Grue.

What would be more disgusting: being dropped into a bathtub full of human intestines, or being dropped into the Grand Canyon full of human intestines? Something about the massive scale, I think, makes it less creepy. With the bathtub, you imagine planting your hands on either side, digging your heels into corners, holding your body above the steamy pile of guts, back arched, nostrils quivering, and then you slowly lower yourself in, ass first. But with the canyon, you'd just . . . like . . . be air dropped or something. All at once, floomp, and hold your nose. Like jumping into the cold deep end of a pool. No time for anticipation.

Last weekend in Bought Again Books: I found the most beautiful book I've ever seen. Really. Without exaggeration. I was bumbling around and there, on a table of employee recommendations, is this big black hardcover. No dust jacket, just the black cover embossed with a silver-lined statue of a bird, sun bursts shooting from behind, and the whole thing bordered in spades (which happen to be my old Halo symbol, thank you). The spine is covered in spades too. And then I opened it and the inside covers are crimson with black spades. This book was so damn sexy that I bought it for ten bucks. It was The Maltest Falcon, which was also a movie, as you will know if you're a fan of classic cinema or a reader of the old Ren & Stimpy comics.

In the Ren & Stimpy version, the falcon statue held magic nose goblins or some other grosserie.

Ren & Stimpy was disgusting.

Did you know that grue is a noun? As in: gruesome? So you can say, man, the first part of this post dealt with a lot of grue.