Thursday, February 24, 2005

I have a buffalo on my hand

I love the stamps that they give at shows. Sometimes they're just a star, or a heart, or something lame - but then, there are those random ones which linger for days and make people ask "Where the hell were you?" And those are the stamps to cherish. Once again the Editor is drunk and smoking, wondering why the full moon did not bring zombies, or sex, or . . . possibly both? Well, we won't go there. But Tifanie seemed to have a happy birthday, and the Editor is getting relief from financial worry tomorrow, in the form of a largish check - and the zombie lab will be fully equipped once more! I tell you, since the flight to Cuba, the lab has been sadly under-funded. We have plenty of cigars, and not much else.

Mike M., please be assured that as of tomorrow, your spork is on its way. And it will be no ordinary spork, let me tell you. My entire research staff is engaged in finding the best, shiniest, most technologically advanced spork that money can buy. Tifanie and Ideasculptor, your name-brand Lerx repellent is in the works as well. The rest of you, well, you get nothing. Take it and like it.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIFANIE!

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Croon along with me, people: "I'm in the mooooood for zoooombiiiiiiies. . . "

The raging thunderstorm and pouring rain is, once again, making the Editor feel that it is zombie time. Of course, all the time is zombie time, but now in particular. So, once again at Tifanie's request, here are a few rules for fortifying your abode, and making it cozily safe from unwanted undead intrusion.

1) First, soundproof your house, and install blackout curtains. This will ensure that any festering night-time wanderers will be attracted to your neighbors, rather than to you; or at least, that said neighbors' screams of fear will be your zombie early-alert system, rather than the mysterious sounds of breaking glass in your living room, followed by eerie moans.

2) Make sure that there are at least two exits; preferably, one of them should lead to a private helicopter landing pad, which is unapproachable other than by your secret door. (The door should require a retinal scan; but we won't press the point.) We all know what happens when the zombies are streaming in the front gate, and the victims are backed up against the garden wall, seemingly unable to climb. For god's sake, avoid this gaffe, and have another way out.

3) You should be able to climb; zombies can't. The staircase in your house should be collapsible, and the second story well stocked with shotgun slugs and canned food.

4) It has been speculated that zombies carry a zombie virus; have ample supplies of bottled water on hand, to avoid having to consume suspect city tap water. It pollutes your precious bodily fluids, anyway, with all that fluorine, so you're better off no matter what.

5) Paranoia, paranoia, and more paranoia: I can't stress this enough, people! Be AWARE that zombies could lurk behind every bush! In every vehicle! Right outside your door right now, as you sit and innocently read this posting, not cognizant of your imminent gnawing doom!

6) Do not do as the Editor is doing now, which is, sitting by an open French window, quietly smoking and enjoying the thunder and lightning. This is courting disaster. However, I might point out that I do have a large gate, which is difficult for a normally coordinated human to open; several blunt objects ready to hand; and an easy escape route out the back of the apartment, through the bedroom window, and over the neighbor's fence, which leads to high ground which is eminently defensible.

7) Last but not least, do not hesitate to use decoys. Do you know anyone who is expendable? Take these people with you, as you flee from the zombies. They are excellent bait to be thrown behind you, thus delaying your fiendish foes for those possibly critical instants of chewing and mayhem. Remember, in any group of ten or twelve who begin a battle of wits against the zombies, there are only one or two who survive, battered and out of ammo, to tell the tale. You want to be the one or two, so take a few coworkers with you when you run for it. They may come in handy.

So follow these simple rules, and you too can survive the coming zombie holocaust! And if we're all alive by morning, and not pelting down the street being pursued by ravening half-human living corpses, have a pleasant Tuesday. This public service message was brought to you by Super LerxOff, Inc.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Tifanie, I'm just trying to make you happy

The ever-eloquent Tifanie has posted a complaint to her blog about how none of her friends have written anything cool. So, here's her daily dose of weird blog finds, for entertainment and edification.

First off, everyone go and encourage this guy. Something about the way he hates high school and is miserable makes me want to cheer him up, and possibly Fed-Ex him some tequila. Anyone want to chip in? Seriously, everyone go harass him. I would have thought it was so cool, when I was that age, to get picked on by a bunch of older people.

Then there's the "Practioner" at Hypnotic Reflections, who informs us that Porn Actors are People Too. He's obviously got the biggest heart this side of King Kong, and probably the hairiest back, too. And the smallest dick. I bet he hasn't gotten laid since 1833. Wow, that was sophomoric, and kind of cathartic. Moving on.

If you like oranges . . . then you'll LOVE oranges-resources!!!!! Seriously, this person is Cologne's soulmate. See, Cologne is prolix to the point of verbal diarrhea . . . yet utterly and completely sociopathic. Oranges person is reticent, yet descriptive . . . and utterly and completely sociopathic. This site kind of reminds me of the LoveLine radio show, and the night when this teenage kid called in to say that he thought he had a cantaloupe seed stuck in the end of his penis.

And this was just a puzzler. Read the comment, to be really confused. This is pure and simple proof that zombies really are on the internet.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

I did not mean pass my pain

Yes, more brilliant poetry from the writers of the many blogs of blogspot. Joey's poetry and thoughts are right up there with the other blue-ribbon winners of the past; that is, they inspire feelings which the Editor has never really felt before, even after that truly unique experience with the not-so-fresh shellfish and bottle of tequila. Apparently, being in love makes you high as a dove. That's fucking great, man. Of course, eagles and hawks are higher, and seagulls probably are too; but that doesn't rhyme with "love". You can end your line with another word, man, just to let you know. The Editor is too drunk to even think about the many problems with Joey's maunderings; there is only so much the stomach can stand.

All I'm wondering is, if you're such a loser, why share it with the world? You're just asking for people like the Editor to come along and tell you what a completely pathetic waste of web page space you are, which in fact I did. View it at the link above.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Happy Fuckin' Valentine's Day, Y'all

I hope someone else out there isn't just listening to the Velvet Underground while drunk and smoking endless cigarettes. Actually, I know they're not. They're crying into their drinks and wishing they had a Velvet Underground CD in which to drown their sorrows. That makes me happy.

Sunday, February 06, 2005

You may already be a loser!

Well, another night, another post, and voila! The contest results are in! Now, I could give it a couple more days, and you know, sort through the vast number of entries which have been overflowing from the Editorial In-Box, but as Tifanie and Ideasculptor stepped right up to the plate and solved the naming problem . . . here are the finalized names:

The dashing hero shall now and forevermore be called only James Cheshire.
The petty, sneering sister-in-law is now officially Kimberly Cumberland.
And the evil, conniving, extremely well-endowed-in-the-bust ex goes by the undeniably wicked-sounding name of Aevelyn Miltford.

Some modifications were made, admittedly, to the original entries, but they're winners nonetheless. Sorry, Tifanie, no one can have the last name Cummings. It just suggests porn a little too vividly. Perhaps I'll use it for my zombie romance novel; it can be the last name of Zombio's love interest. And Ideasculptor's entry of the first name Digby . . . well, my friend the author will certainly attempt to find a place for that name, because it's too damn funny. We're thinking perhaps the weasely little non-love interest, who attempts to feel up the heroine at a garden party when no one's looking.

Tifanie's prize, for providing so much useful nomenclature, is a year's supply of new Super LerXOff, a dermatologist recommended liaox-entity repellent. (This site is sponsored by LerXOff Inc. Offer not valid in the Blaglorbian solar system. Not packaged for individual sale.)

Ideasculptor wins the runner-up prize: I'm not going to give Cologne his home address! (I failed to mention that this would be the anti-prize, for really bad entries. Funny, should have made that clear.) But because I like Ideasculptor so much, he will also receive one bottle of Super LerXOff, and the great pleasure of knowing that his entry inspired a whole new "plot" twist. (These things don't really have much plot, you know.)

And, one final announcement. Since the rest of the Overground research staff failed so signally to contribute anything useful to the search for names, they will all be thrown to the zombies. No, I'm sorry, the decision is final. You know who you are. So if anyone's looking for an unpaid internship in the lab, please post a comment here, as there are six openings as of ten minutes from now, when I will carry out my implacable revenge.

You may already be a winner!

The Editor is holding a contest, open to anyone who is foolish enough to waste their time on this zombie-filled rag. To wit: a close friend of the Editor (we all know this one, don't we, as in, "a good friend of mine has an embarassing rash . . .") is rather short on cash, and is strongly considering prostituting his or her (the pen name will tell you nothing) writing talent (such as it is - but don't say I said so) to make some money. This friend is, in short, writing a romance novel. Said bodice-ripper is already under way, but some of the characters still exist without a name. So. If you can sucessfully name 1) the heroine's bitchy sister in law; 2) the hero (who has a working name already, which could use some improvement); or 3) the hero's bitchy ex-girlfriend, you could win any one of thousands of fabulous prizes! We are not going to say exactly what those prizes are, as there are too many (and they're too good! really!) to go into at this time. But they're really, really awesome.

First and last names please. This is set in modern England, as the hack house for which the Editor's friend is writing has very specific guidelines. And all of the above characters are rich and glamorous, and make the heroine feel inferior, until she realizes that spunk is worth more than sophistication any day of the week. Retch. Anyway. Any help would be appreciated, as there is only so much combing of baby name websites that one person can stand. Or so I hear.

In other news: the Teva-Uggs are now being proudly displayed by my favorite trash website, go fug yourself. (No, I didn't mean that personally, it's the name of the site, dammit.) View them here. And Cologne, our favorite blogger whackjob, has not deigned to respond to our comment on his/her/its page. But he/she/it (I'm leaning towards it - anyone with me?) has managed to post 12 entries since I left my comment, on Thursday. Read them if you dare.

But I'm done for tonight. I've been inspired by my friend's noble efforts to make quick money by selling his/her talents into bondage to the forces of Darkness. I'm going to go start my very own zombie romance novel, and believe me, it'll be a doozy. Just picture Fabio's rotting flesh, clad only in a shirt which is open to the waist, and leather trousers, and you'll get the idea.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Luke, you will die; I have botched my Dark Mittens.

Has anyone else ever compulsively listened to an album, over and over and over again, until you hear the songs IN ORDER all day long in your head, and can't stop, even though you know you ought to and the other CDs are right there, ready to be switched? This is the Editor undergoing some sort of mild self-inflicted aversion therapy, except that it doesn't seem to be working. And besides, I have no desire to begin to dislike the album to which I am listening, and if I did, I wouldn't be listening to it.

This is circular reasoning. I am beginning to sound like the philosophy major I once most inadvisably was. So enough wanking, on to a few brief selections from the best faces and minds currently at work in this small, unpleasantly self-referential universe we call blogger.

I am pleased to announce that the "Young at Heart" campaign now has a face for their brochures. And what a face it is - I believe it accounts for that alluring smile on the visage of Mona Lisa.

Randomly, there is a blog titled "Darkside of Knitting." I am getting an uncontrollable visual of Darth Vader, kneeling before the Emperor and making his report; at which point the Emperor looks up from his half-completed Dark Mittens and blasts Vader with blue lightning, for distracting him and causing him to drop a stitch. Actually, it sounds like a better screenplay than anything George Lucas has been able to choke out of his withered little brain lately. I mean, Jar-Jar? What is his excuse? Was he dead at the time? Talk about instant aversion therapy.

Also, may I recommend Superpoet to your attention. Anyone out there read the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy? This blog singlehandedly puts the Vogons to abject shame. The site proudly proclaims that the "poetry" in question is not autobiographical. Well, that's nice. At least, if the author's life isn't quite as bad as the doggerel posted by him or her, he or she might not need to commit suicide within seconds. Please note the witty heading. Superpoet must have outsourced his or her web design to Oscar Wilde.

And that, my dear readers, is the end of tonight's exploration of the blogs of others. What a journey it has been.

One final note: I have posted a comment to Cologne's blog, which you can read here. If I receive any response to my urgent query as to the meaning of this insanity, rest assured my loyal readers will be the first to know.

lor herx

Thursday, February 03, 2005

This is posted at the risk of using every cliche in the book

Having recently spent several days in the company of a very elderly woman, who despite numerous physical problems and frailties continues to cling to life with astonishing persistence, I am astounded at the human body's desire to live. (Cliche number one.) Eighty years of working and living and general wear and tear aren't enough to pull the life from someone, even if they genuinely are a little bit tired of the struggle. And now, having just received news of the sudden death of a person who had not yet had the opportunity to reach the age of eighty, or in fact, thirty, the Editor is moved, once again, to wonder at the ways of the universe. There's cliche number two, hope you were ready for it.

Now, plenty of others are going to eulogize this individual, and they will doubtless display more eloquence, poetry, and depth of feeling than the callous, cynical, practical Editor could muster in a month of Sundays. And how, really, does one go about summing the qualities of any individual into few enough words to post in writing, or say in front of an audience? A whole lifetime is the only unit of time sufficient to describe a living mutable being, and a lifetime, in this case, is precisely what is no longer available for the task. No doubt she would have described herself through her own actions, given the chance, better than any fumbling outsider could do with posthumous, useless praise. There's no real reason to dwell on a mischievous smile, never-failing good humor, and an ability to drink Mountain Dew by the cask without ever losing composure. Nor a tendency to appear at dive bars dressed as if for a senior prom, with wildly curled hair and prominent freckles. Competence, intelligence, kindness; hopes, dreams, aspirations and ambition, are now equally irrelevant. Would the elderly woman I know have gladly given up what's left of life for her, if she thought it could prevent one young person's gruesome and utterly, utterly pointless end? Yes, most likely. Would it have done any good? No.

Please note, the Editor is under no illusions as to the originality of these sentiments, nor are my trite remarks phrased in any more memorable way than anyone else has ever found. Unfortunately, the need to continually attempt to express the completely inexpressible is as much an inevitable part of the human condition as death. I gave up counting the cliches. If anyone comes up with a complete total, and I'm not drunk somewhere, let me know.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Suxx0rz III: Return of Lerx, Son of Haxx0rz

My research team and I were sitting around the (newly transplanted to Cuba) zombie lab this evening, sipping Scotch and discussing important science things, and we were struck by the resemblance of this new internet dialect, which includes such words (possibly acronyms?) as "liaox", "lor", and "herx", to the ineffably lame, earlier internet dialect referenced in the title of this post. We're wondering if perhaps the (no doubt) brilliant computer geniuses who thought that "suxx0rz" was a witty way to lambast their opponents have now grown older, and spawned a generation of lerx enthusiasts. The generation gap would be about right, the mentality is certainly on par; it gave us food for thought. Our staff pycologist already checked all known sources of internet acronyms without luck, and is rubbing his head in continuing puzzlement, as are we all. Any information is, as always, appreciated, and we will provide more updates as we damn well please.

And now for something completely different, yet equally baffling. Our linguist at first thought that this entire blog was written in Esperanto, or perhaps Zbglorbian, but we have now decided that it belongs to the Indo-Moronic language group. Here's an excerpt from a post titled "Casual Friday Cologne", for your reading lack of pleasure (at least, we assume you wouldn't enjoy it, if you could understand it at all):

Necktie morning simple panties panties lolita lempicka paloma picasso dressed modestly casual friday cologne, hanae mori perfums fashionable necktie kolner perfume getting ready tie a tie neckties. Aftershave then use aqua di gio michael kors pantymen diapers girdles tie a bow tie casual friday cologne, dusseldorf well dressed girdles jo malone crossdressers hour glass figure aftershave bijan bvlgari. Crossdressing men began colognes how to tie a tie keulen joop for men dress casual friday cologne, floris crossdressing interzum fracas keln michael kors transvestites necktie gingham.

Dear author: when the world needs a schizophrenic, metrosexual genetic cross between James Joyce and Vladimir Nabokov, we will let you know. What exactly is this? A stream of consciousness informing one of which colognes to wear at which times of day? How incredibly . . . unique. The Editor is now deeply lamenting the choice I made, when setting up this blog. Having wavered, for longer than I will even admit, between garbled, disturbingly semi-pornographic perfume advice as my theme, or the admittedly less adventurous general commentary route, I eventually chose the latter, to my lasting shame. But at least this need is being served! And most efficiently! Cologne, the name of our prolific poster, has written a total of 244 posts, coming to 47,409 words, since November, and ALL IN THE SAME STYLE. Yes, if you printed the entire oeuvre, in a 12-point font and double-spaced, you would have approximately 190 pages, quite a magnum opus to be sure. And at an average of 24 posts per week, anyone who has this peculiar need is having it filled more than three times a day! Well, we are humbled in the face of Cologne's industry. What more can we say.

This is a side note, but I would like everyone to remember that they saw it here first. Apparently, The Onion, which truly is America's Finest News Source, has also picked up on the looming threat of the avian flu. See? This page is totally au courant.

And, to all of my fans out there, I have this to say to you: Others plan others next did wandering badges yovo bastards, badges jealousy crazy bitch revlon prove it crap shut up.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Have no fear, the Editor is here, or at least in Cuba

Well aware that my adoring public has been holding demonstrations of grief in public places, wearing black armbands, and spontaneously bursting into tears anytime zombies are mentioned in casual conversation, I have decided to relieve everyone's anxiety and post a few words of reassurance.

Yes, the Editor is alive and well. Yes, I did get my limbs reattached. And no, the zombies DID NOT escape, ravage the town for three days, spread their vile disease to almost everyone, and have to be bombed out of existence, at which point the Editor was able to escape to Cuba, and get a new computer to post with. If you heard that, it's completely false, the pictures are doctored, and no, I am not fleeing from the just retribution of the law.

This message will self destruct.