Who would win in Superman vs. 5 Vampires?
You know, Ren got his colon cleansed. In the episode Nurse Stimpy: Stimpy comes in wearing, not surprisingly, a nurse’s costume. Ren is ill with some disease and treatments have been getting more like Inquisition-era torture as Ren’s illness becomes more morbidly terrible. And it sort of climaxes in the colon cleansing.
Or maybe it’s a spleen cleansing. Whatever it is, there is usage of a machine that can only be described as Quite a Machine.
Ren and Stimpy—when I watch an old episode or even think back to it, I wonder what the dear Fuck I was thinking watching that show. Every episode squeams me out to the point of near vomit/pants soiling/suicide/moving to a hermit lodge in Finland. Some moments that come to mind:
# Stimpy letting down his nose hair so Ren can climb up to the Rapunzel tower.
# An old man riding a flayed, hoofless headless horse.
# Stimpy licking a hairy man clean in service to the furball factory.
There’s an episode of Invader Zim that freaks me out almost to the same degree. Zim sends plastic piggies back in time to replace key objects in the past of his arch-nemesis Dib, and as a result Dib becomes more and more screwed up—first he gets liver spots, loses an arm, and then he loses teeth and gets skinnier and shudder, it’s freaky. It’s weird to see a character you’re familiar with get all morbidly screwed up by the creators.
Anyway.
…
I should let Goathead write about this, but yesterday in Java Joe’s he informed me that we should take an alternate route back to his car. Because on his way to the coffee shop, someone (presumably one of those damn hobos) yelled something like “Hey you! YOU AIN’T SHIT! YOU! AIN’T! SHIT!” (is that about right?)
Yeah, fucker! You ain’t shit!
I ran that hobo over with a stolen BMX. Just kept running and running, over and over, driving over limbs and organs and a tongue.
Here’s a story: Alyssa and I went to Java Joe’s one Sunday afternoon, and this kid on a bike rolled up out of nowhere, stopped next to and old man:
“Wanna buy a bike?”
And the old guy was like “…hmm. How much?”
…
Mr. Christopher is jockeying my pizza hut cup right now. My pizza hut cup makes my employers nervous. People just joke like—embezzling from your last company, huh? And then the boss sort of looks at it for a while whenever she’s in here, wondering—what the hell happened to that wheelchair last week? And that filing cabinet? HOW MUCH HAS THIS CLEPTOMANIAC SMUGGLED OUT INSIDE HIS CAVERNOUS HEAD?!
Sometimes I want to put the phone to my head, wait for a superior to walk by, and then say things like:
“…I don’t think he’s ever gonna get that hot dog out of there…”
“…last I saw him he was in Ricky’s trunk. Well, no. He couldn’t really talk, is the thing.”
“…Good god, man! Do you have any idea what’s in your colon? Where do you think I got this little plastic lemur toy?…”
…
Last night I got a flashback:
ANDY (drunk): What did the five fingers say to the face? SLAP! *slaps self*
This happened over and over. It was the most excellent night of slapping I’ve ever witnessed.
…
Currently I have a blog on my writing-related website. I’ve tried a couple times to have a private blog, but I keep running into the same problem: I have nothing to say in a blog. The thing about journals or diaries is that they’re supposed to be of interest to the writer and not necessariliy to anyone else. For a blog to be at all interesting to people outside the writer’s social group, it needs to be full of links and information and junk outside the writer’s life. Stuff that matters to everyone.
…
My boss’s name is Janeen. I’m trying to condition everyone here to refer to her visits as “The Janeenings.” As in, what did you find out? When? In the Janeening. Oh.
We also have a white lady who is a spot-on Colin Powell look-alike. Damn, it’s creepy. And then we have a guy who sounds like the managing editor of the North American Review. Which just makes me nostalgic. Actually, it gives me a sense memory of vodka and cranberry juice. I never drank at the job, so I have no idea where this comes from. The NAR should remind me of Alyssa or fresh magazine pages or proofreading pens but instead I get vodka. And the remembered excitement/dread of trying to hit on Alyssa.
…
Last night John alerted me to lowbright.com, a page of excellent fucking HOT EXCELLENT GOOD comics. A couple of them were the caliber of funny that makes me wake up dazed in a cornfield, naked. This is how I woke up this morning. ‘The Shaft’ and elements of ‘The 10 Commandments of Simon’ will cause you to lose consciousness until waking up in the backseat of a Moroccan taxi. You will discover that you were life-flighted to the hospital but the helicopter turned out to be a disguised human-trafficking vehicle, and now you are on your way to a local politician’s hotel room to turn your first trick.
Some of the comics are serious…as in, not funny. Mostly you can tell by the drawing style. The funny ones are more cartoony, and the artsy serious ones are more realistic. For the most part.
…
I’m reading this SF novel called “Towing Jehovah.” The premise: God dies and falls into the ocean. Angels, dying of grief, charge the Catholic Church with towing the corpse into the arctic circle so it will be preserved. The Church commissions an oil tanker to do the towing, because the corpse is two miles long.
The story is pretty good. A lot of it is about: if God is dead, is there morality? What about his body? Does God even have a body? If we get hungry, can we use it to make a quarter pounder?
One problem with it that is common to a lot of SF—and this is something I’ve noticed and read other people’s assertions about—is that whereas 95% of “literary” authors mix great writing and craft with a boring story, SF authors tend to mix incredible stories with sub-par writing and craft. Exceptions would be writers like Michael Chabon, who writes great, funny, interesting literary mainstream stories, and Neal Stephenson, who writes impressively-formed SF.
Anyway. This madness has gone on long enough.
Amish and Josh and some others will be here Saturday. Is Wes involved? Wes, are you involved? Wes? WES!!!!!
Or maybe it’s a spleen cleansing. Whatever it is, there is usage of a machine that can only be described as Quite a Machine.
Ren and Stimpy—when I watch an old episode or even think back to it, I wonder what the dear Fuck I was thinking watching that show. Every episode squeams me out to the point of near vomit/pants soiling/suicide/moving to a hermit lodge in Finland. Some moments that come to mind:
# Stimpy letting down his nose hair so Ren can climb up to the Rapunzel tower.
# An old man riding a flayed, hoofless headless horse.
# Stimpy licking a hairy man clean in service to the furball factory.
There’s an episode of Invader Zim that freaks me out almost to the same degree. Zim sends plastic piggies back in time to replace key objects in the past of his arch-nemesis Dib, and as a result Dib becomes more and more screwed up—first he gets liver spots, loses an arm, and then he loses teeth and gets skinnier and shudder, it’s freaky. It’s weird to see a character you’re familiar with get all morbidly screwed up by the creators.
Anyway.
…
I should let Goathead write about this, but yesterday in Java Joe’s he informed me that we should take an alternate route back to his car. Because on his way to the coffee shop, someone (presumably one of those damn hobos) yelled something like “Hey you! YOU AIN’T SHIT! YOU! AIN’T! SHIT!” (is that about right?)
Yeah, fucker! You ain’t shit!
I ran that hobo over with a stolen BMX. Just kept running and running, over and over, driving over limbs and organs and a tongue.
Here’s a story: Alyssa and I went to Java Joe’s one Sunday afternoon, and this kid on a bike rolled up out of nowhere, stopped next to and old man:
“Wanna buy a bike?”
And the old guy was like “…hmm. How much?”
…
Mr. Christopher is jockeying my pizza hut cup right now. My pizza hut cup makes my employers nervous. People just joke like—embezzling from your last company, huh? And then the boss sort of looks at it for a while whenever she’s in here, wondering—what the hell happened to that wheelchair last week? And that filing cabinet? HOW MUCH HAS THIS CLEPTOMANIAC SMUGGLED OUT INSIDE HIS CAVERNOUS HEAD?!
Sometimes I want to put the phone to my head, wait for a superior to walk by, and then say things like:
“…I don’t think he’s ever gonna get that hot dog out of there…”
“…last I saw him he was in Ricky’s trunk. Well, no. He couldn’t really talk, is the thing.”
“…Good god, man! Do you have any idea what’s in your colon? Where do you think I got this little plastic lemur toy?…”
…
Last night I got a flashback:
ANDY (drunk): What did the five fingers say to the face? SLAP! *slaps self*
This happened over and over. It was the most excellent night of slapping I’ve ever witnessed.
…
Currently I have a blog on my writing-related website. I’ve tried a couple times to have a private blog, but I keep running into the same problem: I have nothing to say in a blog. The thing about journals or diaries is that they’re supposed to be of interest to the writer and not necessariliy to anyone else. For a blog to be at all interesting to people outside the writer’s social group, it needs to be full of links and information and junk outside the writer’s life. Stuff that matters to everyone.
…
My boss’s name is Janeen. I’m trying to condition everyone here to refer to her visits as “The Janeenings.” As in, what did you find out? When? In the Janeening. Oh.
We also have a white lady who is a spot-on Colin Powell look-alike. Damn, it’s creepy. And then we have a guy who sounds like the managing editor of the North American Review. Which just makes me nostalgic. Actually, it gives me a sense memory of vodka and cranberry juice. I never drank at the job, so I have no idea where this comes from. The NAR should remind me of Alyssa or fresh magazine pages or proofreading pens but instead I get vodka. And the remembered excitement/dread of trying to hit on Alyssa.
…
Last night John alerted me to lowbright.com, a page of excellent fucking HOT EXCELLENT GOOD comics. A couple of them were the caliber of funny that makes me wake up dazed in a cornfield, naked. This is how I woke up this morning. ‘The Shaft’ and elements of ‘The 10 Commandments of Simon’ will cause you to lose consciousness until waking up in the backseat of a Moroccan taxi. You will discover that you were life-flighted to the hospital but the helicopter turned out to be a disguised human-trafficking vehicle, and now you are on your way to a local politician’s hotel room to turn your first trick.
Some of the comics are serious…as in, not funny. Mostly you can tell by the drawing style. The funny ones are more cartoony, and the artsy serious ones are more realistic. For the most part.
…
I’m reading this SF novel called “Towing Jehovah.” The premise: God dies and falls into the ocean. Angels, dying of grief, charge the Catholic Church with towing the corpse into the arctic circle so it will be preserved. The Church commissions an oil tanker to do the towing, because the corpse is two miles long.
The story is pretty good. A lot of it is about: if God is dead, is there morality? What about his body? Does God even have a body? If we get hungry, can we use it to make a quarter pounder?
One problem with it that is common to a lot of SF—and this is something I’ve noticed and read other people’s assertions about—is that whereas 95% of “literary” authors mix great writing and craft with a boring story, SF authors tend to mix incredible stories with sub-par writing and craft. Exceptions would be writers like Michael Chabon, who writes great, funny, interesting literary mainstream stories, and Neal Stephenson, who writes impressively-formed SF.
Anyway. This madness has gone on long enough.
Amish and Josh and some others will be here Saturday. Is Wes involved? Wes, are you involved? Wes? WES!!!!!
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