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StefanFrier
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Name: Stefan
Location: Athens, Georgia, United States
Gender: Male
Interests: To be nobody-but-yourself--in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else--means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting. - E. E. Cummings
Expertise: Botany and Cricket.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Hospitality
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
4/6/2005
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| ** SFHS (Stefan Frier Historical Society), regretfully publishes the last journal entry of the renown humanist, philosopher, psycologist, and pirate, Stefan Joques Frier. Although he was French, he sitll managed to bravely change our world, and inspire others to knew hieghts of achievement. This entry marks the end of his very unpopular piratical andventures. The lack of comments has forced the SFHS to close its doors forever. Now, on the event of our last entry, we will now fullfill the demands of code 17 of the society charter. Specifically, we will all drink vials of arsenic and vodka simultaneously. After we have passed from this life, High Chief Stephen Freer will place our bodies in canoes, and light them on fire as we sail off into the eternal sea. At long last, we shall achieve eternal communion with Stefan Frier. Farewell, and may you rest in the thousand arms of Frier forever. **
August 26, 1985
Unsuccessfully attacked cruise ship. Not good idea. Need more rum. I love rum. | | |
| ** Today's entry begins with Stefan's sloop about to be boarded by Pirates from the south China sea. Here we have the first indication that Stefan has musical talent. **
Agust 27, 1985
Upon the ending of my last journal entry, there were still two looming questions I left unanswered. The first was the state of my hard boiled eggs, which were boiling harder and harder each minute. Much to my dismay, the eggs in question were boiled far too long for my taste. As for my second problem, I was being approached by a swift black schooner bearing dirty Asian men. Almost every dirty Asian man was bearing a fully automatic assault rifle. I found this last piece of information rather alarming.
On the bright side of things, no immediate harm would befall me or Michelle. The wizened old seamen were contented to confine me to the poop deck on board the black schooner, which I later discovered was called 'Old Yang.'
As exciting as being captured surely is, eventually bordem began to creep up on me. I requested leave to play my ukalele. After a few strokes of the cat-gut strings I started howling my favorite mountain song.
I had a friend named Rambalin' Bob
He used to steal, gamble and rob
He thought...
I quickly abandoned the melody as I began to suspect this particular audience was not receptive to hillbilly folk. Also, the gentleman sitting next to me unloaded several rounds into my left upper-thigh. Bleeding profusly, I flew into a chorus of...
Fifteen men on a dead man's chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the Devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike
The bosun brained with a marlinspike...
Rat tat tat tat tat! Five more rounds in the same spot was enough to make me stifle myself this time. As it turns out, these gentleman were actually Niel Diamond fans. Oh, how I wish I knew that earlier.
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| ** The historians here at the SFHS are excited about this next journal entry. We are now entering into a more widely known period in Stefan's life. We all know about how Stefan was captured by pirates from the south China sea, but these journal entries will provide us with level of detail into these exploits previously only available in our dreams. So please, sit back, and soak up the swashbuckling adventure. **
August 26, 1985
After a short nap, I finished a few minor repairs to the mainsail and the jib. It was early morning, and my small sloop was surrounded by a thick English fog; only, this was Cape Cod. I had been sailing all night down the coast, making sure to keep Michelle a safe distance from the notorious jetting rocks of the Cape. I was very pleased with how she handeld the stiff gails of the night before, and I was bursting with pride for my own seamanship. I was boiling some eggs to go with my toast when I fist caught site of the black mast of an impressive schooner easing up along side my stern. She was cutting through the soup at a furtive speed. I began to take notice of the men commanding her. They were seamen in every sense of the word. Like their ship, they were dirty and black with a dull yellow hue in their skin. Since, they were going to pass pretty close to Michelle's stern, I decided I would offer them some of my boiled egg and toast sandwich. Hopefully, I could engage them in some salty conversation. As they approached, I marvelled at them. They had everything a sailor needs, a bandana covering, a black and white striped shirt, sailorly excentric tastes, a smooth grey fully automatic. Holy mother of Ahab. My eggs continued overcooking themselves.
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| ** Yet again, we see Stefan turn his attention towards his long time feline muse. **
June 31, 1985
Nancy on a hot tin roof
roasting on the edge
of life and certain death
cold, calculating, aloof
Cats don't fear the reaper
They live slow, and sleep deeper
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| ** In the summer of 1985, Stefan recieved a grill as a gift from one of his close friends. Afterwards, the majority of his compisitions had to do with grilling or grills. Out of this creative river of thought came a few books on the subject of grilling. Namely, When God Created Grills. In this book, he theorized that there is an innate and holy connection between men and their grills. He points out how young boys often misspell the word girls and instead spell grils. **
June 26, 1985
My mind flew back in time the neanderthal man. I imagined a roaring fire deep inside a grey stone cave. Leaning over the fire is early man. He is hideously hairy with muscles toned by necessity. He bends down with his right hand, and rips a handful of bloody flesh from out of a slain stegasuarus. He holds his hand over the flame. With his left hand he adds some dirt and shredded grass for flavor. His hand is burning along with the meat, still he holds it in the flame. It is worth the sacrifice; tonight he will eat steak. My thoughts then lifted above the cave and into the heavens. I saw the Creator. He looked down on his creation and smelt of his steak. Then God took the mans steak unto Himself. And then He consumed it, and tasted that it was good. And then I quit thinking about steak, and retired for the night.
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