Post #300: The best of Fantasy Writer Guy?

Okay, so the whole best-of-worst-of milestone idea was a bit of a flop but I’m knee deep in it now so let’s just get it over with and get on with our lives again, shall we?

So if you’ll permit me the terrible indulgence – a reposting of some of the more noticeable moments over the last 299 articles:


From the poetry collection: Smashing on the dash

[Apologies to any churchgoers. This is bound to insult though its only initial intent was to poke fun at the Jesus Face Finders who turn up regularly in the news and in the excellent blog of Flumadiddle - to whom this poem was dedicated.]

Are you weary of that dreary little priest and all his chanting?
Would you rather skip his blather or at least dissolve his ranting?
Do you wonder does he fiddle with those little alter lads?
Does this standing-sitting-kneeling numb the feeling from your ‘nads?

Are you one to trace a face in such a place as bathroom walls?
Does your Lord appear to leer at you from tiles in bathroom stalls?
When your bag of peases freezes is that Jesus in their midst?
Is that Mary on your derriere or just a hairy cyst?

Is that Moses striking poses in the soup stain on your table?
Do you find these sightings frightening? Are you mentally unstable?
Do you crave your savior such that your behavior has gone rash?
When your campfire has expired is His image in the ash?

Are you stressing and confessing that these blessings make you sour?
Will these preacher’s teachings reach you when you face your final hour?
Do you fear to not adhere, lest it clear your path to hell?
Well don’t worry ‘bout God’s fury. This is what I’m here to tell.

There are better beasts than priests at least, to give your soul to steer.
There are better pests than pederasts to whom to lend your ear.
There are better ways to spend your days than slumping in a pew.
There are better things to do, it’s true and here are but a few:

Go roam the streets of Rome. Maybe try to grope the pope.
But don’t get caught at that a lot. They’ll swing you from a rope.
Let’s go stumble through the jungle. Let’s go slashing through the gash.
Go sloshing down to Washington. Go crashing Bush’s bash!

Is the bible really viable? Let us spin a better story.
We’ll drive Beemers with blasphemers down the road to purgatory.
Take that auto Colorado bound where fashion’s unabashed,
Where that faggard, Teddy Haggard lives. He’s stashing all the cash!

Read a little Flumadiddle while laughing off your ass.
Try some Eeeeekkk or Magnet Freak. Their chatter is a gas.
Take a toke or snort some coke. Try mashing up your hash.
Let’s fill craters full of ‘taters. We’ll go splashing in the mash!

Leap the brink and sink a drink. Go thrashing up a splash.
Jump the hump into the dump. Go dashing through the trash.
Drop your hoard below the board. Go lashing down the stash.
Buy a ChristBud from the Price Club. He’ll look smashing on your dash!


From the FWG’s nuggets o’ wisdom collection:

If life hands you water, sugar, glucose-fructose, citric acid, potasium sorbate, sodium hexametaphosphate and acacia gum - make lemonade.


The best (or worst) of Steve-o:

What brain? The only thing in his head is a squirrel jerking off with a Sears catalogue.

What’s with Baldie McPluckinheimer over there?

You know how first-dates are. We mostly just talked about anal butt plugs.

When I was just a little boy
I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here’s what she said to me.
Que sera sera
You’ll grow a comb moustache
And build an empire of hate and greed
And kill many Jews
Que sera sera…

You know you look like hell when homeless people start throwing you change.

Last week on Prison Break,
Do-doo-doo!
My nut-sack is on fire.

Wait ‘til she gets a load of my purple-headed yogurt slinger!

You know where that show ‘Bananas in Pajamas’ came from? Some guy woke up with a woody and his daughter said “What’s that?” and he said “Oh, that’s just a banana in my pajamas” and she told all her friends and angry parents were calling him up saying “What the hell’s this I’m hearing about this pajama banana business!” and he said “Oh! Oh – it’s just a TV show I’m working on!” so then he had to make the TV show. I’ll bet you anything that’s exactly what happened.

Don’t ever walk into a silversmith’s shop with a jar full of silverfish and ask him to melt them down and make a ring for you. They just look at you funny.

The jig juice is coming out all over the place! Hold on to your jig juice, chicken!

Hush little baby. Don’t say a word.
Mama’s gonna buy you a smiling turd.

Individually wrapped bacon is good for your heart.
Individually wrapped bacon won't make you fart.
'Cause it's not beans! It's not beans.
Individually wrapped bacon is not beans!

Peameal and bacon
And boys like Troy Aikman.
The fuhrer's in Kleinburg planning extradition
He's gonna kill Tom Hanks 'cause he didn't like Road to Perdition.

It's like that bathroom candle. That thing was powerful. It could cover up anything. We could have murdered someone in that bathroom and it would have covered it up. The CSI guys wouldn't even have figured it out - except they'd probably find some kind of insects. Ah, yes, the coabular dissenteria bugs. Those coabular dissenteriasts only infest bathrooms where someone has been killed by a knife and sodomized. Okay, now bring out the light gun. The light gun that can see through time...

Why do people watch ultimate fighting? I'd rather watch ultimate knitting. At least they'd have weapons.

What do we need school busses for? We should just use a pneumatic tube system to suck the kids to school. The trick of course is to strap down their lunches securely. No one wants to have to clean stray lunches out of the tube network. That's the only reason it hasn't been done before.

Man, my couscous is hotter then shit. It's made out of Satan's anal sphincterola. "What's this?" says the devil. "Someone's scraped a layer off my anal sphincterola."

He has to learn to keep his trouser snake in his - ah - trouser village. You know - with the trouser village people.

Have you seen my Contagious Penis medicine?

Uh oh. Here comes the Kumquat Vag Squad.

Where’s your Halloween costume? You don’t have one? Why don’t you go as Mister Belvedere then? You don’t even need to dress up. Just go around saying, ‘Hello Wesley!’ Try it. ‘Hello, Wesley!’

Midgets have glowing sex. When they orgasm it shines like the birth of a star. That’s why some little people have great tans. They’re the best lovers.

What’s with that cashier? Did you hear her freak out on that guy? “SIR! SIR! You don’t have to put both cases on the belt! Just one, please! My arms are getting bigger than my husband’s! I squeezed his dick right off! Popped it open like a Pez dispenser!”


Most recommended movies:

Siblings
Little Miss Sunshine
The Big Lebowski
Pan’s Labyrinth
I am Legend
Children Underground
The Last King of Scotland
Into the Wild
Pursuit of Happyness


Most recommended books:

Gently Down the Stream
Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy
Inferno
After the Plague and Other Stories
Contact
The River Why
Under Satan’s Sun
The Stand
The Lord of the Rings
The Long Walk
The Screaming Room
The Five People You Meet in Heaven
The Road
The Alchemist


From the Ask FWG, Not Jeeves collection:

Best Google searches that lead unsuspecting readers here:

oink moo cock-a-doodle-doo barbecue sauce
Try aisle 5 – Should be right next to the HeeHaw-Ribbit donkeyfrog sauce.

cowboy coffee kamloops jesus
Krazy brand. That’s right. When in Kamloops, Jesus drinks Krazy brand cowboy coffee, ground fresh by real Kamloopian mountain cowboys. Because nobody grinds like a mountain cowboy.

streetsville crazy people
Please refine your search. All people in Streetsville are crazy.

pianos mavis eglinton
Well – I know there’s a Dollar n’ Value store at Mavis and Eglinton but I think they only sell tiny miniature pianos – suitable for 12-inch pianists.

canadarm taking off
1. Fully extend arm away from space shuttle.
2. Remove bolts E and F using hex wrench provided.
3. Pull Canadarm socket housing away from shuttle wall.
4. Plug holes E and F with chewing gum to prevent precious oxygen from leaking into space. Or if Dutch, use your fingers.

chinese apetizer with herbs and spices
What is Kung Foo Noodles. Things you slurp into your mouth for 200, Alex!

extreme rubber fantasy hospital
Ah, yes. One of my favorite daytime soaps. In this week’s episodes, Ryan and Candace filed for divorce, Mrs. Carbuncle was diagnosed with uvula cancer, Kevin James learned that his favorite prostitute is actually his presumed-dead cousin and Mary-Anne’s left ear turned into a ball peen hammer. There you go. You’re caught up.

Ontario Geography in simple words
Hilly
Watery
Trees
Roads
Cat
Dog
Boy

How not to write a fantasy novel
There are many many wrong ways to write a fantasy novel. This is just one:
Once upon a time there was a woman named Sheila who worked in the Department of Taxation and Excise. She liked to eat Chicken Noodle Soup for lunch. One day she stuck some of her soup noodles up her nose and stomped around the office growling and shouting, “I AM THE KRAKEN!”. Her coworkers panicked. She looked like a real kraken. So they beat her to death with their staplers and three-hole-punches and drank her blood. The end.
This is actually some excellent literature. The only problem is – it’s too short. You’d have to include about 200 pages describing the soup. Use simple words like “watery”.

guy noples
They’re mostly the same as girl noples but much more difficult to squeeze milk out of.

"jack handy" "deep thoughts" pickle jar
Yes. It’s true. Jack stores all his deep thoughts in pickle jars. Sometimes he has a hard time getting them out. He tries to stab them with a fork and the damn things just bob around, you know? It’s exasperating.


kung foo dialogue
I can’t provide the entire kung foo dictionary contents in this space but here are the top 10:
- HIYAA!
- WHOOAAA!
- YAA!
- HUHH!
- WHOAAAAAAAAAH!
- Ouch!
- HEEYAAH!
- Ow, my hand!
- Oh shit, was that REAL wood?
- Time out! I’m losing my drawers here.


Okay! We’re done. We can go get on with our lives again…

Post #299

Can you believe we’re approaching my 300th post since bumbling into the blogosphere? 298 posts and I still haven’t figured out what the hell I’m supposed to be accomplishing here.

I’m not that big on anniversaries, milestones and the like but this does seem a perfect excuse to take a look back on the little trek and see if there’s anything worth dragging out and dusting off.

Let’s save the “best of” moments for post #300. For today, I present:

The worst of Fantasy Writer Guy


Part one: Crimes against the English language

Some words and phrases used despite spell-check's violent protestations:

mohawk-esque
soul-departation
faux-hawk
sawduct
boobdom
kookoobananas
debaucherous
fleebing
bamboozlement
salesmobile
gamma-titanium-hexa-jupiterite
blecch patties
squint-chicken glumps
Mono Cliffs Inn and Orgasmry
New England Turdsniffers
poo-flinger
car poolery
kidlet
feedbagging
jumpin' jehosifats
starverating
detubberization
Whoop-de-farking-doo
Lipomorium
piss-shivvery
Afro-Squeege
Fuzzmuffin
Whiskerbiscuit
autocunnilinguist
punkernipple
discrastinization
rabbity
blogosphere


Part Two: Violence is never a solution:

Luckily I've come a long way in terms of anger management. But my, what unsavory instances from the past:

What I really wanted was for somebody to die for what was done to me.

I could throw on a lot of olive green and a pair of boots and just burst into the Ye Olde Haircutting Co with my assault rifles and blow holes in everybody.

I could just use their scissors and stab them all to pieces

Gouging out those devious little eyes

I fling them alive into the boiling water

I'll go to her office with a gun and two bullets - one with my name on it and one with hers.

Very worst case scenario - they die as they richly deserve and I go to prison.

Is this where I kick her in the crotch and run away?’

To locate the makers of this blarney imposter - this faux tartar. And to blow up their headquarters!

before I go tramping down the aisles of the store beating myself on the head and screeching like a monkey.

'Your personal safety is in dire jeopardy little Orsi man,'

the sun comes up and your roommate wakes up and unlocks the door and steps out heading for work until you jump out from the bushes and kill him.

No firing squad, No pelting of stones, No hangman’s noose, No electric shock, No guillotine, No blade through the chest, No boot to the head, No rending of limbs, No tearing out of fingernails, No drowning, No scalping, No burning, No disembowelment, No tarring and feathering, No drawing and quartering, No lashing, No caning, No imaginable molestation could ever be harsh enough reward for those BASTARDS…

I swear to god, I want all stupid people killed. I want them all put to death now. And I want stupid TV advertisers put to death three times each.

I want blood. I want to see the responsible General Motors executives lined up and either shot or hung.

I hope you choke on pencil rubbers

My pterodactyl's commin ta kill you all

"Take that, hornet! I'll deal with your flat little hornet corpse later."

'Lady, if you ever touch me like that again I'll punch you so hard you'll sail clear through the air just like they do in those cartoons that you watch in your roach-infested apartment while you eat your Kraft Dinner and wait for Geraldo to come on.'

hauled the teenage driver from it through the window by his nose rings and snapped his neck in two.

I want your head on a platter, you... you... twit!


Part Three: Posts that just should never have been posted

Jan 24, 2006: The Morning After
An 880 word essay following the latest Federal election that blasted the Conservatives, the average Canadian, and all who don’t vote. In hindsight it contains not a word of usefulness as the realms within which the piece bears context (politics, ideology, etc) are constructed strictly of fiction and fantasy, I now know. Worse still, I didn’t crack a single joke.

Jan 31, 2006: The Penny Game
In which I praised the idea of throwing projectiles at moving vehicles.

Feb 8, 2006: Top 500 Nick-Names
I actually listed five hundred stupid things to call someone.

Sept 23-29, 2006: FWG’s More Excellent…
Six posts in which I described my dinner every night. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Dec 19, 2006: Movie – Apocalypto
In which I dismissed all who would boycott a Mel Gibson film in response to his apparent bigotry. In hindsight, why shouldn’t such substantial evidence pointing to antisemitism and homophobia put people off?

Feb 11, 2007: Do not follow this link!
A video of a kid on a toilet reciting an exhaustive list of poo types. What was I thinking?


Part Four: Worst Comments received

Or they might be the best comments received – depending on your personal criteria.

Yo Mo-Fo Beotch! Y'all jus donno wut w'all go thru in da hood. If you jus axe wut it like fo us, you get it, bro. You don know nuttin' bout bein' black but wut y'all see on da Cosby show!
It's hard out here for a pimp!
Beotch!

Some piddle in the middle of your little leather chair
Is not pleasin' but no reason to be wheezin' with despair

Is it weird that 2 boxes of kleenex, Halls lozenges and being tethered to a chair remind me of sex?

I named my 60G iPod 'Pod!'. Then I realized I was just holding it upside down.

I'll bet cows have cottage cheese breath. Or maybe buttermilk with a hint of grass breath.

I think Pluto needs saving from Mickey Mouse. That Mickey's a randy little cuss.

shitheadbitchbastard. and furthermore...zusmqt

Snowbound

Bloody snow.

There’s no way my world’s most feeble truck is going anywhere today in this mess. I tried to take a walk to Streetsville’s little library but the driving snow nearly pulverized my head like a swarm of icy piranha so I about-faced, staggered back inside and holed up for the day.

I raided Steve-o’s movie collection – or rather – his recent acquisitions section. Between his movies and my books we probably have more material in the Grotto than the Streetsville Library has. I’ve picked five titles for my snowbound movie marathon and arranged them in ascending order; from least promising to most. The first is playing now:

1408
(2007) John Cusack, Samuel L. Jackson

I hardly ever ever watch scary movies. Hopefully I won’t have to install a nightlight before going to bed tonight. Cusack has a drink of $800-a-bottle cognac every few minutes. I’m playing along, toasting him drink for drink. I have no cognac but I’m making due with cheap scotch.

What’s with all these bits ripped from classic horror movies? Are they passing these off as homages? Lame!

Wow. That was pretty bad. I can’t think of a single kind thing to say about it. Maybe I just don’t understand horror movies.

Next!

Nacho Libre
(2006) Jack Black, Héctor Jiménez

In keeping with the audience participation theme I’ve got a tray of nachos in the oven. Actually I’m out of proper nacho chips so I’ve got jalapeno-flavored Doritos baking under shredded mozzarella and store-bought salsa. It’ll be good. Don't worry.

I like the parental content warning. Unlike those which inadvertently flatter with the label ‘mature content,’ this one reads, ‘crude humor.’

I decided early I was no Jack Black fan. Seemed all he had to offer was a lame shtick built of idiotic over-enthusiasm. Sort of Jim Carey Lite. And that may still be so but I have to confess, he makes me laugh in spite of myself and surely that’s the main, almost sole, criteria for any comedian.

Here he plays Nacho, a friar who runs the kitchen at a Mexican Christian orphanage while dreaming of being a pro wrestler. His culinary skills are clearly lacking as seen in the refried bean with corn chip garnish he serves in the opening scene and by the sentiments expressed by a superior brother:

“Your only duty here is to cook. Do you not realize that I have had diarrhea since Easters?” Somehow it cracks me up that he pluralizes ‘Easter’.

When Nacho spends his very first earnings from covert semi-pro wrestling endeavors on improved grocery supplies we get a montage of new and improved meals being laid out before the kiddies; wildly colorful salads with zany happy faces built in. This also cracks me up for some reason and I’ve scrounged the internet looking for images but the net yields naught. Google-imaging ‘Nacho Libre happy face salad’ turns up this:

A Goya. I think Google must be spun.

So, anyone know where I can get a pair of light blue stretchy pants with red knee patches?

Up next:

The Last King of Scotland
(2007) James McAvoy, Forest Whitaker

I’m out of audience participation ideas. Hmm. Scotland. I could have more scotch I suppose.

Wow. What a performance by Forest Whitaker bringing the very unstable Ugandan President Idi Amin creepily to life. I never noticed how far he’d come since Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Whitaker, that is. Not Amin.

Powerful. Suspenseful. I could have done without the scene with the meat hooks. Uggh.


Into The Wild
(2007) Emile Hirsch

The truthful story of Christopher McCandless, the boy who had it all, but who rejected society, his parents, his $24,000 university fund; who redefined himself super tramp, and embarked, by foot on a journey of discovery. He learned much, not enough ultimately, in the way of wilderness survival skill and put it to test, alone in remote Alaska.

What an excellent surprise. Very useful stuff for those with a knack for life behind the matrix – but tragic evidence that a little wisdom, without the right guidance, can be a dangerous thing.


It’s late but I’m squeezing in the final installment:

Pursuit of Happyness
(2006) Will Smith, Jaden Smith

How interesting that happiness is incorrectly spelled in the title. As if to suggest that the happiness in question is illegitimate. And such a theme was readily available in the details but the movie never seemed to acknowledge it – leaving me to wonder if some original source for this story was misinterpreted by the film creators or else they simply dumbed it down for the average new-world Joe.

A formulaic Hollywood flick, yes. But a compelling one with sound emotional structure and laudable character depth – at least in the hero – the wife character being painfully dimensionless, present strictly to service the plot.

Well done. I recommend it. I found the ending very sad and laced with a dark irony though normal people will almost surely interpret otherwise.

Abandon all hope, who enter here. The Hellchild lives next door

I’ve mentioned her before. The helliant that lives in the apartment next door with her enslaved mother. She’s nine or ten years old; a screaming tantrum-thrower and door-slammer. Strange, her apparent dissatisfaction with life, given the gift of utter freedom bestowed by the mother who’s vocabulary knows not the words parenting, rules, or boundaries.

Add to that, the word bedtime.

Her latest trick is to stay up all, or most of, the night, playing her radio. Her bedroom borders on mine. She has a penchant for fiddle music. Loud screechy fiddle music. Or perhaps all fiddle music sounds screechy to me at two, three, four or five o’clock in the morning.

Until now, it was happening on average once a week and always on a Friday or Saturday night.

Last night was officially a work-night – though really, all nights are work-nights for me. I’m not a weekend boob-tuber. I have shit to do! And I’m normally unable to sleep in. My body just won’t cooperate. When sleepless, I just wake up at eight AM and remain tired and unproductive all day.

Before last night I’d complained once to the so-called mother and twice to the superintendent. Last night I lost my patience as the clock approached 3:00.

I banged on their back door. The birthing entity spoke to me through the window.

“What’s going on, Fwig?”

“What’s going on is I can’t sleep because fiddle music is keeping me awake!”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll ask her to turn down her radio!”

“I can’t go on living like this!”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry!”

Apparently Her Highness, Queen of Darkness was in a generous mood and turned down the radio. I still heard it but it was less screechy.

I actually overslept just enough to make myself twenty minutes late for work. Between that and my being a groggy unproductive sack of shit, prone to making errors, I assume this will go some way toward involuntary career transition. So at least there’s a silver lining.

Waiting for me at the office this morning is my new telephone and some telephone accessories in a clear plastic bag that is boldly labeled in red, “PLASTIC BAGS CAN BE DANGEROUS. TO AVOID DANGER OF SUFFOCATION KEEP AWAY FROM CHILDREN.”

I’m going to empty the bag and slip it in their mailbox.

FWG

Image stolen from elsewhere; not actual Hellchild but artist’ impression.

Home-cooked fal-awfuls

The experiment with non-meat meal alternatives is yielding mixed results. Things were going along swimmingly until I was gently informed that ice cream and popcorn do not comprise a ‘healthy vegetarian diet’. Who knew? Since then I’ve added plastics and metal alloy to the menu.

While the cook-from-frozen boxed falafels failed to cook to perfection, the pair of plastic lids that I forgot to remove from the top of the mini convection oven - most certainly did. Check out their gooey remains:

I now owe Steve-o a new liquid-tight casserole dish along with a new set of stovetop element covers. That's right. Element covers. Another recent kitchen conquest had me wondering why my pot of water was still not boiling while the white element cover next to it was turning a rich shade of brown. Could it be… I turned on the wrong element? Could be, rabbit. Could be.

Here are the falafels. The pic doesn’t quite reveal the reality: That the resulting falafelesque goop patty precisely resembled a German Sheppard sized mass of dog puke. The voluminous foamy kind, that is. Not the stringy kind from eating grass. The kind they hurl upon eating way too much of something they shouldn’t have. All the garlic hummus in the world couldn’t save these bad boys:

Tip: Topside lid residue peels easily away if you leave it alone until the oven cools.

Who wouldn’t be proud to serve this at their next dinner party?

It's all about meme

Got this questionnaire from Suki. She didn’t tag me in writing but I picked up her psychic suggestion that I participate.

Alphabet Meme #2

A - Available: Only in the most spectacular of circumstances.

B - Best friend: Porn King. Mind you, Doctor Lock, Professor Plonk and Cap’n Vino all have sufficient best-friend-like properties to qualify. I’m pretty lucky.


C - Cake or Pie: Nobody gives a rat’s ass whether I prefer cake or pie. How could you waste such a useful letter as ‘C’? You could have asked for ‘Country of origin’ or ‘Craziest thing you ever did’ or ‘Craziest thing you ever did in bed’. How about ‘Cartoon character you most resemble’, ‘Car you drive’, ‘Colour of your pubic hair’ or something to do with cats?


D - Drink of choice: Rusty Nail, Chai latte or a 2002 Californian Shiraz


E - Essential thing used everyday: Penis (for peeing and little else, unfortunately.)


F - Favourite colour: I’m not a colourist. I’m politically correct that way. Hey, you can tell a Canadian created this meme, eh? The ‘OU’ thing.

G - Gummi bears or worms: I’d bet my money on the worm. Gummi bears are inanimate. And edible.

H-Hometown: Lat: 43.698172, Long: -79.746355, Earth


I - Indulgence: I’m 305 lbs. Take a guess.


J - January or February: Hmm. Let’s see. January: Blizzards, heating bills, influenza, slipping on the ice, traffic jams, stuck in snow, driving into ditches and freezing my tits off – versus February: Snow storms, heating bills, coughing and sneezing, slipping and falling, traffic jams, spinning tires, careening off the road and frost bite. Tough call. I’d say they’re equally enchanting.


K - Kids and names: If a girl: Arwen or Scout. If a boy: Dashel or Belhap Sattlestone Wirldess ag Miracloat roo Cononson. Mind you, the one and only reason I’d ever consider having a child would be so that I could name someone Belhap Sattlestone Wirldess ag Miracloat roo Cononson. The world is suspiciously short of them.


L - Life: Well, that’s a little deeper then the cake/pie question, isn’t it? Life, I suppose, is: Laughter, music, running, shooting, scoring, surviving everything they throw at you, gazing at the moon, tears of sorrow, tears of joy, puppy breath, snow in your hair, the love of a friend, holding someone beautiful, being tossed by the ocean; asking questions, solitude, the deafening roar of silence, facing the empty page, courage, letting go, leaving it all behind, taking the red pill, embracing the evil in yourself, wrestling with your ego, chiseling at your mask, earthshine on night clouds, touching the stars with your mind, stupefaction at your own miraculous existence, forgiveness, tears of pity, tears of wonderment, tastes of perfect freedom, believing in a better place and trying to make it so. Or something like that.



M - Marriage date: Sorry. Wrong number.

N - Number of siblings: First off, they ought to call ‘em squiblings. I have two, biologically, but only one that I actually squibble with.


O - Oranges or apples: Apples for sure. Though slightly less aerodynamic, they shatter upon impact more spectacularly.


P - Phobias: Cancer, heart disease, really large insects, children, getting published, black holes, SAPDFOTU, my ego, noise and Big Brother.




Q - Quote: Matt Groening’s definition of love: Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.


R - Reason to smile: the Illicit Sweetheart, being alive, Robot Chicken, snorting milk out your nose, kids at Christmas and 13,995 more things...



S - Season: Rosemary. No, dill. Wait. Those are herbs. Um. Pepper. Oh, screw that. Ginger. Do herbs count as seasoning? Okay, rosemary.

T - Tag three people: Babs, Supermom and Aequitas. Participation is entirely optional.

U - Unknown fact about you: If I told you, it would become known, now, wouldn’t it?

V - Vegetable you do not like: Artichokes, broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, beets, celery, parsnips, bok choy, spinach, red peppers, yellow beans, lima beans, green beans, green peppers, green peas, chick peas, asparagus, eggplant, mushrooms, lettuce, corn, cabbage, leeks, pickles, bamboo shoots and – oh – oh, so especially that vile goddamned monstrosity they call… cucumber. Uggh.


W - Worst habit: Staying up too late. It’s 1:36 AM currently.


X - X-rays you have had: How did I know this question would be on here? Um. More than I’ve had xylophones anyway. Mostly bones and stuff. Internal things.

Y - Your favorite food: Yes.

Z - Zodiac: Rhymes with Kodiak, roadie yak, and explodiac. That’s all I know.

Stuff on Claudia's Cat: The Grapes of Wrath

The Unbearable Lightness of Steve-o

More random snippets from Steve-o, the roommate; as always, without context. His songs in italics.




The spices…
Are coming out
The spices are coming out
It’s chili time
The spices
Are coming out
Kidney beans kidney beans
Kidney beans kidney beans
Hoagies and grinders
Hoagies and grinders
Kidney beans kidney beans
Kidney beans kidney beans
Hoagies and grinders
Hoagies and grinders
Sloppy Joe
Sloppy sloppy Joe…

My name is Klaus and I wash away ze soap bubbles wiss my Klaus Soap Cream

Brush your teeth
Round and round
Circle small
Up and down

I’m gonna make double-crust pie. Nobody likes that pussy single crust stuff. Pussy single crust pie – that’s what killed Napoleon. That or gonorrhea. Fucking Napoleon.

Chicken, sausage, ham!
Chicken, sausage, ham!
Chicken, sausage, ham!
Chicken, sausage, ham!

Is thith the real thing?
Is thith jutht fantathy?
Caught in a Tolkienish landthcape
No ethcape from reality
Open your eyeth
Look up to the skieth and thee
I'm jutht a hobbit,
I need no thympathy…

Do you think if Doctor Kevorkian dies of natural causes he’ll be considered a hypocrite? What...? I’m just asking.

Look at us. We’re two Patties. What? I’m a Patty and you’re a Patty. We’re two Patties. Just like a McBurger. I don’t get it. Look, your name’s Pat. You’re nickname is Patty. My name’s Patty. Together, we’re two Patties. Just like a fucking big mac. I still don’t get it. Okay, look. You’re name’s Pat…

It’s Beets Night in Canada
Beets beets beets
Who loves beets
Beets beets beets
Stephen loves beets

Boom ptuh ptuh ptuh boom boom ptuh ptuh
It’s Poooooooontacular
This is the loudest poon show ever.




Image unceremoniously swiped from pasquinader.blogspot.com

Aequitas: The Straight Man

FWG assures me his is a lighthearted blog, but what is humour without the stern straight man for reference?

I go by Aequitas. You may call me Sir. I lead a very mundane life as a short-order cook, and soon-to-be student. Clearly, I enjoy writing, and, you'll find, talking about myself at length.

My job affords me the opportunity to observe people in every state of being; over their morning coffee, lunch with business associates, or totally FUBAR'd on karaoke night. All this has taught me one thing; no matter your race, religion, gender, age, or financial status, everyone is capable of being remarkably fucked up. A lot of times it's humourous. Sometimes, it's sad. Usually I take something away from that...unless, of course, I'm getting my ass handed to me by the printer.

Every time I hear a dot matrix, I die a little inside...

This is to be my (occasional, but hopefully frequent) contribution to FWG's fine little junction of tubes.

When PoP caNs ATTacK!

Contact lenses can make you blind!

So I go to open a can of pop and it’s fighting me. The little tiny cave-in hatch thingy doesn’t want to cave in. So I add a little muscle and what do you suppose happens? The metal tab thingy, under severe pressure, snaps off and flies like a bullet at my eye, ricochets off the right lens of my eyeglasses and sails through the air.

Good old fashioned sturdy eye-glasses people! Had I worn contacts it would probably have sliced right through it – and my eye to boot!

Wear glasses for safety.

.

FWG Versus the Dirty Thief

I stayed up late last night watching Clint Eastwood classic Pale Rider. My bid to sleep-in this morning was ruined by a phone call. It went like this:

“Hello?”

“Hello. May I speak to Stephen [McBeano-Windchime]?”

“No. He’s away on vacation.”

“Are you the homeowner?”

“No.”

“Do you know when I might be able to reach Mr. [McBeano-Windchime]?”

“Concerning what matter, please?”

“This is Sears Carpet Cleaning. We have a special offer for-”

“Excuse me but neither of us support merchants who stoop to telephone solicitation. We don’t believe it’s ethically moral.”

“Well, it’s ethically moral to work, you know!”

“Oh, I know, honey. That’s why I’m hiring Mr. [McBeano-Windchime] to find you and kill you. Since I’m paying him – since he’s working – it’s ethically moral to murder you. Sorry about your luck. Hope your will is in order.”

Okay – that was a complete lie. That’s what I wish I’d said. But I was a little groggy being woken up so really, it actually went like this:

“Well, it’s ethically moral to work, you know!”

“Well, Scooby Scooby Doo. Where are you? You got some work to do now!”

Okay. I’m lying again. It really went like this:

“Well, it’s ethically moral to work, you know!”

“Oh. Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so? In that case, come on over and clean the shit off my rugs. There’s weiner poopies all over them. By all means. Come on down.”

What?

Alright. Alright. I’ll tell the truth this time:

“Well, it’s ethically moral to work, you know!”

“Oh it is, eh? Well you’re a DIRTY FILTHY THIEF!”

[Editor’s note: What FWG really said was: “Not when you’re stealing my time, it’s not.” And then she hung up on him. End of story.]

Shut up, editor.

Day 98

Behold! The Corner of Doom is finally vacated!

But does that mean the end of the reign of the Evil Trinity of Malevolent Interlopers? Alas, not so. Our scouts reveal that they have taken up residence in the Hallway of Ultimate Evil. And like that legendary ruler of Mordor, they are gathering dark forces around them.

.

Two cases of beer, a jug of laundry detergent and a big blue bag of video game remote controls.

And what's this? The brown bag. In it lies an empty box. The box my new winter boots came in. Crap! I'm revealed a hypocrite. Well, that's the end of you, interloping empty boot box bag! To the recycle bins with you!

The cold war drags on...