Leigh and I took another car trip the other week. It was completely uneventful, as we had my handy, dandy GPS to guide us on our way. Oh, the GPS has given up on convincing me to kill Leigh. Now it just mopes and tries to get us to drive into oncoming traffic. Luckily, we’re smarter than that. Not by much, but we are.
Anyhow, Leigh made a joke about ‘second exit on the right and straight on ‘till morning.’ This, of course, is the very famous line from Peter Pan about how to get to Never-Never Land. Oddly enough, it also works for a strip club I went to once, but I digress.
The actual line is ‘second star to the right and straight on till morning,’ which, if you think about it, are terrible directions. Leigh and I would never make it to Never-Never Land, as we’d spend at least three hours trying to figure out which star was on the right and therefore, which start was the second from right. Arguments would ensue. Blood would be spilled. Tears would be shed. Sweat would . . . drip, I suppose.
And don’t even get me started on ‘straight on till morning.’ Leigh and I once had a fifteen minute discussion about whether or not ‘veer right’ meant we were supposed to turn right, follow the road to the right, keep right, or if it actually meant that Vir Cotto was in fact, always right. So you can see how ‘straight on till morning’ would be confusing for us. Straight on could mean anything. And when’s morning? Is that when the sun comes up? 1 second after midnight? Frankly, we’re lucky if we can locate our homes at the end of the day, much less navigate to Never-Never Land.
NOTE: Vir Cotto was a character in Babylon 5. It was a stretch, I know.
Now, I realize these directions are metaphorical and not literal. They’re a doorway into the imagination of a child. However, take it from someone with not only the imagination of a child, but also the intellect: these directions would be tough even for the most nonsensical of children.
As a test, I tried giving these directions to my buddy Sean’s four-year-old son, James. “Okay, James,” I said. “If you follow the second star on the right and go straight on ‘till morning, you’ll get candy!”
James just looked at me, obviously confused, and then he hit me with a Nerf sword. So, point proven. The directions don’t work.
The lad’s got promise though. I wonder if there’s Nerf makes a flail?
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
7 Days . . .
We need more square fruits and vegetables.
This revelation came about because a co-worker was describing in detail how he prepares a pineapple, complete with vigorous chopping motions. He also attempted to describe how to get the good bits off a mango, but was unable to adequately convey what must be done.
I presume I will never know and thus will die a horrible, slow death when I’m trapped in a pit full of mangos with a knife and no clue how to prepare them.
“A tragic waste,” one of the men who find me will say.
“If only he’d known,” another will say.
“Yes. If he’d just pulled on the door instead of pushing, he’d have easily gotten out.”
“Dibs on his shoes.”
Anyhow, the whole ‘square fruit and vegetable’ idea occurred to me because, as my coworker put it ‘round things are a bitch to chop up.’ At which point, I suggested that we make a square pineapple, which would make it much easier to skin and core.
Now, I realize this idea is not new. The Japanese have been growing square watermelons for years. I’m not exactly sure why. Presumably, they intend to build houses out of them.
NOTE: It would be so cool if they made watermelons in other configurations, such as an ‘L’ shape, an ‘I’ shape, and an ‘S’ shape. Then you could play watermelon Tetris.
Square fruits and vegetables would have so many advantages over the traditional shapes. They would be easier to stack, easier to peel, and they wouldn’t roll away in comedic fashion when they fell out of your grocery bag and you tried to pick them up. Man, if I had a dime for all the times that’s happened to me.
Actually, that’s never happened to me, so yeah. The stacking and peeling thing still stands though.
Cheers,
-Jason
This revelation came about because a co-worker was describing in detail how he prepares a pineapple, complete with vigorous chopping motions. He also attempted to describe how to get the good bits off a mango, but was unable to adequately convey what must be done.
I presume I will never know and thus will die a horrible, slow death when I’m trapped in a pit full of mangos with a knife and no clue how to prepare them.
“A tragic waste,” one of the men who find me will say.
“If only he’d known,” another will say.
“Yes. If he’d just pulled on the door instead of pushing, he’d have easily gotten out.”
“Dibs on his shoes.”
Anyhow, the whole ‘square fruit and vegetable’ idea occurred to me because, as my coworker put it ‘round things are a bitch to chop up.’ At which point, I suggested that we make a square pineapple, which would make it much easier to skin and core.
Now, I realize this idea is not new. The Japanese have been growing square watermelons for years. I’m not exactly sure why. Presumably, they intend to build houses out of them.
NOTE: It would be so cool if they made watermelons in other configurations, such as an ‘L’ shape, an ‘I’ shape, and an ‘S’ shape. Then you could play watermelon Tetris.
Square fruits and vegetables would have so many advantages over the traditional shapes. They would be easier to stack, easier to peel, and they wouldn’t roll away in comedic fashion when they fell out of your grocery bag and you tried to pick them up. Man, if I had a dime for all the times that’s happened to me.
Actually, that’s never happened to me, so yeah. The stacking and peeling thing still stands though.
Cheers,
-Jason
Monday, June 28, 2010
8 Days . . .
Until we start updating!
I can feel the excitement in the air, though I did have a burrito for dinner. Well, it’s either that or the power lines that run next to my window, which explains why I have a tan on one side of my body.
Regardless, to celebrate our imminent updating, I will be blogging every day this week and maybe even on the weekend, so keep coming back!
And so, to start things off . . .
I’m a little worried. Things happened this weekend. Good things.
My DSL troubles have finally ended, now that I have a new modem. The connection light on the front of my old modem was lying, as it said I was connected when I really wasn’t. This was only figured out after a series of calls to tech support, during which I’m sure I irritated at least four separate tech people with my inability to follow simple directions.
That was good thing #1.
Good thing #2 was that the display on my stationary bike suddenly started working again. It’s been fading in and out for the last couple months and all of a sudden, it was clear and strong, just like when I bought it.
Good thing #3 was that I got my garbage disposal working again and can now adequately threaten captured ninjas with it. It’s embarrassing when you threaten to shove someone down the disposal and it doesn’t work. The ninjas were always polite about it, but I could tell they were smirking under their masks.
Good thing #4 was when the mechanical head I keep under my bed started telling me stories in the middle of the night. The stories are rather pleasant, involving small children having marvelous adventures in a land of make-believe with their animated toy friends. Oddly enough, they all end with the mechanical head finding its body and wreaking untold havoc, but there you go.
So why am I worried, you may wonder? Simple, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. All of these mechanical and electronic fixes mean that something else is going to go drastically wrong. Maybe my electric toothbrush will gain sentience and try to lead the rest of my appliances in revolt. Maybe my TV will get stuck on the Congressional Channel (the one where they show nothing but what’s going on in the Senate). Or my answering machine will start mocking me because no one ever calls.
Whatever may come, I will be ready though. I’m sleeping with all my swords tonight. Yes, I do normally sleep with one under the pillow. And then there’s the one on the nightstand. And the one on the wall. And the one under the bed. Okay, fine, nothing will really change, but I’ll feel better.
Cheers,
-Jason
I can feel the excitement in the air, though I did have a burrito for dinner. Well, it’s either that or the power lines that run next to my window, which explains why I have a tan on one side of my body.
Regardless, to celebrate our imminent updating, I will be blogging every day this week and maybe even on the weekend, so keep coming back!
And so, to start things off . . .
I’m a little worried. Things happened this weekend. Good things.
My DSL troubles have finally ended, now that I have a new modem. The connection light on the front of my old modem was lying, as it said I was connected when I really wasn’t. This was only figured out after a series of calls to tech support, during which I’m sure I irritated at least four separate tech people with my inability to follow simple directions.
That was good thing #1.
Good thing #2 was that the display on my stationary bike suddenly started working again. It’s been fading in and out for the last couple months and all of a sudden, it was clear and strong, just like when I bought it.
Good thing #3 was that I got my garbage disposal working again and can now adequately threaten captured ninjas with it. It’s embarrassing when you threaten to shove someone down the disposal and it doesn’t work. The ninjas were always polite about it, but I could tell they were smirking under their masks.
Good thing #4 was when the mechanical head I keep under my bed started telling me stories in the middle of the night. The stories are rather pleasant, involving small children having marvelous adventures in a land of make-believe with their animated toy friends. Oddly enough, they all end with the mechanical head finding its body and wreaking untold havoc, but there you go.
So why am I worried, you may wonder? Simple, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. All of these mechanical and electronic fixes mean that something else is going to go drastically wrong. Maybe my electric toothbrush will gain sentience and try to lead the rest of my appliances in revolt. Maybe my TV will get stuck on the Congressional Channel (the one where they show nothing but what’s going on in the Senate). Or my answering machine will start mocking me because no one ever calls.
Whatever may come, I will be ready though. I’m sleeping with all my swords tonight. Yes, I do normally sleep with one under the pillow. And then there’s the one on the nightstand. And the one on the wall. And the one under the bed. Okay, fine, nothing will really change, but I’ll feel better.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, June 24, 2010
12 Days
In just 12 days, we'll begin updating Wayfarer's Moon once again.
To those of you who've been patiently waiting, we thank you.
To those of you who've been impatiently waiting, we thank you too, though we ask that you stop egging our homes.
To those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, disregard the previous sentences.
Regardless, we're excited to finally be updating again and I'm happy to say that a veritable smorgasborg of monsters, magic and violence await. Hint: The Baron loses a battle, but gains a victory nonetheless.
In other news, the first Tales story is being worked on and we'll be announcing when that series will be starting once we have a firm date.
In other, other news, I cannot ride a unicycle. Startling, I know.
Anyway, have a good weekend look for the usual blogs next week.
Cheers,
-Jason
To those of you who've been patiently waiting, we thank you.
To those of you who've been impatiently waiting, we thank you too, though we ask that you stop egging our homes.
To those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, disregard the previous sentences.
Regardless, we're excited to finally be updating again and I'm happy to say that a veritable smorgasborg of monsters, magic and violence await. Hint: The Baron loses a battle, but gains a victory nonetheless.
In other news, the first Tales story is being worked on and we'll be announcing when that series will be starting once we have a firm date.
In other, other news, I cannot ride a unicycle. Startling, I know.
Anyway, have a good weekend look for the usual blogs next week.
Cheers,
-Jason
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Heart of America
I believe I’ve found the heart of America. This magnificent place represents all that is good and bad, harmonious and chaotic, virile and limp, ketchup and mayonnaise-y about our mighty nation. It is the zenith, the pinnacle, and several other words that mean ‘top’ that I can’t think of right now, of our progress as a people.
I’m speaking of course, of the DMV.
I had to go in last Friday to renew my License to Ki- errr . . . Driver’s License. Yes, my Driver’s License. That thing you need to y’know, drive.
NOTE: I am definitely not a secret agent of any stripe. I do not and never will have fantastic adventures while romancing gorgeous women, all the while maintaining the façade of a humble game designer. And my watch does not contain a miniature nuclear reactor. The fact that I have no hair on my left arm is simply a coincidence.
“What?” you may be saying. “How is the DMV the heart of America?”
Simple. DMV’s are big, you can’t find parking, they’re crowded, they smell slightly off, the seats are uncomfortable, the workers are often surly, and there’s a line for everything. However, at the end of the day, stuff gets done. It may not be pretty or efficient, but it mostly works.
And besides that, DMVs are a grand melting pot. I had an elderly gentleman dozing off on one side of me, a young mom with three kids behind me, a nicely dressed woman with a Gucci purse two seats ahead, two teenagers making out three rows over and a guy in an Elvis suit on the other side of the room. Everyone, young or old, male or female, rich or poor, pompadored or . . . er . . . not, has to go in and wait their turn just like everyone else.
Now, I may be suffering PTSD from my 3-hour wait (or maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome), but I felt a connection with my fellow citizens. We were all tired, frustrated, bored, and in the case of the guy four seats in front of me, stoned out of our minds. I could empathize with the kids taking their driving tests, with the guy on his cell, and with the woman doing her nails.
Well, not because she was doing her nails. I practice the ancient art of ‘bite them off when they get too long,’ so no. I empathized with her because she too was stuck in a dank building on the first really nice day in about a month, along with all the other poor bastards who had to be there as well.
We all suffered together. As Americans.
Actually, I just realized that I won’t have to go back to the DMV for another five years or so. Sweet! Microcosm of America or not, it’s a sucky place to spend an afternoon.
Cheers,
-Jason
I’m speaking of course, of the DMV.
I had to go in last Friday to renew my License to Ki- errr . . . Driver’s License. Yes, my Driver’s License. That thing you need to y’know, drive.
NOTE: I am definitely not a secret agent of any stripe. I do not and never will have fantastic adventures while romancing gorgeous women, all the while maintaining the façade of a humble game designer. And my watch does not contain a miniature nuclear reactor. The fact that I have no hair on my left arm is simply a coincidence.
“What?” you may be saying. “How is the DMV the heart of America?”
Simple. DMV’s are big, you can’t find parking, they’re crowded, they smell slightly off, the seats are uncomfortable, the workers are often surly, and there’s a line for everything. However, at the end of the day, stuff gets done. It may not be pretty or efficient, but it mostly works.
And besides that, DMVs are a grand melting pot. I had an elderly gentleman dozing off on one side of me, a young mom with three kids behind me, a nicely dressed woman with a Gucci purse two seats ahead, two teenagers making out three rows over and a guy in an Elvis suit on the other side of the room. Everyone, young or old, male or female, rich or poor, pompadored or . . . er . . . not, has to go in and wait their turn just like everyone else.
Now, I may be suffering PTSD from my 3-hour wait (or maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome), but I felt a connection with my fellow citizens. We were all tired, frustrated, bored, and in the case of the guy four seats in front of me, stoned out of our minds. I could empathize with the kids taking their driving tests, with the guy on his cell, and with the woman doing her nails.
Well, not because she was doing her nails. I practice the ancient art of ‘bite them off when they get too long,’ so no. I empathized with her because she too was stuck in a dank building on the first really nice day in about a month, along with all the other poor bastards who had to be there as well.
We all suffered together. As Americans.
Actually, I just realized that I won’t have to go back to the DMV for another five years or so. Sweet! Microcosm of America or not, it’s a sucky place to spend an afternoon.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, June 17, 2010
We Need A New Monster: Part 1
We all know the plot.
A maiden is asleep in her bed, her room illuminated by a sliver of moon. She’s beautiful and clad in a prim white nightshirt, which is unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth line of her throat. There’s a sudden stir in the air and a young man appears. He’s pale, his dark hair is unruly and probably contains enough gel to grease an ’57 Chevy. He moves towards the maiden, his feet soundless on the carpet.
Her eyes open as his shadow falls across her and her scream is stifled by his hand over her mouth.
“Don’t be frightened,” he whispers, as he leans over.
She nods and he releases her.
“Now then,” he begins. “I’m here-“
“Yes,” she interrupts. “Blah, blah, blah. Make with the biting.” She pulls her nightshirt open and curves her head away.
“Pardon?”
“Go ahead. Bite me and then we can fall in love, agonize over various moral choices for a while, and eventually you’ll turn me into a vampire and we’ll live happily ever after.”
“Ummm, that’s not-“
She sits up. “Look. Either you bite me right now or I’ll tell everyone that you tried to steal my underwear.”
“But-“
“But nothing. C’mon, let’s get to it. Or should I scream?”
“No! No. That’s quite all right. I’ll bite you, if that’s what you want. It’s just . . . can you answer a question first?”
“What’s that?”
He paused, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it. “Is this 1226 South Cooper Street? I saw your ad on Craigslist and I wanted to pick up the free mattress.”
***
What we need is a new monster. Vampires have just been done to death (pun intended). They were ugly for a long time, as in Nosferatu, and then Bela Lugosi made them suave in Dracula. Frank Langella made them sexy in the ‘70s. Anne Rice made them angsty in the ‘80s, and Stephanie Meyers has made them shiny. Next, someone will come up with vampires who cry rainbows while tending to orphaned animals.
NOTE TO SELF: Write a book about handsome, angsty, suave humanitarian vampires who care deeply about the environment.
Honestly, we need a new monster, something that will strike fear and terror in the hearts of men and yet be kinda sexy. Werewolves are too hairy. Demons are too close to vampires. Frankenstein-style monsters aren’t good-looking enough.
Therefore, I nominate mummies.
Next Week: Part 2
A maiden is asleep in her bed, her room illuminated by a sliver of moon. She’s beautiful and clad in a prim white nightshirt, which is unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth line of her throat. There’s a sudden stir in the air and a young man appears. He’s pale, his dark hair is unruly and probably contains enough gel to grease an ’57 Chevy. He moves towards the maiden, his feet soundless on the carpet.
Her eyes open as his shadow falls across her and her scream is stifled by his hand over her mouth.
“Don’t be frightened,” he whispers, as he leans over.
She nods and he releases her.
“Now then,” he begins. “I’m here-“
“Yes,” she interrupts. “Blah, blah, blah. Make with the biting.” She pulls her nightshirt open and curves her head away.
“Pardon?”
“Go ahead. Bite me and then we can fall in love, agonize over various moral choices for a while, and eventually you’ll turn me into a vampire and we’ll live happily ever after.”
“Ummm, that’s not-“
She sits up. “Look. Either you bite me right now or I’ll tell everyone that you tried to steal my underwear.”
“But-“
“But nothing. C’mon, let’s get to it. Or should I scream?”
“No! No. That’s quite all right. I’ll bite you, if that’s what you want. It’s just . . . can you answer a question first?”
“What’s that?”
He paused, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it. “Is this 1226 South Cooper Street? I saw your ad on Craigslist and I wanted to pick up the free mattress.”
***
What we need is a new monster. Vampires have just been done to death (pun intended). They were ugly for a long time, as in Nosferatu, and then Bela Lugosi made them suave in Dracula. Frank Langella made them sexy in the ‘70s. Anne Rice made them angsty in the ‘80s, and Stephanie Meyers has made them shiny. Next, someone will come up with vampires who cry rainbows while tending to orphaned animals.
NOTE TO SELF: Write a book about handsome, angsty, suave humanitarian vampires who care deeply about the environment.
Honestly, we need a new monster, something that will strike fear and terror in the hearts of men and yet be kinda sexy. Werewolves are too hairy. Demons are too close to vampires. Frankenstein-style monsters aren’t good-looking enough.
Therefore, I nominate mummies.
Next Week: Part 2
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Fear No More!
I have had yet another brilliant idea. It occurred to me when I was talking to Leigh today, so I will thank him when I receive the Nobel Peace Prize. He will no doubt be honored that I remembered him on such a grand occasion.
So, without further ado . . .
Tell me, what is the #1 most worrisome issue for the world today? What is the one concern that every politician addresses? What is it that keeps men, women, and most internet bloggers up at night, their arms wrapped around their Friendly Huggy Bear with Kung-Fu Grip for safety?
No, it’s not nuclear war. Or terrorism. Or fluoridated drinking water. Or Lady Gaga’s current ensemble.
Its zombies.
That’s right, we’re all afraid of the zombie hordes that will inevitably crash upon civilization like a smelly tsunami with a thirst for brains. Even if they’re slow zombies, we won’t be able to get away from the slowly plodding mass of newly risen dead. They are relentless. Nigh unstoppable.
But they have one weakness: shoelaces.
That’s right. We tie their shoelaces together. They’re not smart enough to untie them and even fast zombies will be reduced to crawling slowly across the fields and interstates of the world, as we easily stay ahead of them. This will allow us time to assemble our defenses, make large stacks of rocks for throwing, and even nip down to the local convenience store to buy energy drinks so we are better able to fight off the pathetically crawling hordes.
Honestly, we could just pile into our trucks and SUVs and run them over.
“Brilliant!” I can hear you shouting. “Yet, how do we tie their shoelaces together if they are already coming after us?”
Simple. When someone is buried, we simply make it a law that all morticians must tie the deceased’s shoelaces together before internment. It’s that easy. Eventually, given a few years, all the dead will be so dealt with and we will be free to continue consuming massive amounts of high fructose corn syrup without having to worry about outrunning a bunch of dead people.
I’ll be accepting my award now.
Cheers,
-Jason
So, without further ado . . .
Tell me, what is the #1 most worrisome issue for the world today? What is the one concern that every politician addresses? What is it that keeps men, women, and most internet bloggers up at night, their arms wrapped around their Friendly Huggy Bear with Kung-Fu Grip for safety?
No, it’s not nuclear war. Or terrorism. Or fluoridated drinking water. Or Lady Gaga’s current ensemble.
Its zombies.
That’s right, we’re all afraid of the zombie hordes that will inevitably crash upon civilization like a smelly tsunami with a thirst for brains. Even if they’re slow zombies, we won’t be able to get away from the slowly plodding mass of newly risen dead. They are relentless. Nigh unstoppable.
But they have one weakness: shoelaces.
That’s right. We tie their shoelaces together. They’re not smart enough to untie them and even fast zombies will be reduced to crawling slowly across the fields and interstates of the world, as we easily stay ahead of them. This will allow us time to assemble our defenses, make large stacks of rocks for throwing, and even nip down to the local convenience store to buy energy drinks so we are better able to fight off the pathetically crawling hordes.
Honestly, we could just pile into our trucks and SUVs and run them over.
“Brilliant!” I can hear you shouting. “Yet, how do we tie their shoelaces together if they are already coming after us?”
Simple. When someone is buried, we simply make it a law that all morticians must tie the deceased’s shoelaces together before internment. It’s that easy. Eventually, given a few years, all the dead will be so dealt with and we will be free to continue consuming massive amounts of high fructose corn syrup without having to worry about outrunning a bunch of dead people.
I’ll be accepting my award now.
Cheers,
-Jason
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Punch Buggy
Some of you may have seen the new series of Volkswagen ads featuring the ‘punch buggy’ phenomenon. For those of you who have no clue what I’m talking about (and generally, most people don’t) ‘Punch Buggy’ is when you see a Volkswagen and punch the person you’re with in the shoulder.
NOTE: I have no idea what you do if you’re with several people and see a Volkswagen. Do you hit everyone? This isn’t so bad if you’re in a small group, but what if you’re on a bus? Should you strike each and every person? Seriously, what’s the etiquette on this? I’d hate to be the only one who doesn’t know.
Now, my sister and I didn’t do this when we were kids. Oh, we hit each other plenty, along with grabbing, hair pulling, biting, kneeing, left and right hooks, bludgeoning with frozen fish, and once she gave me a black eye with a Barbie doll. Honestly, I never thought Ken had it in him . . .
But to get back on point, the whole ‘Punch Buggy’ thing is a relatively new thing for me and frankly, it has me a bit worried. I mean, what comes next? Stabbing Hondas? Throttling Cadillacs? Knock-Them-Down-and-Then-Deliver-A-Vicious-Kicking Fords? Make-Out Toyotas? Well, okay, Make-Out Toyotas might not be that bad, depending on whom you were with.
And how exactly did this start? Was it some sort of government conspiracy in mind-control? A frat tradition that just got out of hand? Was there some psychotic who triggered when he saw a Volkswagen and others thought it was funny? Or could it be some sort of alien plot to slowly condition us to violence, so they can use us as cannon fodder in an intergalactic war for supremacy?
Huh. That actually sounds really cool. If they gave me space armor and a plasma rifle, I would probably do it regardless . . .
But I digress.
Once again, someone needs to get to the bottom of this. I hereby re-re-repropose that the government give me several billion dollars to start a Super Science Team composed of myself and at least five female model/scientists so that we can get to the bottom of this.
Oh, and the model/scientists have to be single. And like men with hairy backs.
Cheers,
-Jason
NOTE: I have no idea what you do if you’re with several people and see a Volkswagen. Do you hit everyone? This isn’t so bad if you’re in a small group, but what if you’re on a bus? Should you strike each and every person? Seriously, what’s the etiquette on this? I’d hate to be the only one who doesn’t know.
Now, my sister and I didn’t do this when we were kids. Oh, we hit each other plenty, along with grabbing, hair pulling, biting, kneeing, left and right hooks, bludgeoning with frozen fish, and once she gave me a black eye with a Barbie doll. Honestly, I never thought Ken had it in him . . .
But to get back on point, the whole ‘Punch Buggy’ thing is a relatively new thing for me and frankly, it has me a bit worried. I mean, what comes next? Stabbing Hondas? Throttling Cadillacs? Knock-Them-Down-and-Then-Deliver-A-Vicious-Kicking Fords? Make-Out Toyotas? Well, okay, Make-Out Toyotas might not be that bad, depending on whom you were with.
And how exactly did this start? Was it some sort of government conspiracy in mind-control? A frat tradition that just got out of hand? Was there some psychotic who triggered when he saw a Volkswagen and others thought it was funny? Or could it be some sort of alien plot to slowly condition us to violence, so they can use us as cannon fodder in an intergalactic war for supremacy?
Huh. That actually sounds really cool. If they gave me space armor and a plasma rifle, I would probably do it regardless . . .
But I digress.
Once again, someone needs to get to the bottom of this. I hereby re-re-repropose that the government give me several billion dollars to start a Super Science Team composed of myself and at least five female model/scientists so that we can get to the bottom of this.
Oh, and the model/scientists have to be single. And like men with hairy backs.
Cheers,
-Jason
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Stupidly Busy
As the title implies, Leigh and I have been stupidly busy here at Single Edge Studios. We're trying to finish up our trade by this weekend and there have been the usual stumbling blocks. We can't find a file. We don't have the right printing quotes. Our page count is off. The ninjas keep attacking.
Yeah, the ninjas have been a pain. It seems that they will stop at nothing to prevent us from publishing our trade. They keep shouting something about a 'prophecy' and 'end of the world' and 'free burritos' or something as they attack. We keep trying to interrogate them afterwards, but it's hard to talk after you've been bludgeoned with a crowbar.
Leigh keeps telling me not to hit them so hard, but I can't help it. I get excited.
Anyway, we should have good news next week, assuming the ninjas don't manage to critically injure Leigh's drawing hand.
And, of course, there's only about a month left until we start updating again! Hint: Lily and Iri go shopping!
Cheers,
-Jason
Yeah, the ninjas have been a pain. It seems that they will stop at nothing to prevent us from publishing our trade. They keep shouting something about a 'prophecy' and 'end of the world' and 'free burritos' or something as they attack. We keep trying to interrogate them afterwards, but it's hard to talk after you've been bludgeoned with a crowbar.
Leigh keeps telling me not to hit them so hard, but I can't help it. I get excited.
Anyway, we should have good news next week, assuming the ninjas don't manage to critically injure Leigh's drawing hand.
And, of course, there's only about a month left until we start updating again! Hint: Lily and Iri go shopping!
Cheers,
-Jason
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