New Impspotter on teh prowl...

Right you slags. Listen up. Wha' wha'? A new impspotter has been activated, innit. In full effect. So massive it's gonna...Wai'...got a ring on the other line...'ello? Wha'? She didn'. SHE DIDN'!! She did, stupid cow. eh? Wha'? Innit. Lay-ah.

'ang on. Gotta txt me mate. [txtxtxtxtxtxt] . Yeah. Right.

So. Peep this impsie. Among the many tell-tale signs of its impsieness are: huge suns. cellie multitasking. adidas. (pronounced AH-dee-dahs) and huge ridiculous alcoholic beverage that's getting a bit sloppy. (in this case it's a 'rita with a straw, but it could have easily been a bucket of sparks, or vod-cran w/red bull). Later in the evening, the imp-gaggle gorged on fish tacos and the like, and the straw was cleverly IMPlemented to spray melted 'rita at unsuspecting patrons. This prompted an altercation with the management, during which there was a great deal of cackling and scampering about, squabbling in broken Spanish (¡No fue nosotros, señor! ¡Nos swearamos!!! ¡Ja ja ja ja!!) ending with the collective autoabsconding by the whole lot. A ridiculous sight indeed.

Anyway, it's a pleasure to finally be on board. I'll be out circlin' and molin with the rest of ya's, and soon as I gets me own cam, I'll be pixin' as well. See you slags lay-ah!

ps. oh right, the bio...

Dan Gingold
Age: 22 yrs
Location: Chicago, IL
Occupation: Lab-bot. Expert on the -ologies of imps (bio-, physio-, pyscho-, morpho-, semio-, techno-, etc.).
Strengths: Runnin', jumpin', climbin'. Also extreme freestyle walkin'.

ImpZ in the adverts, apparently!

Oh, just made a few observations you know when I was circlin' around the other day...

Ah, the arches of the circle line. Watch out! Lurking behind any of these turns or in the beautiful post-industrial embankments could be an imp. Christ Allmighty! I feel almost too scared to take the train from Paddington to Gloucester Road these days, not to mention getting off anywhere near Altgate East.




After making what seemed to be a safe transfer from Circle to District and riding un-imped all the way to King's Cross, I noticed this strange sign on my way to Cambridge via Stevenage, Hitchen and that ever so unappealing hamlet of Letchworth Garden City:

Impster indeed! So, the news is spreading. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of my dedicated impsters, from sunny Sana'a to chintzy Chicago and every post-post-industrial fallout inbetween.

Keep pixin', circlin', prowlin' and molin'.