I always knew that the Onion was the most reliable newspaper in the country. Although I'm a little offended that they didn't call me for a quote. At least I've succeeded in keeping a low profile, I suppose.
http://www.theonion.com/content/node/41676
It's great coverage of a little-known and deadly problem, but even so their zombie fortification/survival tips are woefully incomplete.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Epistolary Wankery
Dear Readers,
This is one of those times when, although the idea of writing anything seems too tiring to contemplate, the wanking must go on. Humans seem able to bitch, even when they ought by all rights to be too exhausted even to open their mouths, it's one of the hallmarks of being a part of the species. In fact, if you ever meet anyone who's able to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune with silent dignity and restraint, be assured they're a pod person, zombie, or other verminous doppelganger, and kill them without hesitation. (The Romans knew this, that's why then invented crucifixion.)
So, to prove that I am none of the above, I will hereby wank without restraint.
1) The Editor is currently afflicted with some mystery illness which manifests itself almost entirely in itchy bumps all over the arms, legs, and parts of the torso; no amount of Benadryl seems capable of making this any less aggravating.
2) The (many) pills that the Editor is taking are nausea-inducing and make your head float somewhere above - and not in one of those nice fluffy white clouds, either, more in the smog zone above Los Angeles.
3) While we're at it, why don't I have a whole bunch of slaves to bring me tea at all hours? That sure would be nice.
That was actually some fairly limited wankery, and you should all be grateful. See? I've given every reader something else not to complain about. And god knows my readers in particular need something like that, you bunch of whimpering whiners.
Love, The Editor
P.S. Did I mention that the drugs make you really, really out of it?
This is one of those times when, although the idea of writing anything seems too tiring to contemplate, the wanking must go on. Humans seem able to bitch, even when they ought by all rights to be too exhausted even to open their mouths, it's one of the hallmarks of being a part of the species. In fact, if you ever meet anyone who's able to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune with silent dignity and restraint, be assured they're a pod person, zombie, or other verminous doppelganger, and kill them without hesitation. (The Romans knew this, that's why then invented crucifixion.)
So, to prove that I am none of the above, I will hereby wank without restraint.
1) The Editor is currently afflicted with some mystery illness which manifests itself almost entirely in itchy bumps all over the arms, legs, and parts of the torso; no amount of Benadryl seems capable of making this any less aggravating.
2) The (many) pills that the Editor is taking are nausea-inducing and make your head float somewhere above - and not in one of those nice fluffy white clouds, either, more in the smog zone above Los Angeles.
3) While we're at it, why don't I have a whole bunch of slaves to bring me tea at all hours? That sure would be nice.
That was actually some fairly limited wankery, and you should all be grateful. See? I've given every reader something else not to complain about. And god knows my readers in particular need something like that, you bunch of whimpering whiners.
Love, The Editor
P.S. Did I mention that the drugs make you really, really out of it?
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