Friday, September 28, 2007

Call Now, Supplies Are Limited!

Tired of dull kitchen knives that cant cut a simple tomato? Tired of limp, lifeless hair? Tired of being mocked by small children because of the growth on your head?

Then you need: the Cutterator! The worlds first gas-powered kitchen knife! Simply fill it with gas, pull the included starting cord, and whammo! Your days of being dull, uninteresting and ignored by the opposite sex are over!

The Cutterator cuts everything! It cuts tomatoes, potatoes, and actual toes! It cuts through aluminum cans, the counter beneath, through the floor and into the ground! Use it to Julienne fries, clean up after the dog, and prevent global warming!

And, if you act now, well throw in not one, not two, but fifty-seven Pocket Thingies! We dont know what they actually do, but we theyre made out of indestructible alutitanichromium, which is the hardest made-up metal in the whole universe!

We will also throw in a handy-dandy Nuculator, the only nuclear-powered pocket calculator in the world! It adds, divides, and even subtracts! Plus it glows in the dark, making it perfect for lighting your way, signaling passing aircraft, and causing all your hair to fall out!

So thats the Cutterator, fifty-seven Pocket-Thingies, and the Nuculator! But wait! If you call within the next twenty-two years, we will also throw in a Pink Lunchbox! Its square! Its pink! It can HOLD YOUR LUNCH! It even comes with a matching pink strap!

Call now, supplies are limited!

This offer not valid in Canada or any state containing vowels. All product warranties void if product is touched by human hands. Do not taunt the Nuculator. Were serious.


Thursday, September 27, 2007

The Good, the Bad, and the Mortimer

There is a spider that lives in my bedroom. He is mostly found on the wall behind my computer. I have decided, for no readily apparent reason, to name him Mortimer (Mort is okay, but not Morty. He does not look like a Morty).

Mortimer is a rather quiet fellow. I rarely see him move, but when I come home, he is generally in a different spot (he favors the corner and directly above the calendar). I can therefore only assume that he is some sort of spider hero and that when I am gone, he goes off to have exciting, spider-related adventures.

I am rather pleased by this, as it means that at least someone in my apartment has a life.

You may be dubious about my claims that Mortimer is a spider hero, yet I have proof. Mortimer once intimidated my cat. Now, my cat is small, by cat standards, but at 6-odd pounds, she is a behemoth compared to Mortimer.

One day, I noticed my cat sniffing at the wall near the door. I looked over and found her nose to carapace with Mortimer. They eyed each other in a Sergione Leon-esque fashion for a moment and then my cat dashed under the bed.

I am not kidding.

I can only assume that Mortimer growled some sort of threat and that, combined with the glare of his eight steely eyes, was enough to send my cat fleeing in terror.

Mortimer is not here right now. I am forced to assume that he is off in some exotic locale, rescuing hot spider girls and beating the snot out of evil insects.

Well, at least one of us is having fun.


Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Klingon Kindergarten

Silence! Roared Miss KTarth. Silence! Or I will crush your skulls and feast on your brains!

The kindergarten class quieted down, turning obediently to face their teacher.

I will now call roll. Answer quickly! BGor!






There was no response. Shoktor! Answer me!

I think hes dead.


He was playing on the slide with a betleH. He sorta . . . fell . . . on it.

Then he was weak and deserved to die! Bah! I have no patience for calling roll!
Miss KTarth threw the clip board over her shoulder. It is time for arts and crafts! Get to you desks. NOW!

The children scrambled to their feet and dashed to their seats, leaping over the various spikes and knives that were scattered around the classroom. Miss KTarth fetched a large box from the storeroom and began passing out materials.

Now, using paper and glue, you will construct a macaroni duck. You will take this home and give it to your parents, who will honor you by taping it to the refrigerator.

One boy raised his hand.

What, Zargath? Do you need to use the little warriors room again?

Whats a duck?

An Earth creature. It lives on the water and tears apart its prey with razor sharp talons. Now get to work!

The children bent industriously over their papers, carefully gluing the macaronis in place as their teacher walked among them, offering encouragement.

Blort! Do not eat the glue yet! Save it for lunch!

Varktar! Your duck is weak! Make it fiercer or you will bring shame to your family!

Miss KTarth paused by one desk, where the boys paper was blank. Thort! You were ordered to create a macaroni duck! Why did you disobey a direct order!?

Because a great Klingon warrior killed the duck with his bare hands and then ate it!

Miss Ktarth smiled. You will go far, young Thort!

There was a sudden, horrible screeching.

Recess! Bellowed Miss Ktarth. I expect to see fighting! Kahless help you if there is no fighting!

As the children ran outside, Miss Ktarth straightened up the classroom. Additional knives were strewn about and she made sure the painsticks were charged for a game of Duck, Duck, Aaaargh later on. She looked up at a particularly loud yell and saw several kids run by the window waving betleHs. She smiled and with a shake of her head, continued cleaning.


Monday, September 24, 2007

Holiday schedule woes.

As I’ve mentioned before, our coloring is now being done by the good folks at Lamplighter Studios Inc. This is a dandy relationship, but I totally failed to account for a holiday difference in our schedules, which has put us back a week on coloring. As a result of this, pages 43 and 44 will be posted next week. All will soon be well again, as I am now armed with both their and my holiday schedule, and all is again right with the world. At least it will be right again starting next week, when we return to our normal Tuesday Thursday schedule.
- Leigh

Hello, Dave

So, there I was. It was 5:30 am and I was in bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering why computer are always female. No, really, I was.

Insomnia is a harsh mistress.

Im not referring to the computer I use to write my blogs (Testiculus the Destroyer), but to computers in sci-fi shows. Think about it. All the computers in Star Trek, at least for the Federation (dunno about the Klingons). Cortanna, from Halo. Shodan, from System Shock. Even the cars in James Bond. Computers just seem to have female voices (and oddly enough, British accents). Pretty much if a computer talks or has a holographic image, it is female.

Why is that?

Computers started out male. HAL9000, the granddaddy of talking computers, had a male persona. KITT was also male, but was also a car, which somehow makes sense (I have no idea why). But somehow along the way, computers became girls.

Experts in psychology and sociology could probably come up with some very interesting and fascinating reasons why this may be so. I would even be willing to bet that a couple of thesis (thesises? thesi?) have been written on this very subject.

However, I think the answer is far simpler. Sci-Fi geeks, myself included, just want to talk to a girl.


Friday, September 21, 2007

Zombies vs. Robots

So, I had a thought the other day: who would win in a fight between a zombie and a robot?

I am talking about your average, run-of-the-mill zombie, ie, your classic, slow, brain-obsessed ones and your average early 80s robot, who is also quite slow and bent of destroying all humans (think Cylons from the original Batllestar Galactica).

They are, upon comparison, weirdly similar:

Really Stupid
Smells Bad
Nigh Unstoppable
Craves Brains

Kinda Stupid
Probably Stronger
Smells Minty
Also Nigh Unstoppable
Programmed to Destroy All Humans

The question is, if you put one of each room, who would emerge victorious? Actually, both of them would just stand there. The zombie craves brains, which the robot does not have, while the robot, which is programmed to kill all humans, would not target the zombie, as its already dead.

However, if you stuffed a brain into the robots chest cavity and then programmed it to attack any human-like thing that moved, you would then have a fight on your hands.

I would have to put my money on the robot, no matter how much I would want to support an Undead American. Frankly, while the zombie would eventually tear open the robot, the robot would probably first either immobilize the zombie by breaking its limbs or get a lucky shot to the zombies head and take him out completely.

Of course, if such an experiment were tried, the zombie and robot would end up working together to destroy humanity. Worse, they could merge and become a zombot (rombie just does not sound right).

Anyhow, $50 on the robot.


Thursday, September 20, 2007

Booby Traps

We all know the story. The intrepid adventurer, be he archeologist, knight, or commoner-who-is-really-the-son-of-the-king, is creeping along the passageway of the ancient and fearsome Really, Really Evil Dungeon, a place that has been lost for a thousand years. Alongside of him is his trusty comic relief, who is there to make him look good (or at least competent).

Just as the comic-relief is about to step forward, the adventurer holds out a hand.

Wait, he says. There may be booby traps.

The adventurer then throws a stick or rock or marmoset right where the comic relief was about to step. There is a thwap (or possible a thwip) and an arrow zings across the passage, right where the comic-relief would have been.

A quip is made and they continue on, to rescue the spunky princess with large breasts.

Here is the thing: how the hell does that trap work? Think about it. Adventurers are continually running across long deserted tombs, dungeons, and strip malls and encountering traps that have been sitting there for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and they still work. My last watch, comparatively a marvel of technology, ceased functioning after a mere 8-years.

Wood rots. Metal rusts. Even stone will crack or become overgrown. Even if someone is tending these things on a regular basis, the failure rate would have to be high.

Obviously, it is just a movie or book, but I am always amused by this. Ancient technology, for no readily apparent reason, always works.

Someday, I want to see this:

The hero and his sidekick are moving along the deserted dungeon corridor. The sidekick stumbles and grabs a rock to steady himself, which activates an unseen trap.

There is the horrible screeching of metal scraping against metal and iron spikes appear from the holes in the ceiling. Once, they would have shot from the holes with amazing speed, impaling anything below them, but now most of them are rusted into place. Only one lone spike descends, but agonizingly slowly. The hero looks up and calmly takes one step to the right. The spike continues to descend, but there is a sudden PING and then it stops.

Huh, says the hero, before continuing on.


Wednesday, September 19, 2007

There Be a Blog Today, Arrrr

Today, September 19th, is Talk Like a Pirate Day.

It was started by two guys who, for a variety of reasons, decided that there needed to be a day when everyone talked like a pirate. You can visit their website here:

I wholly support this day and will endeavor to call my friends dirty bilge rats at every opportunity. Just to mix it up, I might also call them filthy bilge rats.

This does raise a question, however: why do pirates say Arrrrr? I have actually tried to look this up, but have found nothing of note. Was there some pirate captain long ago with a speech impediment? Did they do it just to mess with people and it stuck? Does it just sound fierce?
Here is my personal theory: I have said Arrrr on a couple of occasions when I was in so much pain that I went completely inarticulate. For example, the time when I accidentally tore out a toenail (as opposed to the time I did it on purpose). When it happened, I ended up dancing around while holding my foot and making sort of an extended growl that was pretty close to an Arrrr.

So, at some point, there was a pirate who, in the course of his piratical duties, was injured and went Arrrrr! The other pirates thought this was cool and begin imitating him. Or, alternatively, they thought it was funny and began mocking him, as pirates have never been known for their sensitivity.

At any rate, pirates go Arrrr (and the cow goes Mooo and the dog goes Woof and the Black Mamba makes no sound at all). So be sure to say Arrrr, matey! a few times today. All the cool kids are doing it.


Monday, September 17, 2007

A New Pizza

I caught a new commercial the other day. This is from Dominos and features their new Oreo Dessert Pizza ( if you are really interested).

It is apparently a pizza made out of Oreos, drizzled in Oreo sauce (I presume), on some sort of probably sugary crust.

I had two immediate reactions upon seeing this commercial:
1) That thing will kill you
2) I totally want to eat one of those

Pizza, despite its innate deliciousness, is horrible for you. So, what better way to finish the meal than by eating another pizza made almost entirely of sugar? I anticipate there will soon be an Appetizer Pizza made out of nachos and French fries (which frankly, sounds fantastic).

I do not know what to think about the Oreo Pizza. On the one hand, this is America, a country where we are free to eat whatever we want (its in the Constitution, right after we are guaranteed the right to play the kazoo in public). On the other hand, we are fat enough as it is. On the other, other hand, nothing rhymes with orange.

So, eat an Oreo Pizza if you are so inclined. Or not. If you happen to be a representative of Dominos and like the sound of the Appetizer Pizza, lets talk.


Friday, September 14, 2007

Darger of the High, Soft Boots: Part 3

I then decided to open the first door in the hallway, which I did.

Darger found himself face-to-face with five orcs in an otherwise perfectly empty room. Why there were five orcs in a perfectly empty room is one of those great mysteries of life. Maybe they were interior decorators? Maybe they were lost? No one will ever know, as I did not ask. I was nine. Five orcs in a perfectly empty room seemed eminently logical.

Darger looked at the orcs. The orcs looked at Darger.

I decided five-on-one was bad odds. I decided to talk to them. This was my first ever attempt at roleplay.

Me: Hi.

Orc#1: Hi.

Loooooong pause.

Me: Are you orcs?

Orc#1: Yes.

Looooong pause.

Me: I am a fighter.

Orc#1: Cool.

Loooooong pause.

Orc#1: Did you kill the rat.

Me: Yes.

Orc#1: Lets be friends.

Me: Okay.

Looooong pause.

Orc#1: There is a vampire in the room next door.

Me: Really?

Orc#1: You shouldnt fight him. Hes tough.

Me: Okay.

Looooong pause.

Me: Im going to leave now.

Orc#1: Bye.

And I left the room. Obviously, not quite Oscar-level performances, but not bad for a nine-year-old talking to a bunch of orcs.

I decided to keep going and wisely skipped the room next door. Why a vampire was living in a room next to five orcs is once again a question that can never be answered.

I opened the third door and discovered a baby red dragon. Flush with excitement after my victory over the rat and successful parley with the orcs, I decided to attack.

I rolled the twenty-sider and was informed that I missed. The dragon attacked me and hit, doing approximately 57,000 points of damage. Darger of the High, Soft Boots was no more.

I was disappointed, but immediately rolled up another character, who also promptly died. We were nine. We did not grasp the concept of level-appropriate encounters. If the random encounter table said Horde of Pit Fiends, by god, we fought a Horde of Pit Fiends (and died). Eventually, we hit upon the concept of running away, so our characters started to live a little longer.

Our DnD group eventually expanded with a couple more guys and we played constantly through early high school, when we started to find new friends and drift apart. Chuck and I kept in touch over the years until, sadly, he died in an accident when he was twenty.

I like to think, however, that somewhere out there, an Ancient Red Dragon is sitting on his massive hoard. His scales are scarred and twisted from countless battles and the bones of hundreds of would-be adventurers are piled high about his lair, mute testament to his might. And at the very bottom of his hoard, almost forgotten, lie the trophies of his first victory: a pair of black Converse All-Stars.


Thursday, September 13, 2007

Darger of the High, Soft Boots: Part 2

Upon entering the dungeon, I found it was a sparse 10-foot wide corridor with doors down one side, approximately every 10-feet. It was, as dungeons go, pretty basic.

I was thrilled. I proceeded down the corridor towards the first door. Now, a more skillful player might have paused to search for traps, hidden doors, or invisible things. I did not. I pretty much charged forward. I was nine.

This is when I encountered the rat. It was, apparently, a big rat. I know because I asked Chuck.

Me: How big?

Chuck: Big.

I could have asked for specifics, but that seemed beside the point. I declared my intention to attack.

Me: I attack it.

Chuck: You cant.

Me: Why not?

Chuck: You dont have your sword out.

This precipitated our second DnD argument, as I pointed out it would be foolish to walk around without ones sword drawn and therefore it would always be drawn, whereas Chuck insisted I had not told him it was drawn. This argument probably lasted another 30-minutes. Finally, I ended it.

Me: Fine! I draw my sword.

Chuck: Okay. You can attack.

Me: What do I do?

Chuck: Roll a 20-sider.

Me: Which one is that?

After a pause to examine all the dice and compare numbers, we figured out which was the 20-sider. I rolled it and Chuck told me I hit (In retrospect, I think he just said I hit. I doubt he knew about to-hit tables). We then had to figure out how to roll damage. 2-8 was a complicated number. We eventually figured out I had to roll a d4 twice. I rolled well and the rat died.

I was victorious.

Knowing what I know now, I should have just had Dergar turn around, walk out of the dungeon, and retire. But I was flush with my first victory and decided to press on.

Tomorrow: Orcs and the Art of Diplomacy

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Darger of the High, Soft Boots

Some of you may have guessed this already, but I am a DnD nerd. I have been playing since the 4th grade, when my best friend Chuck introduced me to this cool game that had funny dice and you killed stuff. Needless to say, I was hooked.

Currently, I am DMing a campaign that has been going on for about 14-years. It has an over-arching plot and everything and the players are really close to actually finishing it (I figure another two-odd years should do it).

In working on my game the other day, I was reminded of my first DnD adventure and my first character: Darger the Fighter. Chuck helped me roll Darger up and DMed my first adventure.

Darger was a human with 15 strength and 6 hit points. He had a broad sword, ring mail, a small shield, and high, soft boots. I hesitated about the boots, as footwear seemed like an important decision, but neither Chuck nor I were clear on what high, soft boots actually were.

Being nine, we of course argued the point for the better part of 30-minutes. I championed the idea that high, soft boots were more like high-top sneakers, while Chuck insisted that they were more like army boots. This debate could have gone on all day, but then Chuck said that he was right because he was the DM.

This was my first encounter with DMs Prerogative, which loosely translated means I am the DM, so shut up.

I was forced to give in. However, when Chuck went to the bathroom I drew a quick picture of Darger and he was clearly wearing a pair of black Converse All-Stars. So there.

With footwear decided, I entered the dungeon.

Tomorrow: The Rat of Doom!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Jason is having more technical difficulties.

Jason is having technical difficulties once again. His DSL seems to be really unreliable lately.
Rather than attempting to be funny or informative myself, I will simply link to something that amused me recently. Warning, viral music included.

Apologies to any who have already seen it.
Apologies also to those that follow this link and get it stuck in their heads.


Monday, September 10, 2007


It is true. One of the greatest cinematic heroes of all time is making a comeback.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull

I freely admit I love the movies, even the rather pedestrian Temple of Doom. I love the car chases, the gun fights, and the booby traps.

I especially love the fist fights and the fact that when somebody gets punched, there is a THWAP! that is louder than a gunshot.

This does not actually happen. I train in martial arts and punch people and get punched on a regular basis. In fact, last Saturday, I got bludgeoned once and nearly stabbed, but that is neither here nor there. The point is that there are never any really cool sound-effects.

Obviously, Indiana Jones is not real life. It is better, which is why we queue up and pay 10-bucks a pop to watch it.

Memorial Day, 2008. I will be there.


Friday, September 7, 2007

BioShock (no spoilers)

I have been playing BioShock (Bioshock? BIOSHOCK?) lately and thought I would post a quick review of my thoughts.

As an FYI, I do play all the major FPSs (and some of the lesser known ones), so I have some familiarity with the genre. I have not yet finished BioShock, but am probably better than 80% finished.

First, the good news.
The game is gorgeous. The environments are really spectacular and the game conveys a slightly claustrophobic, slightly crazy atmosphere. The world feels right for the game, if that makes any sense. The sound is likewise impressive, from the scratchy records playing in the background, to the whistling of an enemy as he wanders the halls. The voice acting is excellent throughout, making the near constant diary entries actually pleasant to get through.

The plot is likewise interesting. I did guess at one major revelation early on (it is not particularly tricky). There is another, bigger twist that I did not see coming that is handled very well.

There is a scene with Ryan later on that I particularly liked. It was actually rather moving.

The level layout is decent, though not particularly imaginative. The weapons all look good and feel right, if you know what I mean. There is enough variety in the Plasmids and Gene Tonics to allow a variety of play styles and once you get enough slots, you will be able to custom-tailor your gameplay significantly.

Now, the bad:
The game crashes on my system roughly every three-four hours. I updated all my video and sound drivers, but that still has not really helped. I also have a weird problem where the game sometimes restores the default settings. I have some of the high-end graphics options turned off and on a number of occasions, I have had to go back in and reset them. This is a really strange bug that I have never seen in a game before.

There are really only 4-5 enemies in the game and I am getting tired of killing them over and over. The enemies also level as the game progresses, so the enemy that took 5 pistol rounds on level 1 now takes 15 on level 3 and so on.

Mini-Rant: I hate it when enemies level as the game progresses. My problem with it is that essentially any enemy from the end of a game could wipe out everything at the beginning. This always feels like lazy design to me. Give me new tougher enemies. Better yet, mix in the new, tougher in with the old, weaker enemies. That way I have to think about what I am shooting. I will also feel powerful (by wiping out the cannon fodder), but challenged by the bigger boys.

The Big Daddies are not particularly interesting to fight. I tried a variety of fancy tactics, but eventually got bored with trying to set elaborate traps. I just blaze away with whatever weapon has the most and best ammo. I die a lot on them, but it does not really matter.

Death does not matter. Often times, you repop right around the corner and just continue the combat, making any battle really a matter of time. In its defense, BioShock is not really a true FPS (more of a FPS/RPG hybrid), so that was probably a very conscious decision to make the game easier and more accessible.

The hacking gets very old very quickly. There is no reason not to hack everything, so obviously I do, but you can only play Plumber so many times. Alternated mini-game styles would have been nice.

Overall, the core of the game (the visuals, sound, weapons, etc) feel and look really great, but the constant crashes and setting resets hurt. The gameplay is decent, but there is nothing that really stands out. They do deserve props for some interesting plot twists and characters, however. Ultimately, I feel like more could have been done with the game.

BioShock is like a really fancy sports car with a crappy engine. Once the initial thrill fades and you realize its going to break down once a week, youre probably going to leave it in the garage.


Thursday, September 6, 2007

Bananas Float

Yes, it is true. Bananas float. This is my sole contribution to the world of science. I am not sure about other fruit, but I have my suspicions.

How, you may ask, did I come to this profound conclusion? (Huh? and WTF? are also perfectly acceptable reactions).

Well, I will tell you.

As a teenager, I worked in Swensens Ice Cream parlor. Swensens thing, if you did not have them, was that they made all their ice cream on the premises. That was my job, I made ice-cream. I was a Manufacturer.

Being the Manufacturer had many perks:

1. I did not have to serve the public.
2. I made my own hours (the ice cream took approx. 24 hours to freeze after it was made, so it did not really matter when I made it). I could go to work at midnight if I really wanted to.
3. I did not have to talk to the public.
4. I did not have to wear a uniform, as the machine was in the back.
5. I did not have to interact with the public in any way, shape, or form.

So, one day while making some sort of banana-intensive flavor, I was cutting up bananas and dropped a slice into a sink full of water. It floated. I was intrigued. I dropped several more pieces in, just in case. They all floated. And then, being a curious lad, I dropped in a whole banana and then an entire bunch. They all floated.

This was one of those wow moments in a young mans life. An epiphany, if you will. I had discovered the scientific process, something I had happily ignored throughout my school career.

In someone else, this might have sparked an interest in science, a passion for testing how the world works. An eagerness even, to learn the fundamental truths of the universe.

Me? I devised a plan that if trapped on a deserted island, I would build a raft out of bananas and then eat them as I sailed along. This plan is not without its flaws, as I would eventually eat my raft, but there you go.

So, bananas float. No fooling.


Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Undead American's ate Jason's time today.

Unfortunately Jason’s time (and brain) was eaten by Undead Americans today so he hasn’t been able to blog. Hopefully his brain will have regenerated by tomorrow.

Here are some pictures taken the last time Jason encountered Undead Americans. That’s Jason on the left, and my wife Laura on the right holding the extra bolts for the crossbow.

Actually Jason has been swamped with work, and he is not – as these photos would seem to indicate goofing off and playing with crossbows. I just thought it would be fun to post these photos which I took last year as filler.

- Leigh

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Shuriken of Gratitude


Here at Wayfarers Moon, we always send a thank-you and a wallpaper to the kind souls who donate to our comic. Lately however, we have gotten a few donations where our thank-you email came back as undeliverable.

So if you donated to us and never received a reply, that is probably why.

If you would still like your wallpaper, shoot a mail to us at and include the email name you donated with. Your wallpaper and a thank-you will be promptly sent.

We appreciate being donated to and want to thank everyone who does so. We will thank you, regardless of the time or expense involved. Seriously. We will track you down. We are like bounty hunters. Granted, we cannot find our cell phones half the time and I get scared driving more than 30 mph, but we will find you.

No, wait. Ninjas. We are like ninjas that throw shuriken of gratitude. No? Pirates then? Firing broadsides of appreciation? Arrrr?

In all seriousness, we would like to thank you if you donated. It does mean a lot to us :)