Mr. Salt: "What is this, Wonka, some kind of funhouse?!"
Willy Wonka: "Why, are you having fun?"
I don't care that it only takes 45 minutes and I get $1,172 out of it--filling out tax returns SUCKS.
My Mom told me about a big antique place just up the road from the New Store. Her directions to it were vague. I found one antique store that I was pretty sure wasn't it, as it was kinda small. Weirdly, I was recognized when I went in by one of the New's customers. She expressed sympathy over the fact that I work in all 3 stores now, rather than my beloved New. I didn't buy anything, though the place was cool. I was the only customer there.
Just up the road was the place I was looking for, 4 buildings jammed with stuff and crawling with dozens of customers. For $3 I bought some funny wooden coasters from the 1940s, which I will be happy to share with you once I buy a new scanner (The current one works, but is not Win XP compatible--just like how my last one worked but was not Win98 compatible. Thank you, Lord Gates! I'm buying a Mac next time!). In the "Cool enough to buy if it was half the asking price" department was a Muppets "Pigs in SPAAAACE!!" lunchbox, and a box of plastic mice with long pointy toothpick-like tails called "Cheese Pixies," but I wasn't spending $8 just because I like the phrase "Cheese Pixies." Several white cat themed items were there, but they tended to be Persians rather than Domestic Shorthairs so I passed. One was a 1952 book called "Pussy Cat Talks to Her Kittens," which had TWO white kittens, one a male called Tuff and the other a female called Fluff. The other kittens were black, one called Buff, who probably worked out a lot, and the other called Huff, who probably had some adventures involving a baggie and a can of ScotchGuard. It seemed to be little stories about how you should treat other people with respect and kindness, which is cool by me. It's probably the only kiddie book with talking cats that uses the word "procrastination." It was apparently aimed at toddlers with limited social skills but very large vocabularies who loved animals. Meaning--Why didn't I have this book as a kid?
Overheard in one building, a rambling TARDIS-like old house with low ceilings and vertigo-inducing stairs: "This would be great for that thing we have that we don't know what it is!"
I wish that I'd brought my camera. There was a wooden lawn ornament of a cat outside. The 3 feet of snow we've had this year has started to melt, exposing just its head. The look on the cat's face was...well, perfect for a wooden cat buried up to its neck in snow. Mild irritation. I laughed. You should've seen it! But you can't, as I didn't bring my camera. OKAY, sorry I brought it up!
Toonpedia looks at Super President, the stupidest idea for a superhero ever. If there were superheroes, it'd make sense for some of them to become politicians. But why would Super President have a secret identity when he's the PRESIDENT? Who wouldn't recognize him? Did Clark Kent call himself Super Newspaper Reporter, or Batman go with Millionaire Playboy Whose Parents Were Killed and Who Likes Little Boys in Hot Pantsman? When you can't get 6 year olds to suspend disbelief, you've got a problem. The only cool thing about Super President was that he was voiced by Boris Badenov.
The smoking gun in Iraq is found by Bush's psychic pet.
If you're using anything but Netscape, pay no attention to what I'm about to say. If you ARE...The classic Thoughtviper ribcage icon didn't work, The News graphic didn't work, so I thought "Maybe something simple, like white on black..." Lookie at the left of the location bar!
We have a new scanner. Our third, which will last exactly until Microsoft releases Windows PU or whatnot. I, personally, have sent the children of the CEO of Visioneer to college.
At Best Buy I received the absolute least enthusiastic attempt at selling me the replacement plan ever. Not that I would spend $8 for a plan on a $50 scanner anyway. The scanner that started up the inExOb back in '98 would still work if I had Win95 installed. The cashier stared at some distant unseen point as he seemed to be giving his mandatory spiel from the other side of Dreamland, while the cashier next to him, who had her back to me, added further sales hints like a disembodied voice. I stopped saying "No, thanks" when it began to seem less like they wanted me to buy the plan than that they were uttering conciliatory prayers to the ethereal God of Service Plans. Hail Mary, Manager of Best Buy, pray for our profit margins now and at the hour of our shift's end, Amen.
"Insert cable into any open USB port" said the instructions, by which it meant "Any, but not THAT one, monkeyface!!" I could get it to scan but I couldn't see what I'd scanned. It still tells me that I haven't plugged it in right. Well, you be the judge of that--As promised, the wooden coasters I bought yesterday:
Cause, you see, cutting out paper dolls means you're mentally ill! Even the mouse doesn't understand the joke. This is the only artist in history whose only real skill is rendering feet.
The printing's a bit beat up, but I think you can figure it out. (I think the last word is (burp)) Oh, for those carefree days when drunk driving was funny! The coasters were sold as a set, or else I would've been glad to have not bought this one. I lost a friend to a drunk driver. I'm not laughing.
Ha ha ha! See, back in the 1940s, they didn't have credit cards! Now you CAN buy your way to poverty!
The biggest problem with the new scanner: It has a ROUNDED TOP. I need that space for storage! The main reason I have a trackball and not a mouse is that I have THAT little room here...
I stopped subscribing to the Hartford Courant when I realized how much of what I used a newspaper for could be found online. Now I really have no need to subscribe; Denis Horgan's column has been yanked.
"Now, I am reassigned elsewhere, to a new job. Parts is parts. I am accurately counseled that I should be content to have a job when so many others do not. Well, of course. Except it is as if they have taken one of my sons, given me another boy and said, 'What's your beef? You have a son.'"
Capitalism gone mad: "Kob denies she ever uttered the insult. As the face of Miss Teen, a Thai cosmetics brand that is a best seller in Cambodia, she may have been the victim of a smear campaign by rival Cambodian cosmetics companies, hoping her alleged words would trigger a boycott." Instead, it's brought the countries to the brink of war...Bizarre.
The Ultimate Fridge Magnet! I WANT ONE!!
Sunday I was reading an Old News, that last, long one on Geocities while I waited for thoughtviper.com to become active. In it I referenced July Disease, the peculiar allergy that hits me every year. I thought, hey, July was the last time I got sick! I am SO HEALTHY! And you can probably guess where this is going.
Woke up today and thought, My GOD, I'm so tired! I'm surprised that I made it to work on time, so slow was I moving. And them, an hour after getting up, I was dry-heaving like you could dry-heave up cocaine and Robert Downey Jr was coming over with a suitcase full of money any minute. I assume that Sunday at the antique store somebody honked something viral on me.
Know that feeling you get when your foot is asleep? My whole body had that. And chills. I was in the New Store and scheduled to go to the Big Very Busy Store later, but after 2 hours it was To Hell With That. I called and asked if I could stay in New, as it was slower and I could sit down and the bathroom's 20 feet away and not 250.
24 Hour Bug? No, 6 Hour Bug. It left as quickly as it came. I'm still a bit out of it and everything tastes gross and I'm sooo sleepy, but at least the contents of my stomach aren't running evacuation fire drills every 10 minutes.
A customer opined that lots of people were getting sick the same way I was. And it might be TERRORISM! Yeah, okay. Fuck, if Osama had made 3,000 people in NYC only dry-heave for 6 hours on 9/11, I'd shake the bastard's hand.
Crap. I didn't just do it again, did I? Like 20 years ago I read an article that said the perfect germ warfare agent would be one that only made people mildly ill during its contagious phase, so that they spread it to as many people as possible before the fatalities began...Hey, any time you want to be cheered up, here I am!
Via Boing Boing, Basic Hip Oddio. If someone can explain what the frack an "audio/x-scpls" file is so that I can listen to the streaming radio show, I'd appreciate it. But the site is mighty cool, using Quicktime for most of the streaming audio. I remember a family trip to NYC decades ago. We passed a man unmoving and staring straight ahead. He was dressed as a Viking and armed with a spear. No one paid any attention to him, including my parents. Kids in the early 70s didn't say "What the fuck?!" but they knew the emotion those words represented. "Who was THAT guy?" I asked my father. "That's Moondog," he said matter-of-factly. "He's famous in New York." Oh. Umm, okay. I figured that he was famous as a crazy guy who stared into space with a spear. It would be many years before I discovered that he was famous as a street musician, as evidenced here, with a bit of interview, and even better here, where he "duets" with, what--a steamship? The El? Amazing stuff, even more amazing that it's from 50 years ago.
The site has a section on "Little Black Sambo," which it briefly mentions was once the name of a chain of restaurants. Which later changed it's name to just "Sambo's," as if that was a big imporvement. It finally decided to call itself "Denny's." Yes, THAT Denny's, the chain with the code word "blackout." Which meant "Don't serve them black people, maybe they'll go away!" In the backward, Jim Crow days of the 1990s. Whoops, maybe ya shouldn't've tried it that time when the black customers were all FBI agents!
So call me unforgiving. I still refuse to buy Chicken of the Sea tuna because they didn't go dolphin-safe until Congress forced them to. There's a Denny's up the road from here, and I'll never eat there again. Yeah, it's in their past. But it's too recent a past. The Germans who thought "Why, I do believe this Hitler fellow's on to something!" are dead or filling their Teutonic version of Depends while screaming at the wall, "VERE ist mein JELLO?!" Whereas the Sambos' guys are still sad that they couldn't name the "Grand Slam Breakfast" the "Grand Dragon"... Crap, I'm still sick, and so tired. I'm sick and tired! This is one of those babbly things that I'll proofread and think, "Yeah, this makes sense!" and then tomorrow I'll go "The FUCK?!!?!" Crap, why even proof it. Here it is in all it's stupid nonglory. SEE! I just did an "it's" when it should be an "its"! It's gone to hell in a handbasket! Sick 'n' tired. Good night.
A guy walked into the DumpStore and said to me, "Nothing?" I wanted to answer his question, but since most questions require a verb, I just gave him a mystified look. He said, "There's nothing?" Possibly he was the reincarnation of Jean-Paul Sarte, but more likely he was a SHAWT. Adding together zero and zero and the fact that he was standing by the Register Closed sign, I guessed, "That register's closed. This one [the one I'm standing at without a "Register Closed" sign in front of it] is open." "Oh! I thought that the store was closed."
Yeah. As it's cheaper for us to pay a guy to stand in the closed store than it would be to buy a key that locks the door.
Another thing you should not do in a retail establishment (unless you want the workers to think you're clueless) is look at 2 registers, each with someone standing right in front of it, and make little pointy "which should I go to?" gestures. BOTH ARE OPEN. THAT'S WHY THERE ARE PEOPLE STANDING BY THEM. Do you go to the supermarket and run up and down the 20 registers with people standing at them, and scream "WHICH ONE SHOULD I GO TO?!"
Probably. Given your obvious issues with the definition of the word "moron."
I especially love the idiots that stand in line--STAND IN LINE, MIND YOU--wait until you've rung up the 1 or 2 people ahead of them, then ask "Are you open?" Do you jump out of your car at a stoplight, bang on the windshield of the car ahead of you, and scream "ARE YOU DRIVING?"
And if you're paying with a big bill like a 50 or a 100, when the cashier holds it up to check the watermark, say "I JUST PRINTED IT! HAW HAW HAW!" Wow, it's as funny this time as it was the LAST FOUR FUCKING THOUSAND TIMES I HEARD IT. This WEEK. Here's a comedy tip! When you're at the airport and they check your luggage, say loudly "YEAH, OSAMA HELPED ME PACK A DIRTY BOMB IN THERE! WE GONNA KILL YOU INFIDELS! HAW HAW HAW!! WOOO DOGGIES!!"
Trust me, it's funny. Hell, at least I'll be laughing when you end up in Camp X-Ray, never to be seen again!
Some thoughts on clones, from a real clone (ie, a twin): The Unbearable Likeness of Being.
Kirk supplies an addictive game that I SO suck at: Crash. I hope to make it through Day Two before I die 50 years from now.
Today I was in Dollar Dreams, the dollar superstore. It's in a big ex-Walgreens, to give you the size of it. I've never bought any of their Chinese-prison-made junk, and I didn't today. I was tempted by a Voltron-looking plastic action figure named "Bug Fighter." There's a name that inspires childlike flights of imagination. Maybe I'm supposed to swat flies with it. Maybe I should send a few thousand to Bill Gates. The next time a coworker gets a bug up his ass, I could ram it in there.
It listed among its fine features the fact that it was "Mon-Tosic Colored." "We don't serve their kind in here!" No, wait, that was Mos Eisley, in that cantina bar tended by Jesse Helms.
Know how much snow we had last Winter? Two inches. As of yesterday, we've had over 3 feet. So when they predicted 3 more inches for today, I didn't give it much thought. Figured I'd get up 5 minutes early in case in wasn't over when I awoke. I got up about 6 hours before I had to be at work, there was already 3 inches on the ground. Maybe I'll leave 10 minutes early instead...
It took 20 minutes to drive 6 miles. They've spent so much money on snow removal this Winter that they don't start plowing until it's stopped snowing. Instead, they dump sand. The difference between driving on 5 inches of snow and 5 inches of snow with mud thrown on top of it is that one's dirtier. You can't turn, you can't brake, you can't do anything about the buffoons who think owning an SUV makes them invulnerable. Four-wheel drive lets you accelerate in snow better, but it doesn't do anything for stopping, especially with that high center of gravity. I found out later that someone in an Expedition, the biggest of the bloatiest SUVs, was killed in an accident on the highway. (I read an article recently that said you're 6% more likely to be killed in an accident if you're in an SUV. Not that 6% is a huge number, but have you ever heard anyone justify their SUV purchase without citing "safety" and "driving in the Winter" as the reason?)
But every dirty pile of unplowed snow has a silver lining, at least for me today. I was supposed to start my shift in the New Store, then close at the DumpStore. At the height of the storm I got a call--Since New is closer to my home, and Dump closer to my relief's, why not send her there and leave me here? "Well, I guess that's okay, if that's what you want," I sighed into the phone while pumping my fist in the air.
I measured the snowfall. Seven & 1/2 inches. So now we've had four feet of snow, and Spring's still 6 weeks away. If I'm going to have to live in Canadian weather, I want Canada's perks, too! I want national health care and a government that's not a sociopathic bag of weasel snot. And some poutine!
There's no place to buy poutine around here, but I've had a recurring hunger for hot wings lately. Why buy the grocery store ones when I can buy the nice, freshly-made TASTY CHICK food! Damn, I might be back there tomorrow, so good was their goodness. Eat 2, and you think "They really aren't hot hot wings," eat 4 and your lips are burning. Two hours later, and I still have that wide-awake hot wing...thing...in my brain. You know what I mean! When you eat hot spicy food and it feels like you've had 5 cups of coffee--except that it feels GOOD.
I was robbed--robbed!--of the full Tasty Chick experience, as I couldn't get a toy from the Dino Egg Machine. A very whiny brat was dropping all his quarters in there to "Get that skull!" (hey, child prodigy, it's not a skull, it's a fucking EGG). There was much stamping of foot when Mom wouldn't give him any more quarters, and he kept creepingly repeating "You're CHOKING me!" and she'd say "What does 'NO' mean?!" and then it went on and on, and they were in front of me in line so I had to listen to this dysfunctionarama. Don't you people realize that there are more important things to worry about, like that Ashcroft says that it's CODE ORANGE JULIUS?!...umm, okay, I thought that this was going somewhere, but it isn't. I just want some DAMN MORE WINGS! (stamps feet & whines)
Remember the mysterious InExOb saint? After all these years, he's finally been IDed, by Petra Mayer (who works for NPR! How cool is that!):
Roger Ebert on his only screenplay, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. It's short, it's funny, and if you love movies, well worth the read. I was pleasantly surprised to find that one of the director's Muses was Lil' Abner.
Penn and Teller's Bullshit! is the only reason that I wish that I hadn't ripped the cable TV monkey off my back.
I wasn't exactly OSB level material, since I wasn't a flaming clueless asshole (just clueless) but I had to call tech support for my DSL tonight. My finger hit a stray key as I was hitting enter on the Connect screen, and it decided that my User Name was "]." Since I had "Save this Username" checked it was stuck there, and I couldn't remember what my username was...
The first tech guy I got said "I can't tell you that. It's [username]." "What? Could you run that by me again?" "I can't tell you that, but it's [username]." "Umm...okay! Thanks!" So I punched that in, and it didn't work. So I had to call again, this time trying the "Change Password, Press One" option that I hadn't tried before. Maybe he could "tell me that." This guy gave me the same username--I'd spelled it "sbc.global" the first time, instead of "sbcglobal." Which I spelled wrong AGAIN--"Yeah, there's 3 l's in 'global," I said as I retyped. I said just before it worked, "I'll bet that this is the stupidest question you've had all night!"
He didn't argue that point. And I've written down my username.
Yesterday's mention of my fave comic strip, half-century old re-runs of "Lil' Abner," led to a trip down memory lane from Vyn, and her visit to the Lil' Abner theme park Dogpatch:
man, i wish i could find those pictures.
Want to know how much the place has changed between 1969 and today? This was its setpiece, the statue of Jubilation T. Cornpone:
And this is it today:
Canadian Bacon: The True Stories of the American-Canuckian Near-Wars.
Would your cat eat you if it grew to the size of a tiger? Probably not. But what if you shrank to the size of a mouse...?
A new bookmark, via Debbie, a fellow former resident of the former town of Wapping CT, Obscure Store, a "goofy real news" site that looks like it'll fill the void in my heart that was left when Ribbit! went to wherever good websites go when they die. (Hey, Bill--nice attempt at a coherent sentence! Better luck next time!)
What did I tell you about a Nazi being portrayed as a Golden Ticket winner in Willy Wonka? What did I tell you?!
I have nothing today, but Lilly has a link to a very funny review of one my all-time fave movies, Godzilla vs Megalon. At the bottom of the page, there's some links to the Flash animations that used to be on IceBox.com. Too bad "Hard-Drinkin' Lincoln" is 404. The "Thugs on Film" review of Return to Me is pretty funny.
Oh, yes, I almost forgot--Mimi sends the scan of the AUSTRALIAN MAGNET OF TERROR DOOM MAGNET--OF TERROR and DOOM! That sticks to the TERROR DOOM FRIDGE!!
Forget why it would be useful to know most of the information in the bottom half (Terrorists are going to attack my "electricity switchboard"? Where's the slot where I write the serial number of the garbage disposal that they'll shove a fork in?)...What's with the picture?!
BRUCE: I'll stop terror, I sure will! Say, you fancy a toss? SHEILA: What, in THAT hat?! Here's a colourful Aussie expression: Bite me. With a koala!
(possibly would've been funnier if I actually knew any Australian expressions)
No, wait, I just got it. Look at the Official Seal at the top--She represents the kangaroo, and he the emu. And he's not wearing a silly hat, it's really a wombat.
Just yesterday I was thinking: Wow, four feet of snow this season. We sure could use some more! Fucking more snow! Let it snow, let it snow, let it FUCKING FUCK FUCKING snow! as the song says. And they predicted 5 inches today. Having had enough non-fun driving in God's dandruff 4 days ago, I said, Fuck the fucking snow! I'm sleeping in. It's my day off, and you can't make me drive in it if I don't wanna.
Of course, since they predicted 3 inches of snow Friday and we got nearly 8, when they predicted 5 for today we got...Well, it's been coming down for 6 hours now, and the road didn't start collecting it until the sun went down. Effectively, a trace. I'm tempted to say that I wasted a day off by sleeping, but sleep's never a waste. Ask any cat.
Unfortunately, the overspleepness has led to an utter lack of motivation to type. So I will now put as little inspiration as possible into this entry.
From Mimi, the cover of the pamphlet that came with the Terror Fear Magnet:
As If!--err, I mean, As I said to her:
The Bible told through Legos. It can be incredibly detailed at times. A lot of work went into this. The guy's motivation? Got me. But the weird thing is, the Bible's no less fucked up when it's done with plastic bricks than if you read the actual thing. Believe me, I've tried. There are people who claim that the Bible's the "literal truth," but go read Leviticus and ask them if they've ever worn a poly-cotton blend shirt and expect to go to hell because of that. They're pretty picky when it comes to what they "literally" believe.
You bastard. You clever bastard.
BushCo has been falling over itself for 18 months trying to link Saddam and Al Qaeda in even the most fragile and unlikely way, and on the eve of war, here you are, giving them their connection all wrapped up in a bloody bow. Sure, you called Saddam an "infidel" so that your foam-flecked fanatics don't think that you're going soft on Baathism. But you just gave Bush the cheap excuse he needs to invade.
What have you got to lose? Two of your enemies going to war with each other--Dead Americans, dead Iraqis, what do you care? You can't wait for the body bags to be filled. You're praying (literally) for those worst-case scenarios--the massive casualties on both sides, widespread anti-American rioting, the new waves of suicide bombers to kill the innocent and helpless, the Saudi and Pakistani governments being overthrown and replaced with your own personal brand of religious psychopaths. You'll get all that oil...and The Bomb.
Maybe you won't. Maybe the rosy guesses that Cheney and Rumsfeld have for the invasion will happen instead. But what have you got to lose?
Nothing. You don't come out any worse either way.
Gally sends an article on PATRIOT Act II: Electric Chair Boogaloo. And what have WE got to lose? Everything.
Well, wasn't that fun. Let's try to close on a more upbeat note. Lilly made ref to my old habit of posting the odd searches that I'd get for my Geo pages. Which I really haven't done since I abandoned the Good Ship Geopop(ups) almost 2 years ago. And I remembered why--Doing it is dull and boring and omnipresent ("Be obsequious, purple and clairvoyant." Oh, don't pretend you don't know where those lines came from). So here it is, probably the last collection of Geocities site searches you'll ever see here:
Last night, I was out of toilet paper, so I reached under the sink and ripped open the plastic-sealed 4-pack. It was easier to grab 2 rolls than 1, so I did my paperwork and placed them on the top of the toilet and forgot about them.
Of course, toilet paper rolls are DEADLY THREATS to CONDOLAND SECURITY, so Kill Kill took care of them overnight. One was a bit ripped and on the bathroom floor. The other was in the trash can. And wet.
If it was just in the trash can, I'd understand. She'd batted it off the toilet right next to it. But wet? Did she knock it down, drag it into her favorite nighttime playground (the bathtub), and get it wet in there? That's possible, as the faucet leaks. But then how did she get it all the way up and into the trash can?!
CURSE YOU, Jerry Van Dyke! The BIG!Lots sale starts on Sunday, but you didn't send me my flyer until Tuesday! By the time I got there today, all the $9.99 LAVA LAMPS had been picked over!
Still, $10 for a gen-u-wine Lava Lamp--Even if it's orange, that's a deal. I also got one of those "Wave" things that I always thought was cool. Just not $30 cool. MMM....Soothing...
The Onion asks a question of several celebrities. It's a long and dull article, unlike their "Is there a God?" one, so I'll cut you to the chase and the only answer that made me laugh:
The CIA says that North Korea has several nukes and missiles that can hit America!!
Cool article on "Song Poems," a subject which I went off on...umm, quite a long time ago. It's interesting in how it explores the world of its "master," Rodd Keith. And there's a A site of Song Poem MP3s (seems to crash Netscape), so try "Bo Derek on My Mind," "Midwifery (Norman Casserly)," "Five Feet Nine And A Half Inches Tall" or "The Amazing Helicopters" in MSIE. Five letters spell this site, and they are "ROTFL."
Via Kevin, a funny and clever and sad essay by Terry
Gilliam JONES (thanks Mimi! Thanks fer nuthin', Kevin!) from Python: "I'm really excited by George Bush's latest reason for bombing Iraq: he's running out of patience. And so am I!
"For some time now I've been really pissed off with Mr Johnson, who lives a couple of doors down the street. Well, him and Mr Patel, who runs the health food shop. They both give me queer looks..."
It took me a while to find the original source for the article (Kev got it as an email), but while searching for it, I found an interesting older article by Gilliam describing his favorite cartoons. He lists several that were essential in forming his own style:
1953: Duck and Cover.
2003: Duct Tape and Cover.
(Crap. Tom Tomorrow thought of the same joke today.)
Interesting thoughts on Iraq via an interesting blog I was unaware of until now.
Via that, a cartoon I used to follow but completely forgot about, Troubletown: What will YOU get from Bush's latest tax cut?
I guess that it's all politics tonight. Via Fark, The Rumsfeld Quote of the Week. What the hell's up with the "Moon" shit?
Bad news: They want me for jury duty AGAIN. Fifth time in 9 years.
Good news: After 45 minutes of rummaging, I found my Get Out of Jury Duty Free card from the last time a year ago. Ha ha! Surprise on YOU! On your HEAD! With my FEET!
SHAWTery: A grubby skankmeister standing in line with 2 mags of Dubra (the only alcohol that's a step down from Bukoff) spots an attractive blonde who's 20 years younger than him, has several inches of height on him, and who is a good deal more familiar with the concept of soap and water.
SKANK (loudly): Hey, howzit goin' over there?
BLONDE: (ignores him)
SKANK (even more loudly): Hel-LO?!
I can't wait to use that smooooth pick-up line at the singles bar! As I'm dying to try out the new varieties of pepper spray!
One of the major disadvantages of the DumpStore is working with Mr Poopy Pants, the drunk who filled his shorts last Summer. I've never had any real run-ins with him, but that's only because he knows that the owners would more likely side with me than him. He's got some weird power trip thing going on. He's been known to yell at employees or call them "STUPID!" in front of customers. He got mad at Shelley--who's also a manager and thus his equal--when she put a screensaver on the register/computer that said Happy Valentine's Day! because she put it up at the end of January and not in February. Who cares? He complained to me about me using register 2, as I'm righthanded and it's easier, and also about me putting the bags on the counter rather than under it. You're not running the register, wtf do you care?
Last night he let someone come in the store 30 seconds before closing, then began screaming at the guy to hurry up. And just kept yelling at him, which started an argument that just led to us getting out of there later, which kinda destroyed whatever point he was making. Then he started swearing at him, a customer, which would get you fired on the spot anywhere else. The guy took out his pager to show that it said it wasn't 8PM (meaning, his pager was wrong), and Das Poopenmensch pointed at the register display and yelled "What the FUCK time does that say?!" but it was on the "your change back" screen, so it wasn't showing the time. He then screamed "Our clock is GOD!" I was pretty much aghast at this point, and followed the guy out to apologize. "What's HE been drinking?!" the guy asked. Which is a good question, as we know Monsieur Merde dans ses Sous-vêtements disappears into the beer cooler to have a few. The guy came back today--I never would've set foot in the store again, except to demand to talk to the owners--and Doctor Diarrhea was STILL bitching at him. Classic Angry Alcoholic.
He's also as sharp as a sack of hammers. Two days ago, he brought up 5 18 packs of Bud for me to make into 6 packs, and he was thoroughly flummoxed by the fact that 5 x 18 didn't = 120. You could hear the gears in his brain churning and their cogs breaking as he tried to figure it out.
Here's a phone conversation with one of the owners I overheard today (read it in a high-pitched, stammering voice for best effect). "Yeah, your brother was in the Army Corps of Engineers, right? (...) So, if I had an idea, he could build it for me, right? (...) I had an idea and it's a good idea and I want to patent it." (I had to walk away with my hand over my mouth not to laugh--yeah, Edison, you think the word "nun" has 3 n's in it, but YOU'VE discovered cold fusion!--Or is that fusionnn?) (...) "Well, I guess that I can tell you, since you won't steal it." (Steal one of your ideas? Talk about petty theft!) (...) "It's a child's safety seat." (YEAH, let me put MY kid's life in the hands of a drunken halfwit. It's the least that I can do! Although he would have the perfect slogan: "I know what's best for babies, as I need to wear diapers, too!") (...) "You know how SUVs can have baby seats, but you can also take out the [SUV] seats? You'd take them out and put this seat in instead!" (...) "Oh...They make those already?" So much for the next Segway.
Here's the idea I'm surprised he didn't think of: A car seat with a built-in toilet! As you never know when you'll be stuck at a light and need to blow that fifth of tequila out!
Okay, given the Duct Tape & Cover/Absolut Mandrin Level Alert, I can understand why you might hit my page looking for gas masks on eBay. But "leaky gas masks ebay"? Is it a gift for someone you don't really like?
From Lilly, "A message out of the ether, onto Modesto streets":
I think this message was meant for you, but please let her know I'm quite fond of her as well.
My plan was to go see the matinee of Daredevil today, but as the snow's coming down at 2 inches an hour and visibility looks to be about an eighth of a mile...maybe next week.
I'm sure that the Macroplex is closed anyway, along with everything else in Connecticut except--our liquor stores! The owners are infamous for staying open, even when sales slow to the point that we're actually losing money by being open. I at least hope that they postpone tonight's monthly wine tasting at the Big Store. It actually is a big deal; people have to make reservations to even get in. So their choice is to either have the tasting and have no sane people show, or deal with the logistical nightmare of phoning 110 people to tell them to stay home.
Run-on sentence searches The News got yesterday:
cartoon cheese with a mouse music movies to watch for kids no
drag clothes on to dolls with your mouse online (for teen g
fuck little kiddie boys
That last one's not a run-on, but this is the Google description that accompanied it: " ... It's probably the only kiddie book with talking cats that uses ... God's dandruff 4 days ago, I said, Fuck the fucking ... So I will now put as little inspiration as ... "
Which wouldn't have made me click on the link, but I guess that you have to dedicated if you want to be a proper pedophile.
The Wrong Wing has now decided that France and Germany are "our enemies" because they don't want to blow shit up without a good reason. "Allies" means "partners" and "equals," not "vassals." No wonder some of the nations that (we've bribed with billions of aid to) want to invade Iraq are in Eastern Europe. Bush doesn't want equals in NATO, but serfs like the Warsaw Pact.
I don't consider Germany and France our enemies. They're more like the friends that try to take your car keys away when you want to drive drunk. This goober doesn't agree. He's calling for a boycott of all French imports! He's so rock stupid that he's against--well, read the last sentence.
(Okay, I guess that the story ain't there no more. I stole it from Atrios anyway, and here's the precis:
"I even said to my kids I'm not buying french fries, I'm so mad at the French."
Speaking of "allies," here's what Turkey wants. Billions of dollars, and the right to invade Kurdish territory. "Farhad Barzani, the U.S. representative of the main Kurdish party in Iraq, the KDP, says, 'We have told them: American troops will come as liberators. But Turkish troops will be seen as invaders.'” It just keeps getting better, doesn't it?
"The 50 Most Ridiculous Things About the Upcoming War in Iraq!"
Bush: The Anti-Lincoln.
Not interested in politics? Check out some wacky but true diets, including the "Breatharians," who insist that you can live on air. Just air. "While there are more than a few disturbing stories of practitioners who began to vomit black liquid after 21 days and died--21 days being a mortal limit of sorts and black liquid a creepily unifying theme--there are enough people who claim to live this way to give the notion some strange credence."
Demonbusters! Gotta exorcize 'em all!
Speaking of which...the Wrong Wing blog of Jesus' General. And he is SO serious about it! ;)
Mimi bites the hand that feeds her with her look at The Lion King.
Funniest Bush Picture of the Day!
Real Live Preacher looks at the "sin" of homosexuality.
Wakboth in sunny Finland gloats:
So, it seems that a Proper Winter has come to the coasts of America. Snow! Snow! MORE SNOW! Soon you will have the Canadian (or Scandinavian) climate! Okay, enough schadenfreude (which is, indeed, a cool word) and into the business of questions. You may (in fact, you probably have) mentioned this in the past, but I'm too lazy to hunt for the possible explanation... Anyway, considering that, on the whole, your employers seem to be reasonably sane, why the hell is Mr. Filthbreeches still employed there? Is he a distant relative of the Boss of Bosses, a family embarressment hidden away in some liquer store, or is he sleeping with someone important (ugh! perish the thought!), or does he just have the luck of Teela Brown but none of her good looks or pleasant character? The reading public demands to know!Answer: Unknown.
cats are Silly Putty; ear stretch
Bizarre search result? No, something I felt the need to write here, very late last night as I was fighting off sleep. Some observation that I didn't want to go into any detail on just before bedtime. I'm sure that it's, you know, quite the brilliant observation.
("Ear stretch"? The hell?!)
"Rowland said the switch from french fries to freedom fries came to mind after a conversation about World War I when anti-German sentiment prompted Americans to rename German foods like sauerkraut and hamburger to liberty cabbage and liberty steak."
Yeah, and boy, did switching the names of our foodstuffs sure beat down the Hun hordes all the quicker. What he doesn't mention is that during WWI they called rubella "Liberty Measles." Pass the patriotic skin sores!
(And while french fries were invented in France 150 years ago, it was in America that they became most popular--so popular that to the rest of the world, they're becoming known as "American Fries.")
Real Live Preacher follows up on his "God Does Not Hate Fags" post with a look at the actual Scriptures on the subject. (Or lack thereof)
(Now, I don't link to this because I'm Gay! I'm the opposite! I'm a Man's Man! --err, wait, that came out wrong. I'm a Cat's Man!)
When I heard that Salon might be going under, my first thought was, Well, I'm pretty sure that I can find all the comics easily enough, and that's really all I read, unless someone points out an interesting article. Then I thought--No more Real Live Preacher! Oh no! And I know that most long-time readers of (wait for it) this drivel are saying, "Um, but aren't you--you know--an Athiest? Why do you care?"
If you've read enough of RLP know why. This is some of the best writing on the web. The first time I read through his archives, I not only wiped the tears from this old ex-Catholic's eyes, but went on a Google quest, looking for Unitarian Churches in CT (Not that I know what his denomination is. And there are very few Unitarian churches here so, you know, that ended that spirtual quest).
My parish priest at St Margaret Mary's was an early-70s hippie priest, who taught love and consideration for everyone. I had a talk or two with him about my early spiritual confusions (at like age 12; as I was devout but needed clarification on the contradictions in Catholicism. Primarily the "God loves you/You will burn in HELL FOREVER for the SLIGHTEST TRANSGRESSION and only GOD knows which it'll be and YOU'LL find out when you BURN!!" [Did I mention that I was Irish Catholic?]) I don't remember what I asked him, but I have a clear memory of responding to an answer of his with another question that refuted it, based on what I'd been taught in CCD, and he frowned and furrowed his brow and thought, then said something that made me think He doesn't have an answer to this question. He acts like he's never been asked. Even HE doesn't know what God wants me to do.
While he clearly loved his calling and was a beloved member of a liberal suburban town, he eventually left the priesthood to marry. (Yes, I know, priests can't marry because of 2,000 years of tradition, but for how many millenia did Judeo-Christianity sacrifice goats? We got out of that phase eventually.) And the liberal, easy-going, approachable priest was replaced with an elderly Irish blood'n'thunderer. And eventually my crisis of conscience came. I started thinking about things more skeptically, and began both reading the Bible and Bible history. I discovered that most people used the "pick & choose" method of believing and obeying what they wanted to believe in and obey from the Bible, and ignoring what they found inconvenient. Which is really the theme of RLP's whole further look into the "God Hates Fags" thing.
I'm an Athiest in the same way that I don't believe in UFOs. The world not only makes the same amount of sense that it does if God and ET don't exist as it does if they do--In fact, it makes better sense, as you don't have to have some convoluted, complicated, contradictory backstory to explain the inconsistancies. But show me proof, or even real evidence--Sure, I'll believe. Otherwise, it's just a waste of time to believe in something that doesn't affect me, makes no sense, and with no actual evidence for it beyond "Some guy said." And if it seems like I'm trivializing religion--Well, if religion works for you, that's fine. It makes some people feel good, and act better. But I don't knock on your door telling you that you'll go to HELL if you don't eat Shake& Bake chicken, so don't you do that to me with God. And you guys with the anal probing by the Aliens, hey good for you too, but don't try using that as a reason to pass legislation against anything I do that the Magical Aliens told you I shouldn't do, and PLEASE don't blow up any Trade Centers over it.
And I'm more open on one of those questions than the other: The Theory of Relativity's been around for nearly a century, and there hasn't been a real flaw found in it yet. I don't believe Aliens are crawling the trillions of miles to Earth at slower than the speed of light just to diddle our anuses. But the more Science looks at the Big Bang, the more apparent it is that this is the Last or Even Only Universe Ever. And we still don't know where the Primordial Egg that Everything Everywhere Came From in the Big Bang came from in the first place. And that if Gravity was that much lighter when it all started, the stars would never have formed; and if just that much heavier, and they all would've burned themselves out. Fluke? Or Hand of God? Maybe. Maybe not.
A God who knows when you are sleeping, knows when you're awake, knows when you've been bad or good or you'll be burned at the stake? Sorry. Ain't buying that. A God who could create all of everything would be further from us than we are from slime molds. I don't believe in Santa, or a God that created billions of galaxies and then uses me as his Sims game. I assume that He's got better things to do than to worry about who I have sex with, or if I ate a grape that fell on the ground while wearing a poly-cotton blend shirt last night. (Leviticus joke!)
But the Preacher...Hmm. He makes me think. He makes me wonder. He makes me question what I don't believe.
Well, you knew you wouldn't get this far without me mentioning politics, yes? And as a tie-in to our last subject, it's Bush's religion and how it may affect his decision-making. These are the types of people that helped make me an athiest.
Christianity once clearly taught that a king who kills innocents and squanders the people's money is endangering his immortal soul. By raising this prospect, bishops and priests and theologians have restrained the war-like behavior of princes from the 4th century on. But what if the prince believes that he is assured of salvation because of his own choice, regardless of what the church says? We have here an entirely different constellation of incentives at work. Might Bush believe there is no eternal price to pay for killing thousands, even millions, in a good cause, since there is nothing he could do to endanger his immortal soul?
I had a dream last night, and in it I fought terrorists. And with my fists, not with my duct tape.
Why they wanted to blow up Hartford's Wadsworth Atheneum is a good question, especially as their "human bomb" was a guy sitting in a big laundry bag filled with dynamite lying right out in the open. I'd already recognized the terrorists from their earlier attacks, which involved unhitching Amtrak boxcars from their trains so that they ran backwards down the rails and crashed into stuff. I tracked them to the museum, saw the human bomb with only his head sticking out of the laundry bag and dialed 911.
I told the police about the terrorists, who were now trying to grab the phone away from me. "Is this John Ashcroft?" demanded the cop. "It's Ashcroft again, right?!" No, there's terrorists here! Send help! One terrorist had his arms around my throat, while the other just looked on bored. The head poking out from the laundry bag seemed equally disinterested. The cop yelled, "You've called 911 about terrorists one too many times! You're just making it up! No more of your crank calls! We're not sending ANYBODY!" I begged him to send the police--This time there WERE terrorists! When he kept refusing, I desperately demanded that he send cops to arrest me for misusing 911 (as they'd see that there really were terrorists when they got here), but he hung up.
The terrorists let me live, and even attend a gallery exhibit. Then the human bomb went off, killing dozens, and the terrorists escaped to release more boxcars. The museum's director came back from a wine tasting drunk, and he refused to believe that a bomb had gone off, despite all the dead in the gallery. Then the cat jumped on the bed and woke me, and the rest of my dreams after that were more pleasant, if no less strange.
If trouble comes in threes, my unexpected expenses come in hordes.
It's always been that way. It's never, "Oh, I suddenly need to buy an essential something!" it's "I suddenly need to replace almost everything." I knew that it was time to get a full tune-up for the car, but that wasn't unexpected, that was planned. Having Windows XP decide that my scanner was an incompatible infidel (after a YEAR) was a surprise, but not a big financial outlay. And there's the fridge...Ever since I accidentally vented some of the coolant, the freezer doesn't freeze and the fridge hovers at 40 degrees. If that's what it's like in the deadest of winter, what happens next Summer? I'll have to buy a minifreezer to replace that, which is like $120. There's a removable tray beneath the freezer compartment, and anything I put in there freezes solid. If I take it out, the lower fridge should get cold again.
The tune-up--well, it's cheaper to replace things when they're running than replace then when they aren't. (Case in point: Mr Poopypants walked the several miles to work for years, despite owning a car. He decided that the $20 every 6 months it would cost for an oil change was money better spent on tonight's tequila, and destroyed his car's engine. He left it on his mother's lawn, where he lived until age 30. And continued to pay taxes on its rusting hulk) After I dropped it off, they called me and said "You have no front brakes." The pads were completely worn off. Every time I braked, I was playing a live concert of Kraftwerk's "Metal on Metal." "Another 2 days of driving, and you'd have to replace the rotors." Which would've been another $250, so that was a bit of luck. But the brakes brought the total up to $425, which isn't out of my reach at all, even if that means my IRS refund goes into the chariot. And I have to drop the poor car there again tomorrow, as they say that the serpentine belt is badly worn. The serpentine! serpentine! belt manages the pulleys, and also makes Peter Falk and Alan Arkin run zig-zag in parking lots. Not sure what that's gonna set me back, but I'll bet that it's less than a new car. I like to run them into the ground, and my luck's been good with that strategy. I've never driven a junker, and I've always got at least a decade out of cheap compacts that are supposed to have 5 year lifespans. (I was once asked "What's your favorite car?" and I answered "Any one that's paid for")
So what's the next expense? C'mon, I know you're out there!
I've had this minor back pain for a couple of weeks, and lately it's decided to move into my groin. OH BOY, maybe the next expense is prostate surgery!!
Of course not. I looked "prostate" up in my Funk & Wagnall's. Literally, as it's a medical encyclopdedia. I'm too old for one kind of prostate problem; too young for the other, and I don't have any other symptoms. Hmm, so maybe it's not that at all! Maybe I worry needlessly.
Today the pain--okay, dull ache, really--was worse than usual, especially when I was lifting or bending over. *ding* went the little bell. When did this start? The same day that I was sick and violently coughing until I got dry heaves.
And hello to you, Mr Hernia.
I hoped that Funk & Wagnall's would say "and holes in your abdominal wall with a length of your intestines poking through generally heal themselves, and also make you win Lotto!" But F&W let me down. I have to see a doctor to verify my suspisicion, but it looks like the next expense could indeed be abdominal surgery.
A customer paid with a ten today, then asked for it back. "What does it say on it?" She read it, then passed it back. "People are so stupid!" In junior-high-school-girl cursive, it said:
Random links: Edward Scissorhands Legos (Okay, Kubricks--and "Ages 13 and Up"--Heh!).
Are the Fundies in the White House actively trying to bring about a literal Armageddon?
From the mailbox, Stu and Roger send the dark underbellies of Christian schools and Live Journal.
And thanks again to Lap Cat In A Box(TM)!
Make doctor's appointment for hernia: Check.
Mail bills: Check.
Go to Best Buy and discover that the smallest stand-alone freezer is twice the size I want: Check and goddamit!!
Daredevil: Double check.
Good, good movie. A thinking person's superhero movie. As Ebert said, "This close to being a great movie."
It's almost as good as the first Batman, but it may be better. Part of why Batman blew you away was simply because it was the first and, until then, the only movie of its kind. This is actually darker and more complex than Batman. As much of the plot deals with heroic action as it does with Matt Murdock/Daredevil's inner conflict and Irish Catholic guilt (! When was the last time you saw THAT in an action movie?)
It's visually fascinating throughout. The opening credits are the lights of NYC skyscrapers at night, which then turn into braille credits for the actors. There's almost always some trick like that to look at, even if just for the sake of looking at it, in the set design or the direction or the sound direction (note how Fisk's cigar sounds) or the cinematography. I'll admit that not all of it is original; the scene with Electra inside the limo while it rains is taken from In Cold Blood. But if ya gotta rip something off, rip off the classics.
I'd like to say who was my favorite actor, but that just became "whoever's on screen at the moment." The psychotic Bullseye will probably imprint himself the most on you. But even Murdock's "comic relief" partner is actually funny. Because he's not a goofball, he's smart funny, as a lawyer would be.
It's not a wall-to-wall effects-heavy beat'em'up cartoon-made-live, thank Gourd. There's a good sized stretch without any action beyond advancing the plot and the characters. And that just makes the final fight scenes all that much better. Non-stop action becomes non-stop numbing after a while.
A couple of subtle treats for the fanboys: Murdock's boxer father has a fight with "John Romita;" the last acting credit, "Man Holding a Pen," goes to some guy named "Frank Miller." I also like reading the credits as there's always someone with an odd nickname. This time around, it's "Purple" Hays.
And don't get up out of your seat the moment the credits start rolling. It's only going to be that much busier in the parking lot if you do anyway. And every name on that screen is the name of someone who brought you a movie that you enjoyed, so why not stay and give them that bit of indirect attention? Plus--if you don't, this time you'll miss something. Stay an extra 2 minutes. It's clear that the sequel's already being planned, and I'll be there to see it.
I'm so proud of myself. After squatting though the 20 minutes of ads and trailers before Two Towers, I timed this one perfectly: I got there with only one trailer left, and it was for the only movie I was likely to see. X-Men II. But that will be a comic book movie. Daredevil is a movie movie.
The best Atari 2600 games you never heard of, mainly because they made them up.
Did Stalin just up and drop dead, or did the Soviet leadership kill him before he started WWIII?
Another Terry Jones article on the inevitable war for oil, and Jet Wolf's take.
...And a sober NYTimes assesment of what Fortress America could be like. "There is more than a whiff of McCarthyism to all this, but perhaps we will be afraid enough to endure it."
A much more detailed--and even scarier--look at Bush and the Biblical Armageddon. Is this the reason why his administration has no long-term strategies for Iraq, the economy, the environment, or for anything--Because they expect the world to end soon with their help?
Say, isn't the Antichrist supposed to be a false prophet, someone who pretends to be a good Christian but then betrays all that Christ stood for? Who then builds an all-powerful totalitarian state using a national ID (666), and starts a worldwide war to further his own agenda? Good thing that sounds nothing like Bush!!
Pheww, lighten up already, Bill! Most Liberal blogs fill you with worry, but not General JC Christian! He makes you laugh and smile and gaily frolic with worry! Here he finds the dark homosexual Liberal references hidden in "Hop on Pop!"
This will turn into a bunch of work-related screaming if I continue with what I started to type, so let's just stop and begin again.
Hell, my job could be worse. I could work at the Mexican man-eating fly plant.
At Big!Lots, I bought some Clark Bars (they're the precursors to Butterfingers. Superior in my estimation, as they leave less crap encrusted on the caps of your teeth). I thought, I haven't had these since college! Hey, if I could find Zero bars and little cartons of chocolate milk, I could recreate my whole Oberlin vending machine dining experience! Which reminded me that I think I still have some of those cartons of milk, so I went in search of them. Lookin' for milk in all the wrong places, as it turned out. But I found a bunch of random junk from 25 to 30 years ago, and here's some pictures of that, and newer stuff.
He's saying "Gosh golly, am I stimulated!" And she's saying "OWWWW!!"
And nothing says "SAFE" like "SAFE*" with an asterisk.
Warning: While SAFE*, this product may cause headal explosions in the brainal region. Also may cause pheronomes that attract crotch-biting monkeys and thus premature dong loss. Also, anal squirrel nesting. Squirrels may or may not have dental drills.
Lurking...ever in lurk...
Yep. Gotcha. Britches. Gotcha with the britches. But I'm not sure about my own last name now, either.
Back when I went to high school during the Late Pleistocene Era, a friend told me about an amateur sci-fi magazine that would take cartoon submissions from anyone, and pay a WHOLE 5 BUCKS if they printed them. Obviously, no one would do that for a living, but they might for the thrill of being published. So I did some drafts, but never went any further with the idea. And if you're wondering "Why isn't Bill a world reknowned cartoonist?" Umm, that's kinda obvious.
Okay, it's a total 1977 joke. They're stoners! And the stoners are so stoned that...Nevermind. I'll have you know that this was the one considered the funniest at the time.
Old schoolers of the Geo page will get this joke, from today's Quigmans:
Got home at quarter to 1 last night. Too late to post. I was at Kevin's with Scott for the first time in...a really obscenely long time. Obscene enough that Kevin & I exchanged XMAS GIFTS, so obscene was the long time. He got J-List's last complete set of Japan-only Captain Harlock figures, from an anime series Kevin has loved for most of his life (with a bit of Starship Yamato ephemera thrown in). It was either going to be one of those "WOW! THIS IS SO COOL!" gifts, or one of those "Wow. This is...so...umm, cool" gifts. But he was clearly psyched. Assembly is required for the figures, and he obviously wanted to put them together right there & then. Possibly the utter fluke of him finding Harlock first helped. Yeah, he's like 32 and these are "toys." If you can't enjoy something like that as an adult, I think that some important light in your soul has gone out. I guess that those people lose what mattered to them once, and then buy SUVs and Bose radios to compensate.
And me, hmm, let's check out my schwag, all DVDs...Adaptation, which is cool as I totally missed it in the theaters. 2 eps of the Ghost in the Shell Japanese TV series, which he would've ripped for me anyway. A Macross Zero ep. OOH, the complete Weird Al videos!! COOL! Apparently, this was a 1996 DVD release, but some guy added "The Saga Begins" (the Star Wars Episode I "Anakin Pie" thing) and the "It's All About the Pentiums" rap ("It's as useful as jpegs to Helen Keller!"). And some stuff he actually paid for, Miyazaki's Kiki's Delivery Service and Laputa: Castle in the Sky. Of course, right after he bought these via Hong Kong, he found out that Disney was going to domestically release 2 and only 2 (and guess which 2) Miyazaki videos...But I've got my weekend sussed. MmmmMiyazaki!! (It won't be called Laputa: Castle in the Sky when Das Maus releases it; "la puta" is Spanish for "the whore," apparently. One English major assumes that Swift knew that when he wrote Gulliver's travels, as that's the type of thing Johnny would've done)
We watched Police Story, the 1985 Jackie Chan flick. Action comedy, with the trademarked slapstick and painful-looking stunts. In an American movie from that time, if a guy was "thrown" on to a chair, it would break. Here, he's REALLY THROWN on to a chair, and it doesn't break. He bounces back as the chair's made of METAL. Greatly entertaining movie, even if Scott nailed the soundtrack with the comment "It's Rick Wakeman meets Emo Phillips!" It was either old synths and a SCHWAANNNGGG! overly-dramatic noise, or it was something so goofily retarded that if the music was on the radio, even the Teletubbies would change the station.
I received only 2 pieces of mail today, but they were both from exotic foreign lands with foreigners in them. One was that mystical land of enchantment and fries with gravy, Canada, finally completing the truly impossibly complicated process of buying Jessica's Xmas gift. (If you ever find yourself in an eBay auction with a creep named Kej00, kill yourself or preferably him, as he is Satan; if you find yourself in an auction from The Lady Croft, fall on your knees and praise Gourd above, as The Lady is pure spun gold).
The other package was from Schwarzenegger's fatherland, Australia. Mimi sent me my Terror Magnet and Terror Pamphlet! The magnet is, as she warned me, pretty damn lame. Just a piece of cardstock with a really small magnet on it (which kinda makes sense; you would want to easily grab your list of Important Phone Numbers without wrenching it off the fridge where it was holding your grocery list and 3 photos of your kids). The pamphlet included the helpful advice, "If a bomb explodes, protect yourself from falling debris." Carry TWO umbrellas to protect you from the flying cinderblocks!
But the coolest thing was a bit of As If! artwork!! The medium was Pencil on Post-It, and my crabby new scanner wasn't being very cooperative, but here it is, featuring my favorite of all favorite subjects (the cat, I mean):
To continue our series of Old Crap I Found, here's refutation of Freud's claim that "Sometimes a wrench is just a wrench":
It's the big nuts that made that one.
Finally, a couple of comics too big to put here. One is an old Don Martin MAD comic, and the other a major step down in quality, another of those comics I drew in high school.
Diplomat John Brady Kiesling's letter of resignation to Colin Powell: "When our friends are afraid of us rather than for us, it is time to worry."
Tonight was supposed to be a nice smooth posting of a few more old images. But that depended on the New Scanner, which has been making my life a living HECK since I got it. It constantly told me that it wasn't connected, although I think that the images I've put here over the last few days belie that assertion. Then it just started being evil, and then there was...an accident. It somehow ended up on the floor, and I somehow ended up vacuuming broken glass. It speaks volumes that things got this far, as I'm noted for being unflappable in the face of frustration. In fact, if you look in the dictionary, the word "unflappable" has a picture of me, and also a duck with no wings.
Then I uninstalled the new software and reinstalled the Software of the Ancients and plugged in the dusty scanner of old, the one which was shunned by Windows XP, and lo and behold, it works again. And this was what I was trying to scan all along, another old comic of mine:
TRES APROPOS, mais oui?!?! Don't pull the string on a Visioneer scanner or WinXP!
And that's really all we got tonight--it's late and I've been busy accidentally smashing shit, y'know--except for this 200K file of a collage I did 20 years ago. Don't worry; I think that I've run out of old crap I've done, and you won't see any more. Maybe one more, when the Invasion comes next month.