hundred pancakes and writing "Trucker Bomb" on the jug and hiding it next to the office bathroom door. Instead I will pour it out in the sink and eat no pancakes (fuck).
I guess it's just oil pulling, several dozen supplements, neti pot, power dry scraping, crystals, coffee enemas, raikii healing, pinch massages, protein shakes, hgh precursors, and my custom nootropic stack (aniracetam, alcar, piracetam, fish oil, choline citrate, and lipolic acid) from this point on. I am doing well.
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| Agile B2B Cloud Development |
[20 Aug 2008|01:52am] |
Fifteen hour days, Ephedrine, Aniracetam, Piracetam, Choline Citrate, massive daily intake of caffeine, frequently asking "How's it going?" to my team, Basecamp, endless yellow pads, graph paper, ERM diagrams, technical talks, working weekends, an angry girlfriend, 10,000 lines of code a month for six months, feisty investors, dreaming of databases, stock options, and Sarasota for the next five or more years of my life. I guess this is what it looks like when a tech company does an IPO run-up.
Revised five year plan: Cash out and make one of those video game rooms where every surface is covered in video game cassettes from the previous decade. Will smell like cherry cough drops and fried onions, just like the others. Spray bottles of rubbing alcohol (refreshing) and Motrin tablet to heal internal pain, all readily available. But unlike the other ultra-gaming dens, this one won't have a rape dungeon beneath the floor with a hatch activated by GameGenie cheat codes. I find that feature repugnant, to be quite frank.
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| An Additional Note on Brown Recluse Spiders |
[20 Aug 2008|01:41am] |
A fellow at my work told me a story about his wife and spiders. She called him frantic one day, blubbering on about a spider in the house. His mind immediately jumped to his wife being weak in the pants and suggested she calm her lady self down.
But he didn't understand, friends.
She explained that there was this big spider, and indeed she was freaking out, so she had attacked it with a nearby stick. When she brought the stick down on it, the unexpected happened: a gang of tiny baby spiders shot from all over its body and ran random from their mothership. As seen in this picture of a similar event.
No amount of wild stamping can fix a situation like this entirely.
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| The Fun Way to Indentify Poisonous Spiders |
[20 Aug 2008|01:09am] |
It is notoriously difficult to distinguish between the Southern House Spider and the venomous skin-melting Brown Recluse. Without a magnifying glass and special knowledge, it's easy to mixup the two. Webpages on the matter are not very helpful -- spiders appear different and their eyes are tiny. An alternate method, not seen on the internet, is behavioral identification. No Science Required. Pending access to a verified Brown Recluse (for close scrutiny), here are potential identification vectors for the Southern House Spider:
- Jumps like a Spider Fred Astaire upon being captured with a cup. Bounces off the sides humiliating itself.
- Does not look a man in the face when he is speaking to it.
- Does not respond to music: urban or synthesizer.
- Has a hairy rectangular face. Has a bunch of smashed together eyeballs. No expressions observed.
- Does not eat steak or is too proud to accept food not captured in a web.
- Has some heft to it. 750mg heft.
- Likely crawls all over my face when I am sleeping and suspect absolutely nothing.
- Knows when the jig is up. Remained frozen in the middle of the carpet when I turned suddenly. Kept in place until I grabbed a glass and started chasing it.
- Did not attempt to use webs to get away.
- Has no emotions and joints made from hard spider gelatin.
Easily remembered with the acronym JDDHDHLKDH. Behaviorial identification is fast, accurate, and does not require butterfly nets, microscopes, or expensive spider cages to do properly.
Caveat: Should you not be expecting company, and company arrives, and you're sitting at the dining room table with a glass of Scotch, staring at a spider in a cup, next to a computer filled with spider information, and a camera filled with dozens and dozens of macro photographs and short movies of that spider, you may creep the shit out of those not familiar with Arachnology (which requires a lot of drinking, in general).
REFERENCES
Curtis, John T. "Social behavior by captive juvenile Kukulcania hibernalis" Bulletin of the British Arachnological Society 13.2 (1999): 53-65.
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| Injury Report: 10 Injuries I Have Sustained |
[17 Mar 2008|12:29am] |
Ten Most Extreme Times I Have Hurt Myself Or Been Hurt By Others
10. I was lying on the floor, on my stomach, next to my girlfriend, listening to ambient music and thinking about concrete plans for our future together. It might've been a remix of Kool and the Gang, smooth and upbeat, which was interrupted by my girlfriend burning me with a steaming hot iron. I love her so bad it hurts my heart, which is also an injury, because it is that strong. I will likely burn her as part of a practical joke in the future, so no worries.
9. I leapt out of bed with pep in my step, pensive but sprite for the moment. My first landing foot bounced atop a plastic bag and instantly burned like fire. This was one of those moments when an easy smile turns into a confused, horrified gasp. I had bounced atop a BB gun that my girlfriend rescued from my garbage weeks before. My foot hung open like the gaping maw of a pirate skeleton. I was mostly angry at the BB gun, but settled down and realized it had meant no harm towards me. I poked my girlfriend in the eye and we were even.
8. Early men rushing out the door to face business challenges throughout the day. Fresh in their appearance, both clean shaven and sharply dressed. In a hurry, I had cut my throat with a razor while shaving. It bled all over my shirt collar and tie, which I didn't know until the end of the day when I looked in the mirror and saw this early Halloween treat. Blood everywhere. A sales pitch you can't deny.
7. In response to a previous girlfriend asking me to drive more carefully, I drove all crazilly, swerving for fun, and losing control of the wheels on a slick mud patch, which promptly ejected both of us into a ditch and bent the wheel of the motorbike we were on. Encountering danger during an early date is what makes couples bond with each other. Being soaked throughout with mud that animals and people have spit, pissed and shit in is about as dangerous as you can get. She had bruises all over her legs and arms -- super dangerous.
6. I fell ill and was coined -- a practice which stimulates the immune system by putting welts all over your body with a coin lubricated with cooling vapor rub. A blood letting for modern people. Counting, each welt stripe is 180 firm scrapes of a coin's edge. It begins hurting at about the 4th scrape. This was the first and last time I have bled through my nipple on the left side of my chest. This is apparently the cure for the common cold, but you cannot handle it.
5. When I was younger and in Boston, I seriously doubted I could intentionally cut myself. I was not feeling unwell, I was just fairly weak in this regard. I was reading about how teen girls could do it, and I wasn't sure I could, so I cut myself with a pair of Fiscar yarn scissors and bled through my arm for ten minutes. I still have the perfectly straight scar. Rather than feeling a release from daily burdens, I felt a cold numb ache which radiated out stretching the length of my forearm.
4. Drunkenly burned myself on an oven heating element while trying to eat freshly cooked meat. Image here.
3. My father stabbed himself in the eyeball with a tiny pair of mustache scissors. Yes, this is not something that happened to me, but it still needs to be mentioned. He was trimming his fine mustache when suddenly the scissors started falling out of his hand, so he lunged for them in the air, and successfully grabbed them at an angle in which they stuck into his open eye. This is the worst thing I have ever heard. His eye was filled with blood for several weeks and I felt as perhaps a natural instinct that I should distance myself from him and his terrible bloody eye.
2. I had a girlfriend once that was lying on a hammock, swinging lazily, and then the hammock broke and a wooden pole cracked her head open. She still has a dent in the back of her head. This is one of dozens of potential scenarios involving a hammock that can result in your head exploding from blunt force trauma.
1.
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| The Previously Mentioned Eyes |
[14 Mar 2007|02:11pm] |
Botum, an adorable woman with a gang leader's temper. We met at her father's funeral, I lived at her family's house, we spent an obscene amount of time together, and then she flew off to a Mormon college in Hawaii on scholarship. We broke up months later, though still talk every so often. I do and don't regret not marrying her.
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| Top-quality Asian baby |
[12 Mar 2007|11:13pm] |
I called my last girlfriend Crazy Heng because she had an enormous temper and these outlandish wild eyes. Well-shapen Chinese-Cambodian eyes. When they're for you, it's electrifying. When they turn, lasers snap out and your skeleton welds at the joints. It is this power that ensnares gentlemen callers such as myself.
Her sister had a baby, and that baby's got those same Crazy eyes. Eyes that radiate strong demands, like "I want steaks and a quart of hot blood to flush it down with". Yes, sir. And I call you sir, baby, because though I am a grown man and you are tiny, I know you have empires inside your head and will do great things.
Welcome to Earth, Baby Heng.
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| A Week’s Collection |
[05 Feb 2007|02:00pm] |
Attended a jazz performance for the old and dying; was called a gem by an older woman I opened a door for; read gtd for the 4th time; stole a bicycle from a Puerto Rican grifter; was pulled over by the police for speeding; avoided a ticket; drank with Costa Ricans; was invited to ex-girlfriend’s Mormon wedding at the end of this year; punched a desk with mighty strength; cancelled plans for a move back overseas; spent $1,200 in two days; got really sick; got better; finished two more projects; threw in with a local public-speaking group; thought much about neuro-linguistic programming; met up with a classy lady; bought pants; halved belongings; consistently ate my chemical breakfast of a half-dozen supplements and such; scheduled a pricey certification test; drove endlessly; heard an old man grunt Judy Garland was a “whore” and felt better for it; ate very little; found a place in Bradenton to rent; comforted a weeping friend at 4 a.m; called little sister far too often; went on two job interviews.
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| My Friend The Wanted Policewoman |
[01 Apr 2006|01:19pm] |
 The topfold of yesterday's Cambodian national newspaper announced an arrest warrant issued for Heng Chalen. Heng Chalen is a fetching young lady, well-to do, and a high-ranking policewoman working under the Prime Minister's brother. Heng Chalen has also become my friend over the past many months. I sent a text message to her phone yesterday that read, "how r u heng chalen?" but received no reply, because she is actively engaged in her flight from prosecution.
Her's is an understandable snag. It is alleged that her supervisor, Hun Song, unlawfully killed a man. Chalen just burned up all the documents that might be evidence in his upcoming trial. If that sounds deliquent, consider this: chances are that murdered man deserved it: chances are he was a vagabond or hooligan. Snuffing out his life was the most natural thing there is. Burning up those flammable documents - also very natural.
Run, Chelen. You have done absolutely nothing wrong because morality is relative.
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| But Instead I Won't Reply |
[06 May 2005|11:30am] |
I am now back in Phnom Penh and this is my last week in Cambodia. I am very sad, because after this traveling I love Cambodia even more than before. Bokor mountain is, I think, one of the most beautiful places in the world, but it scares me. I feel like there are ghosts everywhere! I just was in Siem Reap last week, and I feel like there are ghosts in that place too. I went to many temples; my favorites are Angkor Wat, the Bayon, Ta Prohm, and Beng Mealea. At the Bayon, an old nun dressed in white told me about the future. She said I would find a handsome husband and have a beautiful family in the future. I don’t know if I believe her. Sandra, there are so totally ghosts everywhere. They look all weird and they are evil and they haunt Bokor mountain. One time my friend, his name is Danny, my friend Danny he was on Bokor mountain this one time because we dared him and said he was chicken shit and he said he wasn’t so he slept there over night and he said that after he fell asleep he heard a ton of ghosts and that when he woke up his wallet, digital camera and shoes were gone. I said he was just lying but then I looked down and saw that he really didn’t have shoes. Phnom Penh also has ghosts too, and I would never go there without a talisman.
I think you are haunted. Do not email me again.
- Steven
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| The Best Part Of Industrial Accidents |
[05 May 2005|01:57pm] |
WILMINGTON, N.C. - A man who ordered a pint of frozen chocolate custard in a dessert shop got a nasty surprise inside - a piece of severed finger lost by an employee in an accident. Unlike a recent incident at a Wendy’s restaurant in California, no questions of truth have been raised about the finger found in a package from Kohl’s Frozen Custard. [...] “I thought it was candy because they put candy in your ice cream ... to make it a treat. So I said, ‘OK, well, I’ll just put it in my mouth and get the ice cream off of it and see what it is.’” Stowers said he spit the object out, but still couldn’t identify it. So he went to his kitchen, rinsed it off with water - and “just started screaming.”
http://www.phillyburbs.com/pb-dyn/news/84-05022005-484150.html
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| Spits Kilometers On A Tightrope |
[04 May 2005|01:28pm] |
If you know me, you know how exceptionally dedicated I am to the sport of motocross racing. You will also know that I was semi-pro in 1984 before a crash cut short my promising career in the off-road racing circuit. Therefore, it should come as a shocking surprise that I am now once again in the motorbike-driving business.
 Specifically, I am working on acquiring one. A few days of this week were spent reintroducing myself to this transport technology, and while I had thought it might be a struggle, it was, infact, rather straightforward. Insert key, turn key to On position, push start button and twist the gas handle for encouragement. Lean to the right side, hold down the clutch lever, shift into first by rocking back on the two-part shifter foot pedal. Apply gas with gas handle while easing up on the clutch lever. Insert part A into part B. Up, up, down, down, left, right, circle. And away we go. Once upshifted and going, it is simpler than a bicycle to handle. There is far less exercise, you see.
And unlike a bicycle, even a limp-wristed moto can zip about with delightful pep. Something like a domesticated spinning top. So of course I twirled about in downtown Kampong Cham, whizzing between things and driving maniacally. With my super moto borrowed transport vehicle. Apologies to the families of the victims, and also to all of the motodops I’ve spoken poorly of for nearly motomurdering me. I think I nearly understand you now. But don’t get too happy though, motodops. I still hate you really bad.
I mentioned to my friend Savaan that I was in the market for a moto to impress everyone. It was fortunate timing, as a co-worker at his NGO happens to be selling his women-impressing moto for a very good price. It looks ridiculous, but all of the Cambodians think well of it. It is a very strong moto they say, and riding it will make you a big man with super strength, because you are traveling atop this powerful device. It drives very fast because it has a larger motor. And so this is what I will buy, the odd looking thing in the photograph above. While I have always thought the sight of a man in business attire riding a dirtbike to be somewhat strange, especially when he has just jumped a dune and he twists and touches the back of the bike and shit -- I am excited at the prospect of being able to move around as I wish. A lesser motos may allow for this also, yes, but I am literally incapable of not pushing it to the max every second of the fucking week, so the Honda Baja fightercycle is the right choice, clearly.
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| Thirty-Nine Still Out There |
[25 Apr 2005|07:48pm] |
For most of this month I kept sick with an unknown malady. An illness that robbed me of appetite, left odd bits of delirium, and all the other symptoms that beg a doctor be sought. As a strong American, extra-strong, I did not go that route. Rather, I drugged myself up with vitamins and Codeine, as I do, and marched around working each day like a driven automaton. Though I am well-practiced, I still suck at being sick. Case in point. While very ill this month, walking around one day, mid-day under the low-hanging Sun, I thought myself back in Florida and strolled about thinking of land. Following this, I waited till night-time, then drank heavily and drew sketches of important websites from recollection. Because fuck soup and rest, this is nice.
As expected, though, I weathered that storm and a few days ago my appetite returned in-part. So delighted was I, that I attended a lonely lunch at a nearby corner-restaurant. It has a Khmer name which I do not recall, though roughly translated it likely comes out to "There Are So Many Ants In Your Food Right Now". Truly. I think at some point, when I first arrived here, I picked through the rice and things, flicking aside the tiny red ants and strands of hair that often times find their way into my meal. After a few minutes of that, I stopped looking completely. And from that point on I was alright.
What better way then to celebrate a newfound shard of health than with a single dollar meal at this establishment. Because that is the best way. To get food poisoning, apparently.
It was a fluke, I am certain, but they served me poison food. And the day-after-and-change, I made a quick return to violent illness. Adding yet more gorey stories to the collection of things I should never tell women about, but likely will regardless. But, even these horrible new additions faded as hours and days went by. I was well again shortly after. Which brings us skipping along to tonight.
I was invited out to drink a bit with Cambodian friends. This is always interesting, and infrequent, so it was an invitation gladly accepted. I do not care much for the turpentine-flavored palm wine mix that they guzzle, but I manage. Tonight, rather than gathering at a household, we went out to a small drinking place I've been to before. They serve food with drink, and each dish is satured with large ants eggs and soggy wasps. These make the penis very strong, and you should eat them for that reason, because a penis that is not strong is a fucking pity.
Gathered around a small metal table, swigging palm vomitus, central dishes of meat-and-insects arrived one after another. First, eel, which is quite pleasant. Then, rabbit. Then, more rabbit. Then, something that tasted a bit like shrimp. It looked like eel, and had an odd texture, which led me to inquire just what sort of meat it was that I was eating. "Noam. Linga", one replied. Motherfuck, I was eating a dick.
It was a cow dick, but a dick still. As I began hyperventilating, sweating profusely, and rubbing some of the dish meat all over my face and naked chest, I was quieted and assured that eating this was "very good for penis". Eating penis is good for your penis. So are ants, wasps, eel, and brains. Possibly many other things. If you have access to this meat, and you are a man, stop to consider. Stop to eat it.
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| Notes Spent Quickly |
[25 Apr 2005|05:17pm] |
• I keep my time on a small electronic clock from the market. It shows the day, a day off, but the hour, minute and second, all correct and with digital precision. While staring into this clock yesterday, I realized – my goodness, it really does show seconds. With this in mind, I began testing just how long I could hold my breath. It had been a while, and I recall last topping out at a respectable thirty seconds. I think I might’ve been fat then. In top shape, as it turns out, I can now apparently hold my breath for three full minutes without dying. Just like the American magician Houdini. If you think this is a small skill, do it yourself, and watch as you cannot and you must apologize for being so cynical. I will patiently wait out your endless weeping and sorrys until you’ve finished, and then I will exhale loudly and inform you, after inhaling in deeply once or twice, that I was in fact holding my breath the entire time.
• Cambodians believe the ghosts of those that die in the river stay in the river, hidden underneath the water. It makes perfect sense. These ghosts are very lonely, so they will grab your legs while you are swimming and pull you far underneath the water with them. If you cannot hold your breath for three entire minutes, your ghost will soon be pulling swimmers to their watery graves as well.
• I have all of my clothing laundered each week. It takes a day to make them clean entirely, and the charge is about two dollars. Generally I am quite happy with my laundry service. That is, before I noticed the writing on all of my clothing. It was expected that they’d tag my garments with a number or letter code. It was not expected that they’d write “barang” in Khmer script on each and every thing. That means “foreigner”, friends. They wrote “foreigner” on my shirts and on my pants. I paid three dollars for these shirts, and will wash my own clothing by hand until they’ve been costed for it.
• Hand washing clothing in my apartment is more difficult than you might imagine. That is because, of course, there is no running water, a noticeable lack of proper sinks, and clothing that has tiny blood stains all over (don’t ask questions). And all of this came about because I needed clean clothing immediately. So I made naked myself, and started scrubbing out the danderfilth. Logic dictates that once soaped up and scrubbed, the clothing must be washed free of suds and bubbles. Logic has a proper sink and running water. I botched the process, and all of my clothing smells of chocolate. It would be worse if I were handicapped, I suppose. But not much worse.
• Walking down the street, it sometimes happens that you will meet and greet with visitors here. They are a friendly breed, prone to smiles and swift talking. I spent most of last night on the riverside, in conversation with an Iranian man named Sky. He has a true name, and it is Parvis, but in a curious attempt to blend into California he adopted this pseudonym. Travel, women, drinking, ultraviolence, system hacking, motorbike accidents, politics, beggars, flaming corpses. Fascinating passerbys.
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| The Slim Collection |
[18 Apr 2005|11:26am] |
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A hairbrush, toothbrush, Colgate toothpaste, very good shampoo and fine soap. A razor, four blank envelopes, one small bird feather, an envelope of letters, white bed sheets, and a white pillow. Two Valium pills, several cigarettes, one cigarette lighter, a Windy electric fan, five pairs of dress pants, undershirts, boxer shorts, dress shirts, one black “We Are Doomed” t-shirt, a shard of mirror, facial scrub, two Mitsubishi pens, a small green journal, three Codeine pills. Mosquito net, ten Xanax pills, a book of music discs, a counterfeit-Sony CD player, headphones, History of the Peloponnesian War by Thucydides, keys to KAPE office, one hundred and thirty-five dollars, a leather wallet, sneaker shoes and various socks. Two bottles of water and a backpack. Supradyne effervescent vitamins, gentleman’s flask, Colloquial Cambodian by David Smythe, roll-on deodorant, dental floss.
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| Herodotus Explains It All |
[17 Apr 2005|11:16am] |
"Apries sent Amasis to try to argue the rebels into submission, and while Amasis was doing his best to persuade them to return to their duty, a man who was standing behind him as he spoke put a helmet on his head and said that he was crowning him king. Amasis was not altogether displeased by this, as he soon showed; for when the rebels had actually offered him the thrown, he prepared to lead them against Apries, who hearing of the danger which threatened him, sent Patarbemis, a distinguished member of his court, with orders to bring Amasis alive into his presence. Amasis, however, in answer to Patarbemis' summons, rose in his saddle (he was on horseback at the time), broke wind, and told him to take that back to his master."
"When Apries had been deposed in the way I have described, Amasis came to the throne. He belonged to the district of Sais and was a native of the town called Siuph. At first the Egyptians were inclined to be contemptuous, and did not think much of him because of his humble and undistinguished origin; but later on he cleverly brought them to heel, without having recourse to harsh measures. Amongst his innumerable treasures, he had a gold foot-bath, which he and his guests used on occasion to wash their feet in. This he broke up, and with the material had a statue made to one of the gods, which he then set up in what he thought the most suitable spot in the city. The Egyptians constantly coming upon the statue, treated it with profound reverence, and as soon as Amasis heard of the effect it had upon them, he called a meeting and revealed the fact that the deeply revered statue was once a foot-bath, which they washed feet and pissed and vomited in."
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