Is it wrong of me to hope that this is true? That just once his haloed goodness got a little backdoor love? Okay, so violent and traumatic backdoor love, but still…
*sigh*
This is so wrong. Look at me. I’m so bitter and pissy today that I’m not even thinking before I spew - I fundamentally disagree with 99% of what I just said up above. Oh well. Come back tomorrow.
Thanks to Skits for the heads-up on what we can do to combat the combat of non-combatants - Operation TIPS-TIPS.
Man Shot Dead over Heaven and Hell Argument - know what? They’re both right. I really, really hope none of the parties involved have managed to achieve reproductive success and pass along those drink-till-you’re-stupid-and-nobly-eat-a-shotgun-to-save-your-drinking-buddy-from-himself genes. Aah, the glory of the grand gesture. Think I’ll pass on that one.
Ahh… Death By Chocolate. Probably not as fun as speaking metaphorically of same. Poor guy - wonder if he’d be classified as a soft-center or a chew?
I think I may have some competition in the “Stupid Ways to Hurt Yourself” category, but hey, at least I never blame anybody else for my injuries, nor apparently should I: court denies damages for velcro victim.
Should I ever get over my fleeting obsession with SpongeBobSquarePants, I’ve found a more than adequate substitute here at the Sea Monkey Worship Page. At last, my life has meaning.
I’m actually doing the writerly thing and finally reading some of Joseph Campbell’s stuff. I’m developing a mythology for the book (working title: Falling Off the Edge - yeah, Doe, I know it’s not all that and a chilled shot of Stoli, but what the hell, so I temporarily suck at titles) and there’s some archetypical references I want to take advantage of. Woot! I’m actually managing to write without getting caught up in doing years of research first - a few different writers have made the point to me that correcting stuff is what the second draft is for, but you gotta have a first draft to scribble on to even get to that point. So yay for me… let’s see how far I get, muttered the slavering black thing that calls itself my internal editor.
Here’s a shout out to ShadowShow to get their collective arse in gear and post new content - I like their stuff. Not that I’m nagging or anything.
Ooh, pretty. I just updated my word count in the top-left corner. Yay. Hey! Do those numbers look made-up to you? Nuh-uh… are not!
I’ve been reading a lot of Tim Powers lately (with a liberal dose of Neil Gaiman thrown in for good measure), which may account for the odd sensation I’m having to day of living in his world. Or not. To whit - this morning I read the news blurb about the South American couple who worship down at thier local church for as long as it takes the Virgin Mary to recharge their cell phone. A nice bit of surreal religiosity, I admit, but not in and of itself enough to make me think I’m living in Powers‘ world. Then, as I run my hubby’s dusty black truck through the automatic carwash on my lunch break, I look over at the transom-thingy that spews all the water and soap and air and there’s a slim black sticker that reads “Resist Despair - therapy for a country gone psycho” by www.unamerican.org or .com or something that I can’t get to through the Mary Poppins proxy server here at work. A good message, and timely to boot. Aw shucks. Anyone for a game of five-card stud with a tarot deck, Pages wild? Or not. Wait, these things always come in threes… hmm. Oh hell, I know what the third thing is - the surreality started yesterday, when I got the Explorer. Me and the hubby are DINKS living in the ‘burbs who now own an SUV. Um shit. Hold on there - he’s still dot-commed, so we’re SINKS for the time being… *whew*
Wonder what the third thing’s gonna be?