All Hallow's Eve's Eve

I've been thinking about my Halloween costume since probably January, but didn't make my final decision until last week. I started working on it last night, which means I've got a lot of work once I get home tonight. I'm not going to tell anyone what it is just yet, so you'll have to wait until the annual Lucky 7's costume contest on Friday.


I will be defending my Costume Contest Championship, though I'll be honest, I'm not as confident this year. I won as Voltron in '07 (just over Zac's Pee-Wee Herman, I believe), and my Hacksaw Jim Duggan was second to Bob Ross in '06. Nostalgia clearly reigns supreme at Lucky 7's, but this year I am taking a different direction. All I will say is that my costume will appeal to a sense other than purely visual this time.

Not that I wasn't considering the nostalgic route. My second choice last year, Teen Wolf Too, was also my second choice this year. I Netflixed it though last week and was reminded of how terrible the film and the character was. I don't think it will make it to the brainstorm board next year, regardless of how hairy I am. (The brainstorm board, by the way, is my Far Side calendar, which is still stuck on October 2007.)

Another possibility was Rocky, since I already have the Red, White, and Blue Balboa trunks. And the Robeastress could easily be Adrian, but that wouldn't be much fun for her. Plus, my beard limits me to Training-in-Siberia Rocky (IV).



Not that T.I.S. Rocky isn't awesome, but the beard and the shorts never happened at the same time, and I'm a stickler for historical accuracy (despite Rocky IV's silly Cold War rhetoric). Plus I'm just not ready to shave my beard yet because I'm going to Seattle next week and I don't want to look like a tourist.

I'm happy with my costume anyway. Win or lose, nothing will top the mighty victory kiss I received last year from Rosie the Riveting Future RoBeastress.


USA! USA!

Let's Play Funny/Not Funny

Funny:
Frank the Pizza Man is running for Councilman in Jersey City.

Not Funny:
Frank the Pizza Man is trying to "articulate" his "platform" on JCList.


Funny:
Plowing Mud Forever covers a billboard advertisement with its own stickers, intending to both thwart the trend of yuppie overcrowding in Jersey City and promote its performance at the 4th Street Art & Music Festival.

Not Funny:
Plowing Mud Forever neglects to read the 4th Street Art & Music Festival press release which mentions the billboard size "ad" that fellow local artist Steve Dressler is displaying for the exhibition.


Funny:
Getting to eat all the leftover candy my company gives me to hand out for Halloween, after 0 Trick-or-Treaters show up at my doorstep.

Not Funny:
"While I am very proud to announce that for the first time in company history we have 0 cases in remaining inventory for this selling season, unfortunately that does not allow us to do a desk drop to colleagues... Again, sorry. Have a safe Halloween."


Funny:


Not Funny:


Ok, that was funny.

Overheard on the sidewalk last night...

Father: Boo-hoo-hoo, your face is blue.
Son: Boo-hoo-hoo, your face looks like poo.

It reminds me of the time I said to my father, "If you were in Octopussy, you'd be the pussy." Being 6 or 7 at the time, I wasn't yet aware of all the connotations of "pussy" (I meant it like sour puss), but I'm glad I said it. James Bond would have been proud.

HORSE APPLES!

d00d n00dz

This is not the semi-retroactively-plagiarized post I promised last week, nor the epic magnetic toy post that I have yet to promise to post (unless you count that as a promise). This blog will be both a publicly unproposed, yet positively plagiarized post, followed by a sketchy sketch request from an original artist of a potential plagiarist.

First, yet another slanderous scoop that I've been beaten to tenfold--the accusation that Dean Graziosi, late night financial and real estate infomercial author and bullshitter, is actually a woman. I know you've heard this sob story from me a thousand times recently ("I've been saying this for a while, just never posted it, blah blah blah, wah wah vomit"), so just go read the testimonials from the internetskis. It seems that a lot of folks were thinking the same thing as me.

Personally, I don't care if dude looks like a lady or vice versa, I just think this distracting issue needs to be officially addressed by The Deaner so I can go back to believing I'm being deceived by your average scam artist regardless of their gender.

The other thing I wanted to post was a great way to make millions through tiny classified ads.

No, no, not really. I just wanted to post a sketch that a internet pal named Ashley made for me. She was offering up quick pencil drawings of folks, so I took her up on it, with a special twist--I wanted to be immortalized nude, on a bed of nails, surrounded by 3-legged collies. Amazingly, she did it!


If anyone wants to get this incredible scene tattooed on their back or etched into a gravestone, please don't forget to credit Ashley. And, no, if you're wondering, I did not actually pose for this sketch. The only person I know that owns a bed of nails is Wally Chung, and he wouldn't let me get naked on it.

For the second time this month

I was poised to post an awesome blog entry, but did a little research first and found that someone else beat me to it. Again.

http://brokeymcpoverty.wordpress.com/2008/10/03/the-white-al-sharpton/

I had been saying "The White Al Sharpton" every time I've seen that dude for the past couple months, but it doesn't matter. "If it's not in writing, it doesn't exist." I put this in quotes because, even though I've been saying this for a while too, a thousand other people beat me to publishing it on the Spiderwebs.

Brain to keyboard from now on.

I'll be back tomorrow with another entry that is retroactively plagiarized, sort of.

NO U

You say this:

But all I see is this:

What is my disorder? This is why I don't read anymore. I see letters and I automatically want to rearrange them. Is it some sort of dyslexia? Scrabblerackitis? Granted, I'm not really transposing any letters here, I'm just respacing them, but still. I can't be the only person that thinks it was a bad idea for these folks to start a food business with the word SHIT in the middle of their name.

I also refuse to pronounce PETSMART as "Pet Smart."


I prefer "Pets' Mart," like it's a market for pets. Which it is.


Your dog could be dumb, after all.

And now, two technical notes.

1. Blogger took it upon itself to underline the first sentence in this blog entry. Underline, as far as I can see, is not even an option in this text editor. There is bold, and italicize, but that's it. This means Blogger's underlining prank can't even be undone without going into the html editor and deleting the /u tag. Which I could do. But I'm not going to. I'm just going to bitch instead.

2. I'm also blocking all anonymous comments from now on. I received one the other day about a PETA bumper sticker post I made several months ago. It's not that I can't take the heat, it's just that I want to know who's in my kitchen. If you want to argue about abortion or animal rights, go right ahead. If you want to just call me names, please do. Just sign your fucking name, coward, so I can direct a brilliant retort back to you.

Waaaaaah.

Robeast Rollie Wuz Here

Some of my non-Wikipedia vandalism:

Biden forgot Poland!

Oh Shit!



Fortunately, Palin's debate team of Scriptwriters, Memorization Specialists, Beauty Pageant Coaches, and other assorted Brainwarshers must not have covered that in the 5-week Talk-Point drill-session, so I don't think this will be a serious setback.

Beauty and the Lame-Beast

An old friend from grade school and more recently, Myspace, made the big leap to Facebook today, attributing the social networking jump to "Retiring from MySpace."

I accepted his friend request, and responded with "Retiring, eh? Will you now be collecting Social Network Security?"

She Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth

I was going to make a quick post this morning about something I saw on the way to work this morning, but I didn't have the all-important picture to accompany it (no camera in the car strikes again). I did a quick search online for a usable related photo and ended up finding the exact blog entry I had planned to type myself...

Batesville Motel

I don't know why death is suddenly following me all around, but at least I'm not the only one.

Never Forget

(I completely forgot to comment on this after the Presidential Debate last Friday as I was busy eating a shitload of sushi)

Say what you will about John McCain, but he did not forget Poland (@ 1:17 in the video):




John Kerry, as we recall, was not so lucky.



I don't know what it is with these fucking Republicans, but man, do they know how to remember Poland!

Cat People

I had a super shitty day at work yesterday. I went home pissed off and blasted lots of loud music for several hours, then finally passed out and had a sound 6-hour night's sleep.

I woke up with a different attitude. Believe me, it's far from an optimistic one, but just the fact that I got up and got ready which the intention of going back to my job instead of tossing in the towel is an improvement from the night before. I'm still angry, and disappointed, but I think I have some priorities and objectives to now realign and reclassify. Either way, I think I need a day of silence. A little peace before action.

I walked down the stairs and out the door. It may have rained last night. I don't know--I don't have a window in my bedroom. Definitely a cool September day, but I left my jacket in the car the night before. I clicked my keys to unlock the Honda across the street in front of the vacant lot. Normally this action is an alarm clock for the pair of stray cats that live on block, and always seem to sleep under my car. I crossed the street trying to figure out what music I would listen to on the way to work now that my non-iPod came back to life.

I knew one of the cats was under the car. I saw his outline. I knelt down and peeked under. It was the orange and black one, and he was still sleeping. Well I don't really know if he is a he. I always assume that when I see two cats that one is a boy cat and the other is a girl cat. I just learned that how false this assumption was last week when the RoBeastress told me that Pooka, (one of Kirk and Cindy's cats I had been taking care of while they were on vacation) was a girl, not a boy like I insisted. I've known Pooka and her sister Zoe (who I correctly believed was a girl) for 4 or 5 years now and have probably heard her referred to as "her" a million times, but I just put a complete mental block on her gender. Part of it is probably due to my obsession with symmetry and the inability of my brain to perceive Kirk as outnumbered 3-to-1 in the household, but Pooka is a girl's name for chrissakes! I was in complete denial.

I was also in denial that the stray cat under my car was dead. I whistled at him and begged him to wake up. I used to have a cat that was an alarmingly heavy sleeper. When he was a kitten, he used to dream and twitch in his sleep and it scared the shit out of me. I would shake him and he would sleep right through it. Then he would just wake up and look at me as if I were crazy.

I was afraid to touch the stray though. I've wanted to pet him so bad in the 3 and a half years we've lived on the block together, but I think we both knew that wasn't going to happen. I'm horribly allergic to cats as it is, but who knows what diseases these mangy strays have living under their claws? The two cats were always together though and took care of whatever physical affection each other needed, without any help from humans. And someone on the block, I don't know who, always put out some vittles for them a couple times a week. And if they weren't happy with that, there was always the Vietnamese restaurant a few doors down.

I got in the car and turned it on in vain. He didn't wake up.

I just finished watching Less Than Zero last night, and knew how it was going to end as soon as I put it on. A young Robert Downey, Jr. , estranged from his family with no regular place to stay, easily falls prey to the dangers of the streets. He's charming and pleasant to his acquaintences, but he's caught in a cycle that has a predictable and inevitable finish. He was a human stray.

In Art and Life, I guess I can't really claim to be surprised by this outcome either. Maybe just far from optimistic, still angry, disappointed...


Here he is in happier times. RIP Kitty Kat.

Every day's a new day.

I love you more today than Scrambled Eggs.
But not as much as an Omlette.

Wariokipedia

Armchair Politics

I feel like every time John McCain (or someone on his campaign team) comes up with something wacky that "energizes" or "shakes up" the Presidential Race, such as picking a unknown female running mate from an outfield state, or halting his campaign to concentrate on economic reform, it makes me think of Monday Night RAW, where a WWE commissioner will come down to the ring in the middle of an interview and announce that a previously scheduled match will now take place in a barbed wire steel cage, or every match from now on will be "career ending." 

That's a nice, long sentence, right? 

Seriously, fuck that shit.  McCain's shocking acts are just that--acts. Stunts. Ratings boosters. He's going to gimmick himself to death. Not that I'm complaining really, but I don't like to see the American public have to be subjected to disingenious tricks. Sure, the economy is important. Everything is important.  You want to make a statement that I'll believe in? Cancel your campaign entirely, go back to the Senate and fix the economy. And then pass a bill that requires everyone in Congress to be in attendance for every single vote, every single day. You spoiled rich pricks. Run your god damned campaign while you do the fucking job that we already pay you too much to do. 

Great, now I'm pissed off.

Labels suck!

After yesterday's Jersey City Olympic Kickball Tournament, I needed to buy a few bandages and a new tube of topical antibacterial ointment. With a rare stroke of luck and efficiency, I found a Neosporin/Band-Aid hybrid for sale at Duane Reade. It came with just 3 Band-Aids (awesome), but also a giant plastic Neosporin carrying case on a key ring (unnecessary) which caused the box to be twice as large as your average Neosporin package. It seemed that the Johnson & Johnson folks had to grasp at straws to fill in all the extra white space on the oversized box:

"Great for Kitchen, Office, Travel, Anywhere"? I think "Great for Anywhere" would have sufficed. Or even just "Great." Or put the Neosporin inside the case like it was supposedly created for, and have a smaller box, saving money on packaging, space for shipping, and reducing waste. But what do I know? I'm just the consumer.

While Johnson & Johnson seems to overexplaining on their packages, other companies are omitting valuable articles. According to this tube, Colgate-Palmolive seems to be selling me an "Extra Clean & Healthy Mouth," and not toothpaste "For An Extra Clean & Healthy Mouth."



And everybody knows about NyQuil--I mean NQuil. Vicks loves their big fucking Q, but gives no love to the lowercase y.

I think they might have designed this to fuck with me after taking the nightime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so I can hallucinate at 4 AM medicine. All right, I know nobody's perfect, but the people creating and selling these products are getting paid the big bucks. If I'm going to get barraged by advertising all day long, these things should at least make sense. I want what I pay for. And that includes the little "y" on my pills.

See that symbol? It means I posted this blog using new Picasa 3 software. That will explain why the formatting is all fucked up, and now that I'm attempting to fix it in Blogger, I am finding my efforts fruitless. Sure, I can just go to the "Edit Html" tab, and comb through the container tags and erase a couple of the "center" ones, but I shouldn't have to do that. Wah, wah, poor me.