Nice Critic, Again

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Who did this? Who knows my secret? You'll swing for this!

End Of An Era

So here we are, in the final days of George W. Bush's presidency. As you probably know, we've disagreed over the years on various trifling matters, but he's the leader of the free world and I am a patriot who loves this fine country. As such, I must do my part as an artist to express what I'm feeling, with appropriate dignity and the respect befitting this most solemn of occasions.



I do not wish to impose my plugins upon your tender ears, so I instead would ask that you imagine Yakkety Sax is playing as the background music for this post. Thank you, and God bless the USA.

Teenage Rebellion (Traditional Recipe):

You will need:

1 tbsp Accutane
2 power-tripping parents
5 months being grounded for being a complete dumbass
1 dash realization that your parents (and by extension, all Authority figures) are frauds
1 pinch of ego (to taste)

Add hormones and stir over high heat. Serves the whole family.

Leftovers can still taste delicious several years later if deep-frozen. Simply thaw during adulthood and serve over fresh steaming embarrassment.

Dianetics: A Review

Still more Scientology fun, this time with Amazon.com reviews. They've been deleting negative reviews for a while now, but I think things are getting a little bit out of hand now. Glosslip has the scoop.

How exactly do you review a self-help book without mentioning your personal opinions on the subject matter?

Let me see if I can do it...

"L. Ron Hubbard, you've done it again!"
(Four Stars out of Five)

This is an excellent book. It has durable binding, good firm covers, and many pages in-between. I was especially impressed by the sequential numbering and generous quanity of these pages. These days, there are a lot of anemic, skimpy books on the shelves of your local bookstore. Call me old-fashioned, but I need a book with girth! In this respect, Dianetics became a personal favorite the minute I pulled it from the bargain bin.

The typeface was crisp and pleasant to look at, with words arranged into rows for easy reading. I had to remove one star because many of them were not in English, which did detract from the experience somewhat.

All in all, Hubbard clearly took a great deal of time and care in putting this thing together. I cannot recommend Dianetics enough.

If you're like me and enjoy slowly paging through sheaves of paper bound into book format and printed with words, Dianetics might be just what you're looking for.

Carlos Santana Shreds!

NEEDS MORE COWBELL



This Pat Metheny one is also pretty good. Wish I could sing like that...

SUDDENLY, THETANS! THOUSANDS OF THEM!

Exciting shit continues to develop as Anonymous and Scientology go to war!

The internet has never been more awesome.

My money is on Anonymous to win. Yes, Scientology has the advantage of being a powerful, relentless cult with virtually unlimited financial resources and no compunctions against killing people who offend them.

But on the other hand, virgins have nothing to live for and therefore no fear of death. Not to mention, Mountain Dew is a renewable resource.

The outcome here is obvious.

Paint The Little Drummer Boy Black

This rather horrible mashup of two vastly different songs appeared in my head this evening and has been stuck there ever since:

I see a red door and ba-rum-pum-pum-pum
I want to paint it black ba-rum-pum-pum-pum
No colors anymore ba-rum-pum-pum-pum
rum-pum-pum-pum
rum-pum-pum-pum
Want it to turn blaaaack...

At first it was funny but now it's driving me absolutely dogshit. The saddest thing is that it still beats the holiday muzak that probably spawned it by a country mile.

Magic's Pawn Drinking Game!

One drink when:

-Vanyel thinks, "Oh, gods!" in despair.
-Vanyel thinks, "No one cares about me."
-Vanyel cries. (Two if he cries himself to sleep).
-Vanyel has a nightmare. (CHUG if the resultant angst gets him laid).

Two drinks when:

-Two or more adults spend a mealtime talking about Vanyel.
-Somebody observes that Vanyel is broken inside. (These wounds, they will not heeeaaaal)
-Savil collects another gay male friend.
-Somebody's eyes change color according to mood.
-Somebody swoons.
-Vanyel has a prophetic dream about the climax of the third book.
-Every character in the story hovers anxiously around Vanyel's Bed of Pain, even those who dislike him and whose presence serves no function.
-Vanyel's "channels" are described as "raw" from having been "blasted open." (NUDGE NUDGE WINK WINK)

Three drinks when:

-Somebody has a magickal seizure.
-Somebody commits suicide.
-Somebody slits their wrists but is saved at the last minute.
-Vanyel's grief makes the castle shake.

Chug the rest of the can when:

-Vanyel gets his wizard on. (Add another drink for each Talent discovered beyond the usual one or two present in a Mage). **NOTE: You automatically lose the game if you pass out before the list is complete!**
-Vanyel's magic does NOT render him unconscious or emotionally devastated.
-Vanyel takes any decisive action.
-Any sympathetic character observes that Vanyel is not the center of their universe.

...I Got Better.

Priest "Only Pretending to be Gay"

The Onion had better look out! Real life seems to be yanking its material.

Luka Drops The Soap

I discovered the hard way that my dog likes the taste of Dove bath bars.

First I gave HIM a bath, because he smelled like shit and was covered in grime after wallowing in that fucking puddle at the dog park. He has become used to the indignity by now, and he will hold mostly still and merely lean on me for protection against the evil killing spray of cool water. His look of misery is priceless.

Then after I toweled off the worst of the moisture and send him out of the tub to have his PTSD shakes, I took my own shower to clean out the tub and get the smears of muck off my own arms and legs. As usual, he came over to investigate. I said hello when he stuck his head in through the gap between curtain and wall, and went back to the soaping up. Out of nowhere I felt this weird sensation on my leg.

Looked down, and he was leaning into the bath with both paws on the edge, licking off my soap. I yelped in shock and backed away, turning to rinse off. More licking on my leg and back as the hound pursued the delightful soapy taste. Then a loud CLUMP and I turn to see that Butthead has jumped back into the tub, braving the flashbacks and the harsh spray from the shower he hates so terribly, all in an attempt to steal the bath bar.

So Roomies, in case you're wondering where those fang marks came from; mea puppa culpa.

Shit's still a little hectic so the update isn't on time this week. Working on it!

My Dog Uses Me

Last night the Captain had a bout of affection while I was trying to pack.

He came over and leaned on me with the full weight of his body, nuzzing my shoulders with his face, that sort of thing. Before I knew it, he had half-stood and wrapped his front paws around me in a tight and needy bear-hug, head pillowed on my shoulder.

I got to thinking about what a good puppy he is, and how I'm glad I adopted him, and how much progress he's made since the day I took him home. I was thinking yeah, I can live with this guy.

Eventually I noticed he was moving his head around. I turned to look, and there he was. Slowwwwly, caaarefully pulling a forbidden squeaky-toy down from the top of his crate.

The little shit was using me for a stepstool.

GIMME GIMME GIMME, I NEED, I NEED

Sad, sighing puppy.

He was munching on something papery under my desk that I knew he wasn't supposed to have. His favorite hobby is to sneak little scraps of paper out of the trash and rip them into teeny weeny confetti, which he then strews across the floor to make snow. This time, the paper was an old receipt from Cub.

I felt around with my toes until I had my feet on the paper, then scooted it away from him to where I could see it on the floor beside my chair. The Captain immediately slithered over to reclaim the receipt, thinking he was a ninja. He almost had his teeth around the paper when I froze him solid with the dread command "LEAVE IT."

He hasn't moved since. He's still down there, all scrunched up with his muzzle resting dejected on the floor, mere inches from the tantalizing crumple of his stolen prize. His eyes have glazed over. He has no will to live; existence is meaningless without that receipt.

Every now and then gives a deep and tragic sigh to let me know how very much he wants to eat this little scrap of paper. He hopes with the naked optimism of a child that I might take pity and let him have it, just this once, if only to save him from complete emotional collapse.

Bless his little heart. Three months we've lived together, and he still hasn't figured out what a sadistic bastard I am.

A Letter From A Smoker

Dear Assholes Who Want Public Smoking Banned,

Your right to enter a public establishment without being physically harmed ends where my right to force large groups of total strangers to inhale the toxic fumes of my drug of choice begins.

Attempting to guarantee your own safety when in an enclosed space is a slippery slope that will, if followed, lead us to the same kind of scary nanny state that allowed the Holocaust. It is so fucking selfish to want to breathe air when I want you to breathe my smoke. How can I have a good time dancing with you constantly going on and on about your lungs are closing up and you can't breathe? Wah. You're just whiny bitches who can't handle a little risk. My mom smoked when she was pregnant with me and I was FINE.

Let me tell you something, assholes. You talk a good clip about personal responsibility, but you don't seem to understand what it means. Personal responsibility is far more than just taking care of yourself and accepting the consequences for your decisions.

What about your duty as a citizen to allow the dangerous behavior of others to threaten your health and safety? What about my rights to whittle your social scene down to the library, the mall, and your own front yard?

Personal responsibility, my ass. You're just a bunch of bullies making excuses to take away my right to smoke when I want to without regard for how it affects others.

It's very simple, you tiny-brained morons. Don't like having deadly asthma attacks and allergic reactions whenever you attempt to go dancing or enjoy a meal? Stay home! It's the only choice you can safely make anyway, since you're such fucking prudes.

Oh, you still want to talk about bans? Fine. Let's talk about how you should be banned entering any place with an even remotely interesting night life. That boredom you feel every weekend is freedom in action, baby!

-Breathless in Saint Paul

I've been meaning to compose this one for ages, but it took some smoking wank to prime my pump.

BRB DIGGING TO CHINA

At first glance my reaction was "How did he get a house-plant in his pen!?" But then I realized where all the 'dirt' was coming from...



My second reaction was to beat him soundly with a baseball bat. Not because I was mad--just to tenderize the flesh.

German Shorthair Pointer is the REAL other white meat.

Lost Season 4 Promo Art!

Yes, Jack's tattoo says 'woman.' Never ever beat up a tattoo artist and then hire them to permanently ink their opinion of your personality onto your body in a language you can't read. Then again, if you're a little sissy who maybe menstruates a little bit from time to time, go for it!

I'm Being Teased By The Heavens

THUNDERSTORM: WHOM! WHOM! HUGE LIGHTNING! ROCK AND ROLLLL!

LUKA: OH NEAT! LET ME GET MY CAMERA!

THUNDERSTORM: BORED NOW. GOING SOMEWHERE ELSE.

LUKA: FUCKING HELL.

THUNDERSTORM: WOO HOO! SECOND WIND BABY! CHECK OUT MY LIGHT SHOW! METAL FOREVERRRRR!

LUKA: CAMERA!!!

THUNDERSTORM: OH THAT'S OKAY. I WAS JUST LEAVING.

LUKA: YOU DO NOT FOOL ME! I DRIVE SOMEPLACE WHERE I CAN GET BETTER PICTURES!

THUNDERSTORM: DOOT DOOT.

LUKA: I WAIT!

THUNDERSTORM: I'M BEHIND THE CHURCH NOW! CATCH ME IF YOU CAN! OOP TOO SLOW, I'M OVER HERE NOW!

LUKA: I ROLL DOWN THE WINDOWS FOR ACCESS TO THE ENTIRE SKY!

THUNDERSTORM: DRIVING RAIN! DRIVING RAIN ALL OVER THE PLACE! SUCK IT, MARSHALL!

LUKA: FINE WHATEVER GOING HOME NOW.

THUNDERSTORM: ...

THUNDERSTORM: ROCK AND ROLL BABY! WHOM! WHOM!

TIME.COM KNOWS ABOUT MY TORMENT

WHEN I GO TO THE GROCERY STORE IT TAKES ALL MY WILLPOWER TO RESIST THE URGE TO DRINK ALL THE SYRUP ON THE SHELVES. I WANT TO TEAR OPEN THE BOXES OF COCOA PUFFS AND RUB THE CRUMBLING CONTENTS INTO MY BLOATED SWEATY MEAT-FOLDS FOR LATER CONSUMPTION. I DON'T ACTUALLY LIKE CEREAL OR SYRUP BUT I AM FAT AND IT IS SIMPLE INSTINCT. AS A CHILD I EVEN HAD TO BE TRAINED NOT TO ATTACK PEOPLE DRESSED LIKE GIANT ICE CREAM CONES.

THANK YOU, TIME.COM, FOR CAPTURING MY HEROIC STRUGGLE ON FILM TO SHARE WITH THE WORLD. AND FOR NOT CUTTING OFF MY HEAD THIS TIME.

HEAVING ROLLS OF LOVE,
ASSMASTER JONES

More Fun With CNN Headlines

I knew that guy looked shady.

I Couldn't Help It

This is what happens when they let me near the internet. Feel free to gank! It'll never be more topical than it is right now.

Peeves!

I am ready for the following three Internet behaviors to not happen anymore:

1. Replacing "y" with "eh" to make words like "Kitteh" "Bunneh" and so on. Girls think this is cute. It isn't. I consider it to be a Hello Kitty version of Goatse.

2. Beginning a sentence, most often a reply to a previous LJ comment, with the word "Actually." The smarmy Hermione-like tone of it drives me mad no matter how well-intentioned the comment itself might be. I, too, fell into the habit of abusing "actually" on the net, until I realized how much it pussified my sentences.

3. Webcomics I enjoy starting over 5 times and then going on permanent hiatus. This is one of my long-standing peeves, and will always occupy a top-three position on any list of complaints I might author.

...

Actualleh, my own webcomic did start over once (in a sense), so I guess I'm not completely innocent in this.