Showing posts with label randomness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label randomness. Show all posts
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Monday, July 21, 2008
T&R of the week
Like so much Lovecraftian fan fiction tentacles seem to haunt me everywhere I turn. I am speaking of this-
A seemingly cute Cthulhu which my mother for some odd reason was compelled (not by me I assure you) to create one afternoon. Maybe Lovecraft was right when he wrote about the Cthulu Cult and the strange call of its godmonster. Is this the call of Cthulhu?
~four inches tall, a vigintillion years old, googly eyed, tentacle clad, and tiny winged~
A seemingly cute Cthulhu which my mother for some odd reason was compelled (not by me I assure you) to create one afternoon. Maybe Lovecraft was right when he wrote about the Cthulu Cult and the strange call of its godmonster. Is this the call of Cthulhu?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The Literary Roundup
This summer has been a summer of reading for me. While I haven;t had that much free time lately I've still managed to pack my days with pages and pages of reading. I'd say a good 80-90% of my waking thoughts are turned towards literature. So, I thought it'd be interesting to bring just a few of the little, entertaining, and weird bits of writing or literature related things that I've been playing around with online.
Thou caluminous rampallian flap-dragon! Thou puking guts-griping blind-worm!
This is a really simple but fun page to play with. I found it completely on purpose (unlike most everything els) because I there are some situations where only the harsh and scornful words of the bard will do. I'm sure you've all been there. Its always seemed very important to me that when insulting someone to be smart about it. It isn't all that fun or impressive to just hurt someone's feelings because belittling someone else doesn't do anything to raise yourself up. Insulting a person is really more about proving not how dumb they are but how smart you are, how creative and witty you can be on the spot. With the Shakespearean Insulter you don't need to be either and you can still look smart... or at least well read. If anything no one will ever doubt again your nerdiness.
"The Book Really Focuses on Vietnam, For Some Reason"
You know what I always wanted more of as a child? Stories about creepy old guys and Vietnam. Something with a real David Lynch feel to it. Well, the infantile and juvenile youth of this country are going to be getting just that it. Meghan McCain, the daughter of Republican nominee John McCain, is writing a children's story about her father; and I'm sure it'll be accidently scary as hell. Imagine Strega Nona, but with more pandering, lying, and illusions to war.
(For an added creepy thrill check out Meghan's blog, McCainBlogette.com. Have you ever seen anything as unnatural looking as conservatives playing playing around and having fun? Me neither.)
Move Under Ground
This, like everything beatnik or Lovecraftian, is totally bat shit insane by the looks of it. "Jack Kerouac witnesses the rising of R'lyeh off the California coast. With Neal Cassady and William S. Burroughs, Jack takes to the road, crossing America to save the world from a Lovecraftian cult." See what I mean? Totally insane bat shit. I was pretty excited though when I found this because I'm reading Naked Lunch right now and I just finished some of H.P. Lovecraft's "better" works. I was also excited about finding this book not because I have any intention of reading it but because it supports my belief that Lovecraft fans are some of the best intentioned but worst endowed (of taste and talent) than any science fiction or horror fans you can find. And that's saying something. You can find the full ext here. I haven't read any of it, and I never will. Lovecraft and Burroughs reviews to follow.
I'm your pusher. But I don't mind. Here's some great lit. product.
Grammar
Irony
Shakespeare 1
Shakespeare 2
CM!
Thou caluminous rampallian flap-dragon! Thou puking guts-griping blind-worm!
This is a really simple but fun page to play with. I found it completely on purpose (unlike most everything els) because I there are some situations where only the harsh and scornful words of the bard will do. I'm sure you've all been there. Its always seemed very important to me that when insulting someone to be smart about it. It isn't all that fun or impressive to just hurt someone's feelings because belittling someone else doesn't do anything to raise yourself up. Insulting a person is really more about proving not how dumb they are but how smart you are, how creative and witty you can be on the spot. With the Shakespearean Insulter you don't need to be either and you can still look smart... or at least well read. If anything no one will ever doubt again your nerdiness.
"The Book Really Focuses on Vietnam, For Some Reason"
You know what I always wanted more of as a child? Stories about creepy old guys and Vietnam. Something with a real David Lynch feel to it. Well, the infantile and juvenile youth of this country are going to be getting just that it. Meghan McCain, the daughter of Republican nominee John McCain, is writing a children's story about her father; and I'm sure it'll be accidently scary as hell. Imagine Strega Nona, but with more pandering, lying, and illusions to war.
(For an added creepy thrill check out Meghan's blog, McCainBlogette.com. Have you ever seen anything as unnatural looking as conservatives playing playing around and having fun? Me neither.)
Move Under Ground
This, like everything beatnik or Lovecraftian, is totally bat shit insane by the looks of it. "Jack Kerouac witnesses the rising of R'lyeh off the California coast. With Neal Cassady and William S. Burroughs, Jack takes to the road, crossing America to save the world from a Lovecraftian cult." See what I mean? Totally insane bat shit. I was pretty excited though when I found this because I'm reading Naked Lunch right now and I just finished some of H.P. Lovecraft's "better" works. I was also excited about finding this book not because I have any intention of reading it but because it supports my belief that Lovecraft fans are some of the best intentioned but worst endowed (of taste and talent) than any science fiction or horror fans you can find. And that's saying something. You can find the full ext here. I haven't read any of it, and I never will. Lovecraft and Burroughs reviews to follow.
I'm your pusher. But I don't mind. Here's some great lit. product.
Grammar
Irony
Shakespeare 1
Shakespeare 2
CM!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Do the homeless drink our blood at night?
There is a point when desperation stops being French and romantic and becomes something much more real and scary. Is it so surprising to think then that maybe the homeless, displaced, and down trodden of the streets just might drink our blood at night? And if they do, is that so bad? Can you really blame them?
Sure, maybe they’re a little dated. It seems that the dark, horny, beauty of draculas in the 90s has been replaced by the swashbuckling flamboyance of pirates in the 00s. As Anne Rice made room for Roller Coaster rides the importance of blood and blood drinking was lost and now may be found in a less desirable place, on the dirty and dry lips of those retched wrecked souls called the walking homeless, those modern day street roaming nomads, those transient vagrants, the homeless.
Gone is the once kind playfulness of the run down tramp, and replacing that once romantic life of freedom and carelessness a life overflowing with the horrors and sadness of vampirism, night walking, and the curses of the changeling. No more can we look to shelters and parishes to protect and feed our lost brethren. No, oh no, for now no soup but blood soup can sustain these crazed people and fill there sickly stomachs teeming with maggots, rat fesses, and the skin from some poor souls neck. If anything these shelters have become the breeding grounds in this epidemic of homeless blood sucking terror as much as the streets of each and everyone of our great cities has. Gone I say, gone is the tin can and billy goat beard, gone is the train depot, the “sacked lunch” and the homemade fishing rod. All gone, all of them, everything, gone.
Do the homeless drink our blood at night? Sure they do, and why shouldn’t they, wouldn’t you? There’s nothing left to lose, and the sweetness of fresh blood is equal to any peppermint schnapps or three day old muffin crumbs. When you’re at the bottom of the income bracket it’s nice to know you’re at the top of the food chain.
Do they? Hell yes they do, or at least the ought to.
Cml, scared
Sure, maybe they’re a little dated. It seems that the dark, horny, beauty of draculas in the 90s has been replaced by the swashbuckling flamboyance of pirates in the 00s. As Anne Rice made room for Roller Coaster rides the importance of blood and blood drinking was lost and now may be found in a less desirable place, on the dirty and dry lips of those retched wrecked souls called the walking homeless, those modern day street roaming nomads, those transient vagrants, the homeless.
Gone is the once kind playfulness of the run down tramp, and replacing that once romantic life of freedom and carelessness a life overflowing with the horrors and sadness of vampirism, night walking, and the curses of the changeling. No more can we look to shelters and parishes to protect and feed our lost brethren. No, oh no, for now no soup but blood soup can sustain these crazed people and fill there sickly stomachs teeming with maggots, rat fesses, and the skin from some poor souls neck. If anything these shelters have become the breeding grounds in this epidemic of homeless blood sucking terror as much as the streets of each and everyone of our great cities has. Gone I say, gone is the tin can and billy goat beard, gone is the train depot, the “sacked lunch” and the homemade fishing rod. All gone, all of them, everything, gone.
Do the homeless drink our blood at night? Sure they do, and why shouldn’t they, wouldn’t you? There’s nothing left to lose, and the sweetness of fresh blood is equal to any peppermint schnapps or three day old muffin crumbs. When you’re at the bottom of the income bracket it’s nice to know you’re at the top of the food chain.
Do they? Hell yes they do, or at least the ought to.
Cml, scared
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Friday, September 7, 2007
A Serious Moment...
There’s something really magical about sitting around at two in the morning the night before a big test, in your underwear, slamming down milanos, pounding the keys and rocking out to sympathy for the devil. It’s a wild a feeling when you’ve left the windows open and there’s a shiver rising up you, straight from your belly and jittering legs. "Please to met you, hope you guessed my name."
Singing in the shower is all right, but sometimes I like to dance too. I know it isn’t a good idea, because I could slip and fall, but I don’t mind, I do it anyways.
I don’t especially like Tricks cereal. Also it turns your poop green. Superman ice cream has the same effect, but I can’t help but eat it for the sake of childhood nostalgia. And it makes me feel little less like Clark Kent.
When I hear tornado sirens it makes me wish I was having sex with a beautiful and caring woman. Someone I really loved. That way, if we died at least we’d be happy. At least I know I would. Also, I would have died the way I lived, wishing that I was having sex with a beautiful and caring woman.
-Caleb, that silly rabbit.
Singing in the shower is all right, but sometimes I like to dance too. I know it isn’t a good idea, because I could slip and fall, but I don’t mind, I do it anyways.
I don’t especially like Tricks cereal. Also it turns your poop green. Superman ice cream has the same effect, but I can’t help but eat it for the sake of childhood nostalgia. And it makes me feel little less like Clark Kent.
When I hear tornado sirens it makes me wish I was having sex with a beautiful and caring woman. Someone I really loved. That way, if we died at least we’d be happy. At least I know I would. Also, I would have died the way I lived, wishing that I was having sex with a beautiful and caring woman.
-Caleb, that silly rabbit.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
The Gauntlet
Remember when video games were hard? Yeah me too.
People complain about video games now, but there is nothing bad that can be said about any game that you didn’t have to pound on just to get it to play. The hardware error that companies like Nintendo, Sega, and Atari built into there cartridge platforms bread a whole generation of wife beating children who, even before you could kill whores and steal cars in Liberty City, were reverting to violence to solve their problems. I pounded on Donkey Kong harder than Mario did to Princess Peach, or King Kong did to Fay Wray.
Looking back it occurs to me now that besides being harder to start these games were also harder to play than anything on the market today. The controls for some of the classic and super Nintendo games are alright, but that’s easy when all you do is run and jump. But in the original Donkey Kong even athletic great Mario jumped like a ballet dancer on acid. Once you get to Jurassic Park on the Genesis, the one place you really need to run and jump, those abilities kind of fall apart in your hands as you wake up in a shady, monster filled, government occupied Pitfall.
If you see what I’m driving at here, you’re better off than I am. These games were hard, even if you didn’t utilize the one option they designed the menu for: the difficulty setting. But difficulty? Difficulty? Is that even an option in these early games?! I understand easy, normal, and hard, but what about “playable” as an option, or how about, “application of the natural laws of physics” on/off switch? How about some “difficulty” settings that would actually allow the game to slide back and forth on the spectrum of skill level, and not luck. I don’t know how many Italians, scientists, monkeys, and marines I’ve killed hoping that they could make it across a two foot jump and not trip standing up or face plant themselves into an invisible ledge. These games had one real setting- suckyhardtryagaingoodluckbastard. But the games were fun and challenging in a way TV hadn’t experienced since the introduction of the presidential debates and then much later and more predominantly with American Idol. It wasn’t just that we were young, with undeveloped hand eye coordination, or that these games were really, really, badly programmed (which they were), that made this games so hard. They were designed intentionally to be hard, and because of that worth playing again and again.
Looking past the insane logic of the story lines, the poor programming and resulting complex paradoxical game play that introduced games like “Schrödinger's Cat’s Bowl-a-Tron”, and sadistic game developers dreams of blind, nubby fingered children, the video games of our youth were pretty damn amazing.
Now, I’m not going to lie, I once I had to have someone remind me that Sonic wasn’t Mario, and that rings weren’t coins. And, for a long time when I’d play Mario in my uncle’s basement with all the cousins crowding around I had no idea what was going on. I mean there were dinosaurs, and manila colored nipple men, and a guy that could spit fire, and an arrangement of different mushrooms. And, sometimes my brother would give me the second player remote and tell me I was playing when I wasn’t, and for a long time I couldn’t tell. But eventually I got a “big” just like Mario did, and I grew up and understood a few things about video games.
The things that video games have taught me almost seem like universal truths to me now, things I was born knowing, natural rights intuit in every child. So, here they are-
What video games have taught me:
-That no matter what modern concepts of physics tell us, there is such a thing as a double jump. That is right, one jump on top of another, a mid air miracle, pushing little men a little higher.
-If something or someone changes color, they’re probably a zombie. If they bounce up really high and then off the screen, they’re probably just dead.
-Even little mustached plumbers can find the love of a beautiful princess, even if they can’t find her.
-Health is everywhere.
-And so is lava.
Seriously though, isn’t art supposed to relate to real life? At least a little. And I’m pretty sure that a huge part of life isn’t about getting eaten by raptors and falling off cliffs. But then again, I could always be wrong about that too.
-Caleb, true ninja
People complain about video games now, but there is nothing bad that can be said about any game that you didn’t have to pound on just to get it to play. The hardware error that companies like Nintendo, Sega, and Atari built into there cartridge platforms bread a whole generation of wife beating children who, even before you could kill whores and steal cars in Liberty City, were reverting to violence to solve their problems. I pounded on Donkey Kong harder than Mario did to Princess Peach, or King Kong did to Fay Wray.
Looking back it occurs to me now that besides being harder to start these games were also harder to play than anything on the market today. The controls for some of the classic and super Nintendo games are alright, but that’s easy when all you do is run and jump. But in the original Donkey Kong even athletic great Mario jumped like a ballet dancer on acid. Once you get to Jurassic Park on the Genesis, the one place you really need to run and jump, those abilities kind of fall apart in your hands as you wake up in a shady, monster filled, government occupied Pitfall.
If you see what I’m driving at here, you’re better off than I am. These games were hard, even if you didn’t utilize the one option they designed the menu for: the difficulty setting. But difficulty? Difficulty? Is that even an option in these early games?! I understand easy, normal, and hard, but what about “playable” as an option, or how about, “application of the natural laws of physics” on/off switch? How about some “difficulty” settings that would actually allow the game to slide back and forth on the spectrum of skill level, and not luck. I don’t know how many Italians, scientists, monkeys, and marines I’ve killed hoping that they could make it across a two foot jump and not trip standing up or face plant themselves into an invisible ledge. These games had one real setting- suckyhardtryagaingoodluckbastard. But the games were fun and challenging in a way TV hadn’t experienced since the introduction of the presidential debates and then much later and more predominantly with American Idol. It wasn’t just that we were young, with undeveloped hand eye coordination, or that these games were really, really, badly programmed (which they were), that made this games so hard. They were designed intentionally to be hard, and because of that worth playing again and again.
Looking past the insane logic of the story lines, the poor programming and resulting complex paradoxical game play that introduced games like “Schrödinger's Cat’s Bowl-a-Tron”, and sadistic game developers dreams of blind, nubby fingered children, the video games of our youth were pretty damn amazing.
Now, I’m not going to lie, I once I had to have someone remind me that Sonic wasn’t Mario, and that rings weren’t coins. And, for a long time when I’d play Mario in my uncle’s basement with all the cousins crowding around I had no idea what was going on. I mean there were dinosaurs, and manila colored nipple men, and a guy that could spit fire, and an arrangement of different mushrooms. And, sometimes my brother would give me the second player remote and tell me I was playing when I wasn’t, and for a long time I couldn’t tell. But eventually I got a “big” just like Mario did, and I grew up and understood a few things about video games.
The things that video games have taught me almost seem like universal truths to me now, things I was born knowing, natural rights intuit in every child. So, here they are-
What video games have taught me:
-That no matter what modern concepts of physics tell us, there is such a thing as a double jump. That is right, one jump on top of another, a mid air miracle, pushing little men a little higher.
-If something or someone changes color, they’re probably a zombie. If they bounce up really high and then off the screen, they’re probably just dead.
-Even little mustached plumbers can find the love of a beautiful princess, even if they can’t find her.
-Health is everywhere.
-And so is lava.
Seriously though, isn’t art supposed to relate to real life? At least a little. And I’m pretty sure that a huge part of life isn’t about getting eaten by raptors and falling off cliffs. But then again, I could always be wrong about that too.
-Caleb, true ninja
Monday, July 9, 2007
And as I am Peering down Springs Blouse...
Why will I continue to search for meaning in a seemingly meaningless universe? Why must I reject those beautiful bouts of chaos? They hit me like pleasant strokes, bubbles in the brain-at the park last summer they floated through that cramped air and sun streaked sky.
Sitting in the tub I am four and my mother’s blowing bubbles over my head and they stick to the white tile walls and the water is getting cold and the bath is full of mountains of white that keep popping and a hair floats by and I get scared. When the water is too chilly for me to take and the heater in the basement is already dead from exhaustion mother fills a pot on the stove. Pouring it over my toes I know she loves me.
But then it was summer again and for some odd reason music sounded better then it ever had before. Something in the air had changed and what more than that, Spring had crept out from 45 degrees of rain into a stuffy car and suddenly its 63˚ at the city airport. And that damn it all to hell April 6, 2006 or was it 2005 or 1994-0r-2 had pumped me full of thoughts of perfect folds of red summer blouses and divine bosoms with perfect playful cleavage as a girl asks me to turn in her paper for her because she can’t be bothered by the niceness of the day to leave her seat and I’m peering past her name in the upper corner and seeing her smile and the shrug of her shoulders on the same depth of field while her breasts pull daisy stalks into that V you see when two leaves or petals or legs or parts of summer met.
And then I am back at the park and that damn it all to hell April has set girls on every thought and emotion and sense I have. And there’s something in the air where I breath that causes something inside of me to feed and I can’t tear any bit of my over worked mind away from the breasts I see floating across the sky and over my bath and then I realize that they're bubbles I am remembering and I was four in that tub again.
And sometimes, we just have to be happy that summer and winter are so set in their ways. Spring and Fall, no matter what month, have a way of going either way, running a bit cold or feeling un-restfully warm as the wind blows. But, there is something about the middle of summer, something which is absolute, solidified by the heat of a July day which only summer has. Summer time is strong and sure, letting itself be known in every drop of sunlight into sweat, shouting out it’s presence like a boy with his ball in every long hour of the longest days. Summer burns a memory into your mind so surely that your brain peels. So definite that every blade of grass ever plucked up and rolled between your fingers, pulled at from the ground till it burst out singing dirt into the air as it gave to you is locked away in your mind. Summertime brings on emotions so dormant that even the bugs shoot off electric joy as they dance through the night, little thunderstorms so soft they could mock the lull a baby’s sleep. And, what’s more there is the memory of the first smear of that galvanizing green against the pavement where it is smeared into the heart and the soul of you the first time you see a fire fly die. Summer brings all the calmness of a nap, all the comfort of grass hugged feet, all the joy of nights so dark the sky is filled with lights that out shine cities and so warm that the day might not ever end and summer will just last forever.
And then I realize that it is April again and I’ve set out to get myself and there are a million pretty girls I’d love to kiss before I’ve lost my sense of Spring-supple breasts and supple heat that reaches inside of me and turns my chest up to the nth˚.
Sitting in the tub I am four and my mother’s blowing bubbles over my head and they stick to the white tile walls and the water is getting cold and the bath is full of mountains of white that keep popping and a hair floats by and I get scared. When the water is too chilly for me to take and the heater in the basement is already dead from exhaustion mother fills a pot on the stove. Pouring it over my toes I know she loves me.
But then it was summer again and for some odd reason music sounded better then it ever had before. Something in the air had changed and what more than that, Spring had crept out from 45 degrees of rain into a stuffy car and suddenly its 63˚ at the city airport. And that damn it all to hell April 6, 2006 or was it 2005 or 1994-0r-2 had pumped me full of thoughts of perfect folds of red summer blouses and divine bosoms with perfect playful cleavage as a girl asks me to turn in her paper for her because she can’t be bothered by the niceness of the day to leave her seat and I’m peering past her name in the upper corner and seeing her smile and the shrug of her shoulders on the same depth of field while her breasts pull daisy stalks into that V you see when two leaves or petals or legs or parts of summer met.
And then I am back at the park and that damn it all to hell April has set girls on every thought and emotion and sense I have. And there’s something in the air where I breath that causes something inside of me to feed and I can’t tear any bit of my over worked mind away from the breasts I see floating across the sky and over my bath and then I realize that they're bubbles I am remembering and I was four in that tub again.
And sometimes, we just have to be happy that summer and winter are so set in their ways. Spring and Fall, no matter what month, have a way of going either way, running a bit cold or feeling un-restfully warm as the wind blows. But, there is something about the middle of summer, something which is absolute, solidified by the heat of a July day which only summer has. Summer time is strong and sure, letting itself be known in every drop of sunlight into sweat, shouting out it’s presence like a boy with his ball in every long hour of the longest days. Summer burns a memory into your mind so surely that your brain peels. So definite that every blade of grass ever plucked up and rolled between your fingers, pulled at from the ground till it burst out singing dirt into the air as it gave to you is locked away in your mind. Summertime brings on emotions so dormant that even the bugs shoot off electric joy as they dance through the night, little thunderstorms so soft they could mock the lull a baby’s sleep. And, what’s more there is the memory of the first smear of that galvanizing green against the pavement where it is smeared into the heart and the soul of you the first time you see a fire fly die. Summer brings all the calmness of a nap, all the comfort of grass hugged feet, all the joy of nights so dark the sky is filled with lights that out shine cities and so warm that the day might not ever end and summer will just last forever.
And then I realize that it is April again and I’ve set out to get myself and there are a million pretty girls I’d love to kiss before I’ve lost my sense of Spring-supple breasts and supple heat that reaches inside of me and turns my chest up to the nth˚.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tantive...V?
Addendum!
I am glad to announce that our voices have been heard. That’s right Rouge Squadron, the efforts of The Corellian and myself are making a difference in this world. Thanks to our insightful observations and keen investigation the world is a better place. What am I talking about?
That damn blaster.
There is it. Steel Black. The way it should be. And even the Star Wars logo is gone.
Now maybe our boys will have a fighting chance.
And I’m just going to ignore that the product itself is now bile green…
-Red Leader
I am glad to announce that our voices have been heard. That’s right Rouge Squadron, the efforts of The Corellian and myself are making a difference in this world. Thanks to our insightful observations and keen investigation the world is a better place. What am I talking about?
That damn blaster.
There is it. Steel Black. The way it should be. And even the Star Wars logo is gone.
Now maybe our boys will have a fighting chance.
And I’m just going to ignore that the product itself is now bile green…
-Red Leader
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Ringwraiths
Superman is sent to the anti-matter universe of Qward and he finds...
A robotic... Witch King... with a lance... that shoots laser beams... riding a unicorn...
Yeah...
A robotic... Witch King... with a lance... that shoots laser beams... riding a unicorn...
Yeah...
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Tales from the Internets, volume 1
The first in what I hope to be a long running series of articles about... well, crap, I guess you could say. Just hide the kids, shield your eyes, or just don't click on the links. I find the following amusing... and occasionally just sad or weird, but I make no guarantees that you will.
This site really quacks me up (yes I realize that it was a horrible pun, but just think of it as dripping with sarcasm, or you know... just read the "testimonials" on the site and see how painful it all is). Honestly, I'm not sure whether I find these funny, or just sad. This site actually makes money selling these things? There's a market for rubber duckies that look like Jason Kidd or Moses? Could I make money selling figurines of Charlie Chaplin with bunny ears? So many unanswered questions... All that I know is that I definitely want a cow with a duck bill. I'm still trying to figure out whether or not putting duck bills on random animals is stranger than putting them on humans, though.
Moving along now... Google now has the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. Try putting it in the calculator yourself. Just great.
Those Talz can get mighty rowdy when they've had a few too many. Gotta love the Cantina scene.
The truth is out there... maybe. This begs the question of whether Mr. Hellyer is senile, insane, or just missing the lime light. Though, I'm probably more sympathetic to him then I should be thanks to the copious amounts of X-Files that I watch. Where the hell is Mulder when we need him, anyway?
Is that your horn, or are you just happy to see me? Um... I'm at a loss for words. Sick? Wrong? Disturbing? Probably... Fucking hilarious? Yes! I'd put this in the same category as the CelebriDucks except this guy knows it's a joke, whereas those people I'm not so sure about. In any case, I'll never look at a My Little Pony the same again.
And, the most disturbing thing I've seen in a long while... Darth Kitty. No, I don't have anything to say about it.
Thanks to all the people who've sent me these links, though I've probably forgotten who sent me what. I hope you got a laugh... or at least were deeply disturbed from what you saw.
This site really quacks me up (yes I realize that it was a horrible pun, but just think of it as dripping with sarcasm, or you know... just read the "testimonials" on the site and see how painful it all is). Honestly, I'm not sure whether I find these funny, or just sad. This site actually makes money selling these things? There's a market for rubber duckies that look like Jason Kidd or Moses? Could I make money selling figurines of Charlie Chaplin with bunny ears? So many unanswered questions... All that I know is that I definitely want a cow with a duck bill. I'm still trying to figure out whether or not putting duck bills on random animals is stranger than putting them on humans, though.
Moving along now... Google now has the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. Try putting it in the calculator yourself. Just great.
Those Talz can get mighty rowdy when they've had a few too many. Gotta love the Cantina scene.
The truth is out there... maybe. This begs the question of whether Mr. Hellyer is senile, insane, or just missing the lime light. Though, I'm probably more sympathetic to him then I should be thanks to the copious amounts of X-Files that I watch. Where the hell is Mulder when we need him, anyway?
Is that your horn, or are you just happy to see me? Um... I'm at a loss for words. Sick? Wrong? Disturbing? Probably... Fucking hilarious? Yes! I'd put this in the same category as the CelebriDucks except this guy knows it's a joke, whereas those people I'm not so sure about. In any case, I'll never look at a My Little Pony the same again.
And, the most disturbing thing I've seen in a long while... Darth Kitty. No, I don't have anything to say about it.
Thanks to all the people who've sent me these links, though I've probably forgotten who sent me what. I hope you got a laugh... or at least were deeply disturbed from what you saw.
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