Sidewinder
Remember those motherfucking coffee brownies? The enchanted speech brownies? My coworker just threw a brownie at me and it was good, it was one of the top five brownies of my life. But it was not the #1 brownie. That would be the high school speech coffee brownie.
Which we never duplicated. We never got the alchemy to work, and always ended up with soggy groundsy catastrophes. But it's time to try again. It's time to make those damned things. Or, really, next weekend is the time to make them.
. . .
Even as you read this (assuming you read it in the morning), Andy is hunched over some computer in West Des Moines, tapping sweat onto some plastic-y keyboard, his ears gripped in headphones. Is he skipping work for some massive pr0n binge? No, he is taking the GRE. Try to beat my score of 2140, bitch.
I didn't actually get that score.
No one can actually get that score.
Good luck, Goathead.
. . .
Goathead reported a sighting of my doppelganger in Barnes and Noble. And now, someone just stopped by to tell me that I got pulled over two nights ago outside Casey's in Ankeny. But no: it was the doppelganger again, encroaching on my home turf. Alyssa, if someone comes to the apartment claiming to be me without keys, and asking you to let him in . . . you might want to fire a few shotgun rounds through the door first.
. . .
I found an instance of "whorehopper" predating Ellis's Transmet in Fear and Loathing, from 1971. I'm going to hunt this word down to its origin.
. . .
Boingboing's linked a couple times to an online set of serialized zombie novels, starting with Monster Island. I dismissed them at first because the writing's fairly . . . um . . . unshiny, but yesterday I said what the fuck and read a bit of the first one, and the story's not so bad, if you follow the axiom that a zombie story with some new ideas and some gory feasts, despite bad writing or filming or whatever, is still worth checking out.
. . .
To hell with you!
Which we never duplicated. We never got the alchemy to work, and always ended up with soggy groundsy catastrophes. But it's time to try again. It's time to make those damned things. Or, really, next weekend is the time to make them.
. . .
Even as you read this (assuming you read it in the morning), Andy is hunched over some computer in West Des Moines, tapping sweat onto some plastic-y keyboard, his ears gripped in headphones. Is he skipping work for some massive pr0n binge? No, he is taking the GRE. Try to beat my score of 2140, bitch.
I didn't actually get that score.
No one can actually get that score.
Good luck, Goathead.
. . .
Goathead reported a sighting of my doppelganger in Barnes and Noble. And now, someone just stopped by to tell me that I got pulled over two nights ago outside Casey's in Ankeny. But no: it was the doppelganger again, encroaching on my home turf. Alyssa, if someone comes to the apartment claiming to be me without keys, and asking you to let him in . . . you might want to fire a few shotgun rounds through the door first.
. . .
I found an instance of "whorehopper" predating Ellis's Transmet in Fear and Loathing, from 1971. I'm going to hunt this word down to its origin.
. . .
Boingboing's linked a couple times to an online set of serialized zombie novels, starting with Monster Island. I dismissed them at first because the writing's fairly . . . um . . . unshiny, but yesterday I said what the fuck and read a bit of the first one, and the story's not so bad, if you follow the axiom that a zombie story with some new ideas and some gory feasts, despite bad writing or filming or whatever, is still worth checking out.
. . .
To hell with you!
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