Loose Women of Low Character

Well, the Editor has had a pleasant lazy Sunday so far (although such a statement will probably cause a meteor to strike my house, or a plague of locusts - so knock on wood for me) and has occupied some of this time in putting together a proposed piece of artwork/promotional material for the LWOLC show. Now, I know that Tifanie and I, at least, cringe unbearably when presented with the words "postcard mailing" . . . but it might be fun to send something to friends and associates, to let them know when the show's going up.

This is just a preliminary mock-up - I don't know if anyone will like the idea, but tell me what you think! It just seemed like fun.

Back to School

The Editor has recently returned to the academic world, in the (hopefully not completely futile) attempt to become further edjimicated (sp?). I guess that's why I need skool, I'm not sure if my spelling's quite up to par. At least I've not yet sunk to the levels of illiteracy pioneered by Howie.

Anyhoo. I apologize most profusely for the lack of posts recently. Work and classes have commandeered almost all of the Editorial energy of late. However, I did find the time to finish my contribution to a theatrical work suggested to me by Tifanie and others, and if any of the participants happen to read this, I am no longer holding up the process! Back to zombies and arson! And not a moment too soon.

I don't really NEED to say anything, do I?

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words, Unless It's a Crappy Snapshot

For those of you who may have been wasting away with the longing to see the Editor's face and person, here's a recent snapshot:
I'd had a pretty good day. I think my hair looks nice in that one, actually.

And so's you can get a feel for how the Editor spends those long and work-filled days, here's a picture of one of my coworkers (since I know Tifanie misses them, and would love to see how they're doing).

Happy Fucking New Year!

Hope all of you were as drunk as the Editor. Or possibly not. In any case, Happy New Year from all the zombies here at home.

hwuaaaaarghhh!

If anyone can explain this sound's linguistic/symbolic/etymological/epistemological significance, please do so. You can find the very sad, tragic utterer of this noise here.

Otherwise, the Editor has been somewhat bogged down with death flu, but managed to crawl out of bed long enough to consume some Christmas roast beast and open presents. Yes, even the hard, cold, relentless, angry, zombie-infested Editor likes the occasional sweater which was purchased by someone else. What the fuck. It's the only thing in life that's free.

Speaking of things that aren't free, it is the rainy season once again here in (normally) sunny southern California. And we all know what that means . . . yes, folks, it's once again time to prepare for the annual zombie holocaust. Zombie survival kits are available for only $199.99, just email me. And, it's easier than ever before! With your payment of less than two hundred dollars, your own kit is as simple as a notarized statement that your home will be safe from zombies! And how does the Editor guarantee this? Shock collars on all the lab inhabitants. So order now, and keep your limbs another year!

Please don't construe this as a threat. All I'm saying is, those shock collars are expensive. And I'm almost out of liquor. Happy Holidays!

Up 300, Down 300

The Editor has only moments ago returned from a brief sojourn in Las Vegas - which means that the first number refers to dollars, and the second to IQ points, or possibly number of cells in my retinas.

I would like to direct the attention of my gentle readers to my new favorite blog ever.

That's all for now, but more zombie updates coming soon.

A Redefinition of Fantasy

There are all kinds of people in this world who fantasize. And then there are just as many who enjoy what has come to be known as "fantasy", i.e., sword-and-sorcery type books and video games and movies. The time has come to blend the two.

So, weekly staff meetings. A great idea, which helps the office swap ideas and basically spend a little more face time with one another, and keeps us all in sync. That's good. But still, when I'm sitting there of a morning, I imagine what it would be like to excuse myself for a moment and step out of the conference room. Walk to my desk, discreetly pick up a large backpack, and take it out to change. Then, I would reappear, in the midst of a long dissertation about how the children's theatre program doesn't seem to have much direction anymore, wearing ebony armor from head to toe, and waving around a large, glowing longsword, enchanted with all kinds of nasty things, and bring it down on the conference table, splitting production calendars and brochures neatly in two, with forks of lightning and huge gouts of flame, and announce, loudly, that I Am Lord Nerevar Reborn! This would surely energize the staff to previously unknown heights of productivity. Or at least, would make it a more exciting event than we had ever thought it could be.

And the smiting! The smiting that could be mine! Really, theatre administration has nothing on adventuring, monster-slaying, and other types of heroic pageantry. The zombies are cool, but sometimes, it's just not enough. And isn't that just the story of everyone's life?

In short, sometimes pure escapist fantasy is just not quite sufficient. I need fantastic realism! More actual swords! General availability of magical alchemy ingredients, spells that allow you to walk on water and smite not only up close, but also from a distance; these are the elements of a happy life. Screw Eudaimonia, the Form of Good, and all that other high-thinking nonsense which is supposed to uplift me from the dross of my corporeal existence. And screw religion, too, just for kicks. Give me paralyzing crossbows and ancient ruins filled with brigands and legendary helmets! Give me the capacity to levitate into towers carved from enormous tree-boles, which are populated with taciturn wizards wearing gently luminescing robes! And swords! Did I mention those?

The real problem with fantasy is that by definition, it requires reentry into the actual universe to make it what it is. And that is why it requires redefinition. Find me a fantasy world that I don't have to come back from (that does not involve perpetual hallucinogen use) and I will be a happy Editor. I could post blogs from the top of my sorcerous roost, perched high in the mountains above a slowly meandering river.

There is probably some deep philosophical point which could be derived from this, or possibly just a general Freudian commentary on my childhood. But really, I just want to go to Monster.com and find a job ad which reads:

Wanted: a general adventurer, with some limited scruples and a high endurance score. Experience in pillaging/theft preferred, but will train. Capability to wield enchanted weaponry desired, but some skill with a two-handed battle-axe sufficient. Potential for becoming legendary hero with strange glowing eyes recommended. No Bachelor's degree necessary. Needed immediately. Please apply in person at the sign of the Voluminous Elf-Maiden, and give one copper crown to Mangy Bess, the innkeeper, in lieu of resume. Be smiting-oriented, with quest-pursuing ambitions. No phone calls please.

The Simpler Life

I am convinced that the disease which afflicts our society is not so much stress, as insisting on yielding to sources of potential stress. I am surrounded, all day, by people who base their sense of self-worth on their levels of dangerous, heart-disease inflicting torment, and yet who consistently moan and bitch about how great life would have been before such irritations; and who yet, in the same breath, speculate on how humans existed before the advent of cellular phones.

Stress is only what you allow it to be. Yes, modern employment is harrassing and filled with little annoyances. The phone rings. The fax machine makes incomprehensible burbling sounds. The printer isn't networked, no matter how many times you click the add printer button on the baffling Microsoft console of doom. Ah, for the simple, gentle life before modern technology, when life was easier, more relaxing . . .

Wake up at 4:30 in the morning, right as dawn breaks. Get dressed, no central heat, no shower. Crawl outside, where it's 35 degrees F. Find some wood. If you're lucky, it got chopped the day before. Possibly by someone else, even. Grab an armload and carry it into the house, which is drafty and has no plumbing. Light the fire, without a Bic, and hang a big heavy kettle. Wait, strike that. Go back outside, pump the water out of the well you dug yourself, put it in a bucket, bring it in, and then fill the kettle. Grind some grain and add it to the water, and eventually, while you stagger back out and (if you're doing well and can afford them) feed the chickens which you have to kill yourself with an axe when you want to eat one, it will boil and you can make some disgusting mess of porridge, which can then sustain you all day while you labor in the fields wearing scratchy sack clothing, so that you can go to bed at dusk (or get eye strain mending your rags by candlelight) and get up the next day and do it all over again. If you're female, you'll most likely die during childbirth at some point, covered in blood and laying in a pile of dirt. No birth control. No painkillers. No antibiotics.

How did people live before cell phones? Well, you were presumably alive for more than the past ten years, you figure it out. Why am I not stressed out about getting up in a relatively warm house, running my hot bath out of the tap, buying a three dollar latte, and sitting down in a comfortable chair and answering email? Because I'm not a fucking moron.

Why do some of us have the luxury of being raw foods organic vegans? (Not the Editor, of course - I devour cows with a spoon.) Well . . . because it's not, in fact, 1800. Or anytime earlier than that. Or later than that, and anywhere else in the world. We have it pretty good, folks. I am not somehow less good at my job because I don't wank all the fucking time. I come home, pet the cat, feed the zombies some human flesh (raw foods of a sort, and organic, most of the time), and play some mindless video games, and really, it's not too bad.

So relax. What's the worst that can happen? We get a temp job. The rent still gets paid. There's still organic soy slime in the refrigerator to suck off of a recycled paper plate. Get over it.

Finally, finally the media has realized the truth!

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.

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?

Zombies: Back By Popular Demand!!!

So, some of my (few and mainly imaginary) adoring public have expressed a violent desire . . . perhaps, a strong wish . . . no, all right, fine, a faint inclination, to receive more information on zombie defense strategies.

Well, say no more! The Editor has so painfully few truly useful occupations, that it is a true pleasure to do something altruistic, particularly when none of my readers would honestly have to be too concerned about imminent zombie attack, were it not for the somewhat shoddy security measures currently in force in my lab. Look, I didn't expect them to chew through concrete. It was an honest mistake, it has been rectified, and really, I live next door to an Alzheimer's home - no one can tell the difference anyway.

Back to the matter at hand. As you all recall, I posted a basic primer on anti-zombie tactics, some of which were I admit difficult for the average person to carry out. We are not all professionally paranoid. So, for the layman zombie survivor, I have made up a list of the most bare-bones (pun not intended - besides, if you follow my advice, you may still have flesh on your bones after the holocaust of living dead has destroyed civilization as we know it) essentials to have on hand, in case of sudden attack. There are many lists of this kind available, some of which can be found on our own Homeland Security Website (refer to previous post), but I assure you mine is better, although featuring fewer graphic representations of yuppies being sprayed in the face with biological contaminants.

Zombie Survival Kit, basic version

1 sawed-off shotgun (good for brain disintegration; also doubles as brain-smashing blunt object at close quarters, or when the idiot you foolishly allowed to accompany you, rather than throwing him/her behind you as a distraction, loses all your shotgun shells)

10 boxes shotgun shells (so that you may inevitably end up with one shell and a hundred pursuing zombies anyway)

1 bunch bananas (zombies don't like the taste of potassium; I have verified this through extensive research)

2 coils heavy nylon rope (so that it may inconveniently catch on objects while you are carrying it wrapped around your body, thus delaying you and ensuring your doom)

1 bottle vodka or Scotch (according to preference; actually, this is part of the "General Daily Survival Kit", also available for purchase, but why not include it here)

1 pair high-quality running shoes (cowardice is the better part of valour)

1 spray bottle zombie repellent (may I recommend Super Lerx-Off Brand Liaox Entity Repellent, also good against limp, failed ex-theatre executives)

1 carton cigarettes (obviously)

2 cigarette lighters (to light cigarettes with; also good for cooking food, purifying water, and many other secondary uses)

1 shovel (for some reason, this is always the most-used implement in any zombie attack situation; don't ask me why just get one and hit things with it)

1 attractive female companion (for sex)

1 bumbling male companion (for comic relief, since laughter defuses even the most terrifying and deadly situation, and to be sacrificed later; also provides contrast in eyes of attractive female, making you look almost human)

1 box condoms (ribbed for her pleasure isn't really, so I've been told, just a word to the wise)

2 rolls toilet paper (two-ply)

If space allows, bottled water, non-perishable foods, a radio, emergency flares, and such can be added; but if space allows, you're carrying too much and will fall down, thus being buried beneath an avalanche of ravenous corpses.

With these items at hand, and having followed some of the Zombie Fortification tips previously posted, you can be fairly sure of surviving long enough to come to an even more miserable and demoralizing end than you would have had you simply succumbed to begin with.

New Post Coming Soon

We apologize for the inconvenience. The Editor's brain is currently under construction. However, in the mean time please note that zombie attacks have decreased 12.7% since 1994, and we are currently occupied with trying to reverse that trend. Thank you for your attention.

AA can't save people; only Jesus can.

Amen, brother. Hallelujah. And thanks for the fucking newsflash, Sherlock cocksucking Holmes. The thought above is brought to you courtesy of one of the many brilliant pages littering the blogscape, and I'm not even going to post a link to it because it's so lame. It's about someone who's very Christian and hangs out in jails trying to bring comfort to inmates. Sounds like a good time, doesn't it? Almost as exciting as Howie, though I will admit that Christian guy knows how to spell, if nothing else. Credit where credit is due. Do you think Jesus gave him power over the rules of grammar? Or is that more of a Holy Spirit kind of thing? I need to learn more about Christianity, I mean, I've read the Bible and all, but it just doesn't answer truly important questions like that one.

Do check out this site, though. This person apparently lives under an end table. Does anyone have a different interpretation of this?

Here is the current contender for "Least Likely to Succeed as a Species Variation". Then again, she probably fucks more than most of my entire city combined. Makes you really appreciate Planned Parenthood, don't it?

And for anyone who's ever wanted to explore the seedy underbelly of the wild and crazy antics of Christian college students, now's your chance. I recommend about a teener of really good glass, because otherwise you'll fall asleep before the page even loads.

That concludes tonight's episode of "Behind the Blogs: the Man, the Mystery, and the Pointless Bullshit That Random Idiots Think is Interesting for Some Unknown Reason". Tune in next time for more entirely irrelevant links to things that no one, least of all the Editor, actually cares about.

Two last notes, just in case anyone read this far: the zombies are doing better, after their recent bout with alcoholism. AA didn't save them, though, Jesus did. And just for you, my dear, you know who you are, a link to the masterminds behind a certain piece of soiled weather which shall not be named at this time. Please note the availability of an upcoming album for preorder! Get it EVEN SOONER than if you ran to the store and pressed your eager little nose against the window of the Wherehouse early in the morning of the big day!

It's Like a Bloodstained Hurricane

What, precisely, is very much like a "bloodstained hurricane"? Pretty much everything, it turns right out. What cannot be compared to a bloodstained hurricane? Certainly not the Editor.

Spork this, bitch

So here's the question: what do sporks really mean? Are they an existential expression of modern humanity's need for utensils which do . . . gasp . . . MORE THAN ONE THING? Or are they just kind of pointless and plastic? An associate of mine found this site, which he sent to me, and it is possibly the most revolting spork ever made. My zombies won't even eat off of this thing, that is, assuming that they would ever consider using utensils at all, instead of simply ripping the rotting flesh from one another's bones with sharpened, filthy incisors, while moaning and flailing wildly.

Anyway. The point which the Editor was, admittedly incoherently and with the utilization of multiple unnecessary clauses, attempting to make, was: even ravening, slimy, hairless, mindlessly gnawing dead things which kill you and turn you into a living corpse wouldn't use this stupid spork. C'mon, guys, this is not Sporkcalibur. (I know, Mike, I know, I haven't sent it to you yet. Just wait, it'll be worth it, and covered with zombie saliva.) It's FLESH COLORED, for Christ's sake. It looks like a flea comb gone horribly, horribly wrong. For a person who cares deeply about the potential of the fork/spoon hybrid, this is a loathsome and vile excursion into the land of the great travesty of human existence.

Seriously, folks. The Editor may be blind drunk, but some things are just not okay.

It's the end of the world as we know it

Thank you, REM.

I feel fine now.

Anyhoo. The Editor is currently considering the great and pressing problem of the modern zombie film. Now, no one is more surprised than I that Hollywood would at one point have gotten something right - however, the fact remains that George Romero did have it pretty much spot-on, originally. Zombies are slow. They moan, and stumble, and hold their limbs at always hilarious angles. I mean, it's so funny to watch them, I just never get tired of it. They're so cute. It brings a tender smile to the face of even the hard-bitten and jaded Editor . . . but that's another matter. Like I said, I'm shocked that the directors of zombie movies would manage to have it right.

Which brings me back to NEW zombie movies. Okay, so, what the fuck? Viruses? Running around all fast? I object to this. I happen to know, without any doubt, that zombies act just like they did in the original Night of the Living Dead. I mean, this is my life, for fuck's sake. Who would know better than the Editor? My zombie lab is thriving, since my research staff get bitten one after another, and I really can't keep any of them alive for more than a week or two . . . and they all end up slouching around their cages, making gurgling sounds, and bumping into one another. They do not scream with rage and then figure out how to climb out, and then run like Olympic 500 meter champions after hapless victims who still think that holing up in a shopping mall is a pretty good idea.

See, those old zombie movies were pretty much like documentaries. They showed what really happens when the living dead run wild. These new films, they're just mindless entertainment. So join with me in calling for a return to the classics. No more 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead remake bullshit. I want aimless gnawing! SLOW, aimless gnawing, to be more precise, and lots of it.

Rant of the day

So, goddamn it you guys, I'm totally hooked on this fucking show, and can't stop watching it, and now it's two in the motherfucking morning and I have to be at work in the a.m., as you well know, Tifanie, and I'm still debating watching another episode. You have ruined the editorial life. My lab is neglected, the zombies are starving, my research staff has been drinking beer and fucking off for hours. The emergency ammunition hasn't been restocked in days. I feel like one of the crack squirrels in Central Park, only I'm not quite up to that level of rationality. It could also be all of the codeine and scotch, but who's counting . . . anyway, the next time you loan me DVDs, warn me first that all other activities will cease and I'll sit here for an entire night and obsess over funeral directors! All right? Thanks.

May as well skip this one; I should have

So everyone has a different way of dealing with suddenly running into ghosts when they least expect it. There are certain times and places where ghosts are almost de rigeur; spooky old castles, crumbling graveyards, the Editor's closet, etc. But what do you do when a ghost pops up in the middle of a downtown bar? Well, some might run, some might ignore the disturbing apparition, others might just shrug and order a slightly stronger drink. The Editor has a beer with it, calls it a close friend, and proceeds to agonize over it for hours or days or years. However: this is a moment of change. I have enough trouble with zombies as it is to allow other sorts of undead to have any kind of impact. Enough already. I never understood before now why people seem to be hung up about their pasts for ever and ever and ever, to the ultimate destruction of everything they try to build. It is simply because it's actually harder and more painful to admit that everything one has held dear, or had faith in, is irrelevant, thus admitting that one's own judgement is lacking, and that all the time that's already been spent on said irrelevancy is time completely wasted.

Therefore, the Editor has made an executive decision. No undead, besides the ones in the lab, will be allowed to affect the Editorial lifestyle; the others can go and fuck themselves. No more time wasted, no more pointlessly self-indulgent wallowing in self-pity, whining, stress, and moments of angst. In short, no more melodrama. I think I'll move on to comic opera, it's a lot more fun.

Presentation of Articles Written by Foreign Students Here

Pyongyang, June 19 (KCNA) -- "Song of Praising Great Man," a meeting for presenting articles written by foreign students studying at Kim Il Sung University was held at the Taedonggang Club for the Diplomatic Corps on June 18 on the occasion of leader Kim Jong Il's start of work at the Central Committee of the Workers' Party of Korea. At the meeting which began with chorus "Song of General Kim Jong Il" students presented their works carrying their ardent reverence for President Kim Il Sung and Kim Jong Il.

In occasional notes "Before an immortal monument to his autographs", poem "Song of the eternal sun" and other works performers expressed deep reverence of humankind for the President and Kim Jong Il who is carrying forward his cause.

In poem "Song sung on Ryonggun Peak" and record of impression "A country of Songun politics", Chinese and Iranian students stressed that as led by Kim Jong Il the DPRK is throwing bright rays all over the world as a great country shining with Songun politics. Diary "Along the trace of the great man" and written impressions "My pride" expressed eulogy for Kim Jong Il. Korean songs including immortal masterpiece "Azalea" and "My Blessed Life" were sung.

The meeting ended with chorus of the Korean song "Dear Name".

It almost makes Fox News seem like actual information, doesn't it?