If you happen to read my blog with any regularity (and I apologize if you do), you may remember that a couple months ago, I announced I had grown tired of WoW and was going to stop playing.
Well, I’m back.
Basically, I was bored and needed something to play. FreeCell, as much as I love it, was not doing it for me. So, I dusted off my Blood Elf Paladin and hit the road with a vengeance. Well, as much vengeance as a Protection Pally can (Fights take forever, as I don’t do much damage, but on the plus side, I’m nigh unkillable).
So, in my travels through the lands of Azeroth, I came upon a wounded Tauren warrior who asked me to aid him. I obviously said ‘yes,’ as I’m a virtuous paladin (and I needed the xp). He then spun a tale about diseased wolves and asked me to murder a bunch of them in order to ‘help’ them.
Which brings me to the subject of the blog: Why is it that whenever ‘nature is out of balance’ or ‘the wildlife is stricken with some disease’ the answer is to slaughter double-digits worth of animals?
“The animals of this region have been infected with a terrible disease! Please, oh mighty adventurer, help us heal the land!”
“Of course! Would you like me to deliver medicine, inoculate some of the animals, or even hunt down those responsible?”
“Ummmm, no. Just go kill 20 Limping Wolves, 10 Suspicious Badgers, 7 Myopic Snakes, and 27 Enraged Meerkats.”
“. . . . why?”
“’Cause I asked you too?”
“But will that actually solve the problem?”
“Well, no.”
“Are you even a Druid?”
“I took a correspondence course. Plus, I really, really hate animals.”
I realize that ‘kill X of Y’ is an easy quest and it works wonderfully in terms of an MMO. However, I would really like to see a quest where I got to be nice to the wildlife (as vicious as it is). I want a quest where I need to deliver picnic baskets to bears or ‘Pet 20 Wolves’ rather than just maiming and killing them all the time. It would, at least, be a nice change of pace.
Granted, in return I’d like them to stop attacking me all the time, but there you go.
Cheers,
-Jason
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
I Think Something Melted
Last week was pretty quiet. Blogs were written, a page went up, and the forum was inundated with thoughtful and insightful posts.
No, really.
We are still looking for a colorist, an inker, and a cartoonist. We could also use a masseuse, someone who can rhyme in futhark, and a ferret juggler (either a ferret who juggles or someone who juggles ferrets, we don’t really care).
The only real thing of interest is that the weather decided to make up its mind and went with a ‘death by heat’ theme. It was nearly 90 today, which meant that those of us without AC quickly made friends with those that did. Or we went to the mall, whichever.
I don’t really mind the heat too much. I lived in Fresno for a while, so you kind of get used to sticking to things like car seats, trees, and random livestock. It kind of made me feel nostalgic, like I was back in college, only I didn’t have to eat dorm food.
Anyway, tomorrow, there will be a blog about WoW and murdering animals. Stay tuned.
Cheers,
-Jason
No, really.
We are still looking for a colorist, an inker, and a cartoonist. We could also use a masseuse, someone who can rhyme in futhark, and a ferret juggler (either a ferret who juggles or someone who juggles ferrets, we don’t really care).
The only real thing of interest is that the weather decided to make up its mind and went with a ‘death by heat’ theme. It was nearly 90 today, which meant that those of us without AC quickly made friends with those that did. Or we went to the mall, whichever.
I don’t really mind the heat too much. I lived in Fresno for a while, so you kind of get used to sticking to things like car seats, trees, and random livestock. It kind of made me feel nostalgic, like I was back in college, only I didn’t have to eat dorm food.
Anyway, tomorrow, there will be a blog about WoW and murdering animals. Stay tuned.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, June 26, 2008
The Hippo of Indeterminate Hue: Part 3
Von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt produced a pipe and began stuffing it. “We have fought many times, the Hippo and I. The last time, in Zimbabwe,” he paused and glanced over at Robert/Mangrove. “It was Zimbabwe, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” replied Robert/Mangrove. Then, with a sigh, he produced a piece of chalk and scratched ‘Yes’ onto the small chalkboard he carried and then held it up.
“Yes, Zimbabwe,” continued von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “I thought him dead, as I shot him forty-seven times at close range with an elephant gun.” He glanced at Detective Smitts. “I had to reload frequently.”
Detective Smitts cocked his hat back. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you are the famous detective Charles Alonso Credenza von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt the Third, aren’t you?”
“Here it comes,” said Robert/Mangrove.
“I am,” began von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “’a’ Charles Alonso Credenza von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt the Third, who happens to be a consulting detective, yes.”
Detective Smitts took a deep breath. “Officer,” he said, to the nearest Bobby. “Please escort this man outside the barricade.”
“You do not understand,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt, as the officer took him by the arm. “The Hippo will kill again! In fact, this is not his first victim!”
Detective Smitts raised his hand and the officer stopped. “You don’t say?”
“I know the Hippo and his methods well,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “He always begins his sprees on new moons and always kills in prime numbers.” He shook his arm from the officer and smoothed his sleeve. “Last night was a new moon and as this corpse is only recently deceased, it therefore must be the second. He will continue to kill, until either confronted or he gets bored and wanders off, generally to his summer home in Stockholm.”
Smitts nodded. “I see. Officer, arrest these men on suspicion of murder, loitering, impersonating a famous detective, and irritating me.” He paused. “Scratch that last part.”
“I must protest, Detective!” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt, as the nearest officer pulled his arms behind his back and slapped on a pair of handcuffs. “A man of my breeding would never commit homicide in such a manner! It would be undignified!”
Smitts motioned to the officer, who guided the still protesting von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt and the smirking Robert/Mangrove towards the curb. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Detective,” said the Sergeant.
“Yes, what is it?”
“We found something, well, odd.”
“Odder than a squished corpse and a madman with a non-mute, non-Turkish man servant?”
“I can’t say as to that,” began the Sergeant, after a brief moment’s introspection. “But it is passing strange.”
“Show me.”
The Sergeant led him to the back wall of the alley, where someone had thoughtfully scrawled ‘Up the Fishes!’ next to a pile of old crates. The butt of a cigar was on the ground, next to an extremely large footprint.
“My word,” said Smitts, as he leaned down to inspect it. The footprint was large, almost two feet across, with four toes. It was, relatively speaking, round.
Cheers,
-Jason
“Yeah,” replied Robert/Mangrove. Then, with a sigh, he produced a piece of chalk and scratched ‘Yes’ onto the small chalkboard he carried and then held it up.
“Yes, Zimbabwe,” continued von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “I thought him dead, as I shot him forty-seven times at close range with an elephant gun.” He glanced at Detective Smitts. “I had to reload frequently.”
Detective Smitts cocked his hat back. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you are the famous detective Charles Alonso Credenza von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt the Third, aren’t you?”
“Here it comes,” said Robert/Mangrove.
“I am,” began von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “’a’ Charles Alonso Credenza von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt the Third, who happens to be a consulting detective, yes.”
Detective Smitts took a deep breath. “Officer,” he said, to the nearest Bobby. “Please escort this man outside the barricade.”
“You do not understand,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt, as the officer took him by the arm. “The Hippo will kill again! In fact, this is not his first victim!”
Detective Smitts raised his hand and the officer stopped. “You don’t say?”
“I know the Hippo and his methods well,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “He always begins his sprees on new moons and always kills in prime numbers.” He shook his arm from the officer and smoothed his sleeve. “Last night was a new moon and as this corpse is only recently deceased, it therefore must be the second. He will continue to kill, until either confronted or he gets bored and wanders off, generally to his summer home in Stockholm.”
Smitts nodded. “I see. Officer, arrest these men on suspicion of murder, loitering, impersonating a famous detective, and irritating me.” He paused. “Scratch that last part.”
“I must protest, Detective!” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt, as the nearest officer pulled his arms behind his back and slapped on a pair of handcuffs. “A man of my breeding would never commit homicide in such a manner! It would be undignified!”
Smitts motioned to the officer, who guided the still protesting von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt and the smirking Robert/Mangrove towards the curb. He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Detective,” said the Sergeant.
“Yes, what is it?”
“We found something, well, odd.”
“Odder than a squished corpse and a madman with a non-mute, non-Turkish man servant?”
“I can’t say as to that,” began the Sergeant, after a brief moment’s introspection. “But it is passing strange.”
“Show me.”
The Sergeant led him to the back wall of the alley, where someone had thoughtfully scrawled ‘Up the Fishes!’ next to a pile of old crates. The butt of a cigar was on the ground, next to an extremely large footprint.
“My word,” said Smitts, as he leaned down to inspect it. The footprint was large, almost two feet across, with four toes. It was, relatively speaking, round.
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Hippo of Indeterminate Hue: Part 2
“Good god!” The detective snatched the card away from the Sergeant, reading it for himself. “You there!” he said, pointing at the young man who’d brought the card. “Bring Mr. von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt up immediately!”
“Sir,” the young officer said, saluting weakly, and then staggered down the alley, returning a moment later with a 30-ish man in a tuxedo and top hat, who was accompanied by a rather short man carrying a small chalk-board and wearing a red scarf around his neck.
The detective stood up, brushing off his trousers and straightening his tie. “Mr. von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt?” he said, holding out his hand. “Detective Smitts. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt, taking the proffered hand. “This is my manservant, a mute Turk I call Mangrove.”
“My name’s Robert!” said the decidedly non-mute Mangrove, in a distinct London accent.
“Yes,” continued von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “Utterly mute. Can’t speak at all.”
Detective Smitts stared, first at one man and then the other. “I think he just did.”
“Impossible,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “He’s been with me nearly 8-years and he hasn’t uttered a single word the entire time.”
“But-” began the detective, only to be silenced by a raised hand.
“There is more pressing business at hand, is there not?” asked von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt.
“Uh, yes, sir,” said the detective, glancing at Robert/Mangrove, who just shrugged. “A body found just an hour ago. Rather . . . squished.”
Von-Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt nodded. “As I surmised.” He strode over to the corpse, the waiting officers parting before him. He took only a cursory glance at the body. “Yes,” he said. “The work of the Hippo.”
“The what, sir?” asked the Sergeant.
“The Hippo of Indeterminate Hue,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “The most fiendish ungulate ever to walk this earth. Well,” he amended. “That I am aware of. Certainly, other hippopotami of a criminal bent have appeared throughout history, though I would wager that few matched the Hippo of Indeterminate Hue in either cunning or savagery.”
Detective Smitts stared at the tuxedoed gentleman for a moment. “What?” he finally asked?
Later: A History!
“Sir,” the young officer said, saluting weakly, and then staggered down the alley, returning a moment later with a 30-ish man in a tuxedo and top hat, who was accompanied by a rather short man carrying a small chalk-board and wearing a red scarf around his neck.
The detective stood up, brushing off his trousers and straightening his tie. “Mr. von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt?” he said, holding out his hand. “Detective Smitts. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt, taking the proffered hand. “This is my manservant, a mute Turk I call Mangrove.”
“My name’s Robert!” said the decidedly non-mute Mangrove, in a distinct London accent.
“Yes,” continued von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “Utterly mute. Can’t speak at all.”
Detective Smitts stared, first at one man and then the other. “I think he just did.”
“Impossible,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “He’s been with me nearly 8-years and he hasn’t uttered a single word the entire time.”
“But-” began the detective, only to be silenced by a raised hand.
“There is more pressing business at hand, is there not?” asked von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt.
“Uh, yes, sir,” said the detective, glancing at Robert/Mangrove, who just shrugged. “A body found just an hour ago. Rather . . . squished.”
Von-Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt nodded. “As I surmised.” He strode over to the corpse, the waiting officers parting before him. He took only a cursory glance at the body. “Yes,” he said. “The work of the Hippo.”
“The what, sir?” asked the Sergeant.
“The Hippo of Indeterminate Hue,” said von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt. “The most fiendish ungulate ever to walk this earth. Well,” he amended. “That I am aware of. Certainly, other hippopotami of a criminal bent have appeared throughout history, though I would wager that few matched the Hippo of Indeterminate Hue in either cunning or savagery.”
Detective Smitts stared at the tuxedoed gentleman for a moment. “What?” he finally asked?
Later: A History!
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Hippo of Indeterminate Hue: Part 1
A few tendrils of fog were beginning to drift lazily on the slight breeze, lit by the soft glow of lanterns. A group of men were huddled at the end of the alley, most dressed in the familiar blue of the English Bobby, the light flashing gold on their brass buttons. A few officers were keeping the growing crowd of civilians, mainly local shopkeepers, carters, and migrant mime hunters, clustered at the mouth of the alley and away from the scene.
“What’re you thinkin,’ Detective?” asked an older officer, with a fine moustache.
“Hard to say, Sergeant,” replied the only man in plain-clothes. “He’s sort of . . . “
“Squished?” volunteered the Sergeant.
“Yes, squished.” The detective glanced up at the roofs that lined the alley. “Hardly enough of a fall to do that kind of damage.”
“Perhaps he fell from a passin’ dirigible, sir?”
“I think that unlikely, Sergeant.” The detective stepped around a pile of crates, taking care to not tread on what was left of the victim’s leg, and squatted down for a better look.
“Flung from a trebuchet?”
“Also, unlikely.”
“If he, y’know, jumped, before he left the roof, sir, that might account for the . . . er . . . extreme state.”
The detective looked over at the Sergeant. “Are you suggesting that three-odd more feet of falling could have done this?”
“Hard to say, sir.”
“Pardon me, detective,” began a young officer, who hurried up from the mouth of the alley. “There’s a gentleman who wants to speak to- oh god!” The young man turned several shades of green, including celadon, chartreuse, myrtle, and other variations I found on Wikipedia. He was noisily sick in a nearby crate, though he kept hold of the business card in his hand.
“Sergeant, if you would?” asked the detective. The Sergeant leaned over and plucked the card out of the young man’s hand. He read it solemnly.
The detective waited a moment, before sighing. “Out loud, Sergeant.”
“Ah, right, sir.” The Sergeant cleared his throat. “Mr. Charles Alonso Credenza von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt the Third. Esquire. Consulting Detective.”
Tomorrow: Part II
“What’re you thinkin,’ Detective?” asked an older officer, with a fine moustache.
“Hard to say, Sergeant,” replied the only man in plain-clothes. “He’s sort of . . . “
“Squished?” volunteered the Sergeant.
“Yes, squished.” The detective glanced up at the roofs that lined the alley. “Hardly enough of a fall to do that kind of damage.”
“Perhaps he fell from a passin’ dirigible, sir?”
“I think that unlikely, Sergeant.” The detective stepped around a pile of crates, taking care to not tread on what was left of the victim’s leg, and squatted down for a better look.
“Flung from a trebuchet?”
“Also, unlikely.”
“If he, y’know, jumped, before he left the roof, sir, that might account for the . . . er . . . extreme state.”
The detective looked over at the Sergeant. “Are you suggesting that three-odd more feet of falling could have done this?”
“Hard to say, sir.”
“Pardon me, detective,” began a young officer, who hurried up from the mouth of the alley. “There’s a gentleman who wants to speak to- oh god!” The young man turned several shades of green, including celadon, chartreuse, myrtle, and other variations I found on Wikipedia. He was noisily sick in a nearby crate, though he kept hold of the business card in his hand.
“Sergeant, if you would?” asked the detective. The Sergeant leaned over and plucked the card out of the young man’s hand. He read it solemnly.
The detective waited a moment, before sighing. “Out loud, Sergeant.”
“Ah, right, sir.” The Sergeant cleared his throat. “Mr. Charles Alonso Credenza von Bueller-Smith-Ashfelt the Third. Esquire. Consulting Detective.”
Tomorrow: Part II
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Warm And Sunny, With a Chance of Misery
Not much happening on the Wayfarer's Moon front right now. I am really busy at work, but it's a good 'gettting stuff done' busy as opposed to 'doing stupid stuff' kind.
On a completely unrelated note, I really wish the weather would make up its mind. As I mentioned last week, Washington has been in an extended cold-snap, but recently, the sun has been spotted and things are generally warming up. Which means, with this being Washington, it is now hot and rainy, as opposed to it being cold and rainy.
NOTE: In Washington, we define 'hot' as 'nearly 80'
I'm fine with this, I really am. However, I would like a month, maybe two, of actual sun without rain, just for a change of pace. A counterpoint, if you will, to the general wetness that is most of the year. I just wish it would stop teasing us with the odd-sunny day and get on with it.
Tomorrow, I will beginning a new short piece entitled 'The Hippo of Indeterminate Hue.' It will feature detectives, murder, and strangely enough, no actual hippos.
NOTE: The Hippo may be invisible.
Cheers,
-Jason
On a completely unrelated note, I really wish the weather would make up its mind. As I mentioned last week, Washington has been in an extended cold-snap, but recently, the sun has been spotted and things are generally warming up. Which means, with this being Washington, it is now hot and rainy, as opposed to it being cold and rainy.
NOTE: In Washington, we define 'hot' as 'nearly 80'
I'm fine with this, I really am. However, I would like a month, maybe two, of actual sun without rain, just for a change of pace. A counterpoint, if you will, to the general wetness that is most of the year. I just wish it would stop teasing us with the odd-sunny day and get on with it.
Tomorrow, I will beginning a new short piece entitled 'The Hippo of Indeterminate Hue.' It will feature detectives, murder, and strangely enough, no actual hippos.
NOTE: The Hippo may be invisible.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Field Marshal von Vacuum: Part 3
The bedroom was tough. Fewer square feet to vacuum, but this is pretty much where my cat lives. If you’ve ever wondered what a floor covered by a thick mat of cat hair looks like, I can send you pictures.
No, actually I can’t, ‘cause I vacuumed it up! Yes, the Field Marshal sucked it all up like a champ. If I’d known vacuums could do that, I might have cleaned more often.
Note: LOL!
The funny bit, though, is what happened afterwards. I had finished vacuuming and was busy in the kitchen, cleaning with a blow torch and pick-axe, when I wandered back into the bedroom for some reason, not more than ten minutes later.
My cat, perhaps in protest, had vomited in the middle of the floor. Of course, I cleaned it up (eventually), but now I had a lovely dark brown mark dead center in the room.
Now, I don’t actually own any carpet cleaner, so on my next trip to the store, I purchased some and then sat down to clean the carpet. The instructions were simple:
1. Spray area liberally
2. Dab gently with a cloth or sponge until dry
I can ‘spray liberally.’ That’s no problem. The ‘dab gently’ was the tricky part. I can ‘rub vigorously.’ I can ‘mash mercilessly.’ I can even ‘wipe with extreme prejudice.’ ‘Dab gently’ was vague. Do I poke it? Do I pat it? Should I, perhaps, hum a soothing tune whilst dabbing gently?
Also, ‘until dry’ seemed a bit excessive. We could be talking hours here. I’m a busy man. I have bathrooms to clean, blogs to write, and games to play. I can’t spend an afternoon fondling a stain.
So, I sprayed the hell out of the stain, halfheartedly poked it with a cloth for a few minutes, left the cloth on it, and then prodded it with my foot when I walked by.
It worked, more or less. The stain is mostly gone, though if you squint or if the light is right, you can still see it.
The moral of the story, gentle reader, is this: A fool and his monkey are soon parted.
No, wait, that’s a different story. This one doesn’t have a moral.
Cheers,
-Jason
No, actually I can’t, ‘cause I vacuumed it up! Yes, the Field Marshal sucked it all up like a champ. If I’d known vacuums could do that, I might have cleaned more often.
Note: LOL!
The funny bit, though, is what happened afterwards. I had finished vacuuming and was busy in the kitchen, cleaning with a blow torch and pick-axe, when I wandered back into the bedroom for some reason, not more than ten minutes later.
My cat, perhaps in protest, had vomited in the middle of the floor. Of course, I cleaned it up (eventually), but now I had a lovely dark brown mark dead center in the room.
Now, I don’t actually own any carpet cleaner, so on my next trip to the store, I purchased some and then sat down to clean the carpet. The instructions were simple:
1. Spray area liberally
2. Dab gently with a cloth or sponge until dry
I can ‘spray liberally.’ That’s no problem. The ‘dab gently’ was the tricky part. I can ‘rub vigorously.’ I can ‘mash mercilessly.’ I can even ‘wipe with extreme prejudice.’ ‘Dab gently’ was vague. Do I poke it? Do I pat it? Should I, perhaps, hum a soothing tune whilst dabbing gently?
Also, ‘until dry’ seemed a bit excessive. We could be talking hours here. I’m a busy man. I have bathrooms to clean, blogs to write, and games to play. I can’t spend an afternoon fondling a stain.
So, I sprayed the hell out of the stain, halfheartedly poked it with a cloth for a few minutes, left the cloth on it, and then prodded it with my foot when I walked by.
It worked, more or less. The stain is mostly gone, though if you squint or if the light is right, you can still see it.
The moral of the story, gentle reader, is this: A fool and his monkey are soon parted.
No, wait, that’s a different story. This one doesn’t have a moral.
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Mandles
This was making the rounds around work the other day and I found it simply hilarious.
via videosift.com
They do need to make a line for nerds, though. It would feature smells like: d20, Cheetos & Coke, & Save vs. Death.
Cheers,
-Jason
via videosift.com
They do need to make a line for nerds, though. It would feature smells like: d20, Cheetos & Coke, & Save vs. Death.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Field Marshal von Vacuum: Part 2
I ended up purchasing a large, blue vacuum, upon which I intend at some point to paint hot rod flames. It’s all about style, after all.
I took my new vacuum home and decided to try it out. I admit, I went a little nuts. I actually moved most of the furniture out of my living room, intending to give it the vacuuming of its life and discovered two things:
1. I had dust bunnies large enough to sit under bridges and extort money from travelers. I plan on training them to eat ninjas (it just feels right).
2. My cat had found several new and exciting places to vomit and cough up furballs. More on this later.
After herding the dust bunnies into the spare room and prying the dried husks of furballs off the carpet, I set to vacuuming. My new, blue vacuum sucked. It sucked hard. It sucked so much gunk off the carpet that it was actually a lighter shade of brown when I was done.
It was then that I decided to name my vacuum Field Marshal von Vacuum. It was either that or Sir Sucks-a-Lot. I decided to go with the higher rank. I felt my blue beast of a vacuum deserved it.
I then vacuumed the hall and after moving more furniture, my bedroom.
Later: The bedroom, a tale of woe.
I took my new vacuum home and decided to try it out. I admit, I went a little nuts. I actually moved most of the furniture out of my living room, intending to give it the vacuuming of its life and discovered two things:
1. I had dust bunnies large enough to sit under bridges and extort money from travelers. I plan on training them to eat ninjas (it just feels right).
2. My cat had found several new and exciting places to vomit and cough up furballs. More on this later.
After herding the dust bunnies into the spare room and prying the dried husks of furballs off the carpet, I set to vacuuming. My new, blue vacuum sucked. It sucked hard. It sucked so much gunk off the carpet that it was actually a lighter shade of brown when I was done.
It was then that I decided to name my vacuum Field Marshal von Vacuum. It was either that or Sir Sucks-a-Lot. I decided to go with the higher rank. I felt my blue beast of a vacuum deserved it.
I then vacuumed the hall and after moving more furniture, my bedroom.
Later: The bedroom, a tale of woe.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Field Marshall von Vacuum: Part 1
Regular readers may recall that on several occasions, I have discussed my disdain for cleaning my apartment and my problems with vacuuming in particular. Namely, that my old vacuum was incapable of actually removing things from my carpet and was basically a device for scaring my cat and leaving those nifty lines on the floor.
I therefore decided to purchase a new vacuum and visited the local vacuummonger to do so.
Note: ‘monger’ basically means ‘seller of,’ as in ‘fishmonger,’ ‘ironmonger,’ ‘mangamonger,’ or ‘those-things-that-you-use-to-stick-other-things-to-the-ceilingmonger.’
Anyhow, I walked into the local vacuummongery and was greeted by a nice lady. This is an actual transcript of the conversation.
Nice Lady: Hi, can I help you?
Me: I need something that sucks. A lot.
Nice Lady: Do you need to vacuum anything in particular? Like rugs or pet hair?
Me: Yeah. I definitely need it to pick up cat hair. And Captain Crunch.
Nice Lady: Well we have this model (indicated a purple vacuum). It’s designed specifically for pet hair and can probably handle Captain Crunch.
She did this all with a straight face and didn’t call the police or anything, which is why I refer to her as ‘Nice Lady.’ She showed me several models and let me test a few on the ‘pet hair simulator,’ which was a gauzy fabric designed to mimic pet hair. I offered to bring her in a garbage bag full of real cat hair, but she declined, oddly enough.
Tomorrow: Battle is joined. My new vacuum versus my apartment.
I therefore decided to purchase a new vacuum and visited the local vacuummonger to do so.
Note: ‘monger’ basically means ‘seller of,’ as in ‘fishmonger,’ ‘ironmonger,’ ‘mangamonger,’ or ‘those-things-that-you-use-to-stick-other-things-to-the-ceilingmonger.’
Anyhow, I walked into the local vacuummongery and was greeted by a nice lady. This is an actual transcript of the conversation.
Nice Lady: Hi, can I help you?
Me: I need something that sucks. A lot.
Nice Lady: Do you need to vacuum anything in particular? Like rugs or pet hair?
Me: Yeah. I definitely need it to pick up cat hair. And Captain Crunch.
Nice Lady: Well we have this model (indicated a purple vacuum). It’s designed specifically for pet hair and can probably handle Captain Crunch.
She did this all with a straight face and didn’t call the police or anything, which is why I refer to her as ‘Nice Lady.’ She showed me several models and let me test a few on the ‘pet hair simulator,’ which was a gauzy fabric designed to mimic pet hair. I offered to bring her in a garbage bag full of real cat hair, but she declined, oddly enough.
Tomorrow: Battle is joined. My new vacuum versus my apartment.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The Sun
Things have been quiet around Wayfarer’s Moon lately. We’re still looking for a colorist and an inker, mainly so Leigh can get up from the drawing table longer than the 30-second potty break he’s allowed every four hours.
I’m also looking for a cartoonist for another project, as Leigh is too damn busy to indulge all of my writing whims.
Note: If you’re a colorist, inker, or cartoonist, drop us a line.
In other news, the sun came out.
No, seriously, it did.
I saw it myself. It was a big ol’ yellow ball hangin’ in there air. It was even better than when I saw it on TV that one time. For those of you wondering what I’m babbling about, Washington has had one of the coldest winters on record and this is the first sunshine we’ve had in almost 7 years.
I celebrated the occasion by wearing shorts, which meant that people could not look directly at me, as the glare from my fish-white legs could be seen in space. So great was the glare that if I stood in one place too long, the reflected sunlight would actually cause paper products, pets, pedestrians, and other ‘p’ words to burst into flames.
I endeavored to return indoors in a timely manner, as I didn’t want to get arrested for indirect arson.
Anyway, tune in tomorrow for a new blog about vacuuming. Seriously.
Cheers,
-Jason
I’m also looking for a cartoonist for another project, as Leigh is too damn busy to indulge all of my writing whims.
Note: If you’re a colorist, inker, or cartoonist, drop us a line.
In other news, the sun came out.
No, seriously, it did.
I saw it myself. It was a big ol’ yellow ball hangin’ in there air. It was even better than when I saw it on TV that one time. For those of you wondering what I’m babbling about, Washington has had one of the coldest winters on record and this is the first sunshine we’ve had in almost 7 years.
I celebrated the occasion by wearing shorts, which meant that people could not look directly at me, as the glare from my fish-white legs could be seen in space. So great was the glare that if I stood in one place too long, the reflected sunlight would actually cause paper products, pets, pedestrians, and other ‘p’ words to burst into flames.
I endeavored to return indoors in a timely manner, as I didn’t want to get arrested for indirect arson.
Anyway, tune in tomorrow for a new blog about vacuuming. Seriously.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Invasion: Part 3
“Guys,” said Throng. Neither Brian nor Rick responded, as they continued to bicker back and forth. “Guys!” he finally yelled.
Both men ceased and turned towards him.
“You want to wrap this up? Fuel isn’t cheap.”
Rick looked at Brian, who shrugged. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Why not?”
“One,” counted Rick. “Two, three!”
Both men chose rock.
“Again,” said Rick. “One, two, three!”
This time, Rick went for scissors, which defeated Brian’s paper.
“Hah!” Rick shouted. “We get to attack first!”
“Fine,” said Brian. “Guess I got winner.” His yellow tinged fleet withdrew, just out of range of weapons fire.
The Star Admiral threw back his cloak. “All hands to battle stations!” he commanded. “Prepare to fire the Obliteratrix!”
On the screen before him, he could see the Imperial fleet spreading out and a wave of fighters approaching rapidly.
“Launch fighters!” he ordered.
“Sir?” one of the lieutenants suddenly said.
“What?”
“Who’re the purple guys?”
The Star Admiral glanced up at the monitor. A new fleet had arrived, in numbers greater than all three of the present fleets combined. They literally filled the left hand side of the screen.
The view-screen flickered and a strange, insect-like head appeared. “PREPARE TO BE CONSUMED, MAMMALS.”
Throng appeared beside the insect on the view-screen, to be quickly joined by Brian. “Uhh, who’re you?” Throng asked.
“WE ARE THE HIVE. WE WILL EXPAND.”
“Do we know you?” Brian asked.
This gave the insect-alien pause. “I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE QUESTION.”
“Did we go to high school with you or are you related to the Imperial family in some way?” asked Rick, the Star Admiral.
“NEGATIVE. WE ARE THE HIVE. WE WILL-“
“Expand,” finished Brian. “Yeah, we got it.”
The all looked at each other.
“Y’know,” began Throng. “Is it me or are there just too many invasions going on?”
“Yeah,” agreed Rick. “I thought I was the only one looking to overthrow the Empire.”
Brian snorted and raised his right hand. “Guilty.”
“WE ARE-“
“We heard you! Jeez,” interrupted Throng. “Since we don’t know these guys, wanna rat-pack him and figure things out later?”
“Why the hell not,” said Brian. “It’ll be like high school.”
“Order the fleet to target the purple guys,” the Star Admiral ordered. “And fire the Obliteratrix already. I didn’t enslave 40 worlds to not use the damn thing!”
Cheers,
-Jason
Both men ceased and turned towards him.
“You want to wrap this up? Fuel isn’t cheap.”
Rick looked at Brian, who shrugged. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Why not?”
“One,” counted Rick. “Two, three!”
Both men chose rock.
“Again,” said Rick. “One, two, three!”
This time, Rick went for scissors, which defeated Brian’s paper.
“Hah!” Rick shouted. “We get to attack first!”
“Fine,” said Brian. “Guess I got winner.” His yellow tinged fleet withdrew, just out of range of weapons fire.
The Star Admiral threw back his cloak. “All hands to battle stations!” he commanded. “Prepare to fire the Obliteratrix!”
On the screen before him, he could see the Imperial fleet spreading out and a wave of fighters approaching rapidly.
“Launch fighters!” he ordered.
“Sir?” one of the lieutenants suddenly said.
“What?”
“Who’re the purple guys?”
The Star Admiral glanced up at the monitor. A new fleet had arrived, in numbers greater than all three of the present fleets combined. They literally filled the left hand side of the screen.
The view-screen flickered and a strange, insect-like head appeared. “PREPARE TO BE CONSUMED, MAMMALS.”
Throng appeared beside the insect on the view-screen, to be quickly joined by Brian. “Uhh, who’re you?” Throng asked.
“WE ARE THE HIVE. WE WILL EXPAND.”
“Do we know you?” Brian asked.
This gave the insect-alien pause. “I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE QUESTION.”
“Did we go to high school with you or are you related to the Imperial family in some way?” asked Rick, the Star Admiral.
“NEGATIVE. WE ARE THE HIVE. WE WILL-“
“Expand,” finished Brian. “Yeah, we got it.”
The all looked at each other.
“Y’know,” began Throng. “Is it me or are there just too many invasions going on?”
“Yeah,” agreed Rick. “I thought I was the only one looking to overthrow the Empire.”
Brian snorted and raised his right hand. “Guilty.”
“WE ARE-“
“We heard you! Jeez,” interrupted Throng. “Since we don’t know these guys, wanna rat-pack him and figure things out later?”
“Why the hell not,” said Brian. “It’ll be like high school.”
“Order the fleet to target the purple guys,” the Star Admiral ordered. “And fire the Obliteratrix already. I didn’t enslave 40 worlds to not use the damn thing!”
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
WoWoW
This got sent around at work and it cracked me up, so I thought I would share.
'Warcraft' Sequel Lets Gamers Play A Character Playing 'Warcraft'
Tomorrow: The wrap-up to Invasion!
Cheers,
-Jason
'Warcraft' Sequel Lets Gamers Play A Character Playing 'Warcraft'
Tomorrow: The wrap-up to Invasion!
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Invasion: Part 2
“I am Star Admiral Richard Karsis aboard the flagship Farkinator,” the Star Admiral said. “Identify yourself!”
“The Farkinator?” asked the voice, incredulously.
“Yes, what of it?” demanded the Star Admiral.
“Right.” The view-screen shifted and a new helmeted figure appeared, beside Fleet Admiral Throng. “Throng!” the new figure said, “I figured I’d end up fighting you!”
“How nice. Who are you?” Throng asked.
The figure removed his helmet, revealing a man with unruly black hair and a prominent uni-brow.
“Brian?” Both Throng and Karsis exclaimed, simultaneously.
“Hey guys! Long time, eh?”
“I haven’t seen you since high school!” Throng said. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, y’know. Traveling the galaxy, unearthing the lost mystic talismans of Hylaria and deciding to invade the Empire and take over.”
“You can’t!” said the Star Admiral.
“Why not?” Brian asked. “I’ve got a massive fleet and several tons worth of lost magical artifacts. What’ve you got?”
“I’ve got a ginormous fleet and an Obliteratrix Cannon!”
“Really? Where’d you get that?”
“Guys,” Throng suddenly interrupted. “Is this a reunion or an invasion?”
“An invasion!” both men answered promptly.
“Great, who’s going first?”
“Me!” both men answered just as promptly.
The Star Admiral glared at his high school chum. “I was here first!”
“So? I spent 28-years collecting the mystic relics of a long-dead civilization!”
“I enslaved over 40 worlds to build my cannon!”
“I lost my left arm!” Brian held up an empty sleeve with his right hand.
“I got shot in the-“ Richard started to undue his belt, but suddenly thought better of the idea.
“Oh yeah? I’ll tell everyone why they used to call you ‘Stinky Ricky!’”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me!”
Throng sighed.
“The Farkinator?” asked the voice, incredulously.
“Yes, what of it?” demanded the Star Admiral.
“Right.” The view-screen shifted and a new helmeted figure appeared, beside Fleet Admiral Throng. “Throng!” the new figure said, “I figured I’d end up fighting you!”
“How nice. Who are you?” Throng asked.
The figure removed his helmet, revealing a man with unruly black hair and a prominent uni-brow.
“Brian?” Both Throng and Karsis exclaimed, simultaneously.
“Hey guys! Long time, eh?”
“I haven’t seen you since high school!” Throng said. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, y’know. Traveling the galaxy, unearthing the lost mystic talismans of Hylaria and deciding to invade the Empire and take over.”
“You can’t!” said the Star Admiral.
“Why not?” Brian asked. “I’ve got a massive fleet and several tons worth of lost magical artifacts. What’ve you got?”
“I’ve got a ginormous fleet and an Obliteratrix Cannon!”
“Really? Where’d you get that?”
“Guys,” Throng suddenly interrupted. “Is this a reunion or an invasion?”
“An invasion!” both men answered promptly.
“Great, who’s going first?”
“Me!” both men answered just as promptly.
The Star Admiral glared at his high school chum. “I was here first!”
“So? I spent 28-years collecting the mystic relics of a long-dead civilization!”
“I enslaved over 40 worlds to build my cannon!”
“I lost my left arm!” Brian held up an empty sleeve with his right hand.
“I got shot in the-“ Richard started to undue his belt, but suddenly thought better of the idea.
“Oh yeah? I’ll tell everyone why they used to call you ‘Stinky Ricky!’”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me!”
Throng sighed.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Invasion: Part 1
Lord Richard Karsis, 2nd cousin twice-removed of the Emperor’s best-friend’s hair-dresser, stood on the bridge of his flagship, the Farkinator, watching the purples of hyperspace swirl past the main monitor.
“Well?” he demanded.
“We are preparing to drop out of hyperspace, Star Admiral,” said the young lieutenant at the helm.
“Excellent. And the Obliteratrix Cannon?”
“Fully charged and ready to fire, sir.”
“Order the fleet to deploy into battle formation once we enter normal space,” said the Star Admiral, as he walked to his command chair and sat down. An ensign with a gold bucket to the left of the chair immediately stepped forward.
“Entering normal space in . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1,” called out the lieutenant.
There was a sudden, sickening sensation, as if you’d just eaten a dozen cheeseburgers and a chocolate shake and they suddenly decided to come out both ends at the same time, and then the purple on the screen faded, to be replaced by a field of stars.
The ensign with the bucket leaned forward, as the Star Admiral went green. He held up a finger, swallowed hard, and then made a face.
“Thank you, ensign,” said the Star Admiral after a moment. “But I won’t need the bucket today.”
“Very good, sir.”
The Star Admiral burped. “Status report?” he called out, waving a gloved hand in front of his face.
“The fleet is forming up on us as we speak, sir. We should be fully deployed within ten minutes.”
“Admiral!” another lieutenant called out. “We have contacts bearing 7.8 Gorth by 212 Bung!”
“Where’s that?”
“Uhhh . . . “ the lieutenant point down and to the left. “That way, more or less.”
“Put it on-screen.”
It was the Emperor’s fleet, led by the flagship ‘Pokey Pony,’ which is what happens when you let your seven-year-old niece name your flagship.
“Communication from the Pokey Pony, sir.”
“Put it up.”
The screen flashed and the Star Admiral found himself looking at the scarred face of Fleet Admiral Throng.
“You have intruded into Imperial space! Remove yourself immediately from this system or face the might of the Imperial Fleet!”
“Bold words, Throng!” said the Star Admiral. “But I will allow you to surrender before I unleash my Obliteratrix upon you!”
Throng stared. “Ricky?”
“It’s Richard!” said the Star Admiral. “Star Admiral if you must!”
There was a sudden alarm and the bridge crew of the Farkinator whirled back to their stations.
“What?” yelled the Star Admiral, over the siren.
“Unknown contacts at 480 Gorth by 77.3 Bung!” the lieutenant shouted. He pointed up and to the right. “Over there!”
“Show me!”
Throng disappeared, to be replaced by a vector-graphic map. The Star Admiral saw his fleet in green, which outnumbered the Imperial fleet which was displayed in blue. A new force, depicted in yellow and as numerous as his own, was appearing to the right of both fleets.
“Sir, communication from the unknown fleet!”
“Play it!”
“Bow before the might of the Hylarian Armada!” a deep voice rang out across the bridge. “Surrender or death are your only options!” There was a pause. “Wait a minute,” said the voice. “If that’s the Imperial Fleet, who the hell are you guys?”
Tomorrow: Part 2
“Well?” he demanded.
“We are preparing to drop out of hyperspace, Star Admiral,” said the young lieutenant at the helm.
“Excellent. And the Obliteratrix Cannon?”
“Fully charged and ready to fire, sir.”
“Order the fleet to deploy into battle formation once we enter normal space,” said the Star Admiral, as he walked to his command chair and sat down. An ensign with a gold bucket to the left of the chair immediately stepped forward.
“Entering normal space in . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1,” called out the lieutenant.
There was a sudden, sickening sensation, as if you’d just eaten a dozen cheeseburgers and a chocolate shake and they suddenly decided to come out both ends at the same time, and then the purple on the screen faded, to be replaced by a field of stars.
The ensign with the bucket leaned forward, as the Star Admiral went green. He held up a finger, swallowed hard, and then made a face.
“Thank you, ensign,” said the Star Admiral after a moment. “But I won’t need the bucket today.”
“Very good, sir.”
The Star Admiral burped. “Status report?” he called out, waving a gloved hand in front of his face.
“The fleet is forming up on us as we speak, sir. We should be fully deployed within ten minutes.”
“Admiral!” another lieutenant called out. “We have contacts bearing 7.8 Gorth by 212 Bung!”
“Where’s that?”
“Uhhh . . . “ the lieutenant point down and to the left. “That way, more or less.”
“Put it on-screen.”
It was the Emperor’s fleet, led by the flagship ‘Pokey Pony,’ which is what happens when you let your seven-year-old niece name your flagship.
“Communication from the Pokey Pony, sir.”
“Put it up.”
The screen flashed and the Star Admiral found himself looking at the scarred face of Fleet Admiral Throng.
“You have intruded into Imperial space! Remove yourself immediately from this system or face the might of the Imperial Fleet!”
“Bold words, Throng!” said the Star Admiral. “But I will allow you to surrender before I unleash my Obliteratrix upon you!”
Throng stared. “Ricky?”
“It’s Richard!” said the Star Admiral. “Star Admiral if you must!”
There was a sudden alarm and the bridge crew of the Farkinator whirled back to their stations.
“What?” yelled the Star Admiral, over the siren.
“Unknown contacts at 480 Gorth by 77.3 Bung!” the lieutenant shouted. He pointed up and to the right. “Over there!”
“Show me!”
Throng disappeared, to be replaced by a vector-graphic map. The Star Admiral saw his fleet in green, which outnumbered the Imperial fleet which was displayed in blue. A new force, depicted in yellow and as numerous as his own, was appearing to the right of both fleets.
“Sir, communication from the unknown fleet!”
“Play it!”
“Bow before the might of the Hylarian Armada!” a deep voice rang out across the bridge. “Surrender or death are your only options!” There was a pause. “Wait a minute,” said the voice. “If that’s the Imperial Fleet, who the hell are you guys?”
Tomorrow: Part 2
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Spokane Wrap-Up
Well, we survived.
If you didn't know, it's about five hours from Redmond to Spokane, which isn't too bad, but the good conversation topics dry up pretty quickly. Leigh and I ended up spending the majority of the car trip commenting on place names.
Note: Someone please explain Salmon La Sac? It literally means Salmon Bag. We are curious.
The con itself went really well. It was rather small, but the atmosphere was very easy going and we spent a lot of time talking to both con-goers and people at other booths.
Elizabeth from Famine Lands was there, whom we met at Emerald City. She is (and was) very cool. We also met Eric from PX! who rocked, as well as Lars from Northworld, who also rocked. We sat next to Robert from Hastily Scribbled, who refrained from attacking us with his paper army (and he rocked too). I also had a long chat with Darren from Bluewater Productions and he very graciously answered all my questions.
Eliza, a frequent commenter on the blog, came by and said 'hi!' Actually, she came by and said 'Update more!' I then explained that I can only work Leigh so hard and she seemed to accept that.
We also had several long talks with Deunan from the 501st Legion and learned much about Jedi robes are put together and why it sucks to be a Stormtrooper (other than the obvious).
We even took some pictures with her and Darth Vader:
Deunan, Leigh, Vader
Deunan, Jason (me), Vader
You will note I went with my 'Robin Hood' pose. I thought it appropriate.
Anyhow, a good time was had by all, even though we were not attacked by the living dead and my Zombie Combat kit once again came home unused.
Tomorrow: Epic Battles! In Space!
If you didn't know, it's about five hours from Redmond to Spokane, which isn't too bad, but the good conversation topics dry up pretty quickly. Leigh and I ended up spending the majority of the car trip commenting on place names.
Note: Someone please explain Salmon La Sac? It literally means Salmon Bag. We are curious.
The con itself went really well. It was rather small, but the atmosphere was very easy going and we spent a lot of time talking to both con-goers and people at other booths.
Elizabeth from Famine Lands was there, whom we met at Emerald City. She is (and was) very cool. We also met Eric from PX! who rocked, as well as Lars from Northworld, who also rocked. We sat next to Robert from Hastily Scribbled, who refrained from attacking us with his paper army (and he rocked too). I also had a long chat with Darren from Bluewater Productions and he very graciously answered all my questions.
Eliza, a frequent commenter on the blog, came by and said 'hi!' Actually, she came by and said 'Update more!' I then explained that I can only work Leigh so hard and she seemed to accept that.
We also had several long talks with Deunan from the 501st Legion and learned much about Jedi robes are put together and why it sucks to be a Stormtrooper (other than the obvious).
We even took some pictures with her and Darth Vader:
Deunan, Leigh, Vader
Deunan, Jason (me), Vader
You will note I went with my 'Robin Hood' pose. I thought it appropriate.
Anyhow, a good time was had by all, even though we were not attacked by the living dead and my Zombie Combat kit once again came home unused.
Tomorrow: Epic Battles! In Space!
Thursday, June 5, 2008
So tomorrow, Leigh and I will be in Spokane for the Spokane Comic-Con!
We’ll be sellin’ books, signin’ autographs, kissin’ babies, breakin’ hearts, and savin’ lives (not necessarily in that order).
Well, the first two might happen. They don’t let babies near us after the unfortunate ‘‘I thought it was food’ incident’ at Emerald Con. The less said about that the better (though frankly, if you dress your infant in something that has the Taco Bell logo on it, you should expect some confusion).
I will be bringing my Zombie Combat Kit, though I begin to despair of ever finding any zombies to fight. I built the kit about 8-years ago and other than occasionally opening it, sighing, and closing it again, it hasn’t seen much action.
My kit contains:
2-bottles of water (probably should put some new ones in there, someday)
A machete (for killing zombies)
A shovel (for putting them back where they belong)
*A flamethrower (obvious)
A Barbie doll (for someone to talk to in the post-apocalyptic wasteland)
An Original Gameboy with Tetris (for downtime and to distract zombies. Zombies love Tetris)
350 rolls of toilet paper (when the apocalypse comes, this stuff will be GOLD)
*I don’t actually have a flamethrower. I do have a Bic Disposable Lighter which I refer to as ‘my flamethrower.’
Anyway, come on by and say ‘hi’ if you’re in the area.
Cheers,
-Jason
We’ll be sellin’ books, signin’ autographs, kissin’ babies, breakin’ hearts, and savin’ lives (not necessarily in that order).
Well, the first two might happen. They don’t let babies near us after the unfortunate ‘‘I thought it was food’ incident’ at Emerald Con. The less said about that the better (though frankly, if you dress your infant in something that has the Taco Bell logo on it, you should expect some confusion).
I will be bringing my Zombie Combat Kit, though I begin to despair of ever finding any zombies to fight. I built the kit about 8-years ago and other than occasionally opening it, sighing, and closing it again, it hasn’t seen much action.
My kit contains:
2-bottles of water (probably should put some new ones in there, someday)
A machete (for killing zombies)
A shovel (for putting them back where they belong)
*A flamethrower (obvious)
A Barbie doll (for someone to talk to in the post-apocalyptic wasteland)
An Original Gameboy with Tetris (for downtime and to distract zombies. Zombies love Tetris)
350 rolls of toilet paper (when the apocalypse comes, this stuff will be GOLD)
*I don’t actually have a flamethrower. I do have a Bic Disposable Lighter which I refer to as ‘my flamethrower.’
Anyway, come on by and say ‘hi’ if you’re in the area.
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Three In The Afternoon
Here's a fun Star Wars fan video that I happened across.
It's rather clever and has a fun ending.
I'll be back tomorrow with a blog about zombies and Spokane.
Cheers,
-Jason
It's rather clever and has a fun ending.
I'll be back tomorrow with a blog about zombies and Spokane.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Tomorrow: World Domination and a Latte: Part 2
I mean, who would suspect? If I was an actual evil genius (as opposed to being a semi-evil, non-genius) who actually liked coffee, I would totally do all my plotting at a Starbucks.
You have access to coffee, wi-fi, friendly baristas, and a generally clean bathroom (which is so nice, because the minions always make a mess). Plus, there would be all those opportunities to network with other evil geniuses. It would basically be evil heaven.
I mean, who hasn’t dreamt of shouting ‘You fools!’ and cackling loudly while triumphantly pressing a key? Obviously, I can’t be the only one.
Sure, you could do it by yourself in your volcano lair, but you then miss out on all the great expressions.
Note to self: Pay someone $20 to do that in a Starbucks and film it.
Of course, the secret agent from the nearby McDonald’s would try to stop you, which would mean that you’d have to travel to Taco Bell to activate your giant robot and then pick up your minions at the Chuck E. Cheese for the grand battle at the Arby’s.
Maybe I shouldn’t blog when I’m hungry?
Cheers,
-Jason
You have access to coffee, wi-fi, friendly baristas, and a generally clean bathroom (which is so nice, because the minions always make a mess). Plus, there would be all those opportunities to network with other evil geniuses. It would basically be evil heaven.
I mean, who hasn’t dreamt of shouting ‘You fools!’ and cackling loudly while triumphantly pressing a key? Obviously, I can’t be the only one.
Sure, you could do it by yourself in your volcano lair, but you then miss out on all the great expressions.
Note to self: Pay someone $20 to do that in a Starbucks and film it.
Of course, the secret agent from the nearby McDonald’s would try to stop you, which would mean that you’d have to travel to Taco Bell to activate your giant robot and then pick up your minions at the Chuck E. Cheese for the grand battle at the Arby’s.
Maybe I shouldn’t blog when I’m hungry?
Cheers,
-Jason
Monday, June 2, 2008
World Domination and a Latte: Part 1
So, one of the staples of life in the northwest is the ubiquitous coffee shop, be it Starbucks, Tulley’s, or any of a dozen others. Now, I don’t actually drink coffee, as it tastes like what I imagine straining water through a Bog Body and then heating it would taste like, but I do occasionally go into Starbucks, as I have a number of friends that cannot live without their weekly or daily coffee.
Note: If you want to see a Bog Body, click here.
On those occasions when I’m in a Starbucks, I have noted that there is always at least one person there working industriously at their laptop (which is almost always a Mac) while sipping coffee. I have seen as many as five people at one time working away, their keys tapping in unison as they go about their strange and possibly eldritch business.
Note: I am delighted that I managed to work ‘eldritch’ into the blog.
So, the question, of course, is what the hell are these people working on? I would never actually look at their screen as I happened by, which would be rude, much like reading over someone’s shoulder. Granted, if when I passed by, I heard faint ‘70s porn music, I would obviously look, but who wouldn’t?
The answer is: World Domination.
It makes sense, really.
Tomorrow: World Domination and a Latte: Part 2
Note: If you want to see a Bog Body, click here.
On those occasions when I’m in a Starbucks, I have noted that there is always at least one person there working industriously at their laptop (which is almost always a Mac) while sipping coffee. I have seen as many as five people at one time working away, their keys tapping in unison as they go about their strange and possibly eldritch business.
Note: I am delighted that I managed to work ‘eldritch’ into the blog.
So, the question, of course, is what the hell are these people working on? I would never actually look at their screen as I happened by, which would be rude, much like reading over someone’s shoulder. Granted, if when I passed by, I heard faint ‘70s porn music, I would obviously look, but who wouldn’t?
The answer is: World Domination.
It makes sense, really.
Tomorrow: World Domination and a Latte: Part 2
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Spokane Comic-Con
Just a reminder, we will be in Spokane for the Spokane Comicon on June 7th. Neither of us has ever been to Spokane and we have a history of getting lost, so that should be an adventure in itself.
Hopefully, a few of you will be able to make come by and say ‘hi.’
Note: We’ll be the two nerds sitting at a table, just in case you can’t seem to find us.
In other news, we got a new page up! Hurray! As we have said, we will be updating once a week without warning for a while, until we get some things straightened out.
That’s it for now. Look for a new blog tomorrow about world domination.
Cheers,
-Jason
Hopefully, a few of you will be able to make come by and say ‘hi.’
Note: We’ll be the two nerds sitting at a table, just in case you can’t seem to find us.
In other news, we got a new page up! Hurray! As we have said, we will be updating once a week without warning for a while, until we get some things straightened out.
That’s it for now. Look for a new blog tomorrow about world domination.
Cheers,
-Jason
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