This evening, in the zombie lounge, we took a few moments to step over to another blogger's space: The Ladies Lounge (UNCUT). The site features both lust and graphics by Tim StClaire.
In other, completely unrelated news, the Editor is suffering from a bout of the annual zombie flu, which manifests itself in sniffling, coughing, sneezing, cold toes, and an intense and almost uncontrollable desire to masticate the living flesh of others.
That last symptom, in all honesty, might simply be boredom, as I haven't been out of the house in a few days except to check the mail, and TV and the internet are starting to get a little old. I understand that the writers have some good reasons to strike, and all my sympathies and all that, but if I watch one more bad romantic comedy from ten years ago I'm going to actually kill and eat someone, no joke. I can't even fucking drink, which would usually be the answer when cooped up in the house with nothing to do. Drinking, more's the pity, has been shown to lower the immune system's resistance to zombie flu, whereas it in fact raises resistance to actual zombies: the alcohol numbs the pain of the gnawing.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Giving Thanks
You know what the Editor is fucking thankful for? That this miserable, flea-bitten son of a bitch of a motherfucking goat-balling holiday is finally over.
Happy Thanksgiving - I hope any of my gentle readers who see this had a lovely time. The zombies were likewise well pleased with the day; they dined on undead turkey, which is pretty difficult to get at this time of year, I can tell you. The stores always sell out by the week before.
The Editor, on the other hand, had good food but somewhat lacking company.
Happy Thanksgiving - I hope any of my gentle readers who see this had a lovely time. The zombies were likewise well pleased with the day; they dined on undead turkey, which is pretty difficult to get at this time of year, I can tell you. The stores always sell out by the week before.
The Editor, on the other hand, had good food but somewhat lacking company.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Once Again, It's Time For . . .
The Best of Blogspot!
Yes, folks, the Editor is once again ready to tackle the best - and worst - of Blogspot. We've had some real winners in the past, but the world has turned, the universe has expanded, and the butterfly, flapping its delicate little wings in the South Pacific, has caused an unstoppable hurricane of horrendous linguistic travesty. In other words, there are new blogs to be seen, and new bloggers to be honored with the dubious distinction of inclusion here - or possibly fed to the zombies.
As a worthy starting point, let us consider A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS purports to be:
"A journey into the world of The Occult - the hidden dimensions of the modern world including Myth, Magic, Alchemy, Kabbalah, Extra-terrestrial intelligences, UFO's, Divination, Healing, Astrology, Spirituality, the Mystic Arts - plus Current Affairs & of course 'The Conspiracy Theories'."
Features include word jumbles, Motley Crue and Kiss videos, and other paranormal phenomena. We also learn, from A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS, that you're never too old to write haiku. Actually, the Editor begs to differ - unless you're old enough to have the facial hair typical of a kung fu master (reference: the villain from Master of the Flying Guillotine), you're not old enough to write haiku.
Now, I would really like to be able to make fun of this fellow; and granted, his grammar leaves something to be desired. His site provides links to galleries of amusing images and other useless internet crap, and I expected to be bored, yet simultaneously annoyed. However, I must admit that most of his links are actually pretty fucking funny, or at least not laughable for the wrong reasons.
This next is, aside from its breakthrough feature, a fairly normal Bible-thumping blog. But on this site, and I'm not kidding, it's a miracle - is a "video that demonstrates the only way to salvation." Who would have thought that this guy would find Jesus, and simultaneously find THE ONLY way to salvation, and then - against all odds - film it so that we can all partake? I think I may be converted. Hallelujah.
The last blog of the evening, simply because the Editorial bed is calling me with sweet, sweet songs that promise delightful oblivion and possibly even zombie dreams, is WHEN WE WERE YOUNG. If, gentle reader, you choose to follow the link, please note that Roxy, the proprietress of the site, has demonstrated her desire to be Roxy forever, and has included this in her url. The blog is a showcase for some of the best of modern prose:
okeyy
hello! wassup all my fans out there! how i miss u soo much..
i noe u miss me too! yah0000000000! ok! last tuesday i had a terrible day.. noe why?? COz firstly i went out wif my horrendous, disastrous and all the Big words i can tink of rite nw..secondly, whenever i went out wif that particular frend, i tend to be persuaded to spent MONEYY.. oh dear!
i seriously need to save up!
after that, we went to a movie named RATATOULLE.. GUESS WAD? its a NICE show..
funny and hilarious! oh yah! someone[a stranger sitting next to me on my left] keep on farting and burping all along..! damn! it was a MUSIC to my ears.. im being SARCASTIC HERE..ok.
Although I am always the Editor, and this excerpt in particular begs and pleads for some Editorial attention in the truest sense of the word . . . I do not know where to begin. Perhaps her words should simply stand alone, without the mediation of an editor or an Editor of any kind.
I will leave you with something totally unrelated, a product description from the Bed Bath & Beyond catalog I got in the mail. It advertises a product called the Mangroomer, a "do-it-yourself electric back shaver." Its unique feature is that it is "fully extendable and adjustable to reach all areas of your back." This may be the most depressing object I've ever seen, except that the alternative would seem to be a nation of men actually asking someone else to shave their backs - as a lady friend of the Editor was once asked to do by a boyfriend. Apparently, that experience ranked on the trauma scale somewhere between "eaten by rabid elephants" and "sexually molested by the Easter Bunny."
Yes, folks, the Editor is once again ready to tackle the best - and worst - of Blogspot. We've had some real winners in the past, but the world has turned, the universe has expanded, and the butterfly, flapping its delicate little wings in the South Pacific, has caused an unstoppable hurricane of horrendous linguistic travesty. In other words, there are new blogs to be seen, and new bloggers to be honored with the dubious distinction of inclusion here - or possibly fed to the zombies.
As a worthy starting point, let us consider A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS purports to be:
"A journey into the world of The Occult - the hidden dimensions of the modern world including Myth, Magic, Alchemy, Kabbalah, Extra-terrestrial intelligences, UFO's, Divination, Healing, Astrology, Spirituality, the Mystic Arts - plus Current Affairs & of course 'The Conspiracy Theories'."
Features include word jumbles, Motley Crue and Kiss videos, and other paranormal phenomena. We also learn, from A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS, that you're never too old to write haiku. Actually, the Editor begs to differ - unless you're old enough to have the facial hair typical of a kung fu master (reference: the villain from Master of the Flying Guillotine), you're not old enough to write haiku.
Now, I would really like to be able to make fun of this fellow; and granted, his grammar leaves something to be desired. His site provides links to galleries of amusing images and other useless internet crap, and I expected to be bored, yet simultaneously annoyed. However, I must admit that most of his links are actually pretty fucking funny, or at least not laughable for the wrong reasons.
This next is, aside from its breakthrough feature, a fairly normal Bible-thumping blog. But on this site, and I'm not kidding, it's a miracle - is a "video that demonstrates the only way to salvation." Who would have thought that this guy would find Jesus, and simultaneously find THE ONLY way to salvation, and then - against all odds - film it so that we can all partake? I think I may be converted. Hallelujah.
The last blog of the evening, simply because the Editorial bed is calling me with sweet, sweet songs that promise delightful oblivion and possibly even zombie dreams, is WHEN WE WERE YOUNG. If, gentle reader, you choose to follow the link, please note that Roxy, the proprietress of the site, has demonstrated her desire to be Roxy forever, and has included this in her url. The blog is a showcase for some of the best of modern prose:
okeyy
hello! wassup all my fans out there! how i miss u soo much..
i noe u miss me too! yah0000000000! ok! last tuesday i had a terrible day.. noe why?? COz firstly i went out wif my horrendous, disastrous and all the Big words i can tink of rite nw..secondly, whenever i went out wif that particular frend, i tend to be persuaded to spent MONEYY.. oh dear!
i seriously need to save up!
after that, we went to a movie named RATATOULLE.. GUESS WAD? its a NICE show..
funny and hilarious! oh yah! someone[a stranger sitting next to me on my left] keep on farting and burping all along..! damn! it was a MUSIC to my ears.. im being SARCASTIC HERE..ok.
Although I am always the Editor, and this excerpt in particular begs and pleads for some Editorial attention in the truest sense of the word . . . I do not know where to begin. Perhaps her words should simply stand alone, without the mediation of an editor or an Editor of any kind.
I will leave you with something totally unrelated, a product description from the Bed Bath & Beyond catalog I got in the mail. It advertises a product called the Mangroomer, a "do-it-yourself electric back shaver." Its unique feature is that it is "fully extendable and adjustable to reach all areas of your back." This may be the most depressing object I've ever seen, except that the alternative would seem to be a nation of men actually asking someone else to shave their backs - as a lady friend of the Editor was once asked to do by a boyfriend. Apparently, that experience ranked on the trauma scale somewhere between "eaten by rabid elephants" and "sexually molested by the Easter Bunny."
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Thog! Take Form to Cave Three and Carve Signature in Triplicate
Why, the Editor's rhetorical question of the day begins - why, I ask, do bureaucracies spend such inordinate amounts of time plotting nefariously - nefariously, I say! - to make the lives of anyone with whom they come in contact unbearably horrid?
This is a rhetorical question because it's probably been asked since the dawn of time, or at least from the dawning of bureaucracies; the Editor is forced, against my Editorial better nature, to believe that time and bureaucracy dawned simultaneously, simply because human nature is as black as tar. Or, people are just stupid. Take your pick.
Cavemen probably had paper-pushers, even though they didn't have paper; at least, I don't believe so, but as I regularly use my anthropology class as happy naptime, anyone who knows for sure please feel free to correct me. But the fact is, it's just a certain kind of person, and has absolutely nothing to do with the cultural or technological support available. For example: Thog is getting ready to hunt a mammoth. He picks up his spear, grunts, and starts to head out of the cave.
"Ooog!" cries Borg. "Your spear hasn't been checked out by the Spear Committee! You have to turn it back in for inspection, because if isn't properly tied at the end, it could get stuck in the mammoth."
"But Borg," replies Thog, "I checked it very carefully before planning to hunt. I've been making spears my whole life."
"Ooog!" cries Borg. "Your spear hasn't been checked out by the Spear Committee! You have to turn it back in for inspection, because if isn't properly tied at the end, it could get stuck in the mammoth."
Thog is now somewhat frustrated. "Borg," he begins as patiently as possible, "I am on the Spear Committee. The rest of the Spear Committee is already out hunting. I know that the spear is properly made, and if I don't hunt today, my children will starve."
"Ooog!" cries Borg. "Your spear hasn't been checked out by the Spear Committee! You have to turn it back in for inspection, because if isn't properly tied at the end, it could get stuck in the mammoth."
And so on. In a perfect world, this little morality tale would end with the doubtfully tied spear haft protruding from Borg's neck, and perhaps, for that reason alone, we can all nostalgically harken back to an idyllic hominid past. No such option is available to me, as I hear that the bureaucracy in prison is far more torturous even than that existing at the university.
Then again, it's probably worth it, as the alternative is a mandatory online First Year Alcohol Education Course. I know it doesn't sound that bad, but they don't teach you how to make your own beer - I already asked.
This is a rhetorical question because it's probably been asked since the dawn of time, or at least from the dawning of bureaucracies; the Editor is forced, against my Editorial better nature, to believe that time and bureaucracy dawned simultaneously, simply because human nature is as black as tar. Or, people are just stupid. Take your pick.
Cavemen probably had paper-pushers, even though they didn't have paper; at least, I don't believe so, but as I regularly use my anthropology class as happy naptime, anyone who knows for sure please feel free to correct me. But the fact is, it's just a certain kind of person, and has absolutely nothing to do with the cultural or technological support available. For example: Thog is getting ready to hunt a mammoth. He picks up his spear, grunts, and starts to head out of the cave.
"Ooog!" cries Borg. "Your spear hasn't been checked out by the Spear Committee! You have to turn it back in for inspection, because if isn't properly tied at the end, it could get stuck in the mammoth."
"But Borg," replies Thog, "I checked it very carefully before planning to hunt. I've been making spears my whole life."
"Ooog!" cries Borg. "Your spear hasn't been checked out by the Spear Committee! You have to turn it back in for inspection, because if isn't properly tied at the end, it could get stuck in the mammoth."
Thog is now somewhat frustrated. "Borg," he begins as patiently as possible, "I am on the Spear Committee. The rest of the Spear Committee is already out hunting. I know that the spear is properly made, and if I don't hunt today, my children will starve."
"Ooog!" cries Borg. "Your spear hasn't been checked out by the Spear Committee! You have to turn it back in for inspection, because if isn't properly tied at the end, it could get stuck in the mammoth."
And so on. In a perfect world, this little morality tale would end with the doubtfully tied spear haft protruding from Borg's neck, and perhaps, for that reason alone, we can all nostalgically harken back to an idyllic hominid past. No such option is available to me, as I hear that the bureaucracy in prison is far more torturous even than that existing at the university.
Then again, it's probably worth it, as the alternative is a mandatory online First Year Alcohol Education Course. I know it doesn't sound that bad, but they don't teach you how to make your own beer - I already asked.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Beer.
There's no particular reason for this post. The Editor has a great lack of inspiration today - perhaps it was drained by the immense volume of library research on which I embarked earlier this afternoon, in a quest for a topic for the Honors thesis soon to be spewed forth by the Editor's alter ego, the Bedraggled Student Creature.
(Just in case any one of my gentle readers has doubts as to what a Bedraggled Student Creature is, it is that unfortunate species of wildlife, seen most often in University food courts, eating Panda Express while reading feminist theory. After it has consumed its orange-glazed prey, it typically lurks in a courtyard, chainsmoking and emitting little despairing squeaky sounds, while wishing it had gotten up early enough to take a shower and change into a shirt that doesn't have coffee stains on it. Its natural habitat is a couch, surrounded by pizza boxes and fantasy novels.)
In any case, once I came home from the library, the B.S.C. was shed, like a snakeskin, in favor of the Editorial personality - and the Editor, all things being equal, craves beer.
Let this be a paean, a song of glory, an epic cry to the gods, in the praise of beer. Beer is cold, and bitter; it foams and froths, overflowing with bounty. In its wake, the liver does a little dance of joy, the heart expands, the brain finds random and not entirely interesting conversation with strangers more tolerable than usual, and that moron at the bar who always talks about his pointless computer game programming business becomes less likely to make blood flow from your ears.
Beer is good, beer is pleasing. All hail beer.
(Just in case any one of my gentle readers has doubts as to what a Bedraggled Student Creature is, it is that unfortunate species of wildlife, seen most often in University food courts, eating Panda Express while reading feminist theory. After it has consumed its orange-glazed prey, it typically lurks in a courtyard, chainsmoking and emitting little despairing squeaky sounds, while wishing it had gotten up early enough to take a shower and change into a shirt that doesn't have coffee stains on it. Its natural habitat is a couch, surrounded by pizza boxes and fantasy novels.)
In any case, once I came home from the library, the B.S.C. was shed, like a snakeskin, in favor of the Editorial personality - and the Editor, all things being equal, craves beer.
Let this be a paean, a song of glory, an epic cry to the gods, in the praise of beer. Beer is cold, and bitter; it foams and froths, overflowing with bounty. In its wake, the liver does a little dance of joy, the heart expands, the brain finds random and not entirely interesting conversation with strangers more tolerable than usual, and that moron at the bar who always talks about his pointless computer game programming business becomes less likely to make blood flow from your ears.
Beer is good, beer is pleasing. All hail beer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)