Spaced

I have recently encountered a British comedy show called Spaced. It was both written by and starred in by Simon Pegg (of Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz) and Jessica Hynes.

It is really, really funny and generally brilliant. If you like off-beat, quirky humor with great characters, you'll love this show.

They only made 14-episodes before going off to do other things, but they are well worth hunting down.

The official web-site is here: http://www.spaced-out.org.uk/

Cheers,
-Jason

Han Would Never Wear That

I have a confession to make

There was a time in my life when I had a mullet.

It is sadly true, but in my defense, I did not know that was what it was.

You see, for a long time, I had really long hair. I got tired of it and went to a hair place in the mall. I had no real idea what I wanted, save that I wanted less hair. So when the hairstylist asked me how I wanted it cut, I said I dunno, what do you think would look good?

She cut my hair and then told me it looked fantastic. I was happy. You see, I have absolutely zero fashion sense. If you ever see me wearing something even remotely nice looking, it is because my mother bought it for me.

In hindsight, the hairdresser may have been a sadist, but I digress.

I had the mullet for a number of years. After all, I had been assured that it was fantastic, and I still did not know what it was called. One day, I got tired of it and chopped it all off. Afterwards, one of my female friends leaned over and said (and I quote):

I am sooooo glad you got rid of that mullet. It looked terrible.

So, the question is: why did you not tell me before?

This was a person I had known for years and considered a friend. If I was on fire, I am reasonably certain she would put me out. If I had a lamprey on my buttocks, I would expect a call to 911 (or Jacques Cousteau). Yet in the face of a mullet, she said nothing.

This was not just her, though. I had at least two other female friends. They too could have warned me.

I realize that the mullet damage has been done. I will never recover from the shame. However, on behalf of nerds everywhere, I hereby ask this:

Please tell us when we look terrible.

Seriously. Let us know that wearing sweats all the time is bad. Let us know that fanny packs are not cool. Please, tell us to get a haircut.

We are nerds. Our brains are filled with Star Wars trivia and lines from Monty Python. We have precious little space left for mundane things like fashion or eating right or basic social etiquette.

So, if possible, just lean over and say: You know, Han would never wear that.

We will understand.

Cheers,
-Jason

XP is XP

I have learned many things from playing WoW. I have learned that having two skinners in the same instance group is bad. I have learned that a Rogue with enough Flash Powder can survive most any wipe. I have also learned that the Armorsmith sub-profession is really not worth it.

However, the greatest lesson I have learned is about tolerance and understanding.

Take Zangermarsh. There is a whole clan of Ogres that lives next door to a community of Naga. You would think that they would fight incessantly, but no, they live together in peace and harmony.

The Ogres farm their giant mushrooms. The Naga do whatever it is they do. And they manage to do it without fighting, without as much as a harsh word across the mud. They even have a mutual defense treaty, as the Ogres will come to the aid of the Naga and vice-versa.

Truly, an example for us all, for if Naga and Ogre-kind can get along, why cant we?

But then again, it has not stopped me from killing them by the score and taking their stuff. XP is XP, after all.

Cheers,
-Jason

I Like the Spikes

Arklebar, Dark Lord of Berenir, King of Uburia, and Conqueror of Kordrun drummed his fingers on the armrest. Before him lay the royal armory, where his smiths were putting the final touches on his new armor.

I grow impatient.

Instantly, a smith was at his side. It is almost ready, Lord.

I had better be, else you will be smithing left-handed.

The smith stared up at Arklebar. My Lord?

You will smith left-handed. Arklebar made a hammering motion. Smithing. With your left hand. Because Ill cut off your right.

But I am left-handed, Lord.

Arklebar stared at the trembling smith. Youre not terribly bright, are you?

No, Lord.

It is ready, Dread Master! cried out another smith from across the room.

Rising, Arklebar strode across the smithy as tools and apprentices were hastily pulled from his path and beheld his new armor.

Arklebar frowned. Well, he said, put it on me. NOW!

Hands undid his cloak and lifted the crown from his head. Even more hands helped him into the greaves and sabatons. The rest of the leg armor was quickly added, as the vambraces were strapped to his forearms. The breast and back plates were affixed and then the huge shoulder pieces. Lastly, his helmet was lowered onto his head and a large mirror was wheeled before him.

Arklebar looked at himself. The armor was massive and black, with three foot spikes coming off the shoulders. The breastplate featured a huge, snarling dragon maw and great horns, fully six inches thick at the base and two-feet long, adorned his helmet.

The Dark Lord turned, first one way and then another. He struck a pose, swaying slightly under the weight of all the metal. Does this armor, he asked, his voice echoing deep within the helm, make me look fat?

No, Lord!

Absolutely not, Lord!

You look magnificent, Dread Master!

Good. Arklebar turned slowly. I am pleased. You all may live.

There was a chorus of thank yous.

Yes, yes, I am wonderful. The Dark Lord turned and stomped towards the door, enjoying the great clash of metal that sounded as he walked. The door was thrown open before him and he marched through, only to be knocked flat on his back as he entered the doorway.

There was absolute silence.

What happened? Arklebar asked.

A smith appeared above him. The spikes, Lord. They . . . ummmm . . . wont fit through the doorway.

I like the spikes.

Yes, Lord.

Very well. Have all the doorways in the castle widened immediately. No, all the doorways in the kingdom. Any building that has a doorway I cannot fit through will be burned to the ground with the owners still inside. And if I hear about this incident, I will have everyone here put to death.

Of course, Lord.

And help me up.

Yes, Lord.

Cheers,
-Jason

Two Announcements

Hey All,

Two medium-sized announcements for the coming week:

First: We have been in the process of revamping the site and it will be going live this week.

Second: Leigh was sick for several days last week, so we will not be updating the comic this week. The story will continue on Tuesday, the 13th.

So, expect to see a new site layout this week and a new comic a week from tomorrow.

I will be blogging as usual during the week, so please come by and check out the blog. Hint: Evil Overlords and fashion.

Cheers,
-Jason

Caption Contest Winner

So, after a savage brawl with much blood, spilled coffee and tearing of black t-shirts, Leigh and I have hashed out the winner.

Actually, we just IM'd each other (but we typed violently).

There were a lot of great entries, but after much debate, we narrowed it down to the three we liked best.

So without any more ado, here were the top three:

Third Place: Frumple
Iri: "Maybe you should just say 'Treat' at the next door."

Second Place: zog
Iri(whispered) "Can we walk a little slower, my longbow is chafing ..."
Lily "Your longbow ...? Where ..."
Iri(growled) "Do NOT ...ask."

And First Place: Rachel
"There's GOT to be a better way of getting chocolate."

So congratulations to Rachel, for winning our first (mayhap annual) Halloween Caption Contest.

Please shoot us an email (or post your answer in the forum caption thread) letting us know what size desktop you prefer.

Congrats again,
-Jason and Leigh

Hello, Mr. Mammoth

I am glad I was born in this day and age. There are many reasons for this (video games and polio vaccinations, for starters), but the main reason is that I would not have survived in any other era. Why would I think this? Well, let me tell you a story.

Today, I was doing laundry. I happen to have three boxes of detergent sitting on the drier, ready to dispense their cleansing goodness. I do not recall why I purchased three boxes, but there was probably a sale.

I filled the washer with a selection of black t-shirts and picked up the nearest box of detergent. It was empty. This did not perturb me, as I had two more boxes at the ready. I picked up the second box of detergent. It was also empty. I picked up the third box. It too, was empty.

Not only had I not thrown away empty detergent boxes, I had also managed to place them in such a fashion as to make it look like they had not been opened.

I am apparently quite dim.

Honestly, I had no idea the boxes were empty. I knew that the nearest box was running out, but I obviously had two more full boxes, so I had not bothered to buy more.

How does this relate to living in another era? Simple. I would have been the one caveman who forgot to bring his spear.

We would have been clustered on a hill, ready to attack a wooly mammoth. The leader would have looked around, making sure we were ready to risk our lives to feed our clan. And he would have seen me, playing with a rock.

Leader: Where spear?

Me: What?

Leader: Where spear?

Me: My spear? Oh, funny story. I thought I had a couple, but I must have forgotten to make more. Why, do I need one?

Leader: {long pause} No. Go pet big mammoth. Him friend.

Me: Really? Why hello, Mr. Mammoth! It is certainly a lovely- AAARRRGH! MY DUODENUM!

Leader: Idiot.

Basically, my ancestors fought and scraped to survive so that one day I could be completely incapable of doing my laundry.

It kinda makes you think, doesnt it?

Cheers,
-Jason