Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
The Story Virus Is Weak But Persistent
As you can see from my Story Virus v3 Memorial, the virus is not thriving at this point, but it's not quite dead, either.
Alas, I have been infected with it yet again. Here's the strain I was hit with.
The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me. (Splotchy)
Its owner, a fat shifty-looking hillbilly, slouched uncomfortably under the weight of his Bulgarian army surplus wool coat and cap. I could tell he wasn't cut out for this weather. He jerked around, almost spastic, when he felt the box tap against his feet. He gulped and stared at me bug-eyed, one obscene rivulet of sweat running down his temple, down along his jaw, finally disappearing somewhere between his second chin and the fake fur collar of his coat.
Right away, and for no good reason, he pissed me off. (Bubs)
He would not stop staring at me. I could hear his wheezing breath. I could smell every stinking minute of his sputtering life. My muscles tensed.
We were a little isolated from the rest of the riders. I looked around. Apart from a couple greasy-looking hippies stealing glances in my direction, everyone was in their own dazed world. Another rivulet of sweat began the long journey down the hillbilly's fat face. He licked his lips.
Enough was enough. I shot my arm up and popped him right between the eyes, snapping his head back. He slumped forward. I felt my anger slowly recede. I reached over him, took the cap off his head and placed it on my own. It smelled like a slaughterhouse, but it would keep me warm.
In the corner of my eye, I noticed the hippies making their way over to me. The man, wearing a dirty poncho and sporting a handlebar mustache, sat down in my seat. I reflexively scooted over to not have him in my lap. The girl, a smallish brunette wearing heavy black eyeliner and a shapeless green coat, sat behind me.
"You see, Snow?" the man said. "I knew he was the one. Did you see that jab?"
"Whatever," Snow said.
"That was great, man. Snow thought the guy in front of you was the one."
He must have spotted confusion in my eyes. "We saw the box, but we didn't know if it was yours." The man smiled broadly. "I'm Rain. You're Leaf, right?"
I looked at him more closely. He was wearing a shoulder holster under his poncho. He had deep green eyes that were sharp and serious. The smile left his face as abruptly as it had appeared. "You better get the box ready." (Splotchy)
I looked him deep in the eyes. There was something familiar there. Something from...
It hit me.
"Dad?" (SamuraiFrog)
"What you talkin' about, punk?"
"You're...my Dad. I've seen the pictures."
"The pictures. WHAT pictures?"
"the pictures of you and my Mom, Sally Swinton."
"Sally! I remember Sally. She was a good one, she was. Whatever happened with her?" (Roger Owen Green)
I didn't need to tell him. It was none of his business. "She's in a Cryo Lab in Encino." Shit.
Rain's jaw dropped. "Wait, she's a scientist?"
"No, she has an inoperable tumor. She had herself cryogenically frozen until a cure is found."
"Sally's a POPSICLE?"
Snow chuckled and slapped me on the back. "Far out, man."
I felt anger ripple through me again. I spoke softly through clenched teeth, "She is not a popsicle. She's my mother."
The bus stopped. A few riders stepped off.
Rain grabbed the box and jumped out the rear door. When he popped back on his hands were empty. He stared intently out the window as the bus pulled away from the curb and made its way down the block. He turned to me. "How long are they gonna keep her frozen?"
"As long as it takes," I grumbled.
"That's gotta take a lot of money. Is she loaded?"
I didn't like where this conversation was headed. "She does okay."
Rain stroked his chin for a few moments. "Are you loaded?"
"Nope."
Rain's smile returned. "I wanna see her."
Suddenly, the bus shuddered. Several side windows cracked. My forehead smacked against the seat in front of me as we screeched to a halt. The remaining riders bolted outside, except for the hillbilly, who was still slumped in the same position, sweating and wheezing. Rain and Snow didn't move. I looked down the street and saw the plume of a fireball.
Rain giggled. "Hey, no sense in letting the box go to waste, right? Let's go see your mom." (Splotchy)
Who can I tag? Who can I tag?
I don't know that the following people will have the time or inclination to continue the virus, so I am tagging a shitpile of them.
Tim
Barbara
Johnny Yen
Jim Woodring
Warren Ellis
Lulu
Eugene Mirman
Jon
Tenacious S
Harvey Pekar
Alas, I have been infected with it yet again. Here's the strain I was hit with.
The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me. (Splotchy)
Its owner, a fat shifty-looking hillbilly, slouched uncomfortably under the weight of his Bulgarian army surplus wool coat and cap. I could tell he wasn't cut out for this weather. He jerked around, almost spastic, when he felt the box tap against his feet. He gulped and stared at me bug-eyed, one obscene rivulet of sweat running down his temple, down along his jaw, finally disappearing somewhere between his second chin and the fake fur collar of his coat.
Right away, and for no good reason, he pissed me off. (Bubs)
He would not stop staring at me. I could hear his wheezing breath. I could smell every stinking minute of his sputtering life. My muscles tensed.
We were a little isolated from the rest of the riders. I looked around. Apart from a couple greasy-looking hippies stealing glances in my direction, everyone was in their own dazed world. Another rivulet of sweat began the long journey down the hillbilly's fat face. He licked his lips.
Enough was enough. I shot my arm up and popped him right between the eyes, snapping his head back. He slumped forward. I felt my anger slowly recede. I reached over him, took the cap off his head and placed it on my own. It smelled like a slaughterhouse, but it would keep me warm.
In the corner of my eye, I noticed the hippies making their way over to me. The man, wearing a dirty poncho and sporting a handlebar mustache, sat down in my seat. I reflexively scooted over to not have him in my lap. The girl, a smallish brunette wearing heavy black eyeliner and a shapeless green coat, sat behind me.
"You see, Snow?" the man said. "I knew he was the one. Did you see that jab?"
"Whatever," Snow said.
"That was great, man. Snow thought the guy in front of you was the one."
He must have spotted confusion in my eyes. "We saw the box, but we didn't know if it was yours." The man smiled broadly. "I'm Rain. You're Leaf, right?"
I looked at him more closely. He was wearing a shoulder holster under his poncho. He had deep green eyes that were sharp and serious. The smile left his face as abruptly as it had appeared. "You better get the box ready." (Splotchy)
I looked him deep in the eyes. There was something familiar there. Something from...
It hit me.
"Dad?" (SamuraiFrog)
"What you talkin' about, punk?"
"You're...my Dad. I've seen the pictures."
"The pictures. WHAT pictures?"
"the pictures of you and my Mom, Sally Swinton."
"Sally! I remember Sally. She was a good one, she was. Whatever happened with her?" (Roger Owen Green)
I didn't need to tell him. It was none of his business. "She's in a Cryo Lab in Encino." Shit.
Rain's jaw dropped. "Wait, she's a scientist?"
"No, she has an inoperable tumor. She had herself cryogenically frozen until a cure is found."
"Sally's a POPSICLE?"
Snow chuckled and slapped me on the back. "Far out, man."
I felt anger ripple through me again. I spoke softly through clenched teeth, "She is not a popsicle. She's my mother."
The bus stopped. A few riders stepped off.
Rain grabbed the box and jumped out the rear door. When he popped back on his hands were empty. He stared intently out the window as the bus pulled away from the curb and made its way down the block. He turned to me. "How long are they gonna keep her frozen?"
"As long as it takes," I grumbled.
"That's gotta take a lot of money. Is she loaded?"
I didn't like where this conversation was headed. "She does okay."
Rain stroked his chin for a few moments. "Are you loaded?"
"Nope."
Rain's smile returned. "I wanna see her."
Suddenly, the bus shuddered. Several side windows cracked. My forehead smacked against the seat in front of me as we screeched to a halt. The remaining riders bolted outside, except for the hillbilly, who was still slumped in the same position, sweating and wheezing. Rain and Snow didn't move. I looked down the street and saw the plume of a fireball.
Rain giggled. "Hey, no sense in letting the box go to waste, right? Let's go see your mom." (Splotchy)
Who can I tag? Who can I tag?
I don't know that the following people will have the time or inclination to continue the virus, so I am tagging a shitpile of them.
Tim
Barbara
Johnny Yen
Jim Woodring
Warren Ellis
Lulu
Eugene Mirman
Jon
Tenacious S
Harvey Pekar
Road Warrior, The Musical - Max's Overture
Another entry in my new musical -- The Road Warrior.
"Max's Overture"
Sung by: The Narrator
Description: The opening song, introducing Max to the audience.
The nights are feeling colder
As I am getting older
My memories are fading fast
But I still remember when I last
Saw the Road Warrior
He came from a world better than this
Then fell through the cracks into an abyss
Now no one ever called him Max
Or dared to follow in the tracks
Of the last remaining Interceptor
The engine's roar was the beat of his heart
Or what was left after it fell apart
A white line nightmare, the shell of a man
But soon he would learn to live again
Let me tell you his story
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
A. Burst. Of. Creativity.
I. Sometimes. Get. Burned. Out.
But. Then. I. Realize. I. Can. Do. Anything. I. Want. On. This. Blog.
Even. Exclusively. Use. One. Word. Sentences.
Thanks. For. Your. Concern.
But. Then. I. Realize. I. Can. Do. Anything. I. Want. On. This. Blog.
Even. Exclusively. Use. One. Word. Sentences.
Thanks. For. Your. Concern.
This Is All I Got
| This sort of looks like a terminal for a Commodore 64, but the font's not right, and the colors are not right, and I should be typing in all caps. Other than that, it looks a lot like a Commodore 64 screen. Or maybe it's a WordPerfect 5.1 screen, except the font's not right, and the color's not right, and it's missing the top menu. Either way, this is all I got. |
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Counting Numb3r5 With The Green Monkey
There's not a lot of time left in 2008, but I think there should be just enough for another glorious Green Monkey mix.
So, let's celebrate music together with Volume 14 of the GMMP series: Numb3r5.
For those intimidated by previous monkey mixes, this one might be a mix for you to try. Of course, the brave-hearted who have participated in the past are also welcome to play.
There is only one rule for this mix, and it is very simple.
All the selections must have a number of some sort in the title. There can be an actual number in the title, or the number can be spelled out (i.e. "Two"). I'll even allow adjectives like "Seventh".
For Numb3r5, there will be eight total participants who have six selections to choose. With me in the mix, that leaves seven open slots.
Let's have some mathematical fun, already! Leave a comment if you want to participate.
UPDATE:
I'm not entirely sure about this, but I *think* the slots have been filled. If I have included you as a participant and you don't want to play, please let me know.
Anyways, here's the people who like the number fun:
Allen L.
Dale
SamuraiFrog
GETkristiLOVE
theultramundane
Bull
Flannery Alden
Splotchy
Participants, please leave your choices (song/artist) as a comment on this post. I'll do the legwork of pulling the songs together.
If I can't find a song, I might bug you for it, but I normally can get everything myself.
So, let's celebrate music together with Volume 14 of the GMMP series: Numb3r5.
For those intimidated by previous monkey mixes, this one might be a mix for you to try. Of course, the brave-hearted who have participated in the past are also welcome to play.
There is only one rule for this mix, and it is very simple.
All the selections must have a number of some sort in the title. There can be an actual number in the title, or the number can be spelled out (i.e. "Two"). I'll even allow adjectives like "Seventh".
For Numb3r5, there will be eight total participants who have six selections to choose. With me in the mix, that leaves seven open slots.
Let's have some mathematical fun, already! Leave a comment if you want to participate.
UPDATE:
I'm not entirely sure about this, but I *think* the slots have been filled. If I have included you as a participant and you don't want to play, please let me know.
Anyways, here's the people who like the number fun:
Allen L.
Dale
SamuraiFrog
GETkristiLOVE
theultramundane
Bull
Flannery Alden
Splotchy
Participants, please leave your choices (song/artist) as a comment on this post. I'll do the legwork of pulling the songs together.
If I can't find a song, I might bug you for it, but I normally can get everything myself.
I Just Noticed
I was looking at a sign for DESSERTS and realized that spelled backwards it was STRESSED.
You're welcome!
Remembering The Infected v3
I'm not sure how much fight the story virus has in it. We'll just have to wait and see.
I have been updating the memorial with the fallen as I become aware of them. If you have succumbed to the virus, or know someone currently exhibiting symptoms, please let me know and I will update the memorial.
December 5, 2008
Splotchy
p0nk
December 6, 2008
Randal Graves
Utah Savage
December 7, 2008
Beach Bum
Dcup
Dusty
Freida of the Bees
Liberality
Susan
December 8, 2008
~E
Bull
CDP
Cormac Brown
David
Dguzman
Geo
PaulBrazill
SamuraiFrog
Some Guy
themom
Bill Stankus
December 9, 2008
Bacon Lady
Bubs
Bubs
Cormac Brown
Flannery Alden
Freida of the Bees
Genn6
Laura
LegalMist
Michael
Morgan the Muse
Sausage Mechanic
Scutterman
Southern Belle
That Damn Expat
TishTash
Jeannelle
John
December 10, 2008
Gifted Typist
KaliAmanda
MRMacrum
Splotchy
Wooden Spoons
Sherry
Joshlos
Andy
Laura
Earth Muffin
Darius
Gwen
Madam Z
December 11, 2008
SamuraiFrog
Becca
MelO
Spartacus
Geoffrey
December 12, 2008
Scope
Erudite Redneck
December 13, 2008
Toivoa ja Elämän
Enc
Kaitlyn
Maki
Manx
Bubs
Crystal
Randal Graves
Miss Cavendish
December 14, 2008
Jeff D
The Lady Who Doesn't Lunch
December 15, 2008
Carrin
Linka72
Dean Wormer
December 16, 2008
PaulBrazill
Don Snabulus
December 17, 2008
Dr. Zaius
Dr. Zaius
December 18, 2008
Roger Owen Green
Splotchy
December 19, 2008
Jon
December 20, 2008
Jean-Luc Picard
December 21, 2008
Dr. Nemonok
I have been updating the memorial with the fallen as I become aware of them. If you have succumbed to the virus, or know someone currently exhibiting symptoms, please let me know and I will update the memorial.
December 5, 2008
Splotchy
p0nk
December 6, 2008
Randal Graves
Utah Savage
December 7, 2008
Beach Bum
Dcup
Dusty
Freida of the Bees
Liberality
Susan
December 8, 2008
~E
Bull
CDP
Cormac Brown
David
Dguzman
Geo
PaulBrazill
SamuraiFrog
Some Guy
themom
Bill Stankus
December 9, 2008
Bacon Lady
Bubs
Bubs
Cormac Brown
Flannery Alden
Freida of the Bees
Genn6
Laura
LegalMist
Michael
Morgan the Muse
Sausage Mechanic
Scutterman
Southern Belle
That Damn Expat
TishTash
Jeannelle
John
December 10, 2008
Gifted Typist
KaliAmanda
MRMacrum
Splotchy
Wooden Spoons
Sherry
Joshlos
Andy
Laura
Earth Muffin
Darius
Gwen
Madam Z
December 11, 2008
SamuraiFrog
Becca
MelO
Spartacus
Geoffrey
December 12, 2008
Scope
Erudite Redneck
December 13, 2008
Toivoa ja Elämän
Enc
Kaitlyn
Maki
Manx
Bubs
Crystal
Randal Graves
Miss Cavendish
December 14, 2008
Jeff D
The Lady Who Doesn't Lunch
December 15, 2008
Carrin
Linka72
Dean Wormer
December 16, 2008
PaulBrazill
Don Snabulus
December 17, 2008
Dr. Zaius
Dr. Zaius
December 18, 2008
Roger Owen Green
Splotchy
December 19, 2008
Jon
December 20, 2008
Jean-Luc Picard
December 21, 2008
Dr. Nemonok
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
O Golden Fake Tree That Lights My Heart
We have a new Christmas tree. Wait, don't worry! I am not going to make you nauseous like I did last year!
Our old tree's box busted at some point during the summer, spilling out the fake tree parts on our very dusty garage floor. We had been using the tree for probably ten or so years, so we decided to use this dirty opportunity to get a new one.
As a child I remember my family having real Christmas trees, and eventually replacing the real ones with a fake one. I was probably pretty young when the switch happened, so I'm kind of used to it. MizSplotchy, on the other hand, always had a real tree before she and I moved in together. Maybe someday we'll go back to having real trees -- I remember being fond of the smell, though one could always leave an open bottle of Pine-Sol out, I suppose.
If we were going to replace our fake tree with another fake tree, MizSplotchy said she wanted to have a pre-lit one. So, we packed up the kids and went to the center of all that is holy, Target. There I spied a golden Christmas tree, and gave her a smile. If we were going to have a fake tree, why not get a glaringly fake one? So, that is what we did.
The lights on our golden tree are all white (they were white on all the pre-lit trees we saw), which I was just a little bummed about. I had forgotten how much I like colored lights.
Still, once the tree was home and the decorating began, I got happy tingles up and down my spine. It was really nice watching the kids put ornaments on the tree (all clustered together in one section, of course).
We were talking about what we should do for dinner on decorating night, and MizSplotchy suggested we order pizza. She said we had ordered pizza the last two years we had decorated the tree. A tradition was born, and I didn't even know it!
Of course, we had to put on the Vince Guaraldi Trio's A Charlie Brown Christmas as musical accompaniment to the decorating. I still have yet to see the actual TV special, but after being introduced to the album by MizSplotchy, Christmas ain't Christmas without it.
The golden tree definitely has a different aesthetic quality than a green one. For one, I think it goes smashingly with our zebra-ish drapes in the living room. Red looks really great on it -- probably one of my favorite things now is how the little fabric bows we hung stand out against the gold. Of course, there are some down sides. With such a blingy tree, the blinged-out ornaments we have aren't so spectactular. Sorry, disco ball ornament.
Anyways, here's our tree. We still haven't put the star on top, but other than that, it's pretty much done.
Merry Disco Xmas!
Our old tree's box busted at some point during the summer, spilling out the fake tree parts on our very dusty garage floor. We had been using the tree for probably ten or so years, so we decided to use this dirty opportunity to get a new one.
As a child I remember my family having real Christmas trees, and eventually replacing the real ones with a fake one. I was probably pretty young when the switch happened, so I'm kind of used to it. MizSplotchy, on the other hand, always had a real tree before she and I moved in together. Maybe someday we'll go back to having real trees -- I remember being fond of the smell, though one could always leave an open bottle of Pine-Sol out, I suppose.
If we were going to replace our fake tree with another fake tree, MizSplotchy said she wanted to have a pre-lit one. So, we packed up the kids and went to the center of all that is holy, Target. There I spied a golden Christmas tree, and gave her a smile. If we were going to have a fake tree, why not get a glaringly fake one? So, that is what we did.
The lights on our golden tree are all white (they were white on all the pre-lit trees we saw), which I was just a little bummed about. I had forgotten how much I like colored lights.
Still, once the tree was home and the decorating began, I got happy tingles up and down my spine. It was really nice watching the kids put ornaments on the tree (all clustered together in one section, of course).
We were talking about what we should do for dinner on decorating night, and MizSplotchy suggested we order pizza. She said we had ordered pizza the last two years we had decorated the tree. A tradition was born, and I didn't even know it!
Of course, we had to put on the Vince Guaraldi Trio's A Charlie Brown Christmas as musical accompaniment to the decorating. I still have yet to see the actual TV special, but after being introduced to the album by MizSplotchy, Christmas ain't Christmas without it.
The golden tree definitely has a different aesthetic quality than a green one. For one, I think it goes smashingly with our zebra-ish drapes in the living room. Red looks really great on it -- probably one of my favorite things now is how the little fabric bows we hung stand out against the gold. Of course, there are some down sides. With such a blingy tree, the blinged-out ornaments we have aren't so spectactular. Sorry, disco ball ornament.
Anyways, here's our tree. We still haven't put the star on top, but other than that, it's pretty much done.
Merry Disco Xmas!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
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