January 30, 2008

Ro-beast Rollie's Rednesday Rhetoric

What if I asked a lot of questions every Wednesday? Could I possibly ask as many interesting questions as USA Today asks every Wednesday? Would it be interesting? How many weeks in a row could I just make posts consisting of rhetorical questions that I read in articles and ads in the newspaper and then follow up with my own ridiculous answers? What do you think?


Without local milk producers, do "you think there will be a chance for price gouging? I don't know," said Jeri Kahana, commodities branch manager for the State Department of Agriculture.
I'm bummed out that my first turn at the rhetorical game was already yoinked by Jeri Kahana, commodities branch manager for the State Department of Agriculture. Bitch is always stealing my thunder.

Did Barack Obama give Hillary Rodham Clinton the cold shoulder before Monday's State of the Union address?
No, but he should definitely put his Hamrod in her Oval Orifice.

How could there be so much diversity among voters?
I don't know about you, but I blame the Jew-Run Media.

Do we really want lawmakers deciding how every 4-year-old should prepare for school?
No. We want their 17-year-old mothers to decide.

It's sad to see Sen. Barack Obama lowering himself to engage in the kind of petty, cynical attacks that Sen. Hillary Clinton excels, but what else can he do?
He could do drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. And laugh hysterically at his own farts.

Is it even possible for a black man to win the White House?

No, but there's a Red House over yonder (that's where my baby stays).

When it comes to the experience factor, can celebrity activists be much worse than the foreign envoys we have?
Two Words: Rocky IV.

Who needs the U.S.?
Crying Bald Eagle portraitists.

Has my pizza been forgotten?
Pizza: We Will Never Forget.

What if Brady or Manning had said yes?
Then none of this would've happened? Is that what you're trying to insinuate, Detective Stabler? Stop blaming the victim [drink]* and hand me the rape kit [drink]*.

*This snappy response brought to you by the maker of the Law and Order Drinking Game.

What are your stocks doing now?
Keeping my fteet warm.

Do you honestly think that the New England Patriots were the only team filming other sidelines?
I think that whole thing was to distract us from the toliet cams they were installing in the Jets' locker room.

Is there going to be an increased cost to the university that may be paid for through increased commercialization of athletics?
If there's a steady paycheck in it, I'll increase anything you say.

Will we be talking about [Heath] Ledger in the future the way we still talk about [James] Dean - who died more than 50 years ago?
In the future we'll only be talking about Britney Spears' Sister's Baby's DWI-double-suicide-abortion. I'm just kidding... talking will be strictly abolished in favor of typing.

Between eating and drinking in such volume and waiting for the highly hyped commercials, who has time to watch the game?
Autistic Straight-edge Anorexic Yuppies, obviously.

What lies ahead for Fox's '[Moment of] Truth'?
More commercial-padded, over-dramatic and unnecessarily drawn out hour-long episodes that can be easily condensed into 8 minutes on YouTube (that prove the show is still kinda boring).

Does God love you?
God blessed all the Ro-beasts and the Children.

January 24, 2008

My hatred of pants knows no bounds.

I have been broody and depressive for days. Finally, fucking finally, this enervating phase is passing. Luckily for both you and I, there is always a silver lining in every hideously mutated cloud who's anus is bleeding. I have re-discovered yet another box of comic books from my youth in NM, and since all I've been doing is lying in bed with the heater on reading comic books...well let's just say, that I've stumbled back across some real "treasures" here. I admit that a pre-teen's taste is questionable hence the secret shame of owning every Power Pack ever or being the owner of the complete Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld series plus knowing her connection to Mordru. If you are not a comic book nerd, then I have just typed a bunch of words that mean nothing to you, and if you are a comic book nerd, you are laughing at me. Because that shit is AWFUL and pretty fucking girly to boot but 'twatever' on you; I am a girl and a princess.

Hearken unto me my subjects, because I seem to have found something worse than even my previous terrible pre-teen fantasy lusting --posters of the Lost Boys, INXS, and Sebastian Bach on my wall back then--, a story that, possibly, could be DC's worst mini-series ever: Conqueror of the Barren Earth. I think I had purposely blocked out this whole storyline; I found it that disturbing as a young girl. It all starts off so promisingly as one of those back-of-the-book mini-stories in Warlord, and then gets its own mini-series and descends directly to what is perhaps my personal 4th ring of HELL, the misogynistic ring of scifi/fantasy doom. The realm of Slavegirls of Gor and wenches and women being treated like chattel, and that *always* ALWAYS gets my goat. I liked Red Sonja, and Conan's chick, Belit, the Pirate Queen because they were bad-asses. They were not the norm in their societies; they were strong women who kicked ass and fought with swords. You had to beat Red Sonja in fair combat before her goddess would let her have any kind of sexytime hanky panky, and NO ONE could beat Red Sonja in fair combat, not those vampires, the plant dude, or even Conan managed it. True, Sonja did wear a chain-mail bikini, but she could drink any man under the table, manhandled the occasional wench a bit, and admitted her armor chafed. My kind of woman. I'm not wild about her genesis story being a casualty of war/gang bang victim's revenge tale, but she is both a survivor and a warrior. I guess it could be worse. Red Sonja has a mad on for the world, and it's understandable. This is old skool Red Sonja, and possibly the best Red Sonja cover ever combining unicorns, demons, insects, dragons, wizardry, swords, and BOOBS in one giant sucker punch of fantasy.

This is Red Sonja: She-Devil With a Sword not the new namby-pamby porn face of doom Red Sonja. Check out the boots here; for some reason I have always loved her odd leather garter/boot ventilated footwear system and am always on the lookout for a pair. Unfortunately, I have come here not to praise Sonja, but to bash Jinal Ne' Comarr (tho' I LOVE superfluous apostrophe's in names) would-be Conqueror of the Barren Earth.

The Barren Earth is our planet Earth, just the used-up, dried-up version of the future. It's a dessicated world that's a cross between Dune and Tattooine, complete with lizard people, mutants, floating cities, spore people who worship mushrooms aka the Mulge and barbaric humans in cloaks and headbands (natch). Sweet. Our heroine, a middle-management translator type from the civilized human-conquered universe that long ago fled the 'ole homeworld hellhole, has come to Earth in a spaceship looking for an ancient army or weapon or some bullshit to fight the alien Qlov who are attempting to wipe out humanity. PS. She also has a sun-sword ala Thundarr the Barbarian. Everyone else on her ship either dies when the ship crashed or gets summarily eaten or murdered in the first few pages. All but Jinal Ne' Comarr a woman who needs no pants in space, or any pants ever for that matter. Go cloaks! Fuck pants. No seriously, fuck you and your pants.

Jinal is also a chronic mouthbreather which does her no favors with me. Apparently, this mission she went on (to the Barren Earth) was pretty much immediately recognized as a bad idea; this red-haired senator lady up above us is basically organizing a rescue mission like 2 days after they left or something which begs the question of why go at all then in the first place? WHY? Who cares? It's all about survival on the Barren Earth and the freedom to go without pants. See what I mean about the mouthbreathing? She always looks like she's ready to suck a dick and luckily she seems to always be knee level. Ugh.

I'd show you some more artwork and lead you through the story, but seriously the art is all terrible and visually boring and the storyline is pretty standard. Girl is trapped in a post-apocalyptic dystopia; she is searching for a weapon and a way home. She must survive and roam the deserts and tame the BARREN EARTH. There's lots of battles with guns and swords, and everyone is riding around on giant lizards trying to fight the Mulge (fungus people), the Harahashan (lizard people), and Zhengla, the jaundiced and vaguely Asian barbarian war king.
Of course Jinal ends up at his feet with her damn mouth open. Of course. Woman, do not give him ideas! He has mushrooms growing out of his head. I shudder to think of what horror lies behind the smelly crotch fur. Smell the glove Jinal. Smell the fucking glove! As you can imagine, this bodes ill for our intrepid heroine.

Luckily for Jinal, Zhengla has always wanted a golden-haired warrior Queen to ride at his side. He likes that she's feisty and knows martial arts and never wears pants. They wrestle a bit.

Until she is his by right of conquest (his words not mine). Ick, your mushroom horns are freaking me out. Just wait 'til we find out how he got those fucking nightmare things. It is, a wrongness all the way around. I promise you.

There is a money shot in every comic book, a splash page that is really supposed to wow you. Here comes the money shot:

Yeah. Whee. Big lizard in my backyard. Panties totally dry. Plus, the cliche of axe-throwing betrayal under the cover of a fight, but (of course) he turns and grabs the axe out of the air and throws it back killing Jinal's mount. Of course, he does. Those magic mushroom horns give him magic(k) powers and + 25 reflexes. Now she has to walk (the horrors), and where once she was a Queen...now she is a slave.

Being a slave involves lots of interesting career choices: walking, sitting at knee level, pouring things, wearing stupid outfits, getting smacked around, and being traded to mulge people for horrible sexual favors involving spores (my mind's eye it is evil). The possibilities are endless! It's like Jinal's been training for this her whole life.

Oh Jinal, you too can be USED. Seriously, this shit is ripped straight from a Harlequin Romance, and it makes me rage-y. Jinal, sweetie, you have a napkin on your head and a great many superfluous belts attached to your bikini top and your billowy crotch protector (still NOT pants as far as I am concerned). He has to sleep sometime doesn't he? Stick a hatpin in his ear and be done with it. You are the worst warrior woman ever. NEVER SUBMIT. Death is preferable to his horrible mushroom-y caress. I can just imagine his breath too, never mind his ball funk. Oy. fucking. vey.

Finally, she is given a gun and the opportunity to kill Zhengla. He deserves to die for putting her in that outfit alone. What does our girl do? She mouth-breathes for awhile giving her tiny brain ample time to process the request.

Then, she fucking falls in love. BARF. I was 12 when I first read this comic book, and I was ENRAGED then. Such total and utter bullshit, let's fall in love with the man who enslaved me and beat me and wanted to pimp me out to the Mulge. He doesn't even call her by her name! He refers to her as "golden-hair". At least learn your slaves' names! Worst. employer. ever. I make this picture palatable by imagining his mushroom horns launching off his head like little rockets. And what's up with the golden aura? Is that the sheen of their love, or the funk of his sex pheromones igniting? HATE. HATE. HATE.

Speaking of mushroom horns, once Jinal embraces Zhengla's destiny or whatever the kids are calling it these days. She gets the horrible and disturbing story of how he received both his destiny and his fungus horns. Brace yourselves. The artwork and inking are so bad that it's kind of hard visually to see what's going on which is kind of a blessing. Once you wrap your brain around this story though...ugh.

Let me boil it down for you. Zhengla went into a door in a giant mushroom and found these Mulge assholes doing something rapey...sigh....to this woman tied to a slab of rock....oh yeah...and she's been crucified by mushrooms nailing her to said slab. AND, she has mushrooms growing out of her eyes? I told you it was a fate worse than death to sleep with the fungus men. Rightly so, she begs him to kill her, and then she will give him the greatest gift of all, a dream.

BUT...to get that dream? Zhengla has to kill the chick and rip her eyes out. Blargh! Then, he has to kill a giant lizard, dip the mushroom EYES in lizard BLOOD, and EAT them. Double FUCKIN' BLARGH! What does he get for all that effort? THIS.

My eyes they bleed. I have had better hallucinations from cough syrup. If that caliber of crappy vision is all it takes to ignite my DESTINY, then welcome to my personal Qwisatz Haderach Jihad. I'll be your messiah; expect the death and destruction to be starting any day now. You may want to stock up on asbestos underwear too, as I'm fond of fire. NO, don't. Asbestos causes cancer.

I stopped reading this terrible series at this point and never went further. Done. ENOUGH with your pants-less shenanigans. However, I did learn the ending during my research on this bullshit. Jinal hangs with Zhengla 'til he conquers the Barren Earth. Then, she kills him, eats the mushrooms growing out of his head, and learns in a psychedelic vision that she is really the messiah who is destined to unite the Barren Earth with the Qlov, the Mulge, the Harahashan (lizard/human hybrids), and the regular humans who eschew pants. Except for then, her friends in their spaceship show up, and Jinal is all Audi 5. Gotta jet and get a cherry lime and cruise the Galactic Sonic for cute boys. You can take your messiah-hood and shove it; I'm tired of hanging out in this dump; and I need a mani and a pedi, stat.


Dear Gary Cohn and Ron Randall, on behalf of little girls everywhere, let me say I hate you for birthing this shite into the world.

Tuning in for a Marathon

...that for once won't involve Law & Order: SVU. I think the other night I decided that I want to run a marathon. And you know I'm serious because I actually went out and bought a book.

I never really ran much in high school. I played soccer for a bit, then tennis, but those were always just short bursts of speed. I didn't really care about long distances so I never bothered with it. I don't have the greatest respiratory system in the world, so it never seemed like an attractive proposition. College called for even less physical activity. I played a little bit of intramural indoor soccer and floor hockey with the Punx (we were the ones in the Black Flag and X-Men T-shirts) and a good amount of on-campus Laser Challenge with the same crew, but I still wasn't really interested in running or exercising.

For some reason, in 2002 I decided to start running. I think it was because I was single. Or bored. Or both. I went to the shoe store and bought some cheap, ugly ass Nikes and started running around town. When I moved to Hoboken, I kept up the running habit for a while (the hot girls in town and the great view of Manhattan inspired for as long as it could), but eventually I gave it up.

It wasn't until my grandfather died a couple years ago that I really got serious about exercising and dieting. and I've been pretty consistent ever since. I lost a bunch of weight and blah blah blah who needs to hear that again? The point is I never thought I'd be able to keep up any good, healthy habits for such a long time, and now I feel like I can set goals and accomplish things in that arena.

The other night we flipped by some crap on TV about some chick losing a bunch of weight and then completing a marathon and I figured, if that schlub can do it, then so can I. I found a bunch of marathon information online, but unfortunately most big marathons are either really soon, or much later in the year. Most of the training methods are designed for 3 or 4 months of training, so if I started that now, I'd be ready way too early and probably burned out.

I should start slow anyway. I had stopped running a few months ago because my nose and cheeks kept mysteriously breaking out. I eliminated that and yoga from my exercise routine while trying to narrow down the problem. I've since determined that it's basically any physical activity where I'm upside down or face down for any long periods of time, so I should be in the clear with running as long as I don't do it on my hands. I jumped back into the game on Tuesday by running for an hour just to see if I could... and I survived. OK, my legs are still sore, but I got 6.11 miles in fairly easily. I don't think I've ever tried to go that far or that long before, so I'm getting all excited for the next milestone, whatever it may be. I guess I'm just going to train to train for a marathon for a while and see if actually stick with it before I go and sign my legs away.

I think I'd be able to run 26 miles with a few pieces of Stride gum and 5 episodes of SVU. And maybe a new pair of Holy ShNikes.

January 22, 2008

Go Fish

I had an exciting Scrabble morning. These days I play 75-point Scrabble (Hard mode) against the CPU on my cell phone. I won 3 games in a row today, bingos abound. Thrilling indeed. I attempted to open the 3rd game with "INLINED" which is apparently not an acceptable verb (or sport). I settled for "LINED" so I could get the Double Double on the D, and crossed my fingers get a C on the next draw so I could spell "INCLINED." Well, not only did I get that rackafrackin' C, I also replenished the high falootin' tootin' L, I, E, & D and bingoed any damn way.

Speaking of wacky cell phone anomalies occurring while not completing my 2007 Year-end Self-Assessment for work that was due last Friday, I keep accidentally setting off the one and only music track I've ever downloaded to my mobile. I've had this LG for two years. I'm not much of a cell phone technology chaser, so I basically just pick out the most expensive free non-Motorola phone that Verizon offers me. Two years ago, it was this goofy LG flip phone with decent stereo speakers that for some reason, the LG design decided to make face in opposite directions (like Yosemite Sam's guns). But it wasn't that big of a deal for me anyway because even with my phone enabled for VCast or whatever that music service is called, I had no intentions of ever paying $2 for a shitty quality music track that would be forever banished to my telephone, unless of course I wanted to pay even more money for a memory card or adapter thingee that would allow me to pull it off and put it on my computer where I could've already had the track for $1 from Amazon.

Somehow on Friday, I accidentally accessed that Verizon music database and saw that they actually had a free track available! It was an Eddie Vedder song from the Into the Wild soundtrack that was a low priority wish list item of mine. I heard it once on the radio and thought it was decent, but not mind-blowing. I think the reason it crept into my head so easily was because the melody is very similar to the Pearl Jam ukelele song from Binaural ("Soon Forget" I believe it's called). I downloaded it and now I have a song trapped in my cell phone. And much like General Zod, it is constantly trying to escape the Phantom Zone.

It just keeps randomly playing in my pocket. I have no idea what button is accidentally being pressed because I can't replicate the problem on purpose. I have no idea what to disable and it's pretty fucking annoying. I'll be sitting here and I think I have it stuck in my head, but then I realize it that it's just playing out loud. It's extra bothersome to me because I never use a ring tone as my phone is perpetually set to vibrate only. Yes, I could always just erase it since I've already clearly stood at the apex of modern technology (circa 2005).

Or I could just get a new phone.

Because Hell is for Children

Hello Kitty Hell. One man lives in it. Come for the hatred. Stay for the pictures.

I name thee abomination.

January 19, 2008

Canis Interruptus

Double the dog action last night. The first dream was actually about something totally unrelated to dogs or pets. It was about a film festival that my bandmates Kirk and Wally entered. But within the film, there was a clip of a small dog being walked on a beach. The dog had long fake wings attached to its back. It tripped over itself at some point and started humping its own wings. It was fucking hilarious and everyone in the theater (The Dream Theater) LOL'd their A-HOLES off. I actually recorded this all on video on my digital camera during my dream, but for some reason, that doesn't carry over to IRL.

Then there was a fire drill and everyone had to evacuate the theater before we got to see this clip that does actually exist:

So I walked into the bathroom and there was a big line. It turned out that it was just a crowd gathered to watch the girl that kept flushing the urinal on herself, so I cut ahead. A guy walked up next to me and flopped his dick into the sink. He yelled "PISS, DICK! PISS" and then started spraying urine all over the wall like a fire hose. I woke up not covered in piss. (Long story).

A few hours later I went to sleep again and had yet ANOTHER DOG HUMPING DREAM. This time the dog was much larger and it was humping ME. I couldn't shake him off so I threw my keys to the concrete in order to distract him. It didn't work. I guess dogs don't give a shit about Honda Civics. So this dog is humping my back and slobbering on my neck and I'm freaking out. Finally I wokededed up and found my lady spooning me and kissing my neck. I think she was probably dreaming about buying shoes or something.

January 18, 2008

Who Let the Dogs In?

Short answer: The Jerky Boys.

Long answer: I should've had a jream last night about getting into a car accident, or being decapitated, or some other gruesome untimely mutilation. I've always been afraid of planes and constantly think about dying in one, but a couple years ago, that obsession evolved into being fearful of all transportation. Having to drive to work every day was torture for a while. I've gotten over most of the issues and have calm panic attack-free commutes these days (I did get into one car accident, but there was no blood other than what Allstate squeezed from me).

So yesterday when a co-worker pulled me into her cube to show me some disgusting accident pictures someone emailed her, it didn't latch onto my subconscious. In fact, I chuckled when I saw how silly the corpse looked cut in half (oops). Like many grotesque internet photos (goatse, electrocuted deer on a power line, the photoshop of a woman's breast and a water lotus), the picture is still burned in my head, but it's not keeping me up at night. Not even the numerous decapitations of Hermes in the Futurama movie I watched yesterday (and by watched, of course I mean fell asleep after the first hour) ruined dreamland for me.

Instead, and for the second time in a week, I was violently awoken after being attacked by domesticated animals. Last week it was cats scratching my face off and last night it was a few large growling dogs trying to eat my face. I blame three things for having dogs on the brain:

1. A 911 call I heard a few weeks ago of an old lady being attacked by her neighbor's pit bulls
2. A Jerky Boys phone call I listened to yesterday - they dial up a dog obedience trainer and leave a message with canine growling SFX and screams of pain
3. My adorable girlfriend's adorable snore that adorably sounds like an small, adorable angry puppy

The Tylenol Cold medicine I took right before bed probably didn't help either (Jruggin' & Jreamin'). As with the cat dream, I was probably only asleep for a few minutes, but jumped up with a gasp for air and a surge of adrenaline that I just don't want at midnight before a work day. Why dogs and cats? Why do they want to kill me? What did I ever do to them?

This is the "nut opinion" (and I thank Penn Jillette for coining that phrase for Third Party Thinkers everywhere): I recently added Dogbook and Catbook to my social networking repertoire. I was already pretty wary of Facebook in the first place, but I did it anyway. All this human and pet interaction is totally freaking me out and my subconscious is now occupied by a technowarzone of Dogs, Cats, and Faces. And like Freddie Krueger, they have chosen my beauty sleep as the landscape for their dream warrior battle ground.

I should just be glad I'm not dreaming about Books.

January 17, 2008

Life on Patrol

I've been sulky and strapped into the Blue Lion for days now. NO showers. NO joy. Just the endless pacing back forth in a hell of my own making. Sulky, sulky buttons indeed. Did I take this opportunity to post here? To do something fun? Or profitable? No. Screw all that. Apparently, I'd rather sift through the cultural detritus of the interwebs and make connections. Connect the dots of the information with the people, everyone so accessible all the time. Just reach out through cyberspace and e-meet people however tangentially through this torrent of pixels and white noise. I totally need a mood regulator or those damn mice to sing to me. I completely and utterly agree that I am a sourpuss extraordinaire right now, but the princess in the tower, she goes a little crazy now and then.

You know what helps? It is a comfort to me when I find someone who's work I find both visually stimulating and fraught with meaning, especially when it is of the twisted variety. It makes me feel less alone with my crazy brain in this great big universe. I've been reading through old comic books (expect a new feature soon) and revisiting some of my favorite things, like brown paper parcels wrapped up in string, in an attempt to not let the fires of life ebb totally down to zombie levels. I must maintain my royal poise at all times, and I find this tiresome and wearying. I guess this is all a fancy way to say I've been depressed and watching Chi Chian again makes me less so. I first found Chi Chian in comic book form *ohsovery* long ago. I stumbled on a comic in a sale longbox; this comic book to be exact,

and I was struck. The visual style, the sculpting, the oddly organic tech, and post-environmental-apocalyptic storyline, where women control tech with their minds, combined to form what will forever be one of my most favorite things in this star system and all others, the gloriously dark wonders of Chi Chian.

Fortunately, it was then that I discovered the Scifi Network had commissioned Voltaire, the artist/author, to make a episodic flash animation of the whole thing; I was in heaven. Voltaire, who now teaches stop-motion animation at the School of the Visual Arts in NYC, is a goth musicican/writer/animator. Very dark. Very broody. His work is arresting. You may have seen some of his station IDs for MTV, Scifi, or the Cartoon Network; he also did some music for the Grim Adventures of Mandy and Billy. By the way, I'm combing the internets for his station IDs, particularly the Hieronymous Bosch based MTV ones. *Please help a poor lion jockey on endless patrol out.* Or, maybe you've read Oh My Goth Humans Suck. Maybe you listen to the Oddz. Chances are you've never heard of him, but you should have, and you should watch Chi Chian, because it's gorgeous and I love it. Giant cockroaches that waltz. Worm trains and a Professor that is a robotic teddy bear. Bio-organic environmental protection suits that fall in love with their wearers. Evil insect overlords. It's a world warped by pollution producing mutations and horrors, but it's just so damned beautiful and textured that I can't look away. Nor do I want to.

If you go visit the Scifi.com site to watch some or all 13 of the short episodes, remember this was all done an age ago in Flash 4 (how quaint), so loading times are a little long by today's instantaneous information standards, but it's totally worth the wait. It's actually very life-affirming and providing hope for even the darkest kind of world view. I guess that's because Voltaire is always looking for the beauty and the humor in the pain. For this, I salute you sir.

I think of a few of my favvvvorite things, and then I don't feel sooooo bad.

I think I'm gonna go wash my hair now. This helmet is starting to smell.


January 16, 2008

Three Quarters Assed Blog

I still am not publishing anything of substance, but at least this time, I'm going to provide links to things at least 75% interesting.

1. Everything you've ever wanted to know about the many variations of the Suplex.
2. Guillotine of Fire: the free 6-Song EP that my band, Plowing Mud Forever has finally released.
3. Your final chance to play the Bogglific, Facebook's Boggle knock-off, since it received its Cease and Desist order from Hasbro, Inc.
4. The Greatest Record Review Website on the Internet.

I think that's going to be it. Yeah. It is. Click on three of those and we both will have accomplished what was expected of us. Click on four and I will refuse to be responsible for how mutated your babies come out.

January 10, 2008

Surfing on the seas of what_the_f*ck?

Princess here. Doing a little late night internet sifting of the myriad treasures of the google image ripper. I confess; I search for all kinds of things. Robot Vagina. Gasmask Unicorns. And Mermen. That's right, I said Mermen. (ProTip: gentlemen you do not want me to find your myspace profile by following a link from a merman thumbnail. It is emphatically not manly.) Boy, do I love me some terrible fantasy art, and the internet it does not ever disappoint with the crazed fever dreams of the lonely and unwashed masses. From sexy to sparkly and back again, there is always a good laugh in there somewhere like the manlove centaur sites. I promise to show you some sweet mantaur love at a later date.

I am constantly astonished every single time I throw my line out and fish for the crazy. Tonight is no different. For tonight, I have truly found something special in my quest. Gay Mermen Christmas ornaments. Wow. Just wow. There's so much to choose from. Really. I mean it's such a niche market, but really, all the cliches are there. Let me demonstrate of what I speak. First up, some sort of Chippendales Merman:

Then, there's the ubiquitous Cowboy Merman, Clint, and his pal and faithful sidekick, Jambalaya. I imagine them going on all kinds of fantastic Fantasy Fest Adventures together. The gruff cowboy and the young joker, truly, it is a buddy movie waiting to be written. Or, perhaps, a comic book. I would totally read the Gay Adventures of Cowboy Merman Clint and Jambalaya the Boy Wonder, but I wouldn't trust my judgment if I were you. Srsly. It's suspect.

The copy is something special too. Let me demonstrate with the (undeservedly) generically named Ocean Merman; I think they should have called him Flipper! "Ocean is hot, young, blond, slim and toned! What more do you need? He's holding a conch shell and is in a swimming position. Is he a bottom? Only he knows! If only mermen were real!"

Oh, if only, indeed!

They must be really popular because over half of them are out of stock. There's a Santa one. There's a Merman holding pumpkins. There are gay pride parade Mermen complete with feathers which, frankly, I think are impractical in the water, and there's a Sailor Merman, totally redundant. Yes, he's a sailor on the salty seas of love. I'm pretty certain by definition all Mermen are.

Except for maybe Cowboy Clint and Jambalaya. I see them floating through the magickal and glittery void of space. With gasmasks.

Good night, and thanks for all the fish.


January 3, 2008

Secondary Mutations

I am typing this with freezing little fingers because the central heat has been out in my house for, oh, I dunno, a year or so. Mebbe longer. Partially because I am lazy, and partially because I grew up in the snow, and it was freeeezing. Now, I live in Austin, TX, and I feel like a big wuss when I can't fight off 30 degree weather and have to put on SOCKS and long pants. *the horrors* It just feels like a cop-out to have functioning central heat. That's something fancy for all you sandy vaginas out there, so here I sit freezing with extremities a little numb and typing.

If you (all 6 of my friends and thanx!) came to this blog and expected something life-changing and relevant, well, see yourself to the door, sir! That is WAY too much pressure. Rollie and I are here because we got tired of mspazz (blows goats). I REFUSE to Facebook in any way and always have, and our livejournals are where we write about our feelings and our delicate manginas. Well, mine is an actual vagina, but why you gotta get all technical about it? This blog? This blog right heah? This blog is an experiment for us to get out of the pre-packaged box. But wait, this Blogger Box is pre-packaged too! Baby steps. Baby steps. You say it's easy to quit, but complete and cold-turkey corporate withdrawals are hard on the delicate psyche of Lion Jockeys. I mean if you came here looking for relevancy or science facts or politics, I am afraid you will be sadly disappointed my friends. Perhaps those things will come in the future. Right now, we're just slowwwwly easing in to the shallow end. I have a post all pro-Lakota nation bubbling in the depths, and I spent a *whole* day researching ocular implants and wincing in sympathy pains. But again, slow boil. Stir. Stir. Add toil and trouble. Season to taste.

Today. Today I come to you to talk to you about my amazing superpowers! Prepare to be amazed. Some people get awesome powers like a healing factor or the ability to spontaneously burst into flames without burning to death. Not I. No good sirs and perhaps ladies (if one stumbles into here google searching vaginas and shamanism), my super power is the ability to burn out light bulbs. If distracted or emotionally hyped up or depressed, I have the amazing ability to flick a switch and burn out light bulbs. This will come as no surprise to some as I have detailed this amazing superpower in my lj. Evil better quake in its boots, or it's gonna be shitting in the dark! Then how will you read the EW hot list? The TRAGEDY. Sometimes I forget about my amazing superpower, but then it always rears its ugly head at an inopportune moment, and I go to someone's house and manage to burn out 3 light bulbs in 3 different rooms all while apologizing profusely. I am a menace, and also, the reason we can't have nice things. Awesome superpower, no? Lately though, I have noticed a secondary mutation. I have developed the awesome ability to break audio systems. Truth. Whether they be the computer's speakers, the audio from the cable box, or perhaps your Ipod, they cannot stand before my might. All the audio shit will be correctly plugged in and working to optimum specs. I will not touch it. I will merely sit and listen, and then after 15 or so minutes it will begin. Either silence or the hissing, the hissing of static and dead air. Are things beyond the grave trying to speak to me? Is there an important message from the Gods that I should be straining to hear? All I know is that your device must be rebooted, and the audio it will return. Why can't I have gotten the good powers? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Quake EVIL! QUAKE! Because in the 15 minutes of darkened silence that I will bring down upon you with great vengeance and furious anger, perhaps you will hear the voice of your own conscience quietly whispering...THE LAMBS. WHAT DO THEY SAY CLARICE?

ps. All pictures have been stolen directly off the internet and photoshopped POORLY.