I live in a castle
Where it's cloudy everyday
I'm fighting off vampires
All alone but it's okay
Someday when they're all dead
I'll find a way to revive my wife
And this robot with scissors for hands
Helps me through the night
We sit and talk till the sun comes up
About the best way to cook eggs
And about the time I was on TV
And threw one in Batman's face
Or the time I was a giant rat
And almost killed Sherlock Holmes
Or the evening I met Frankenstein
And had a chat with Edgar Allen Poe
But this house of wax is melting now
So I lay me down for good
And dream that I'm a tiny fly
In a theater of blood
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Annoying People I Have Known or Why Won't They Leave Me Alone?
High School
The Arm Grabber
This person insisted on grabbing me by the arm to steal my attention to blab on and on about stupid shit that I cared not an iota for. I generally tried to avoid this person but sometimes he would come out of nowhere and bore me to tears by telling me a long story about something his Dad did or by recapping every single thing that happened in whatever lame TV show he watched the night before while I desperately tried to find a way to escape. He didn't smell too pretty either but it was a plus because on some days it helped to know if he was near, thus making avoidance easier.
The Uber-Nerd
This person latched onto me because he really had no other friends and I wasn't going to be a jerk and tell him to go away. He picked his nose in front of me and popped zits on the back of his neck in class but he let me borrow Zelda 64 and a bunch of Star Wars books. The bad thing was that he insisted on telling me every single plot twist in the game and forced me to play Star Wars cards even though I had never played before. Then he gloated about how badly he was beating me. I felt bad for him but I was also a little embarrassed to be around him because he was always picking at his crotch.
The Thief
This is another person that latched onto me because he had no other friends and I was too much of a nice guy to tell him off. I felt bad for him till it turned out he was stealing money from me and most of my other friends, then I got mad and rubbed potatoes in his hair at lunch and threw all the junk out of his locker into the hall. Ah high school, the only time you can really be a jerk and get away with it...
One time he came over to my house and stayed in the bathroom with the door locked for like an hour. No sounds emanated from within, no toilet flush, no hand wash, nothing. It really freaked my mom out.
The White Trash Girl
Sigh. I was a magnet for the friendless. I suppose it was because I was so quiet and generally tried to keep to myself. None of my real friends liked her and she smelled like smoke, plus she was dating The Arm Grabber which really freaked me out. Still, she was a girl who talked to me, which was rare. She moved away after about a year. I still wonder what happened to her...
Military
The Racist
He was an alright guy till we were driving around one day and he confided in me that he disliked black people. A lot. Then he proceeded to explain in great detail why while I squirmed uncomfortably. He wasn't very bright either. Got shipped to another base shortly after.
The Gangsta Wannabe
Not too bad of a guy. He came over to my room and stole my Internet a lot but also gave me rides into town when I needed them as I had no car. I found his constant tough guy posing pretty funny since he was about 200 Lbs of fat and smoked like a chimney. One time he tried to get me to look at a video he had on his cell phone of him having sex with some random girl. That one second blip I caught before I shut my eyes is still burned into my brain.
The Awful Roommate
Very very fat and smelled like garbage. I had to room with this person when I was sent overseas. He snored so loud people down the hall could hear him with their doors shut. I came very close to breaking and stuffing socks down his throat. Coming home after a 12 hour shift and walking into a cloud of his stink wasn't very pleasant either. He went home halfway through my deployment and I was very happy. Replaced with...
The Dumbass
I have never met anyone so obliviously brain dead in all my life. On top of being stupid, he was a compulsive liar. One time he offloaded this story on me about how his dad trained attack dogs which lead to a story about how he had killed a wolf while out in the woods camping with his bare hands. Then he showed me a tiny scar on his knuckle as proof. One time my other roommate come home from work early to find him sitting naked, talking on the phone, on a foot locker he had been warned not to touch. It's a good thing the Sargent was a nice guy as he was also large and muscled and could have easily punched the moron's head in. Not that that would have been a bad thing...
Now it's your turn to tell some stories! I wants to hear about people you've had to deal with that you'd rather not have ever met. The healing begins here...
The Arm Grabber
This person insisted on grabbing me by the arm to steal my attention to blab on and on about stupid shit that I cared not an iota for. I generally tried to avoid this person but sometimes he would come out of nowhere and bore me to tears by telling me a long story about something his Dad did or by recapping every single thing that happened in whatever lame TV show he watched the night before while I desperately tried to find a way to escape. He didn't smell too pretty either but it was a plus because on some days it helped to know if he was near, thus making avoidance easier.
The Uber-Nerd
This person latched onto me because he really had no other friends and I wasn't going to be a jerk and tell him to go away. He picked his nose in front of me and popped zits on the back of his neck in class but he let me borrow Zelda 64 and a bunch of Star Wars books. The bad thing was that he insisted on telling me every single plot twist in the game and forced me to play Star Wars cards even though I had never played before. Then he gloated about how badly he was beating me. I felt bad for him but I was also a little embarrassed to be around him because he was always picking at his crotch.
The Thief
This is another person that latched onto me because he had no other friends and I was too much of a nice guy to tell him off. I felt bad for him till it turned out he was stealing money from me and most of my other friends, then I got mad and rubbed potatoes in his hair at lunch and threw all the junk out of his locker into the hall. Ah high school, the only time you can really be a jerk and get away with it...
One time he came over to my house and stayed in the bathroom with the door locked for like an hour. No sounds emanated from within, no toilet flush, no hand wash, nothing. It really freaked my mom out.
The White Trash Girl
Sigh. I was a magnet for the friendless. I suppose it was because I was so quiet and generally tried to keep to myself. None of my real friends liked her and she smelled like smoke, plus she was dating The Arm Grabber which really freaked me out. Still, she was a girl who talked to me, which was rare. She moved away after about a year. I still wonder what happened to her...
Military
The Racist
He was an alright guy till we were driving around one day and he confided in me that he disliked black people. A lot. Then he proceeded to explain in great detail why while I squirmed uncomfortably. He wasn't very bright either. Got shipped to another base shortly after.
The Gangsta Wannabe
Not too bad of a guy. He came over to my room and stole my Internet a lot but also gave me rides into town when I needed them as I had no car. I found his constant tough guy posing pretty funny since he was about 200 Lbs of fat and smoked like a chimney. One time he tried to get me to look at a video he had on his cell phone of him having sex with some random girl. That one second blip I caught before I shut my eyes is still burned into my brain.
The Awful Roommate
Very very fat and smelled like garbage. I had to room with this person when I was sent overseas. He snored so loud people down the hall could hear him with their doors shut. I came very close to breaking and stuffing socks down his throat. Coming home after a 12 hour shift and walking into a cloud of his stink wasn't very pleasant either. He went home halfway through my deployment and I was very happy. Replaced with...
The Dumbass
I have never met anyone so obliviously brain dead in all my life. On top of being stupid, he was a compulsive liar. One time he offloaded this story on me about how his dad trained attack dogs which lead to a story about how he had killed a wolf while out in the woods camping with his bare hands. Then he showed me a tiny scar on his knuckle as proof. One time my other roommate come home from work early to find him sitting naked, talking on the phone, on a foot locker he had been warned not to touch. It's a good thing the Sargent was a nice guy as he was also large and muscled and could have easily punched the moron's head in. Not that that would have been a bad thing...
Now it's your turn to tell some stories! I wants to hear about people you've had to deal with that you'd rather not have ever met. The healing begins here...
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Mean Joe All Alone...
Mean Joe sat eating a shitty TV dinner type breakfast meal. He didn't like it but that was pretty much all that was in the cabin and in the storage shed out back. At least now he knew how fat Bob got so fat. He shoveled another fork full of shitty processed eggs into his mouth and thought over the days events.
All in all it had been a pretty productive day. Killing those goons would put more fear into Fat Bob which was defiantly a good thing. Plus if he sent anyone over to take him out, Mean Joe knew he could take any number of them easily. He almost wished they would try and take him down. As for the reasons he was hiding out, well that was a bit more complicated. Mean Joe told himself it was the smart thing to do as he choked down a few pieces of sausage and looked at the kitchen clock. 3:00 AM. Time for bed. He pushed open the entryway door and threw the horrible slop onto the grass outside. Tomorrow he would go find some real food. Lots of things to do tomorrow...
The upstairs loft was the roomiest in the cabin. It was one large space that spanned the whole upstairs. It contained one large bed, a small dresser, and a wardrobe closet, and a small table with a lamp. Mean Joe sat down at the table, took off his overcoat, and cleaned his pistol. It was one of the only things in the world that he loved as it never let him down. He took care of it and it took care of him. As he cleaned the bore and oiled the cylinders, he let his mind wander again...
With the gun to the goons head, he had searched every room in the place. It wasn't hard since there was only two rooms downstairs. The bulb in the second room, which turned out to be a living area with a few small couches and a coffee table, was burnt out. He had ordered the kid to turn on one of the desk lamps but before he could move there was a noise behind them. Mean Joe turned and fired at the sound. After they had gotten a light on they looked at the splotch of blood, fur, and guts, against the wall that had recently been a mouse. The kid had turned pale. Then they had searched the upstairs and all around the outside. When they had gotten to the outhouse Mean Joe had grabbed the kid and dangled him over the hole, head first.
"You like shit kid?" He had said and dropped his head a little lower towards the fetid pool of human waste.
"Tell your boss if fucks with me he's going to be in a lot of it." Then he had dunked the kids head in, pulled him out, and sent him on his way with a hearty kick to the rear. There was really no point in doing this but fun was fun, you had to get it while you could...
Mean Joe finished cleaning his 44 and climbed into bed. He put his gun on the nightstand, turned off the light, and sat listening to the darkness. The quiet unsettled him. The city was always noisy but here all he could hear was the crickets outside and the creaking of the cabin as it settled. Maybe that was what was bugging him, he wasn't used to the silence. No, no. It was something else. Something was picking at the back of his brain. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was another hour and a half before he finally fell asleep...
Mean Joe was 8 years old again. He knew this because of where he was, which was the shithole apartment he shared with his mother till he had run away a year later. He looked at the dingy walls, the shitty junk pile furniture. He could even smell the stench of utter poverty, a heady mix of dirty clothes and rancid garbage. He looked down at his hands. He had been reading a comic book. Donald Duck was getting beat up by a punching bag on the cover. Now where had that come from? Suddenly his stomach felt sick. He thought he knew what day it was...
Suddenly the front door slammed open and a woman stumbled into the room. She had a bottle of gin in one hand. The other was wrapped up with dirty bandages. His mother. With mounting horror he noted how her makeup was smeared all over her face, making her look like a clown, but not a funny one. This wasn't funny at all. Her dress was torn open and he could see her breasts. She came right for him and he tried to make himself run away but he was stuck to the floor. She stumbled over and picked him up, roughly, putting her face right next to his.
"You little shit." She whispered and he could smell the booze on her breath. Then she threw him against the wall.
"You little shit, this is all your fault! You stupid little shit, you ruined everything!" She screamed and stumbled over with her fist raised to hit him. Suddenly she stopped. Something had caught her eye. She leaned over and picked up the comic book he had been reading. She waved it in his face.
"Where did you get this? WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?"
"M-M-Mr. Blakeston gave it me mom, I..."
"No he didn't. You stole it. You little liar."
"M-M-Mom I..."
Then she hit him with the book. Over and over and over. And he could feel it. He could feel the sting of every blow. She hit him till the book was nothing but rags, then she threw it in his face and stumbled off into the kitchen.
Mean Joe desperately tried to remember what had happened next but he kept drawing a blank. He knew it was something bad but what...
Suddenly he knew, even before his mother came out of the kitchen with a carving knife in her hand.
"Gotta, go-gotta teach you a lesson boy. Can't have you stealin' anymore, didn't raise you that way. No son of mine..."
Then she was on top of him, holding his mouth shut with one hand and cutting his face with the other...
Mean Joe sat up in bed and stared out into the darkness. He fingered the long scars on the side of his face. To his surprise, they felt numb, the whole left side of his face did. Before he could think of what that meant or why he had had that particular dream, there was a loud crashing noise downstairs. Mean Joe grabbed his pistol and slowly climbed out of bed...
All in all it had been a pretty productive day. Killing those goons would put more fear into Fat Bob which was defiantly a good thing. Plus if he sent anyone over to take him out, Mean Joe knew he could take any number of them easily. He almost wished they would try and take him down. As for the reasons he was hiding out, well that was a bit more complicated. Mean Joe told himself it was the smart thing to do as he choked down a few pieces of sausage and looked at the kitchen clock. 3:00 AM. Time for bed. He pushed open the entryway door and threw the horrible slop onto the grass outside. Tomorrow he would go find some real food. Lots of things to do tomorrow...
The upstairs loft was the roomiest in the cabin. It was one large space that spanned the whole upstairs. It contained one large bed, a small dresser, and a wardrobe closet, and a small table with a lamp. Mean Joe sat down at the table, took off his overcoat, and cleaned his pistol. It was one of the only things in the world that he loved as it never let him down. He took care of it and it took care of him. As he cleaned the bore and oiled the cylinders, he let his mind wander again...
With the gun to the goons head, he had searched every room in the place. It wasn't hard since there was only two rooms downstairs. The bulb in the second room, which turned out to be a living area with a few small couches and a coffee table, was burnt out. He had ordered the kid to turn on one of the desk lamps but before he could move there was a noise behind them. Mean Joe turned and fired at the sound. After they had gotten a light on they looked at the splotch of blood, fur, and guts, against the wall that had recently been a mouse. The kid had turned pale. Then they had searched the upstairs and all around the outside. When they had gotten to the outhouse Mean Joe had grabbed the kid and dangled him over the hole, head first.
"You like shit kid?" He had said and dropped his head a little lower towards the fetid pool of human waste.
"Tell your boss if fucks with me he's going to be in a lot of it." Then he had dunked the kids head in, pulled him out, and sent him on his way with a hearty kick to the rear. There was really no point in doing this but fun was fun, you had to get it while you could...
Mean Joe finished cleaning his 44 and climbed into bed. He put his gun on the nightstand, turned off the light, and sat listening to the darkness. The quiet unsettled him. The city was always noisy but here all he could hear was the crickets outside and the creaking of the cabin as it settled. Maybe that was what was bugging him, he wasn't used to the silence. No, no. It was something else. Something was picking at the back of his brain. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was another hour and a half before he finally fell asleep...
Mean Joe was 8 years old again. He knew this because of where he was, which was the shithole apartment he shared with his mother till he had run away a year later. He looked at the dingy walls, the shitty junk pile furniture. He could even smell the stench of utter poverty, a heady mix of dirty clothes and rancid garbage. He looked down at his hands. He had been reading a comic book. Donald Duck was getting beat up by a punching bag on the cover. Now where had that come from? Suddenly his stomach felt sick. He thought he knew what day it was...
Suddenly the front door slammed open and a woman stumbled into the room. She had a bottle of gin in one hand. The other was wrapped up with dirty bandages. His mother. With mounting horror he noted how her makeup was smeared all over her face, making her look like a clown, but not a funny one. This wasn't funny at all. Her dress was torn open and he could see her breasts. She came right for him and he tried to make himself run away but he was stuck to the floor. She stumbled over and picked him up, roughly, putting her face right next to his.
"You little shit." She whispered and he could smell the booze on her breath. Then she threw him against the wall.
"You little shit, this is all your fault! You stupid little shit, you ruined everything!" She screamed and stumbled over with her fist raised to hit him. Suddenly she stopped. Something had caught her eye. She leaned over and picked up the comic book he had been reading. She waved it in his face.
"Where did you get this? WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?"
"M-M-Mr. Blakeston gave it me mom, I..."
"No he didn't. You stole it. You little liar."
"M-M-Mom I..."
Then she hit him with the book. Over and over and over. And he could feel it. He could feel the sting of every blow. She hit him till the book was nothing but rags, then she threw it in his face and stumbled off into the kitchen.
Mean Joe desperately tried to remember what had happened next but he kept drawing a blank. He knew it was something bad but what...
Suddenly he knew, even before his mother came out of the kitchen with a carving knife in her hand.
"Gotta, go-gotta teach you a lesson boy. Can't have you stealin' anymore, didn't raise you that way. No son of mine..."
Then she was on top of him, holding his mouth shut with one hand and cutting his face with the other...
Mean Joe sat up in bed and stared out into the darkness. He fingered the long scars on the side of his face. To his surprise, they felt numb, the whole left side of his face did. Before he could think of what that meant or why he had had that particular dream, there was a loud crashing noise downstairs. Mean Joe grabbed his pistol and slowly climbed out of bed...
Monday, April 27, 2009
Oh the Things I do When I Can't Sleep...
Crude racist Internet meme + Shakespearean insult generator + Insomnia = Huh?
I'm sorry for this, I really am...
I'm sorry for this, I really am...
The Most Quotable Album Ever?
Click image for maximum awesomeness!
In high school I was a huge Pink Floyd fan. I listened to The Wall more times than any sane person ever should and I even bought (and actually sort of liked) The Final Cut. I even had their first album from back in the sixties called Piper at the Gates of Dawn back when they still had Syd Barrett (Poor Syd went crazy shortly after. I'm not exaggerating either, he spent the rest of his life in an insane asylum).
I had quite a freaky experience with PatGoD. I was sitting in the dark listening to it with my eyes closed when all these weird images started popping into my head: strange pulsating colors, houses I had never visited, and barren windswept planes full of ancient ruins. It was tripping with no drugs! I always wondered how it happened because I could never get it to work again...
Anyways, I also got The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon on vinyl from a flea market. No DSotM poster though even though the record sleeve said it came with one. That would have been the ultimate.
For the record my favorite Floyd album is Animals and it's one of the few that I still put on quite regularly.
After high school me and Floyd parted ways. I got into punk and weird obscure shitty music, thanks to the Internet, and Roger Waters and company seemed a bit stodgy after that. Well tonight I pulled out DSotM after many years and gave it another spin and to my surprise, it's still awesome. It's not just the music that makes it so great, the lyrics are killer. Here's some of my favorite quotes:
"I've been mad for fucking years. Absolutely years."
"All you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be."
"No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."
"Far away, across the fields, the tolling of the iron bell, calls the faithful to their knees, to hear the softly spoken magic spells."
"Listen son, said the man with the gun, there's room for you inside."
"There's someone in my head, but it's not me."
"Remembering games, and daisy chains and laughs, got to keep the loonies on the path."
"The paper holds their folded faces to the floor, and everyday the paperboy brings more."
"Everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the moon."
"There is no dark side of the moon really. As a matter of fact it's all dark."
Those are the ones that have been popping into my head randomly for years anyways. I once scrawled "There's someone in my head but it's not me" across a paper I had to turn in for Geography class and I'm pretty sure it was a deciding factor in my teacher suggesting to my mom that I seek counseling. Yeah I had to go and have some 40 year old counselor try to figure out why I was so fucked up. You can see how much that helped normalize me!
So in conclusion: Despite way too much radio play for many of it's songs and general overratedness, Dark Side of the Moon is still a fucking great album. It's not as great as The Wall or Animals but it still puts pleasantry unpleasant images in my head whenever I give it a spin. Plus it's great to play synced up with The Wizard of Oz. Start the CD on the third lion roar! I'm going to bed...
In high school I was a huge Pink Floyd fan. I listened to The Wall more times than any sane person ever should and I even bought (and actually sort of liked) The Final Cut. I even had their first album from back in the sixties called Piper at the Gates of Dawn back when they still had Syd Barrett (Poor Syd went crazy shortly after. I'm not exaggerating either, he spent the rest of his life in an insane asylum).
I had quite a freaky experience with PatGoD. I was sitting in the dark listening to it with my eyes closed when all these weird images started popping into my head: strange pulsating colors, houses I had never visited, and barren windswept planes full of ancient ruins. It was tripping with no drugs! I always wondered how it happened because I could never get it to work again...
Anyways, I also got The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon on vinyl from a flea market. No DSotM poster though even though the record sleeve said it came with one. That would have been the ultimate.
For the record my favorite Floyd album is Animals and it's one of the few that I still put on quite regularly.
After high school me and Floyd parted ways. I got into punk and weird obscure shitty music, thanks to the Internet, and Roger Waters and company seemed a bit stodgy after that. Well tonight I pulled out DSotM after many years and gave it another spin and to my surprise, it's still awesome. It's not just the music that makes it so great, the lyrics are killer. Here's some of my favorite quotes:
"I've been mad for fucking years. Absolutely years."
"All you touch and all you see, is all your life will ever be."
"No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."
"Far away, across the fields, the tolling of the iron bell, calls the faithful to their knees, to hear the softly spoken magic spells."
"Listen son, said the man with the gun, there's room for you inside."
"There's someone in my head, but it's not me."
"Remembering games, and daisy chains and laughs, got to keep the loonies on the path."
"The paper holds their folded faces to the floor, and everyday the paperboy brings more."
"Everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the moon."
"There is no dark side of the moon really. As a matter of fact it's all dark."
Those are the ones that have been popping into my head randomly for years anyways. I once scrawled "There's someone in my head but it's not me" across a paper I had to turn in for Geography class and I'm pretty sure it was a deciding factor in my teacher suggesting to my mom that I seek counseling. Yeah I had to go and have some 40 year old counselor try to figure out why I was so fucked up. You can see how much that helped normalize me!
So in conclusion: Despite way too much radio play for many of it's songs and general overratedness, Dark Side of the Moon is still a fucking great album. It's not as great as The Wall or Animals but it still puts pleasantry unpleasant images in my head whenever I give it a spin. Plus it's great to play synced up with The Wizard of Oz. Start the CD on the third lion roar! I'm going to bed...
Friday, April 24, 2009
Depression
The things down by the river are laughing at me. Even though I'm safe in my house by the old dirt road I can still hear them, mocking me, having a good time at my expense...
I haven't been posting a lot lately, as some of you may have noticed. Part of the reason is that the military has been taking a lot of my time again, but it's mostly because I've been so damned depressed lately. I go through periods where I'm really low and can't do anything but browse the same websites over and over and listen to music to try and cheer myself up. Then there's times when I feel sort of up and thats when I like to write because when I can't concentrate on anything but my own misery my writing really suffers because it comes out all whiny and emo-tastic. I can't pretend to be happy and if I don't feel like writing it comes out all half-ass and I hate it. Well, I hate all my writing anyways but at least I can stand to look at it when I know I've put some effort into it.
So I sit and listen to Mazzy Star and try to feel better but I know I won't. I try to resist drinking because I know it'll make me feel worse and I don't like to talk about how bad I feel because I don't have many friends that will listen anyways and, again, I hate coming off as whiny.
Being tired as shit all the time because your job necessitates doesn't help either. I haven't had a full weekend off in three weeks. I was supposed to have one starting tomorrow, but no, I have to come in anyways. Do me a big favor and never join the military, it's not worth the pay. Trust me.
I just wanted to say I'm sorry for being so disappointing in starting things and then not finishing them. I'm horrible at finishing projects I start at the best of times. It's so frustrating, I have all these ideas that kick the inside of my head, but not enough time, drive, money, or ability to realize them. Sigh.
So...happy stuff? How about one of my favorite artists doing fan art of a character created by my favorite artist ever: Emmy C's Skadi fan art, OMG, so awesome!!! Be still my heart.
I was just wondering last week if Emmy was a Skadi fan since she did a post about barbarian girls a bit ago.
Other happy things? Well, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein was great. The thing I loved the most about it was that it's Bela Lugosi's second (and last) appearance as Count Dracula. I'm a huge Lugosi fan so it was awesome to see him fight the freaking Wolfman! If I can muster up enough energy I'll post about all the A&C movies I've been watching. Bud and Lou were always really funny even if the movies they got put were below par most of time.
Someday the creatures that mock me will realize that they live in a freaking swamp and their lives aren't much better than mine. They will beg to be let into my house but all the doors will be locked. Then the crocodiles will come for them....
I haven't been posting a lot lately, as some of you may have noticed. Part of the reason is that the military has been taking a lot of my time again, but it's mostly because I've been so damned depressed lately. I go through periods where I'm really low and can't do anything but browse the same websites over and over and listen to music to try and cheer myself up. Then there's times when I feel sort of up and thats when I like to write because when I can't concentrate on anything but my own misery my writing really suffers because it comes out all whiny and emo-tastic. I can't pretend to be happy and if I don't feel like writing it comes out all half-ass and I hate it. Well, I hate all my writing anyways but at least I can stand to look at it when I know I've put some effort into it.
So I sit and listen to Mazzy Star and try to feel better but I know I won't. I try to resist drinking because I know it'll make me feel worse and I don't like to talk about how bad I feel because I don't have many friends that will listen anyways and, again, I hate coming off as whiny.
Being tired as shit all the time because your job necessitates doesn't help either. I haven't had a full weekend off in three weeks. I was supposed to have one starting tomorrow, but no, I have to come in anyways. Do me a big favor and never join the military, it's not worth the pay. Trust me.
I just wanted to say I'm sorry for being so disappointing in starting things and then not finishing them. I'm horrible at finishing projects I start at the best of times. It's so frustrating, I have all these ideas that kick the inside of my head, but not enough time, drive, money, or ability to realize them. Sigh.
So...happy stuff? How about one of my favorite artists doing fan art of a character created by my favorite artist ever: Emmy C's Skadi fan art, OMG, so awesome!!! Be still my heart.
I was just wondering last week if Emmy was a Skadi fan since she did a post about barbarian girls a bit ago.
Other happy things? Well, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein was great. The thing I loved the most about it was that it's Bela Lugosi's second (and last) appearance as Count Dracula. I'm a huge Lugosi fan so it was awesome to see him fight the freaking Wolfman! If I can muster up enough energy I'll post about all the A&C movies I've been watching. Bud and Lou were always really funny even if the movies they got put were below par most of time.
Someday the creatures that mock me will realize that they live in a freaking swamp and their lives aren't much better than mine. They will beg to be let into my house but all the doors will be locked. Then the crocodiles will come for them....
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Fantasy Novels anyone?
I've had this idea for a series (possibly) of fantasy novels for awhile but it's kind of lain dormant till yesterday when I saw this picture by the amazing Emmy Cicierega and it re-ignited (is that the right word?) my desire to write a long fantasy narrative with a strong female protagonist.
The only problem is that I haven't read that many fantasy novels. I was into this series when I was in high school about these magic swords, which I can't even remember the name of, and it looked like I was going to stay on that path but then I veered into sci-fi and never looked back.
So....the question is...does anyone have any suggestions for good fantasy novels? I suppose I should start with Robert E. Howard's Conan series since those were the books that pretty much started the whole genre off but what else is there worth reading among the stacks of dreck?
The only problem is that I haven't read that many fantasy novels. I was into this series when I was in high school about these magic swords, which I can't even remember the name of, and it looked like I was going to stay on that path but then I veered into sci-fi and never looked back.
So....the question is...does anyone have any suggestions for good fantasy novels? I suppose I should start with Robert E. Howard's Conan series since those were the books that pretty much started the whole genre off but what else is there worth reading among the stacks of dreck?
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Mean Joe Gets a Lift
Mean Joe did not feel good. He stood in the shadows of the old arcade, watching Fat Bob's goons mill around by the entrance to the disused river tunnel and pondered what it meant. He thought back to all the times he had felt this way before, sick to his guts. Something bad always happened. It was a warning and ignoring it had always had consequences. He couldn't back out now though. If he wasn't out of town soon something even worse would probably happen. Cut the probably, he would be dead. So how to proceed? Well, Fat Bob had sent four guys down, he thought, lets start with that...
Slick Jimmy was thinking of getting the job over with and going home to play World of Warcraft. He was thinking about how he was going to miss a very important raid when he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye and turned. Too late. A fist covered in brass knuckles came out of the darkness and planted itself in his face. Before he could react there was a foot in his stomach and a large man with a funny hat on took out a very large pistol and quickly shot all three of his coworkers before they could move to draw. How could a man so large move so fast? And what was with that suit? Slick Jimmy decided it was a good idea not to move from his current position. He spit out a tooth and watched as the man walked up to his boy Thug-Z who had a side wound and was struggling to get up. The man in the gray suit knelt down. He whispered something close to his face that seemed to reassure the young man who laid back down. Then the man punched Thug-Z's face in. Slick Jimmy proceeded to wet his pants.
The man stood over his now dead associate and stared down at him for what seemed like a very long time. The he got up, re-holstered his pistol, and stood over Slick Jimmy looking down at him. The thing that Jimmy noticed the most was the waves on the pier. It was such a nice normal calming sound, grounded in reality. Everything else seemed like a very bad dream. The man knelt down.
"Get up. You're going to drive." He said and stood back up.
Slick Jimmy, despite his bruised face and stomach had never moved so fast in his whole life.
The drive to the old cabin was unexceptional. It was quite a ways out of the city and the man did not make a sound the whole way. Every once in awhile Jimmy glanced at him in the rear view mirror. There was something in that face that frightened him a lot. Maybe it was those eyes or that hideous scar. Something about him smacked Jimmy as not entirely human. But that was stupid right? As the buildings gave way to trees and the pavement gave way to dirt, Jimmy tried to tell himself again that it was all a bad dream...
He almost missed the turn into the cabin's long driveway. It was easy to miss in the dark. Hell, it was easy to miss in the daytime. What would the man have done if he had missed it and had to turn around? He shivered as he turned into the slash in the trees.
It was always so dark in here, even during the day. All he could see now was the already overgrown dirt drive about a foot in front of his headlights. Jeez, they had just torn that up two weeks ago how was that possible...
Something ran out in front of the car and Jimmy slammed on the breaks. He turned his head quickly to catch a glimpse of whatever it was as it ran off into the thick woods. Before he could ponder what kind of an animal had a tail with a forked end, he felt a gun shove up against the back of his head and a voice that scared him much more than the weird old woods spoke up.
"Drive." It said.
That was enough for Jimmy. If I get out of this alive, he thought, I promise to god I won't use hacks in Counterstike again. Oh god please just let me live to see my computer again...
It seemed to take forever but when they finally pulled up to the front of the cabin, Jimmy stopped the car and turned it off. Then he sat as the man got out and came around to his side of the car and opened the door. He was pointing a gun at his head.
"Get out. You're going in first. You better pray to God your boss didn't set up an ambush inside that door or you're getting the first shots."
Jimmy wet himself again as they walked up to the entrance....
Something screamed deep in the woods and Mean Joe felt sick again. Something was very wrong here. He pushed the barrel of his 44 harder against the kids head as he turned the handle and pulled the door open....
Slick Jimmy was thinking of getting the job over with and going home to play World of Warcraft. He was thinking about how he was going to miss a very important raid when he caught something moving out of the corner of his eye and turned. Too late. A fist covered in brass knuckles came out of the darkness and planted itself in his face. Before he could react there was a foot in his stomach and a large man with a funny hat on took out a very large pistol and quickly shot all three of his coworkers before they could move to draw. How could a man so large move so fast? And what was with that suit? Slick Jimmy decided it was a good idea not to move from his current position. He spit out a tooth and watched as the man walked up to his boy Thug-Z who had a side wound and was struggling to get up. The man in the gray suit knelt down. He whispered something close to his face that seemed to reassure the young man who laid back down. Then the man punched Thug-Z's face in. Slick Jimmy proceeded to wet his pants.
The man stood over his now dead associate and stared down at him for what seemed like a very long time. The he got up, re-holstered his pistol, and stood over Slick Jimmy looking down at him. The thing that Jimmy noticed the most was the waves on the pier. It was such a nice normal calming sound, grounded in reality. Everything else seemed like a very bad dream. The man knelt down.
"Get up. You're going to drive." He said and stood back up.
Slick Jimmy, despite his bruised face and stomach had never moved so fast in his whole life.
The drive to the old cabin was unexceptional. It was quite a ways out of the city and the man did not make a sound the whole way. Every once in awhile Jimmy glanced at him in the rear view mirror. There was something in that face that frightened him a lot. Maybe it was those eyes or that hideous scar. Something about him smacked Jimmy as not entirely human. But that was stupid right? As the buildings gave way to trees and the pavement gave way to dirt, Jimmy tried to tell himself again that it was all a bad dream...
He almost missed the turn into the cabin's long driveway. It was easy to miss in the dark. Hell, it was easy to miss in the daytime. What would the man have done if he had missed it and had to turn around? He shivered as he turned into the slash in the trees.
It was always so dark in here, even during the day. All he could see now was the already overgrown dirt drive about a foot in front of his headlights. Jeez, they had just torn that up two weeks ago how was that possible...
Something ran out in front of the car and Jimmy slammed on the breaks. He turned his head quickly to catch a glimpse of whatever it was as it ran off into the thick woods. Before he could ponder what kind of an animal had a tail with a forked end, he felt a gun shove up against the back of his head and a voice that scared him much more than the weird old woods spoke up.
"Drive." It said.
That was enough for Jimmy. If I get out of this alive, he thought, I promise to god I won't use hacks in Counterstike again. Oh god please just let me live to see my computer again...
It seemed to take forever but when they finally pulled up to the front of the cabin, Jimmy stopped the car and turned it off. Then he sat as the man got out and came around to his side of the car and opened the door. He was pointing a gun at his head.
"Get out. You're going in first. You better pray to God your boss didn't set up an ambush inside that door or you're getting the first shots."
Jimmy wet himself again as they walked up to the entrance....
Something screamed deep in the woods and Mean Joe felt sick again. Something was very wrong here. He pushed the barrel of his 44 harder against the kids head as he turned the handle and pulled the door open....
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Hey All!
Glad you like my story so far Spitter. It's just a little yarn I've been spinning to help me sleep, I'll try to get the next part up tomorrow!
I thought I'd post quick tonight to point you guys toward this Deviant Art page: http://bryanbaugh.deviantart.com/
It made this horror fan's heart squeal with glee quite a few times, it did, and the Return of the Living Dead piece has an honored place as my computer wallpaper. Enjoy!
I thought I'd post quick tonight to point you guys toward this Deviant Art page: http://bryanbaugh.deviantart.com/
It made this horror fan's heart squeal with glee quite a few times, it did, and the Return of the Living Dead piece has an honored place as my computer wallpaper. Enjoy!
Mean Joe Gets by With a Little Help
The walls of the private back rooms in Chicago's were soundproofed so you could come in and have a private conversation. Regardless, you could still feel the music's beat and the bass made the walls buzz. The rooms were very small, lit by a single dim overhead lamp and containing nothing but a low table surrounded by booth chairs. Mean Joe sat smoking, waiting for the club's owner to show up. It didn't take long. The door opened and in walked Bob Chicago surrounded by three goons in muscle shirts. He pointed and one of them posted at the door. The other two sat on either side of him as he took his seat across from Mean Joe. Inside his head Mean Joe laughed. Despite the size of his bodyguards, Joe knew he could take them all. He supposed Bob Chicago knew this too as he could sense fear coming off of him in waves and could even see sweat forming on his forehead in the dim light. Joe leaned back out of the light's range so only the glow from his cigarette could be seen.
"Nice scarf Bob," he said, "Which of your faggot friends gave you that?"
Mean Joe had nothing against homosexuals, he hated them as equally as he hated anyone else. He had just said it to piss Fat Bob off. And it worked like a charm, Fat Bob was practically shaking and his face was beat red.
"Now, now you listen to me! You can't just walk into my club and start making messes for me to clean up! My best bouncer had to go to the hospital and..."
Mean Joe interrupted him.
"Shit happens."
"Well, well, shit only seems to happen when you come around. On top of that I've got two bodies out there to get rid of before the cops show up and and and I want you out of here now!"
Mean Joe leaned back into the light.
"Shut your fairy mouth and listen. You owe me big time and I'm calling in my favor."
"I don't owe you jack shit!" Said Fat Bob, his jowls shaking in rage, spit flying from his mouth.
"I suppose you forgot how I spared your life last year. Without me you'd be lying in a swamp right now with a nice size hole in your head and your dick stuffed in your mouth. You'd be alligator food. Is that what you want? I could still make it happen."
Fat Bob's eyes went wide.
"You bastard, you unimaginable bastard. Tell me what you want and get the Hell out of here!"
Mean Joe leaned back in his chair again. He was enjoying this, enjoying it a lot. He pulled the last bit of tobacco from his cigarette and put it out on the table top.
"I need a place to hide away for awhile. You're going to get me one."
Fat Bob sighed in relief. He laughed.
"Is that all? Jesus, I thought you were going to make do some awful errand for you."
Fat Bob wiped the sweat away from his forehead. Mean Joe said nothing.
"Yeah, yeah I got a place. It's a ways out of town. I bought this run down cabin last year just in case I needed a place to go. Its got electricity and running water and not much else. I've been stockpiling food since I bought it....why do you need it anyways if you don't mind me asking?"
"You let your goons fuck you in the ass? I bet that feels real good. Bet you could shit standing up."
One of the guards started to get up and Fat Bob restrained him.
"I'll have a car ready to take you out there tomorrow..."
"Tonight."
"Tonight at midnight...."
"Eleven thirty."
"Eleven thirty at Seabird's Bridge..."
"Green River Tunnel."
"Green River Tunnel, they'll take you out to the cabin and drop you off. Now you listen to me buster, I don't ever, ever want to see you in here again, you hear me?"
Mean Joe laughed without smiling. It was a low rumbling sort of laugh that made Fat Bob's blood turn to ice and his face go pale. Mean Joe got up to leave. It looked like he was going to walk out but he turned and leaned in close to Bob's fat sweaty face and whispered,
"If you double cross me you candy ass piece of shit, you'll regret it more than you can even imagine. You got lucky that night I let you live, don't think I'll be so generous again."
Then he pushed past the bouncer blocking the door and walked out. Fat Bob sat for a minute, trying to get his nerves back. Then he ordered one of the goons to get the car ready and they all left. The room sat silent and empty except for the pounding of the drumbeat and the buzzing of the bass from the music outside.
"Nice scarf Bob," he said, "Which of your faggot friends gave you that?"
Mean Joe had nothing against homosexuals, he hated them as equally as he hated anyone else. He had just said it to piss Fat Bob off. And it worked like a charm, Fat Bob was practically shaking and his face was beat red.
"Now, now you listen to me! You can't just walk into my club and start making messes for me to clean up! My best bouncer had to go to the hospital and..."
Mean Joe interrupted him.
"Shit happens."
"Well, well, shit only seems to happen when you come around. On top of that I've got two bodies out there to get rid of before the cops show up and and and I want you out of here now!"
Mean Joe leaned back into the light.
"Shut your fairy mouth and listen. You owe me big time and I'm calling in my favor."
"I don't owe you jack shit!" Said Fat Bob, his jowls shaking in rage, spit flying from his mouth.
"I suppose you forgot how I spared your life last year. Without me you'd be lying in a swamp right now with a nice size hole in your head and your dick stuffed in your mouth. You'd be alligator food. Is that what you want? I could still make it happen."
Fat Bob's eyes went wide.
"You bastard, you unimaginable bastard. Tell me what you want and get the Hell out of here!"
Mean Joe leaned back in his chair again. He was enjoying this, enjoying it a lot. He pulled the last bit of tobacco from his cigarette and put it out on the table top.
"I need a place to hide away for awhile. You're going to get me one."
Fat Bob sighed in relief. He laughed.
"Is that all? Jesus, I thought you were going to make do some awful errand for you."
Fat Bob wiped the sweat away from his forehead. Mean Joe said nothing.
"Yeah, yeah I got a place. It's a ways out of town. I bought this run down cabin last year just in case I needed a place to go. Its got electricity and running water and not much else. I've been stockpiling food since I bought it....why do you need it anyways if you don't mind me asking?"
"You let your goons fuck you in the ass? I bet that feels real good. Bet you could shit standing up."
One of the guards started to get up and Fat Bob restrained him.
"I'll have a car ready to take you out there tomorrow..."
"Tonight."
"Tonight at midnight...."
"Eleven thirty."
"Eleven thirty at Seabird's Bridge..."
"Green River Tunnel."
"Green River Tunnel, they'll take you out to the cabin and drop you off. Now you listen to me buster, I don't ever, ever want to see you in here again, you hear me?"
Mean Joe laughed without smiling. It was a low rumbling sort of laugh that made Fat Bob's blood turn to ice and his face go pale. Mean Joe got up to leave. It looked like he was going to walk out but he turned and leaned in close to Bob's fat sweaty face and whispered,
"If you double cross me you candy ass piece of shit, you'll regret it more than you can even imagine. You got lucky that night I let you live, don't think I'll be so generous again."
Then he pushed past the bouncer blocking the door and walked out. Fat Bob sat for a minute, trying to get his nerves back. Then he ordered one of the goons to get the car ready and they all left. The room sat silent and empty except for the pounding of the drumbeat and the buzzing of the bass from the music outside.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Mean Joe's Adventure in Da Club
Mean Joe Anderson didn't like the current style of music. Actually, Mean Joe Anderson didn't like anything in the current style not the music, the clothes, or the attitude. Mean Joe Anderson would have been called an "old soul" if he had had one, which he most certainly did not. No one could quite figure out why he dressed like a 1940s gangster but no one really dared to ask. The last guy that made fun of his fedora hat had gotten his nose smashed into his brain. Needless to say, Mean Joe Anderson didn't have many friends either. He wasn't in the right line of work for that. The bouncer who's fingers he had just broken sure wasn't going to invite him out to the movies on Saturday night...
Chicago's had only opened up about a week ago but it had already earned a reputation as a "rough joint." You really had to watch yourself or risk getting a knife in your back...or worse.
Mean Joe sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks. A slutty young bartender with a tramp stamp above her thong underwear tried to talk him up while he poured it. Mean Joe ignored her and she went to the other side of the bar. He was thinking about how much the young people grinding up against each other on the dance floor and the vulgar music make him ill when two young males in wife-beaters sat down on either side of him. Mean Joe lit up a cigarette.
"Hey man, whats with the crazy outfit? Where the fuck you think you is?" Said the one on the left.
Mean Joe pulled on his coffin nail and looked down at his shitty drink.
"Hey man, didn't you hear what my friend is saying to you? Is you retarded or somefin?"
Mean Joe looked at the guy on his right. He was wearing a large black hat with a white G embroidered on the front, canted off to the side. This amused Mean Joe quite a bit, but he didn't smile. Mean Joe never smiled. Maybe he had once after a particularly satisfying hit on a well paying job, but just that once and never again. Mean Joe took another drag on his cigarette. The punk on his left leaned in close to Mean Joe's face.
"You chicken shit motherfucker, you're going to get out of here, you hear me? Or you is gonna be in some serious trouble."
His friend pulled out a knife. Mean Joe took the cigarette out of mouth and said in his low gravelly voice:
"No, you're going to leave or I'm going to break your neck."
The punk on his left laughed and looked over at his friend.
"Hey man, you hear dat shit? Thats funny, do you know who we is? We's wanted in five states. We bad ass niggas, we ain't never scared of no clown ass pieces of shit like you. What the fuck you think you doin' walkin' in her wearing that shit? Don't make me tell you again, get the fuck out of my club."
Mean Joe put his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray and lit another.
"Did you hear me motherfucker? I said..."
He didn't get to finish. With one swift motion Mean Joe put his cigarette out in the kids eye and smacked the knife out of his friends hand, caught it, and sliced his throat open. The boy's screams were louder than the music and the DJ cut it. Everyone in the silent gloomy club stood looking at the dapper man in the gray suit with the scar down the left side of his face and at the young man writhing around on the floor in pain. As they watched, Mean Joe leaned over and whispered in the young man's ear.
"I told you I would."
Then he snapped his neck.
Mean Joe picked up his drink and walked back to the private room the owner of the club had reserved for him. Fun time was over, now it was time to get down to business...
Chicago's had only opened up about a week ago but it had already earned a reputation as a "rough joint." You really had to watch yourself or risk getting a knife in your back...or worse.
Mean Joe sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey on the rocks. A slutty young bartender with a tramp stamp above her thong underwear tried to talk him up while he poured it. Mean Joe ignored her and she went to the other side of the bar. He was thinking about how much the young people grinding up against each other on the dance floor and the vulgar music make him ill when two young males in wife-beaters sat down on either side of him. Mean Joe lit up a cigarette.
"Hey man, whats with the crazy outfit? Where the fuck you think you is?" Said the one on the left.
Mean Joe pulled on his coffin nail and looked down at his shitty drink.
"Hey man, didn't you hear what my friend is saying to you? Is you retarded or somefin?"
Mean Joe looked at the guy on his right. He was wearing a large black hat with a white G embroidered on the front, canted off to the side. This amused Mean Joe quite a bit, but he didn't smile. Mean Joe never smiled. Maybe he had once after a particularly satisfying hit on a well paying job, but just that once and never again. Mean Joe took another drag on his cigarette. The punk on his left leaned in close to Mean Joe's face.
"You chicken shit motherfucker, you're going to get out of here, you hear me? Or you is gonna be in some serious trouble."
His friend pulled out a knife. Mean Joe took the cigarette out of mouth and said in his low gravelly voice:
"No, you're going to leave or I'm going to break your neck."
The punk on his left laughed and looked over at his friend.
"Hey man, you hear dat shit? Thats funny, do you know who we is? We's wanted in five states. We bad ass niggas, we ain't never scared of no clown ass pieces of shit like you. What the fuck you think you doin' walkin' in her wearing that shit? Don't make me tell you again, get the fuck out of my club."
Mean Joe put his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray and lit another.
"Did you hear me motherfucker? I said..."
He didn't get to finish. With one swift motion Mean Joe put his cigarette out in the kids eye and smacked the knife out of his friends hand, caught it, and sliced his throat open. The boy's screams were louder than the music and the DJ cut it. Everyone in the silent gloomy club stood looking at the dapper man in the gray suit with the scar down the left side of his face and at the young man writhing around on the floor in pain. As they watched, Mean Joe leaned over and whispered in the young man's ear.
"I told you I would."
Then he snapped his neck.
Mean Joe picked up his drink and walked back to the private room the owner of the club had reserved for him. Fun time was over, now it was time to get down to business...
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Gulliver's Travels on Blu-ray
If you haven't heard yet, the middling but still historically interesting film Max Fleischer's Gulliver's Travels has been released on regular and Blu-ray DVD. This should make animation fans happy little skunks right? It should but unfortunately the transfers are so botched that DVDtalk.com is calling it "the single worst title to find its way onto the format to date". Why so bad?
Well, for one instead of getting a print from an original (or a copy) negative, they pulled from what appears to be a bad video tape. On top of that they DVDRed the living shit out of the image to try and make it DVD quality, making the resulting image almost unwatchably blurry. Let me rephrase that: they made a blu-ray disc that looks worse than the VHS tapes that have been around forever and the dollar DVDs you can pick up at Wal-mart. And they want you to pay 12 bucks for it.
But oh my brothers, thats not all. The film is presented in fake widescreen to accommodate widescreen TVS. The problem with this is that that the movie wasn't originally in that format so they smashed the image flat on the top and bottom, making everything abnormally wide. The DVDtalk reviewer quoted above also mentioned that the animation seems to lack the usual Fleischer smoothness meaning that pieces were probably cut out to cut "restoration" costs. To put it bluntly, they fucking butchered this movie.
The thing is, its really not that great of a film, but it is a Fleischer cartoon and to me that means that it deserves some respect. I mean, for crying out loud, they were more popular than Disney for a good long time and their early cartoons are goofy and surreal beyond anything Walt would have imagined in his worst nightmares. Their Popeye cartoons get released in fantastic box sets with some of the most stunning DVD restoration ever done and then we get this, its really like a kick in the nuts.
To close my rant, go here and watch this cartoon for free: http://www.archive.org/details/gullivers_travels1939
Do not do not do not pay money for this awful money grubbing travesty. Please inform any other animation fanatics about this so they don't waste their money as well. Thank you for listening.
Addendum:
The funniest part of this whole thing is the reviews on Amazon.com. Apparently, the company who put out this piece of junk paid people to give it glowing reviews and when people with actual souls called them out on it, several very funny arguments ensued. Most of these have been deleted but you can still see the remnants of the epic flame wars between animation fans and corporate ass-puppets.
Well, for one instead of getting a print from an original (or a copy) negative, they pulled from what appears to be a bad video tape. On top of that they DVDRed the living shit out of the image to try and make it DVD quality, making the resulting image almost unwatchably blurry. Let me rephrase that: they made a blu-ray disc that looks worse than the VHS tapes that have been around forever and the dollar DVDs you can pick up at Wal-mart. And they want you to pay 12 bucks for it.
But oh my brothers, thats not all. The film is presented in fake widescreen to accommodate widescreen TVS. The problem with this is that that the movie wasn't originally in that format so they smashed the image flat on the top and bottom, making everything abnormally wide. The DVDtalk reviewer quoted above also mentioned that the animation seems to lack the usual Fleischer smoothness meaning that pieces were probably cut out to cut "restoration" costs. To put it bluntly, they fucking butchered this movie.
The thing is, its really not that great of a film, but it is a Fleischer cartoon and to me that means that it deserves some respect. I mean, for crying out loud, they were more popular than Disney for a good long time and their early cartoons are goofy and surreal beyond anything Walt would have imagined in his worst nightmares. Their Popeye cartoons get released in fantastic box sets with some of the most stunning DVD restoration ever done and then we get this, its really like a kick in the nuts.
To close my rant, go here and watch this cartoon for free: http://www.archive.org/details/gullivers_travels1939
Do not do not do not pay money for this awful money grubbing travesty. Please inform any other animation fanatics about this so they don't waste their money as well. Thank you for listening.
Addendum:
The funniest part of this whole thing is the reviews on Amazon.com. Apparently, the company who put out this piece of junk paid people to give it glowing reviews and when people with actual souls called them out on it, several very funny arguments ensued. Most of these have been deleted but you can still see the remnants of the epic flame wars between animation fans and corporate ass-puppets.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Sigh
I could do without people, I really could. Scratch that, I could live without people telling me what to do. That was Robert E. Howard's biggest gripe with the working world and a major motivation for him to succeed as a writer. It's such a simple thing but it bothered him a lot. It didn't really bother me that much until today when I was reprimanded for something small and it got blown out of proportion. I got called into my bosses office and had to stand there while she cursed at me and said what I did was unprofessional (which I thought was ironic seeing as how she kept dropping the f-bomb.) It turned out to not be that big of a deal, like I knew it would, but I still had to endure a quite homely woman who's main job consists of falling asleep at her desk calling me lazy and stupid. All I could think was "Do I, a moderately intelligent adult, need to be reprimanded like a child and made to feel worthless? I wouldn't talk to a kid like this for crying out loud."
My goal is to someday be like my hero Mr. Howard and never have to work a real job for a real boss again. Ever. Is that too much to ask? Is that really just a pipe dream for the lucky few? I know everyone has to pay their dues and work shitty jobs but is this mine? Will I find a way to be self-employed after this? Find out on the next episode of...My Life Sucks.
My goal is to someday be like my hero Mr. Howard and never have to work a real job for a real boss again. Ever. Is that too much to ask? Is that really just a pipe dream for the lucky few? I know everyone has to pay their dues and work shitty jobs but is this mine? Will I find a way to be self-employed after this? Find out on the next episode of...My Life Sucks.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Only Communists Don't Enjoy Stupid Novelty Songs
See that guys? Incessant showering of your wuv on random women and being short and blue will get you thrown off a building, the rumors are true!
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Some Lovecraft Love
Pickman's Model
The Outsider
The Picture in the House
Call of Cthulhu
There's the cruddy dinner party conversation starter question: If you could go back in time and converse with one person from history who would it be? My answer is Lovecraft every time.
The above stories blew me away the first time I read them in a beat-up anthology collection. At the time I thought I was the only one in the world who had ever discovered and fell head over heels for Mr. H.P. Lovecraft (A completely platonic literary love, of course). I was dead wrong as there are actual Lovecraftian scholars as I found out later, but it was still an awesome feeling of discovery to have stumbled on such crazy freaky weird stories at our small town library. Lovecraft changed my whole way of looking at the world. I actively sought out the cracks in reality, I looked for shadowy cults operating in the dark woods at night, and signs that the great old ones were walking among us again. I'm still convinced that theres a whole world out there beyond what we're able to receive through our senses. I haven't found any proof yet, but I have never stopped looking.
While I adore his writing, the man himself was quite interesting too. He's often portrayed as the ultimate loner but he was married for awhile and was an obsessive letter writer. As you can tell by reading the above stories, he was also quite a racist and you could say he was a product of his times, but I think it goes deeper than that and the more I read and re-read his work the more his world view starts to come out. I'm probably wrong but its my gut feeling that he was deathly afraid of the unknowable, possibly a consequence of being very sickly as a child. While his writing is a bit purplish at times, it is certainly all his own. He has a lot of imitators but no one ever comes close.
Pointless story time: When I worked at my depressing fencing company job I would pull out my borrowed copy of Lovecraft stories with a freaky Pickman's Model inspired illustration on the front to read on my lunch break. Oh, the weird looks I got, I savored all of them. I don't know if it was because I was reading a book or the cover, but probably a combination of both. I was so so glad the day I got fired from that job...
The Outsider
The Picture in the House
Call of Cthulhu
There's the cruddy dinner party conversation starter question: If you could go back in time and converse with one person from history who would it be? My answer is Lovecraft every time.
The above stories blew me away the first time I read them in a beat-up anthology collection. At the time I thought I was the only one in the world who had ever discovered and fell head over heels for Mr. H.P. Lovecraft (A completely platonic literary love, of course). I was dead wrong as there are actual Lovecraftian scholars as I found out later, but it was still an awesome feeling of discovery to have stumbled on such crazy freaky weird stories at our small town library. Lovecraft changed my whole way of looking at the world. I actively sought out the cracks in reality, I looked for shadowy cults operating in the dark woods at night, and signs that the great old ones were walking among us again. I'm still convinced that theres a whole world out there beyond what we're able to receive through our senses. I haven't found any proof yet, but I have never stopped looking.
While I adore his writing, the man himself was quite interesting too. He's often portrayed as the ultimate loner but he was married for awhile and was an obsessive letter writer. As you can tell by reading the above stories, he was also quite a racist and you could say he was a product of his times, but I think it goes deeper than that and the more I read and re-read his work the more his world view starts to come out. I'm probably wrong but its my gut feeling that he was deathly afraid of the unknowable, possibly a consequence of being very sickly as a child. While his writing is a bit purplish at times, it is certainly all his own. He has a lot of imitators but no one ever comes close.
Pointless story time: When I worked at my depressing fencing company job I would pull out my borrowed copy of Lovecraft stories with a freaky Pickman's Model inspired illustration on the front to read on my lunch break. Oh, the weird looks I got, I savored all of them. I don't know if it was because I was reading a book or the cover, but probably a combination of both. I was so so glad the day I got fired from that job...
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