Dancing at the Disco at the End of the World

NEW 2.7

"We don't understand life any better at forty than at twenty, but we know it and admit it."
--Jules Renard


After 10 days of posting on my vacation, I decided that I'd take a vacation from posting today. But here's a big page o' "free clicks for charity" sites that I feel the need to pass on. It's my new start page.

I almost never eat out. Too much money for a single meal. But Jade Garden, our neighbor in the New Store plaza, is a real bargain. For $5, I can eat for at least 2 days! And get all the sodium I need for a month!
Tonight's fortune cookie had the worst fortune since "You will die within 24 hours from Chinese food poisoning": "Please visit us at www.wontonfood.com" Next: Fortune Cookie XXX Spam. Hot girl on Peking duck action!
I wrote that before I saw this: "Maybe your not looking for a food line, then let Wonton Food Inc. introduce you to new and inventive ways to advertise your products, services, or promotions with our special special service called The Custom Fortune Cookie." We live in a world, boys and girls and Spluts, where they've invented the Spam Fortune Cookie before someone could make fun of it.


Well, I've discovered something from that "free clicks for charity" site--Clicking all of them takes the same hour-and-a-half that ALL my regular surfing takes. Too bad I can't access the Web at work...
I did find an interesting site in one of the sponsors: The World Pantheist Movement. The "theist" part is kinda inappropriate, given that they believe in "the natural, not the supernatural." And I was surprised to discover that I basically agree with everything they say, at least as far as I've gone into their site. Any group whose tenets include "We honor reality" is okay with me. I suppose that some will sneer at this as "being the ultimate in PC," ignoring the fact that everyone has their own standards of PC, and that the "PC" argument is frequently trotted out when what they're really saying is "I can't find any flaws in what you're saying, but I still don't like it."

Did you send away for that Kitten Care Kit? Kill Kill and me gots ours today. "Look what you got!" I said, holding it at her eye level. She sniffed my keys and my watch, so I cleared things up: "I didn't get you keys! Or a watch!"
When I sat down to open it, she ran across the room and stood with her paws on my lap. She never does that when I open the mail. She perused the "Soothing Sounds for Your Kitten" CD closely. I popped it into the computer--It's soothing all right, New Agey guitar and synth with occasional bird calls mixed in. But not soothing for cats. Killsy has been unplayful of late, but she went into Full Bore Crazy Beans Mode, running, jumping on the countertop and the toilet, and fighting World War Toy Mouse as if Civilization and Iams cat food depended on it. She's chilling in her Hello Kitty bed right now. On the other hand, that's what kittens do--Go crazy, then sleep. So they got the "kitten" part right.
It also came with a nice thick booklet on cat care. Of course, like those cookbooks from Kraft foods that tell you to use Kraft brand cheese rather than stupid dumb regular cheese, it has plugs. The bit on litter boxes mentions Tidy Cat, but strangely leaves out the information "If your cat tries any other litter, she'll shit on the floor in protest every time you give her Tidy Cat."

Although it's not nearly as good as that "Science in Science Fiction Movies" site, this "Physics in Movies" site has some amusing movie reviews. I'm not sure just how intentional the amusement is--From their review of Titanic: "The big screen portrayal of the sinking was awesome. It had it all: linear and rotational velocity, acceleration, and inertia with torque, forces, Archimedes principle, and fluid dynamics.."
They come up with a bunch of Math is Hard! stuff that demonstrates that the killer asteroid in that killer hemorrhoid of a movie Armageddon could be easily destroyed with...bowling balls: "Surely Bob's bowling buddies would have even more appeal than a bunch of oil rig workers. Think of the possible misfits. Imagine a scene where NASA guys try to bowl and throw gutter balls as Bob's boys guffaw. Only Bob's boys could put that special spin and accuracy on the ball needed for proper blasting. The NASA guys would have to tear out Bob's lanes and redesign them for installation on the space shuttles, but that would add to the drama. Once in space, one of of Bob's boys could get space psychosis, think he was playing basketball, and waste a few bowling balls. Bob could reason that his mass was just enough to compensate for the missing bowling balls and become a hero by not letting go of the last bowling ball as he hurled it down the lane. He would fly kamikaze-style into the hole and successfully blast the last few feet of depth."
What was that feature on David Letterman 20 years ago? "Narrow Viewpoints" or something? I remember them having "The Road Warrior" reviewed by a driving instructor, who pointed out "If they were really that concerned about conserving gasoline, they'd slowly accelerate to a maximum speed of 40" and who also complained that "Not one person in this movie used their turn signals."

The Eminem Schtick.


Scott the Gruntled Postal Worker stopped by the New Store today. He mentioned that it's his birthday tomorrow, and I said "Really!" when I really wanted to say, "If my damn shoulder doesn't stop killing me, I'm gonna have to pass on your surprise birthday party tonight!"
But the shoulder just got worse. And the only thing that sucks more than pain is pain at a job where you have to be all happy and outgoing all the time, when you really just want to whine.
Guess what I can do on my page!


From Scott, OH MY GOD!!!What shall we do??????? Stand back and hope it's true?

The "ungoing repairs" to my C4 email are...going un. I was able to actually get into it today. The time it took me to get into it (and discover that they'd deleted every email I had): 20 minutes. Niiice upgrade, guys!

I've mentioned that Zippy the Pinhead has visited a church a couple of miles from my condo, and Tasty Chick, a restaurant I can see from my condo. And now...

...he visits an InExOb! Yeah, it's that giant inflatable rat that my then-sweetie Groovygirl found. It's really a Teamsters thing that they use during strikes.
Weirdly, the second place Groovy and I ever ate during our brief Internet courtship was Tasty Chick, and I'm sure that I'd pointed out that Volcano Church to her as we drove by it.

From Negaduck: What happens when you cross God, Jesus and Bandai?

The "Dirty Bomber" and Oklahoma City's "John Doe #2"--Are they the same guy? Or is he a nobody, and Ashcroft's just a loud-mouthed camera-hog?


Know what sucks worse than pain at a job where you have to be happy and outgoing all the time? Being happy and outgoing while your guts are in a knot, and you're consumed with overwhelming dread and fear.

Kill Kill is a creature of habit, but one of her habits is to do the same thing for months or years, then abruptly stop doing it for months and years. As an example, she spent two years sleeping in an Opus One wine crate that I'd positioned in the hallway that lies in line of sight of the bathroom and right here, the computer. Those are the two likeliest places to find me at night, and she'd already started sleeping there before I got the crate. But a year ago, she suddenly ignored the crate and started sleeping right next to it. Last week, she started sleeping in it every day again.
These little switches used to upset me when she was new to my life. I'm the Designated Worrier in every relationship, and I was always sure that any change in her routine meant that she was getting sick. Eventually, I learned that that usually wasn't the case. It was just Killsy being Killsy.
One of her habits is to sleep on a pillow in the living room during the night, then look at the birds from the front window when dawn arrives, then jump into bed with me sometime later in the morning. After stomping on me a few times, she snuggles up and uses my leg as a body pillow. Eventually, she'll wander off to the far left corner of the bed and sleep there until I get up. At the first sign of motion from me, she'll race to the bathroom ahead of me, then PLOP! on the floor to get her morning belly-rub. Then she'll hang out in there while I shower.
Today when I got up she just stayed in the bed. "Lucky you!" I said, as that's sure as hell what I wanted to do on a cold rainy day. She never left the bed, which was something she'd never, repeat never ever, done before. On the way to the bedroom, I noticed Cat Gak on the pillow that she sleeps on. She'd puked at some point, and--sorry to say--done et up all them pukes. She urps sometimes, usually because she ate too much, too fast. I tossed the pillow case in the hamper.
She was curled in a tiny ball on the bed when I turned the light on. She was purring, and after a while she put her little paw over her eyes, as if the light was bugging her. "So cute!" I said, and I left for work.
Late in the day, I was thinking about her unusual behaviour, and still smiling over her paws-on-the-face thing. Then something read in a cat care book 3 years ago forced itself upon me:
Cats also purr when they're in pain.
The fear came on fast. Was she sick? Why did she puke? Maybe she didn't leave the bed because she was in too much pain to move?
I remembered what happened with Jessica's cat Marjoriam, and her fiance Ron's Bogart. Marjoriam had a bladder infection, Bogie had a heart problem, and both were rushed to vet's emergency rooms. They both had truly life-threatening events, but were both lucky enough to have had them when their owners (I almost typed "parents") were around to notice them.
What the fuck! Why didn't I check her this morning?! What do I do, I'm alone in the store and I can't leave! I'd call Jessica and ask her to come get my house key and check on Kill Kill, but a week ago she moved 50 miles away!
I kept wringing my hands and inwardly freaking out while being Mr Fuckin' Cheerful. Every time someone said, "Have a good weekend!" I kept praying that I would. Then Warren turned up from our main store, with some wine we needed.
I called one of the owners, Joey. I begged him to let me go home, it'll just take less than half an hour, I need to check on my cat. He has 2 dogs and 2 cats, and he understood. I left Warren in charge and raced as best I could to Vernon.
That was the longest 12 minutes of my life. All the fear and dread that I'd bottled inside during the last 2 hours spilled out. How could I ever forgive myself for not checking her this morning? Answer: I couldn't. It was all my fault. If she was sick, I was going to race her to the only emergency vet we have around here, which is about 30 minutes away. If she was...dead...I really start to panic. Her third birthday is this Sunday. I don't need any cruel irony.
Dark rainy day and I'm pounding on the steering wheel and saying "Fuckers! FUCKERS!" at the cars in front of me. There's two lanes because SLOW FUCKERS NEED TO DRIVE IN THE SLOW LANE!! Why are they in the fast lane?! Because of the fuckers, I OF COURSE got stuck at the longest lights.
At the condo, she's not in the window like she usually is. Park outside garage. Run up 3 flights of stairs. Hands shake trying to get the key in the lock. Oh God, she's not on the place she sleeps when she 's not in the window! She's not under the coffee table where she likes to hide! Oh God! "KILL KILL! HONEY! WHERE ARE YOU, HONEY?!" I cry as I race further into the house.
She runs out of the bedroom, all eyes and ears and curiousity as to why I'm so agitated. Her nose is wet and cold. She's okay!!!! I break down sobbing. Literally.
She's eaten some of the food I'd left this morning, and she eats the Friskies Wet I give her now.
She's okay.
I'm so freaked out that she hides under the coffee table. Like she always does, out of habit.
I go back to work and I'm outgoing and cheerful. And this time, I really mean it.
The second drive home is peaceful. I walk up the 3 flights of stairs. She gets pets and more wet cat food, we play, she sleeps in her wine crate, she crawls into a grocery bag at an impossible angle. I laugh.

"She's just a cat." No. She's my daughter. And the worse thing that can happen to anyone, they say, is to lose a child. Now I know what they mean.

Wow, that wasn't any fun! Let's have some Kill Kill pics!!

Kill Kill does her "Wayne's World" impression: "We're not worthy!!"

Good things come in small packages! In this case, it's our sweetie inside an empty 12 pack of Saranac beer that's not much bigger than her.

Bill's cat is protected by Bill the Cat, wielding a chainsaw. NONE SHALL PASS!


There's finally a title for this (look up, dears). It's from a Fantastic Plastic Machine song on a CD that was stuck in one of the back issues of Hitch! that I got yesterday. I just loves the FPM! A disco song in 2000--with boogie-woogie piano? Crazy cut&pasting Japanese culture! Most music that I buy--in the rare instances these days that I buy music--is meant as background. Wallpaper. But FPM rocks like they're IGNEOUS! (Umm...note to self, work on rock metaphors)
Their CD "Luxury" was my thing 3 years ago when the little ball of white fluff came home. As I was playing with her for the first time, there on the kitchen floor with toy mice, FPM's version of "Must Be Talking To An Angel" came on. A breathy Japanese girlie sang "There are a multitude of angels playing with my heart..." Yes, I thought. Or at least one.
You can take that last paragraph, as well as yesterday's post, and think either "That little cat must be wonderful!" or "It's really too bad that they don't give guys like him involuntary lobotomies anymore."

Did you all get subscriptions to Hitch! like I commanded? No?! FOOL! "The Journal of Pop Culture Absurdity" is like the drivel that you're reading now, but much funnier. The back issue the CD's from (an Emperor Norton sampler that's really awesome) has an article by magazine founder Rod Lott (which sounds too much like a porn star name or Beavis joke to be real--but I guess that it is, as that's who you make the subscription checks out to) has an article on his visits to the doctor (there's a lot of parantheses in this sentence) in which nothing really happens (look! Here's another pair!!), but he tells it most amusingly. Like I do, but more amusingly. Or like Lileks, but without the random spittle-flecked cries for bombing furriners. Or my spittle-flecked rants against Ashcroft. At any rate, you won't see many magazines with articles titled "Sometimes a Dildo-Shaped Protusion on the Head is Just a Dildo-Shaped Protusion on the Head: The Psychology of the Teletubbies."
At any rate, go to Hitch!.com and order at least a sample copy of it if you haven't yet. If you have, preorder your copy of Hitch EXTREME! their first "MAD Super Special," collecting their first few years. I don't have mine, but there's no way that it's not gonna be worth $5 postpaid. ($7 Canada, $8 Furriners) (Damn parantheses! they're like roaches!)

It was cold and windy and drizzly all day today, so apparently those intercessory prayers for good weather at JesusFest went unanswered. "We're not sure what kind of weather the Lord will give us" says the site. At least the rain wasn't of frogs.
Too bad I had to work; it would've been fun to go there in sackcloth and ashes, rending my hair and flagellating myself while screaming "GOD HAS FORSAKEN US WITH HIS PLAGUE OF CHILLY DRIZZLE! WOE!!!" Funny until the good Christians beat the holy shit out of me, anyway.

US Army to clone Jango Fett by 2008. Or at least his outfit.

Will it ever again be safe to point out that Dumbya's as sharp as a sack of golf balls with the dimples sanded off? "You can criticize if you like, but Bush's image is now being so carefully controlled you feel a little ashamed and slightly guilty doing so, like that feeling you'd get if you teased, say, a quadriplegic. Or a child. And this is exactly how they want you to feel." (Responses to that article from people with Bush-level retardocity can be found here)


Beautiful boring day!
Did nothing, but wasn't trying to do more than nothing beyond hanging around the house--6/16/02 is Kill Kill's third birthday, and she asks for little more than us hanging out together.
And thus we have little to report. Or even blog. Mimi points out that...GONTERMAN HAS A BLOG! Typical bits:

orYou'd think that he was getting tear-gassed at a WTO meeting, but he "don't play corporate" by ripping CDs. What a rebel!
He also invented the word "phrack," making it very popular.
PHRACK! Use it today!
Sorry, but all I've got is Daveykins. I'm undergoing a GonteRenassaince! Did I spell my made-up word rite? Daveyscums takes on the War on Terror, or something, in this AWFUL strip. And can't spell Al Qaeda, Osama, or even Afghanistan in the process. Involves a beautiful foxy girl (foxy in the sense of--she has ears and a tail) robot who's programmed to lust after ANOTHER totally not-Gonterman St Louis hack web cartoonist, with the nickname of "Daveykins Foxfire." Suddenly, Clark Kent's glasses look like a really brilliant disguise.
I know we were all traumatized by Gont's "dark & gritty" strip, with the raped & murdered cross-eyed tongue-hanging-out corpse. But this is a modern example of Classic Gonterman. It may be his "Plan Nine From Outer Space." Except that Plan Nine wasn't this bad. It makes NO fucking sense, not just from strip to strip, but from panel to panel. It would make the same amount of sense if you read the strips in a random order. Or the panels from the strips at random. Or just wrote the words on pieces of noodle and made alphabet soup and then ran it through a blender.
He has his typical problems with the dictionary, but he expands those problems to include words like "occur" or even complicated ones like "wear."
As I write this, I'm 15 strips in and there's NO CLUE what it's even about. Except that every man needs a a personal catfighting sexslave robot, and Daveykins writes in hAx0r for no reason. And Daveykins, mighty corporation-enemy that he is, keeps babbling in his comments about how Fox is gonna get him over this. Yyyyeahhhh.
"Sir, this...'Daveykins'! Word on the street from the l33t hAx0rs says that he don't play corporate!" "FOOL! This man is the internet's most dangerous cartoonist! He's said so himself, a million times! We must bring out the big guns! Like Osdama bon-bons Lidden in Dorfganistan and the Al-Keebler Elves!" "Um, sir? Aren't you forgetting something?" "Hmm? Oh yes! The evil laugh! MWA-HAHAHAHA!!! How was that?" "Much phrackin' better, sir!"


You'd think that the first day in a week where the rain's stopped, the temps are warm, and my shoulder pain went from "Agonizing" to "Annoying," I'd bound out of bed to enjoy the day. But I enjoy sle-e-e-ep, too, especially when Killsy's in the bed. I swear that sleep releases some addictive chemical in my brain that goes away when I wake up.
I slathered the shoulder with Ben Gay Arthritis Formula with Extra Stank anyway. I could do without it's 8% menthol minty-freshness (I smell like I've showered in Listerine), but at 30% methyl salicylate, it's triple the strength of all the other brands' active ingredient. The fact that I know the percentages of ingredients and spell "methyl salicylate" correctly from memory shows how central to my life topical analgesics have become in the last week.
Went to Gay City Park, but took the Short Tour and put the Ben Gay in my pocket just in case the shoulder acted up. HAHA Bill is 2 times Gay! LOL!!
That damn dam I mentioned last week had been partially reassembled, so I disassembled it more. One has the feeling that this is going to continue...
The re-rooted tree had blown out of the branches that I'd propped it against, no doubt due to all the storms we've had. But it's upper branches were parallel to the ground, not lying on the ground, so it's on it's way back to health.
I give this particular stretch of trail more scrutiny now. No newly-killed trees this week. In fact, someone had used dead branches to build a supporting frame for one wobbly sapling! Could it be that I'm not the only person who goes into the woods because he likes the woods?!

Yes yes yes, I know that this has turned into the Gonterblog of late. Again. This seems to happen every year in the summer. This may because after a year, there's new Daveykins to be found under the slimy rocks of the Web, or because it takes me a year to recover from a Gonter-binge. And who'd want to read his stuff on a cold, dark winter's night? Hide the sleeping pills!

This, from Mimi (again) is too good!

Wow, just when you think that you've hit the bottom of the Gonter-barrel, Mimi links to NiTRO. "YOU DARE QUESTION MY GRAPEFRUITS?!" That out-of-context quote makes LESS sense IN context, believe it or not. This is absofuckintutely the WORST. It's not just the inevitable half-animal female fuckbot in love with Daveykins, or the incredible depth of pity Gonterman feels for me, me, ME!!! that pushes it over the edge, but the violence. People hated his Sailor Moon and Sonic strips, so that means Sailor Moon and Sonic suck! And...MUST DIE!!! What clear logic! No wonder he's on Prozac. I'm surprised he isn't in a straitjacket. NiTRO would simply be beyond unreadable without the MySTing comments at the bottom.
Mimi's on to something with her comment, "He doesn't want to play along with the group, yet he is a textbook case of someone wanting to belong." He loves Sailor Moon, hates Sailor Moon. Loves Sonic, hates Sonic. In his latest, he loves Magic:TG and h4X0rs and Wiccans and Eminem and when they reject him, he'll hate them, too. It's never about his failures, but everyone else's. What he really needs is to be rejected by a robotic bunnysuit that gives blow jobs. I think that this is the nexus of Daveykins: Every strip involves a robot that's convinced that he's a genius and that everything he does is the height of perfection. This is how he wants the world to treat him. Think of how unbearable he'd be if he actually had talent and fame!
I don't get this need of fanfic writers (and I was once one, too, kids! The only Sisto fanfic writer in the world!) that take their source material and twist it into something that rejects the entire tone of the original. If you turned something serious into a comedy, sure. That's called "parody." But if I wanted to do something "dark&gritty & all tragic&shit," I sure wouldn't use Sonic the Fucking Hedgehog as my source! (JACK BLACK: We're Sonic fuckin' Death Hedgehog!) And then cry like a baby when fans rejected my half-assed, insane doodlings with their beloved characters getting slaughtered.
I came across a page that was a dark&gritty X-Files nightmare, with the main character tortured by illegal, involuntary secret Gummint experiments that gave him super-powers, but left him forever tormented by his inner demons. What character was used?
WHAT?! That's like remaking "Blue Velvet" or "Taxi Driver" with RAINBOW BRITE!
I wonder when The Gonterman Shrine put this up. I haven't read that page in years, but I read everything on it. Okay, I don't think I read the Misc section, but now I will. So should you!

Hmm, here's an article on that whole Davey's Ego thing that I was just talking about.

WOOO! There's a mailbag page on the Shrine! (first referrer: Jen White! Second: Thoughtviper.geo!) And there's a FOXFIRE FAN YAHOO! CLUB!! You get ZERO guesses as to who the founder is!!

Hey, where are those buttons coming from?!
Where else!!

Absolutely brilliant bit by Lileks on dogs.

"Like the gentle warm summer air, the refreshing smell of home cooking, or a dream of living a clean healthy lifestyle." With a cigarette jammed up your ass.


Unmotivated to type!
Lovely visit at a brew pub tonight with Miss Jessica--in a month, she'll be Mrs Jessica. As always, a splendid time was guaranteed for all, even if we did spend an amazing amount of time laughing about her sister's breasts.

Quote of the Day:
We are resolved to rout out terror wherever it exists, to save the world from freedom!--George W Bush, 1/30/02
Or is that the Freudian Slip of the Year?

I don't know if Pop Culture Junk Mail realizes that the Underdog site she's linked to is the same one with the creepy fanfics I mentioned yesterday. Mind you, the author does warn, "I wrote a lot of this stuff while I was on some very heavy medication for my bowel disease."

Okay, I know that reading Gonterman text fanfics is the way to madness. But I had to at least try the One That Started It All, the legendary, infamous "Sailor Moon: American Kitune" (note: of course, this happens right after Sailor Moon meets the groovalicious chick-magnet Davey. For context, apparently, in his mid-twenties, Gonterman had his writing criticized by a black woman teacher--that he KILLS in chapter one of this work that introduced him to the world):

"Crud!! She's got a gun!!" Foxie and Moon ducked behind a
wall, just a few inches where shots were kissing a corned into
the kitchen.
"Wow, I bet you were a hero!"

David sadly hung his head.

Serena noticed. "You-You weren't?"

"What happened next could very well be a death knell for
interracial relations in my city, and may even call the end of
Martin Luther King's dream of peace and harmony between whites
and blacks: An African-American ethnic history teacher saw the
hero as only a White Male Christian With A German Last Name . . .
and immediately open fire on me with cop-killing Black Talon

"Oh, my . . . sweet . . . God. No." Shivering eyes were
producing more of Serena's eye water.

"Humph. Looks like blacks *can* hate after all. < sigh > By
the time I was allowed to be taken to the hospital, I already
lost my original left arm, my dignity, some may even say my
humanity, and was just about to lose my life, as much as I cared
at that particular time. Imagine my surprise when I woke up--the
last thing on my mind then--with this metal left arm, a
multimedia computer that'll put Pentium super-computers to shame
wired directly into my head, and invited to go on a one-way trip
to another planet with the promise that I'll be the good guy for
once against their evil oppressors. You've probably heard of it. 
The planet's name was Mobius.

"Mobius?!" Serena's eyes lit up. "That's the planet Sonic
the Hedgehog's at, ain't it? I can't believe it! I'm sitting
with an actual Freedom Fighter here! . . . [long pause] Wait a
minute. Wouldn't you look like Robotnik with that arm and eyes
of yours?"

"Heck yeah. But they don't care. They figured, since their
bad guys have a Mecha Sonic, then they should have a rebel
Robotnik. But I *should* look like that putz, anyway. Doctor
Ivo Robotnik betrayed and murdered my father, Julian Kintobor in
the exact same manner that Darth Vader betrayed and murdered Luke
Skywalker's dad. I'll give you 30 seconds to let that sink in."

It took Serena 29.

"Freaky huh."
I'd read further, but reading Gonter-text makes me want to recreate the last scene of "Oedipus Rex." Where's my mother's brooches?!


Kill Kill was laying where she suns herself when I got up yesterday. She never left the spot the whole time I was getting ready for work. Having learned my lesson Friday, I gave her a quick physical before leaving. Nose: cold & wet. Eyes: alert. Purring: only for good reasons like pets and praise. A-okay. She's doing that "Just because I did something every day for years doesn't mean that I can't do it differently now" thing.
As I drove off, I remembered how, as a kitten, every time I'd drive away she'd run to the window to watch me leave. Man, I can't even remember how long it's been since she last did tha--And there she was, looking out the window at me! Hi, honey!!

I told Jessica that I liked the New Store so much that I wished that I worked there 40 hours a week, rather than the 28 hours I usually do. But Kwang, the 12-4 guy, would have to quit or something, so that wasn't very likely.
Yesterday I got a call telling me to go the New Store at noon; Kwang was sick. Cool! Today I called to find out if he was back or not. No--in fact he wasn't just sick, he'd had a stroke! A mild one, fortunately, but it looks like I'll be working 40 hours a week for the time being. This is NOT for the reason I wanted. It's like one of those monkey's paw-type wishes.

I've been planning on buying a DVD player all year. What stopped me was the fact that most of the movies I wanted either weren't on DVD, or were, but had crappy transfers. The main thing that I wanted was the Monty Python box set, but not at $159.99. I knew that eventually some online place would put everything on sale, and last weekend CDNow did just that. So I guess that I needed to buy a player.
W00t! Circuit City had the cheap-ass Apex that Kevin had recommended for $15 off! When I got home, I IM'ed him the good news. "I hope you can still return it." he said. My very-belated birthday gift is an Apex DVD player. It's an older model, but that's good as he was able to...make a couple of alterations to the software. So tomorrow I return the one I bought, and today I got my order from CDNow. So I've gone from a player with no DVDs to DVDs with no player.
Oh, I just know you're desperate to find out what DVDs I got! The aforementioned Complete Monty Python, which isn't (they did an episode entirely in German, which isn't on here unless it's hidden somewhere), Princess Mononoke ("Includes original Japanese Language Track!" the cover proudly says, although that was only added by Disney after a letter-writing campaign convinced them to change their plans about not including it), Metropolis (Lang-free anime version), and They Saved Hitler's Brain (and Head and Neck and when the effects are particularly bad, his Shoulders. And apparently also his lungs, as he has dialogue).
That last is a replacement for a lost VHS I'd taped off of cable, which was the perfect(ly awful) double feature of TSHB and Plan 9. They're pretty much the same level of quality, except that TSHB involved an Oscar winner. And, no, it wasn't the Brain.
It was Stanley Cortez, the cinematographer for Orson Welles' Magnificient Ambersons. From the box: "They Saved Hitler's Brain, aka Amazing Mr. H, aka Madmen of Mandoras, started production in the '50s, but it wasn't until the early '60s when some UCLA film students spliced in some extra footage that it was ready for release."
The DVD's released by Rhino, a company famous for the detailed liner notes it puts in its CD reissues, so it's disappointing that they did a half-assed job on this one. That timeline's been kicked around forever, apparently by people who've never seen the movie. From what I've heard or inferred from viewing it, it goes like this: In the mid-50s, Stanley Cortez was directing a film in his native Mexico, but the project was never released. What little film that was finished sat around until either 1963 or 1964 (accounts vary), when the director, who described himself as "the Orson Welles of B-Movies," bought the footage for his project (or from Cortez's project, accounts vary) named The Madmen of Mandoras. He used a clip of a car crashing into a dynamo that Cortez had filmed. It sticks out due to the fact that it's the only competent piece of work in the whole movie, and the only scene that looks like they spent any money on. The finished "movie" clocked in at little more than than 60 minutes. I've read both that it was and wasn't released. Then it sat around until those UCLA students got their hands on it in the late 60s. You can tell this from the fact that in 1963 woman didn't wear miniskirts, and all the male actors have Sonny Bono haircuts (even the Nazis!). This sticks out even worse than the Cortez footage. The UCLA footage is intercut with the earlier scenes, which were on film stock, although the new footage is on video. These also don't seem to very good film students, as they obviously started shooting early in the day, and ended at sunset with every scene shot in chronological order. Scenes can be shot out of order; that's what "editing" is for. Another thing that sticks out with the added scenes is the slight problem that the actors in them can't be seen with the actors from the old film. So we get 4 new characters who can only talk about the characters from 5 years ago. The 2 good guys get killed to remove them from the story, and the 2 Nazi & Cher guys simply disappear, to be replaced by Nazis with crew cuts.
I don't think that any info about the film's convoluted history is on the DVD's supplemental material, as the "extra features" are listed as "Animated Menus." I hope it's a little dancing Hitler head!
Okay, a little Googling and I found this short bit on the film's history. The car crash wasn't Cortez's work, after all. But my act of Googling's more work than Rhino did.


I guess that Kill Kill's "Just because I did something every day for years doesn't mean that I can't do it differently now" thing now includes running to the front window to watch me drive to work, as she did it again today.
By the way...My cat's very cute. Just to clear that up.

For those of you who prefer the blogging to the journaling, tonight's your lucky night.

Okay, I'm really dating myself here (I'm taking me to dinner and a movie! Haw!) but I had this comic book back in the day. The really cool part is waaay down at the bottom of the page--I had all 3 of the toys in the ads! Although Super City kinda sucked, so I never got the helicopter or the "automatic garage door." I forget what happened to our family's Booby Trap, but the Skittle Bowl was used well into the early 80s.
Now I want a Skittle Bowl.

I don't know what I'll have for dinner, but it looks like the next movie I'm taking myself to is Minority Report. Even if it stars a guy I don't really like, Scientologist Scelebrity Tom Cruise. He tells Roger Ebert about his acting skills:

Next Year: Cruise gets the "Best Acting by an Eye, Ear, Nose or Throat" Oscar.

Hello Kitty vibrators have made it into the mainstream media. $32 on eBay?! Go to J-List and pay half that!

Latest not-very-sexy porn spam: "STINKY BUTTHOLE JUICES!!!"

Latest amusing ISP name in my hit counter: "puddle.drizzle.com."

Latest disappointment: I had a nice thing about Evolution, creationism, and an ancient BASIC program that actually involved one of my favorite subjects, infinite monkeys typing Shakespeare!! WITH THE CODE! But it's on a mailing list and not on the Web yet. To spare those who don't care, tech geeks can email me at thoughtviper&hotmail*com if you want a copy of the article & the code.


Yesterday the phone rang at work, and one of the owners said, "We're going to have to start calling you Gilligan!" "Why?" I asked. "Because you're on an island all alone!"
Of course, my immediate response was, "Where's my Mary Ann?"

Gourd, but she's cute, huh?

On the other hand, what's up with this spam?

beep beep beep!
"Is that your cell phone?"
"No, my bra."
The Eastern European syntax on the site and the "please to be removing this crazy device from my boobies" look on the model's face don't make me too optimistic.
"You can use the Bust Firmer almost anywhere and no one will ever know. Because its a regualr bra, you can use the Bust Firmer with your regular clothing anytime, anywhere. Stop hiding your sagging breast. Get the Bust Firmer and flaunt them!" Flaunt them sagging breast!

Except with a former-Soviet Bloc-made electrical transformer on your nipples.

"The former chairman and two other past senior executives of Rite Aid Corp. were indicted Friday in what authorities described as a far-reaching securities and accounting fraud that prompted the largest restatement of corporate earnings in American history."
I worked for Rite Aid for 18 months many years ago. They were a venal and corrupt nest of hypocrites back then, too. They actually had this company policy: If you found a dime on the floor and put it in your pocket, you were a thief and should be fired. What you should do if you find a dime on the floor is to ring it into the register under the No Tax key, and put it Rite Aid's pocket.
That's not an exaggeration. They had a monthly "Security Bulletin" newsletter that told the story of a store manager giving a dollar to a cashier, and saying "I found it on the floor. Ring it under the No Tax key." But the scurvy knave used the dollar to buy a soda, and rang the difference in! They fired her for this.
You know those "Leave a Penny, Take a Penny" cups? If we knew that the Regional Supervisor was coming, we'd empty them into the register before he came. Because we knew that if he saw it, he'd make the "Ring it under the No Tax key!" demand. A guy in charge of a hundred stores with millions of dollars of business, and he was worried about 8 cents not going into the company's pockets.
We store managers were encouraged to fluff the books, mainly be pretending that we sold more items on sale than we really did. Every Rite Aid store had inflated inventories, just to make the bottom line look good. I always referred to the place as "a house of cards, and someday it's all gonna catch up to them, and the house is gonna fall."
The same month that newsletter that named that teenaged girl fired for buying a soda came out, Rite Aid itself was national news. The Ohio board of pharmacies refused to give Rite Aid permission to open in their state. And an executive vice president was arrested for trying to bribe the pharmacy board commisioner with $50K. In an amazing coincidence, the vice president was the son of the CEO! What are the ODDS?!
His name was Martin L. Grass, and if you read that article, you see that he plays the major role in the latest scandal.
Looks like the House of Cards has finally become 52 Pickup. Heh.

IT journal The Register is a bit more upfront in their venality.

A rarity of rarities yesterday--A Cruel Site of the Day worth reading. It's the psychological profile of a Usenet kook, a middle-aged man pretending to be a teenaged female Tori fan. It's LONG, long enough that I didn't post last night because I was reading it, but it's interesting. Then it gets progressively creepier. As someone on the Psychoceramics ML once said, "For some mentally ill people, the worst thing that ever happened to them was the invention of the Internet."

Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and the Wizard of Oz? Forget that! How about what happens when you cue up the Beastie Boys' Sabotage with Star Wars?


I went to Bigelow Hollow park today and THERE WERE PEOPLE! Gack! Don't you humans have jobs & shit? Of course, they were clustered around the rocky beaches (Connecticut has no sand, except for the kind they dump on the roads in winter). But the whole point of the main trail is the fact that it follows the shoreline! PEOPLE! BAH!!
I took a path that led into the woods. This was good, as there were no PEOPLE! BAH!! but also it was bad, as I was back at the parking lot after only half an hour. I stopped at the most folornely distant pic-a-nic table and watched the butterflies and dragonflies and the BLOOPS! that rippled the lake's surface when a trout done et him up a bug. There was a sign that read "SUNSET TODAY." That's all. No clue, really.
Went antiquing in Sturbridge: bought nothing. Went to the local SalvArmy: bought nothing. Went to the grocery store: bought rotisserie turkey breast (ding! went the timer just now, and I removed it from the oven. MMM, turkey breast!) Went to the Post Office: bought 3 cent stamps. Warning: Stamps go up in price on Monday. STAY AWAY FROM THE POST OFFICE for at least a MONTH AFTERWARDS. It never occurs to anybody that they can just buy stamps at the supermarket and get 3 cent stamps later, oh no, they need 3 cents stamps NOW. So the PO lines will be a mile deep with idiots making their $0.30 purchases, and you'll be PO'ed yourself. I warned you! Future events like this will affect us in the future at the Post Office!

On the way to Sturbridge I saw a sign for a hotel called Microtel. Okay, this is a better name for a hotel than "Bedbug-Infested Crackhouse Where You'll Get Stabbed in the Shower by Norman Bates Psychotel," and even better than the Hooker Hotel, but my first thought was: Is it owned by Bill Gates? Will the sink crash when I use it? Will the bed throw me on the floor if I wear pajamas not made in Redmond? Will it have blue screen windows?
Second thought: Microtel? What, is it the size of Malibu Barbie's Dream Adultery Liason? One of those Japanese hotels where your "room" is a bed that's little bigger than a coffin? Can only Lego figures stay there?
I still don't know why it's called "Microtel," but their site assures us that "We have brand-new everything!" And that the mattresses are "Chiropractic-approved," which isn't much different than saying "Voodoo witch doctor approved." They also have "Complimentary cribs"--YO! Billsplut is in the CRIB! Where my fly honeys at?
There's another hotel round these here parts called "Extended Stay America." Thanks for adding that very descriptive "America," guys. I'd hate to check into one and find out that it was really "Extended Stay Chechnya" or "Eternal Stay Camp X-Ray." Although it might be cool to wander into the wardrobe and end up in "Extended Stay Narnia." Or "Extended Stay Switzerland."

Latest in the endless stream of really unappealingly-titled porn spams: DOGFART SKANKS LIVE! I think that they're overestimating the sexual allure of the word "dogfart."


While I was in bed last night, a big fat cold wet horsefly landed on my arm. I jerked my arm to get it off me, which woke me up. Fortunately, I'd dreamed the cold wet horsefly. Unfortunately, what inspired the dream was Kill Kill's cold wet nose sniffing my arm, so she got a boot in the snoot when I moved my arm. She forgave me immediately, but she decided against napping with me after that.
When I got home, she lived up to her nickname of "Underfootnik," barely escaping having her toe trod on when a pained squeak from her kept my painful sneakers away. As I was lecturing her on why she should be careful with her underfootocity, I turned and heard another squeak as she almost got her toe stepped on again. Bad day to be Kill Kill, I guess.

The one thing that I most want to buy but will never be able to afford is a house. There was a copy of a homes-for-sale booklet at work, so I decided to leaf through it and get myself good and depressed. There was a listing for a beautiful $300K place in Hebron, the same town where Gay City park is located. On the opposite page: My condo. Literally my unit, as the downstairs ones are up for sale. The blurb for the Hebron house is "BEAUTIFUL CONTEMP. ON 11.31 PRIVATE ACRES!!" The blurb for mine is "BEST DEAL AROUND." So instead of living in a house on a big lot, I'm living in a place that's the equivalent of being something bought from BIG!Lots.

Lucky are the few, such as Ron, future husband of Jessica, or Cham, beloved of Kitty McCartney. (Or Bill, beloved of Kill Kill) Kitty, who named us Bill the Splut (in today's general Ghost Planet ML stuff: "I think Bill The Splut is one of the coolest e-names I've seen. Just know that." I agree.). At any rate, Cham has a nice, amusing rant on the hazards of Ritz Bits manufacture, and a more thoughtful one on the new World Trade Center Design.
I saw that a while ago, and I thought that it was an elaborate joke with a Ferd'nandesque non-punchline. I mean, the thing's really ugly. The "Memorial tree for everyone who died" is a nice touch if it was IN A MANAGED FOREST, but beyond stupido in MANHATTAN. Would you like to be a WTC orphan and have not just Mommy die, but also Mommy's tree die after it sucked down enough halogen light and carbon monoxide? What if the trees are too close together and some have to be cut down? What happens in 30 years when all the surviving trees are damn huge? Which ones do they cut down, before the roots crack the sewage pipes?
Know what I would want? A little eye-level plaque with an inscription chosen by the survivors. It would have a picture of the one lost. There would be a tiny locked box. Inside it, those who lost could put tokens of their memories and their loss. It would be like a deposit box, and only those who lost a loved one would have access to it. And only they would know what they'd put in it. It would be public and private at the same time.
Part of the reason that I thought the New WTC site was a joke was its bizarre insistence that they'd have some "sound weapon" to defend it. The Hell?! Who's going to be the Security Chief, the Incredible Mr Limpet?
Then I saw this. Hmmm...

For further friend linking, check out the pics from Space Waitresses' trip to Singapore. "Trip" is right! Heck, if that's what churches looked like around here, I'd be religious! Religiously sitting in the parking lot staring at them, anyway. With a bong and a bag of Fritos.

Has GONTERMAN predicted the future? Just like in his hideous ego-trip (TRIP here in the bad sense of the word) "NiTRO," they're talking about Space Blimps! Didn't Zorak call Space Ghost that once?

Little note: DON'T USE THE C4 EMAIL! I just looked, and there's mail from 9 to 13 days ago in there!!! That I got TODAY!! Maybe it'll let me read your email by tomorrow!
thoughtviper&hotmail*com, please. I'm not going to be even looking at C4 anymore.
And don't use that SendACrush email thing. At least not while expecting a result from my name. Unless you're Dawn Wells, and you're beaming it from 1966.
And it's just that hateful "Pimping Cupid" thing from 3 years ago, back to fuck up anyone who uses it anyway. Just say No. Actually, just say NOOOOO!!!!!! and run away really fast!


It's unconstitutional to say the Pledge of Allegience, according to a California court. It'll probably be shot down by the Supreme Court, under the grounds that no one is forcing anyone to say the Pledge.
Right. We live in a country where some people call you a supporter of terrorism if you point out that the unelected president is a moron. Like some high schooler isn't risking getting beaten up by some neckless jocks by refusing to say it in the current political climate. Or, at least, some right-wing teacher will call the kid's parents at home to tell them what a traitor their son is. I'm speaking from experience about the latter.
I stopped saying the Pledge in high school. The teacher angrily called me on it, but wished he hadn't. It wasn't a snap decision on my part; I'd thought about it for a while. The flag is just a rag on a stick. If I was pledging my loyalty to the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, I'd do it proudly. America was the first country to have a Bill of Rights. Every country has a rag on a stick, and the less democratic they were, the more you were expected to worship it. What finally pushed me over the edge was when I found out where the Pledge had come from. It wasn't written by George Washington at Valley Forge. It was made mandatory in schools in the 1930s, in imitation of another country's loyalty oath. It was so much of a copy of that oath that, originally, you didn't say it with your hand over your heart. You said it with your arm extended at a 45 degree angle with your palm up. Turn the palm flat, and you had the salute of that country: Nazi Germany. They had a rag on a stick, too, and they showed it proper respect.
And as for this "Under God" stuff, it wasn't added to the Pledge until the Red Scare years of McCarthyism in the early 1950s. If you think promoting theocracy is good for democracy, you must've been really bummed when the Taliban bit the dust.
On the other hand--Who gives a shit? The right wingers are going to go into a frothing frenzy over a meaningless symbol, saying that it's an attack on our "values." The White House has already declared that it can claim that anyone they want is an "enemy combabatant" who can be held without charges or evidence indefinitely, and even executed in a secret trial. And the corporate-owned mass media doesn't care that Bush has given himself the powers associated with a South American junta. Maybe he'll change the pledge to read, "One nation, under the heel of a jackboot."
"We need commonsense judges who understand that our rights were derived from Santa," Dumbya said today. Oh, wait, not Santa, the other bearded magic white man who lives someplace magical. He also made the claim that the Pledge of Allegiance is "a confirmation of the fact that we received our rights from God as proclaimed in the Declaration of Independence."
For the last time, the Founding Fathers WERE NOT FUNDAMENTALIST CHRISTIANS. They weren't even REGULAR Christians. They were Deists, which is the step before Agnosticism. That's why they created the seperation of Church and State! Do you think John Ashcroft would've? Here's a quote:

Can you imagine a politician saying that today? Of course not. The author of that quote also referred to the Wholly Made-Up Bible as a "Dunghill."
His name was Thomas Jefferson.
On a lighter note, here's Something Awful's take on the whole "controversy."

Last night was Bootleg Video Night at Scott's. Thanks to the wonder of the Internet, Kevin had copies of 2 movies, neither of which have been widely released yet. One comes out in August, the other should have a rock tied to it and thrown into the sea.
The good one was the drama One Hour Photo starring Robin Williams. He can be unbearable at times, especially when a director allows him to let his schtick to get out of control, and he goes completely out of character. But here he played exact opposite of Mork, a photo shop manager who keeps his emotions bottled up. I quickly forgot that this was Robin Williams. He was both a really creepy but pitiable character, who deals with his loneliness by imagining himself as a beloved member of a family whose photos he processes. He grows increasingly obsessed as he descends into madness. I really can't say too much more about it without ruining it. It was excellent, but it sure ain't the feel-good movie of the Summer, so it's probably going to disappear from the theaters quickly. See it in a theater, or keep an eye out for it when it comes to video.
Keep an eye out for Dagon, too. And if you see it, run away screaming. Supposedly this was "the only faithful adaptation of an H.P. Lovecraft story." I think the story must have been found on his grocery list:

And they somehow managed to turn this into 100 minutes of movie. Of very bad movie. The first hour consisted of the hero, who looked like Buddy Holly but acted like Jerry Lewis, being chased by Fish People. Fish People chase very slowly, and go "Squeeeak! Squeeeak!" like evil versions of Flipper. It was hardly exciting, and we managed to use every possible fish/Jerry Lewis joke we could come up with. It also had a guy who drank the Spanish version of Bukoff, el Bukova or something, and whose dialogue was actually harder to understand than that of the Roly-Poly Fish Heads. He recalls in a flashback how some guy rejects God because He doesn't give them enough fish. Instead, he wants everyone to worship Dagon, who isn't so much God as Cod. He supplies them with fish and turns them into Fish People, which is really not all that great a deal when you think about it.
Up till now, the movie was PG, but the last half-hour had good guys getting their skin flayed off alive (by fishing knives, which is either irony or retardation, take your pick), both female characters being raped by Fish People (making this the only movie in history to rip off Humanoids From the Deep), with one of the women committing suicide, while the other one gets cut up, gets her arms ripped off, and eaten by Dagon, and the hero setting himself on fire before instantly deciding he wants to be a Fish Person and have sex with a mermaid who's also his sister. If I'd seen the movies in the opposite order, I probably would've felt like One Hour Photo really was the feel-good movie of the Summer.
At the end, a Fishie pulls off his mask and he's--CTHULHU! In the movie's established most-faithfullest-adaptation way, he's a squid-headed fat short old man who needs two canes to walk. Cthulhu's really not that scary a concept when you realize that he parks in the handicapped space.
This was a screener, a copy that's sent to reviewers before the film is released, so every so often there's a disclaimer on the screen: "THIS IS A PROMOTIONAL COPY, NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION OR DUPLICATION. NOT FOR SALE OR RENTAL." The last time this came on screen, I said "Dudes, you really don't have to worry about anybody buying or renting this movie! You should've just named it Not For Sale or Rental!"
The only nice touch in the movie was Buddy Lewis' sweatshirt, which said "Miskatonic" on it. Kevin had a Miskatonic University sweatshirt that had a motto in Latin on it. One day a college student stared at it:
"Do you know what that says?"
"No, what?"
"The truth shall make you flee!"

I woke up yesterday feeling crappy, which i put to the extreme heat and humidity we're suffering through. I felt better as the day progressed, but after I got home from Scott's I started feeling crappy again. I went to bed, but couldn't fall asleep until nearly 430AM. At 815 they started mowing the lawn. Couldn't've mowed it yesterday, couldn't've mowed it tomorrow, couldn't've mowed it 3 Cod-damned hours later, had to do it when I feel like crap and havn't slept. I crawled out of bed later, still feeling lousy, and at work I felt light-headed and nauseous, and spent some quality time dry heaving. I guess my annual attack of July Disease is early this year. Oh yeah, and the first thing I did after leaving the shower was step in fresh cat puke.
How's your day going?

This almost didn't get put up. The server went down, then Pookie spent 30 minutes telling me that my password was wrong. Umm, no! It took me most of that time trying to get through to tech support before I spoke to someone. It's a networrrk prrroblem, he told me in a thick Scots brogue. I hate to waste the time of tech support, so I politely said goodbye. And I really wanted to ask, "My father was the first American-born child of his Scots family! Are you Scots, or IN Scotland right now?!"
Of course, Jet Wolf was an Aussie in Louisiana doing tech support, so who knows? Man, the Internet is the coolest thing in the whole history of Civilization since they invented the alphabet!

Crap! Now that line of thunderstorms that cut my connection off are moving into my area. Guess I'll just upload this without proofing it. Sorry about the typos and lack of cool links, kids.


A really young-looking guy came up to me today at work. I immediately ask for his ID. He hands me his wallet, and his ID is in a pocket with a plastic cover that's translucent, but not transparent. Would'nt've mattered to me if it was easier to see through; fake IDs don't have backs. "Take it out please." He oh-so-gently tugs at it with a sheepish look on his face. "It doesn't come out of my wallet," he says. I smile broadly and say, "Well, that's the only way we can tell it's not a fake!" He gets into a car with 3 other pups and drives away. Yeah, nice try.
Christ. Credit us with having some brains, Junior. Do you have to throw your wallet away when you renew your license?

Warning: This is 9 on the Disgustometer.
An old man came up the register with a magnum of Smirnoff vodka. He was wearing a t-shirt, so I could see that his arms were covered with dozens of dry red sores, white around the edges from hanging chunks of skin like dried popped blisters, as if he'd scratched himself raw. It was a v-neck shirt, so I could see that he had the scabbed sores all over his chest, which meant that they were all over his body. He tried to engage me in conversation, but I was already thinking about how I wanted him to GO AWAY and praying that he wasn't paying cash. Of course he was! He paid with 2 fives and 12 ones, and every little motion he made caused a snowfall of dead skin to fall to the counter. He sloooowly counted the money out, then counted it again, then AGAIN, as the blizzard of shed epidermis collected. I picked up a bill and MORE SKIN FELL OFF. I shook it and it was like a Snow Globe made from a leper. Dead skin, dead skin! All 17 bills! I have a good tolerance for Gross, but all I wanted to do was wash my hands. In acid.
"I don't have enough!" he said. Despite his repeated counting and moulting, he did have the right amount, and I sure as fuck didn't want him around any longer, so I told him that he did. "If I didn't have enough, I'd just go back to the bank!" he joked. "The bank is my wife!"
EWWWW! Now I have the mental image of someone sleeping in the same bed with this guy! If the bedsheets were black, they'd still be white! And what if they had SEX?! She'd be blanketed in a blizzard of rotting skin!
That guy's house must have dust mites the size of chihuahuas!

Speaking of dogs, via Mike in the UK:

Speaking of Dumbya's butt, admit it: You laughed too when you heard that Bush was "temporarily transferring the presidency" to Cheney. I'm pretty sure that that happened in January of 2001. And [OBVIOUS JOKE] what's he need a colonoscopy for, anyway? Doesn't he get a clear enough view with his head up his ass?


The Law of Diminishing eBay Returns has been proven again. I lost out on a Khachaturian LP last month when it was bid up to $25. It turned up twice this weekend. I was the only bidder, and I waited so long to bid that the seller reduced the price. I picked it up for 3.49. Bwa ha ha.

The Weekly Monkey!!! Monkey monkey monkey! I like monkey!!
I like monkeys as a matter of principle. Everything's more funner when a monkey joins in! (Except for THAT, you pervo) But in this case, it's J. Scott's new weekly comic collection. The Hsu & Chan is sadly disappointing, the Lil' Norman's kinda cute, but the real treat is the return of his dark & gritty (& not very bright) version of the Punisher, Violence Man!

I was reading that at the same time I was reading in another window (short attention span? I don't have a...hey! A monkey!!) Sally Protest by Gonterman. Talk about a world of difference in quality. The footnotes are funny:

Here's another MySTing of a Gonterman strip, inspired by commuterbarnacle.com but not quite as good. But it's worth the read, if you're a Gonter...should this be "Gonterphile" or "Gonterphobe"?

And, yes yes yes, you're all sick of Gonterman, but I'M NOT. He just makes me sick. In a good way. A bad good way. Like when you put your tongue on a 9-volt battery as a kid, and it really wasn't pleasant, but you did it again anyway. Here's a text MySTing of that dreaded story that began with "The Ranger's where flowing a leaded of break-ins." 8 words, 4 errors. Warning: The MySTing is verrry looong.