Arcadia Discussion Zone

What does that have to do with my intelligence being in the upper 1 percentile of the population? Looks more like me discussing being crowned King of Israel. Being that I located the treasures of the Jerusalem Temple, I think it only fitting. I don't think the Ark is in the treasure anymore, though, just the other treasures of the Jerusalem Temple, like the mennorah shown in Poussin's Destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. That was a misinterpretation of the references to Ethiopia in the 1618 Rosicrucian print, which I thought was a clue to the Ark being taken from there by the Knights of Christ, a reasonable interpretation at the time. Of course, it is now clear that those references were intended as a clue to the constellation Cassiopeia, the Queen of Aethiopia.
Even if I did say that my intelligence was in the upper 1%, who cares? It's damn sure a good 50 points above YOURS, Jim Beck. Or should I call you Joe Schmuck? Shalom, and thanks for publicizing my fine literature. It makes for entertaining reading, unlike your forgettable and boring posts.

And I thought that only Keith Ranville was whacko? Wow!

D'Arcy

Kiss my *ss, rehash boy! Any single page of any of my websites is of more significance than all of your rehash books combined, mental midget . You're not worthy to kiss Reginald Harris' feet, so why are you trying to imitate him, loser, couldn't think of anything original to do?

Thought confirmed!

Where'd you get the thought from, Reginald Harris? Why are you even on this forum? You have nothing to offer to solving the OI mystery. So you got a few pictures by bugging families of Oak Island diggers, whoopee. Nothing any of those diggers ever did helped in any way to solve the mystery, other than proving that there really were two large vaults of treasure in a 170 foot deep shaft which was connected to at least one man made flood tunnel.
The most significant discovery was by Fred Nolan, the Oak Island Cross, and even he is too stupid to realize its significance, just like you. I showed you the actual solution to the mystery and all you did was insult me. I guess that confirms MY thought, that you're a brain-dead jack*ss.
Let's hear your explanation for the OI Cross, Mr. local book author. Don't tell me you got nothing. You can't come up with anything at all? What's the matter, O'Connor, is anything that actually requires original thinking beyond you?

Thought doubly confirmed!

D'Arcy,



I could have saved you the trouble.

Nice explanation for the Oak Island Cross, genius. You and Tank should combine your Oak Island solving capabilities. 0+0 still equals 0, but at least you'll have each other for company in the land of zero. Rehash O'Connor and Bad Cop Hennigar, together in obscurity.

Hi Dozy, still up to your evil tricks again, and so it begins.

I'll admit I can't agree with Brians theory but he sure as h*ll got you and your tour guide buddy dead to rights. You do just print the same old rehashed rubbish and you don't even get your facts right, in your riviting book you attribute the wrong decyphering of the Cryptic message to a Proffessor whose name you apparently couldn't recall. You previously put this same mistake on a prop for a tv programe in the "In search of series", but it does not say the word ALLEGED on that prop, you don't even believe there was treasure Forty Feet below, so much for your integrity sir.

Brian, this rehasher gave me the same treatment as he and Tank are giving you so I will support you against these self serving gentlemen who have just come here to make trouble and recruit for the amature organization the OITS. There peachy shows are alright if you like to see bits of old chain, a tiny piece of velum and real neat faded pitures of the failed attempts of treasure hunters. Exciteing picture of Boreing 10X and the hand out of the Adams Family show.

Did you know that D'Arcy O' Conner theorized in his book that a huge 500 ton Spainish Galleon (with a draft of about fifteen feet) was repaired inside The Coffer Dam which had a depth of approxamately seven feet by the rocks at high tide riseing to the beach 150ft away so midway would be about - four feet deep.

He claimed that there were two Coffer Dams, there is one.
He theorized that two dams were dismantled, there is still one intact at Smiths Cove. And the last part is priceless, he said the Galleon sailed out of Smiths Cove, as the Coffer dam was not dismantled they must have got POPEYE to lift a 500 ton Galleon over the rocks to deeper water, and this Dozy Old Con guy sneers at your theory. He only explained that chain of events were imaginary but added who is to say it couldn't have happend.

D'Aracy, I don't like you because you lack honer and you named an innocent man on the internet, and you even smeared William Crooker who is not alive to defend himself. Brian might say you are unworthy of his attention, my feeling is you are a self serving fawning toady who is unworthy of anyones attention, in short you'd make a perfect stranger.

Cerris

www.oakislandrevelations.com

Thanks, Cerris. I feel a little bad about making fun of your request for $750,000 to dig for treasure on Nolan's land now. Maybe I was a little too harsh. I really do think the treasure is in the Money Pit, though. I doubt if those accounts of drilling into two separate vaults were trumped up. They were too detailed and didn't sound like something that would be made up. All indications are that the Money Pit was the real treasure pit. Why else would it have been so extensively protected by the flood tunnel which took a whole lot of effort to dig and engineer?
D'Arcy's theory about the 500 ton galleon in Smith's Cove is pretty lame, I must agree. I'm not surprised he has no theory whatsoever for the Oak Island Cross. You don't have one either, for that matter, but at least you're putting an honest effort into some kind of Oak Island theory, which is more than Tank or D'Arcy are doing. They are merely profiteering off of the popularity of the mystery, as far as I can see, and acting self important for no valid reason. Then they compound their sins by making fun of, and insulting, my theory which actually required a lot of work. Of course, they are only showing how unintelligent they are by doing so but it is still reprehensible in and of itself.
You've been at this Oak Island thing for several years now, Cerris, just like me. I admire your tenacity, if not your actual theory. At least you're putting your heart into it and you obviously put a lot of effort into your website. It's very nice looking, by the way. Lots of nifty do dads.
I'll delete my nasty reply from your other thread because I feel bad about it now. I'll make you a deal, Cerris. Don't criticize my theory and I won't criticize yours. Then we'll have an alliance against the forces of ignorance like D'Arcy and Tank. Of course, if you go back to insulting my stuff then the alliance will be broken. It's the pirate code, you know.

It's a close contest. I think Brian might be slightly in front.

Jim:

Sorry, but I still got my money on Keith reaching the funny farm first. But I gotta admit JB is a close second. As for Cerris, well, he's just Cerris, god bless him.

I can just imagine the eventual scene in Bedlam with the three of them interrupting one another as they drool and babble on about stone crosses, Poussin, intersectiing lines, Birch Island, Captain Kidd, etc. Should keep their handlers scampering back and forth from the pharmaceutical department.

D'Arcy

That was a good post, wasn't it? I was very creative with my posts in those days. "I am Pharaoh", that was a good line. Who else proclaims themselves King of Israel or Pharaoh? Now why don't Jim, D'Arcy and Tank accept that I am the rightful King of Israel and also Pharaoh, and stop their silly denial?
I am descended from King David. Take a look at this Jewish genealogy web page and see if my name is or isn't listed as a possible Davidic family; http://www.jewishgen.org/Rabbinic/journal/kdavid4.htm
Who's crazy now, lowbreds?

Hi D'Arcy, there you go again talking about things you know absolutely nothing about, I refer to a persons right to theorize what the h*ll they want to. Nobody needs any sarcasum from a pathetic rehash looser who theorized that a five hundred ton Spainish Galleon could sit in four foot of water inside the Smiths Cove Coffer Dam.

I don't agree with the theories of these young guys but at least inlike you they each have one, they are prepaired to take the blows and do it their way. You on the other hand are like some parasite Pilot Fish who attaches himself to the soft underbelly of a shark by sucking up then feeding off of the scraps it can pick up, sound familier.

You are merely a recorder of the failed treasure hunting attempts and anyone looking at your book and comparing it to the late William Crooker's can plainly see that he was a far better writer than you. Take away the inside track you've carefully maintained through years of sucking up to those involed in the oak Island story and what have you got - nothing is what you've got, zilch, no theory, no honour and worst of all nothing new to add that entitles you to express a critical opinion or pass judgement on anyone elses theory.

You may be a proffessional writer but you are clearly a joke sir, your knowledge of Oak Island could be written on the back of a postage stamp so don't kid youself that you can look down your patronizing nose at me mate, you are not now or ever will be in my class. You do have one obvious claim to fame, the extraordinary ability to brighten up a room by the simple process of leaving it.

Cerris
www.oakislandrevelations.com

Well said, Cerris. Harris and Crooker are easily the best authors of Oak Island books. Crooker made a great contribution by surveying the OI Cross and confirming its legitimacy. Otherwise , we would have had to take Nolan's word for it and he had a vested interest. Tank actually denied Crooker's reports about the Cross, rather than accept that I solved it. Pretty low.
Now Tank and D'Arcy have made fun of my being a Davidic descendant by saying that I am a whacko by simply repeating what Jewish rabbis have written. Yeah, that's real funny, to an anti-Semite.
Shalom to all, except Tank, D'Arcy and Jim.

A FISTFUL OF DULLARDS


CHAPTER ONE:

Our tale begins in the dank confines of a basement in a Southampton Council Flat, where a noble warrior, known by all as Curious Serious, long ago began tilting at at windmills.

Poring over some old books that were the sole basis of his research, Serious rubbed his hands in glee and exclaimed, "Aha, so that is how Billy the Kid and his n'er-do-well partner John Slavery deposited their ill-gotten gains! But exactly where?" he mused.

Serious's musings were cut short by a knock at the cellar door. He opened it to find his trusty aide, Igor, tugging at his forelock and proffering a greasy brown package wrapped in twine. "Jus came in the mail for you m'lord," said Igor, thrusting the package into his master's hands, before scurrying away like a mouse in search of some mouldy cheese.

Serious carefully opened the package, and then gasped in amazement. In it was a tattered copy of the "The Funny Pit", considered by all to be the ultimate book about Joke Island; a place in Nova Scotia where men had been digging for treasure for more than two centuries. In it were the names of some of the current treasure hunters, David Tobias, Fred Nolan, and Blank One, also referred to as "The Mayor". But most importantly, the book also had a map! It was a map that showed where Nova Scotia was, and (even more importantly) that it could be reached by simplying flying across the Atlantic Ocean from England. And perhaps even more importantly, noted Serious, the cities and towns in which those treasure hunters could be written to was actually listed in the book.

So, taking crayon in hand, Serious immediately began to write three letters: One to Tobias; one to Nolan, and one to Blank One. In each he informed the recipient that he, and only he, was being made privy to the ultimate proof of what it was they were looking for, and exactly who put it there and where. "Moreover," concluded Serious, "should you sign a contract with me, I shall make you a very rich man indeed."

Summoning Igor (who slouched into the cellar with a wriggling live sewer rat grasped in his teeth), Serious handed him the sealed letters and ordered him to mail them off post haste.

And so began Curious Serious's 30-year quest for the Joke Island treasure.

Hi D'Arcy, aren't you a little off topic, maybe you should practice what you preach old sun, I call you sun that because you seem to feel that the world revolves around you. I was going to point out that your sarcasum was the lowest form of wit but on reflection it probably is appropriate for the lowest form of life.

For your information o venerable sage from the Emerald Isle, I own two houses niether of which are councils flats and niether the houses or flats have basements. As for my credability Nolan and Blankenship were quite happy to make a joint deal based on MY THEORIES sir, you should know you were shown our confidential proposal by David Tobias, it was drawn up by Oak Island writer Lionel Fanthorpe who declared in it that I far and away the best researcher on Oak Island - ever.

In addidtion to that verification I have a confidential document signed by Dan Blankenship to work on MY project based on My theories, it rather shoots down your smear tactics right. If you have any doubts on that "Letter of Agreement" please feel free to ask Danny Hennigar, he has seen it, clearly the only Dullard here is you mate and I have only just begun.

Hey folks, picture a dark and dusty attic and an evil little Leprechaun muttering to himself at a dest full of books and piles of paper, by the light of the flickering candle stuck in an empty bottle of Guiness, he cackles and says, I can use this guys stuff in MY book, all I got to do is change the wording, eh eh eh - just coincidece- who is to say otherwise. eh eh eh. Now let's see, Dan got out of the bath sat on a stool and got a splinter in his butt today, I've got it- Dedicated Treasure Hunter injured in pursuit of answers to the Oak Island mystery, I should get about two chapters out of that"
"I think I'll write a fawning letter to David Snobias, I may get some tibs bits". Just then a black bird hops across the table with a feather in it's beak, no "Rick" the Raven that's the poison quill pen". He carefully thumbed through the worn pages of How to con friends and besmirch people. He then opened, The Idiots Guide to Ingratiating yourself with syle." by Ureia Heep.

He suddendly looked up, "Hey look at the time" he said observeing his horizontally placed hour glass, "It's half past something - gotta dash." He quickly pinned his nice new badge (which said "I love the Money Pit") onto his dear little green hat and said to his feathered friend, "I promised my boreguide confederate Crank that I would help with the EXPLOIT Oak Island Day stuff by giving my expert advise on things appertaining to Oak Island. "That's a bigger crock than I keep my gold in, eh eh eh."

"Never, - in the history of Oak Island's literary giants has anyone so little, contributed so little, and achieved so little - as you mate.

Please feel free to discribe me as a Dullard, compared to what I think of you that's a compliment.

Cerris

Hey Cerris:

That's good stuff! Keep it coming.

A FISTFUL OF DULLARDS


CHAPTER TWO:


Out on Joke Island, the Mayor also known as Bobby, was preparing for a much anticipated trip to the mail box. He had waited a long time for the envelope from the British Isles that would change his destiny forever. With careful precision he executed his time honoured procedure to make the pilgrimage to the place where mail from around the world was placed in the tiny tin can at the end of the causeway.

“Lets see” he muttered out loud to himself “I have my galoshes, sun glasses, water bottle, sun screen, car keys, CAR KEYS, hey June, where are my car keys” he hollered to his loving wife of fourty years.”

“Probably where you left them last you old fool” exclaimed the light of his life.

June came out of the office and stood by the window and watched as Bobby drove across the causeway en route to the mail box looking for THE LETTER, the answer to their dreams, indeed, the answer itself. Slowly he gained on the mailbox and as he drove up he was delighted to see it was crammed with letters and parcels from all over the world, but the only one he was interested in was the one from England, thick with the documentation he so richly deserved. Slowly he took the mail out, one by one and scanned each letter and parcel with his keen eyes until there right before him, two letters from England, one in a plain white envelope the other, a larger more interesting looking envelope with intricate detailing done in at least three new crayon colours, and marked with a curious looking return address marked, Curious Serious, This street, Southampton, UK.

He hurried home to great June with the news, the much anticipated envelope had arrived. Together they held it gingerly in their hands looking at every detail on the envelope noting it had an odd odour. Gingerly Bobby opened the letter careful not to damage the contents with his excitement. He extracted the contents and laid it all out flat on their kitchen table.

“I have waited a long time for this” Bobby said with an excitement he had not felt since the day he almost found the treasure of Joke Island.

“Me too” relied June.

Finally they had it in their hands, a genuine Irish Sweepstakes ticket from a good friend of theirs in London, Joanna. If they break of the tabs and discover the winning combination they would be wealthy and be able to sell their Joke Island Merriment Amusement Park and treasure hunt they had painstakingly built on the island in the past thirty years. Before that happened, June took a look at the funny looking letter with the crayon writing on it.

“What’s this” she enquired of her man holding up the odd smelly letter from Southampton with her finger tips so as not to get the putrid smell on her delicate hands.

“Oh that” exclaimed Bobby, “just another letter from some kook, I’m gong to have it framed to go along with the lovely spirographs picture I got from another kook from Halifax, the Pharaoh. They look so cute together I could not stand to see them apart.”



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All I can say is, it's a good thing none of you are in the novel writing business because you sure wouldn't be for long.
Now let's get back to D'Arcy and Tank's inexplicable unwillingness to accept the fact that I am the rightful King of Israel? Quit dreaming, guys. Welcome to the real world, in which I am the King of Israel during the week and Pharaoh of Egypt on weekends and alternate Tuesdays and Thursdays.

jb:

You are so totally right! However, with your help I'm sure we could have a best seller on our hands. Please submit a sample of your fiction writing (apart from all of that King of Israel and Pharaoh stuff), and I'll bet you can help get us into the big time.

D'Arcy

A FISTFUL OF DULLARDS


CHAPTER THREE:


Meanwhile, back in Southampton, Curious Serious, having waited weeks in vain for a reply to his letters to the Joke Island "Big Three", decided to bring the mountain to Mohammed.

Summoning his lackey, he said, "Igor, you and I are about to embark on a knights-errant quest. We shall travel thither and yon to this Nova Scotia place and directly face my doubters and scorners. I have read in old books that the people in this backward colony travel by horse, and that the rule of the gun is the only law by which they abide. So hie thee off and find us two steeds and some suitable weaponry."

"M'lord, I dare say your plan is a tad quixotic," murmured Igor.

Serious, although impressed by the cretin's vocabulary, stamped his foot impatiently and shouted, "Just do it, fool! Because I, and only I, have the ultimate answer to what's beneath Joke Island. We shall be off to Nova Scotia within the week."

Igor slunk off, and the next day returned with two animals; one a sway-backed nag, and the other a floppy-eared pot-bellied donkey. "Tis the best I could get with the money you gave me, m'lord. I was told the horse's name is Rocinante and the ass is known as Rucio. They may not be able to gallop, but they appear to plod along reasonably well. And as for weapons, Sire, again given our limited funds, I was only able to procure a lance for you and a rather rusted sword for myself."

Serious, impatient to begin his quest, sighed. "Then they shall have to do. One other thing, Igor. While obtaining our passports for the voyage, it was brought to my attention that you are on the airline's post-911 no-fly list, since it appears that you have in the past been indentured to several unsavory characters, such as a Count Dracula and a Doctor Frankenstein. I've therefore taken the precaution of forging you a new passport under the name of Sancho Panza. That is your name from now on. Can you remember it?"

"Yes, m'lord. It's Pancho Sanza," repeated the dyslectic Igor.

Ignoring the idiot, his master said, "And henceforth you shall refer to me as 'Don Serious', for that is my traveling name on our search for Billy the Kid and John Slavery's treasure on Joke Island. Now go and make shipping crates for our trusty steeds. Our flight to the colonies leaves two days from now."

As the man now called Sancho scurried off to do his master's bidding, Don Serious pored over his ancient chart - a tattered Rand McNally map of Canada. Grasping a red crayon, he circled the place called Nova Scotia, and chuckled to himself. "These primitave Nova Scotia natives are soon to learn of my brilliance and determination."

JB,

Not to rain on the parade:



Now, I'm not saying you're not a descendant, it just seems as if you're getting your hopes up. But with all due respect, you can't really expect all of us here to believe you actually are a descendant if it's only a possibility you may be descended from King David.

Indy

A FISTFUL OF DULLARDS


CHAPTER FOUR:

The plane made a bumpy but satisfying thump as it touched the ground at Hafilax Regional Airport, in the cargo hold, mules, horses, rejected rotten Lobsters, mail from the home land and glass beads shifted under the strain.

Later, embittered by the groping cavity search and rude laugher at his poor animals during a Canada Customs search, Curious Serious and Igor made their way toward the bustling and crowded 102 highway westbound toward Joke Island. But first, a stop was required at the home of one of Serious’ confidants the one they called Pharaoh.

They arrived before a huge stone monolith that looked shockingly like a pyramid just off Skin Garden Road in Hafilax. Camels and imported desert sand in the shady lot made it look more like an oasis than the lair of the enlightened one as they came to know the mortal man named Byron.

“Master, how shall we know if this is the right pyramid or not” asked Igor the humpback. Igor did not get a response and turned to see Curious Serious absent-mindedly playing with a can of Coke and a large straw.

“Oh good lord” Igor snorted, “he’s off in wonder land with 'is straw vs cork thing again. Master, wake up, we’re here,... MASTER!”

Curious Serious awoke from his stupor with a jolt and spilled his Coke over his jodhpurs and high leather riding boots. He slid off his diminutive Sable Island Pony Rocinante. The poor animal groaned as the full bulk of Curious hit the ground. A tiny dust cloud shot up from the imported desert sand near his boot and a lone Scorpion scuttled off to safety.

Both men were suddenly startled by the grating sound of stone on stone as a huge door in the front of the great rock structure lifted to reveal a passageway. There stood a man dressed in a long cotton sarong tied at the waist holding a tahteeb, an Egyptian fighting stick, he motioned for the two odd looking adventurers to follow him. They walked deeper into the bowels of the dank structure. Before long, they stood in front of a high tablet of stone, lit only by the gentle glow of an oil lamp, a magnificent set of ornate steps led to a curtain behind which a strange glow emanated.

A loud voice pierced the silence, “I am Pharaoh, king if Israel, lord of lords bow before me mortal men.” The voice raised a bit when they did not follow the command, "I said, bow before me mortal men and fear my wrath” he boomed.

Curious Serious and Igor looked at each other and before a word could be said the air was split with such a din it hurt their ears, “I am pharaoh, descendant of King David, I rule all, master of the spirograph and etch a sketch, I am your superior, I am smart beyond measure, your puny brains will turn to mush, you can’t possibly understand my wrath should I exercise my vengeance, I am....”

As Curious Serious wept openly and fell to his knees trembling, Igor ever the bold one, mounted the stairs and peered behind the curtain where the sounds were coming from. Perched high on a piano stool manipulating levers, switches and speaking into a microphone sat a tiny little man with bad teeth and thick glasses. He was unaware of Igor but when he turned and saw the coy, cockney, caricature coming toward him, he hissed like a mad cat and fled to a darkened corner cowering like a wild animal.

Igor purred, “come on, come on out there little fellah, I won’t hurt you, come, come on.”

Slowly, the pitiful little gnome with one shortened leg came clomping out of the safety of his hiding place and slowly, tentatively warmed up to the gentle cooing of the charitable man who he himself had to deal with physical properties some may consider, “not normal.” As the little man came closer, Igor sprang upon him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“I’ve got you now you little bastard” cried Igor as the human simulacrum screamed and kicked wildly tugging at the hold Igor had on him. Igor carried him to the bottom of the steps to Curious Serious as he straightened himself out, dusted off his clothes and dried his puffy eyes with a small square of English linen he carried with him for just such an occasion.

“My lord” cried Curious, “who the hell is that?”

Igor, standing as tall as he ever did, lustily decried, “I give you Pharaoh, or one known better as Byron m’lord.”

Hi Tank, I understand that you are a director of the amature group who call themselves the Oak Island Tourisum Society, tell me is this a labour of love for you or do you pay yourself a directers fee, this is not a libelous accusation you understand but merely a polite request for clarity of your work.

Cerris