piss-pots & poets

Just finished reading The Ends of Our Tethers by Alasdair Gray—enormous thanks to Joanne [aka my newly-minted Kimberry] for introducing me to another voice that cuts to the quick as only Scots seem able to do. It's a great read for anyone who enjoys short stories, especially if you have an eye/ear for the at least mildly experimental variety, but the book recommendation is really neither here nor there. After all, that's what Goodreads is for, is it not?

So back to the matter at hand:

blah...

...is pretty much all I have to say on the subject at the moment.

Q: What subject?

A: Who cares?

Which brings us back to: Blah...

Just finished putting the "free" in "freelance," writing some stuff for 944 on the pro bono tip. And I really need to go and brainstorm for my next project... which I had goddamned-well better finish. Because I never really finish anything I start. Plague of my generation, or is it just me? Probably a little from column A, a great deal more from column B, but I digress...

musical chairs

I love this song, but I love it ever so much more now...



Seriously, though. What's with this David the Gnome shit?!?? Enough already, it's creeping me out...

But I'd take evil lawn dwellers and zombies any day over this:



Bear candles engulfed in flames, creepy animatronic puppies, teeth and matches? And don't get me started on the chicken.

So very much is wrong with that. And yet it's so very, very right.