Sunday

Buzzards of Justice

On one of the last days of our vacation in Crete, Captain Awesomepants and I decided to go to the Dikteon* Cave. 

This is not an important detail, though I will say that the cave was very nice if you like that sort of thing. I found it to be dark and it smelled a bit like poo, mold, and squicky wet things. There were lots of creepy crawlies (both imagined and real) and on the way up the donkey track (literal) /path Cpt Awesomepants informed me that he'd just remembered that he hated caves, which might have been prudent to inform me of that morning when we were planning our day.


But, seeing how we were already halfway there, he persevered and lived to tell the tale.


Moving on.


The drive UP (also literal) to the Dikteon cave was quite harrowing, as it is up a mountainside cliff-face road that consists of barely-there switchbacks that lack sensible things like guardrails and I'm really rather afraid of heights. I'm afraid of a lot of things, but heights make me extra jumpy and I have to keep talking lest the fear make my head explode or fall off or push me into having a standard, run-of-the-mill panic attack, which– if you've ever had one– you'll know just isn't that relaxing. So I was babbling. This is where my story begins.



I asked Cpt Awesomepants what kind of animal he would be if he could be anything and he was all: raven, because ravens are neato and stuff.* This is a summary. There are a lot of other things he said but I was very busy at that point with doing my calming breath.


And then he asked me what kind of animal I'd be, and without thinking I'm all: A BUZZARD.


I don't really know why I said it at first. Usually whenever that question is asked, the answer is inevitably something predatory and all sexy-like such as lion or tiger or puma or wolf or hawk or eagle or bantha and no one ever says if I was an animal I'd be a fruit bat! Or a dairy cow. Moooo, motherfucker. 


Not me though. Apparently I just want to be a buzzard.

I am Roger. Roger the Buzzard.

Then I got into the idea. Because if I had to be a buzzard (you can't change your mind, fake animal-dream-wise– it's a permanent decision), then at least I would be a smart buzzard, with higher-than-average buzzard IQ. 




Buzzarding things to do for fun, if you are a particularly intelligent and methodical type of buzzard: 


1. Restaurants: 


Imagine a nice spring evening at a cafe. Couples and families are sitting outside on the patio having dinner and drinking wine and talking about interesting things and all of a sudden a giant buzzard lands at the table.




Squawk squawk.


Sparrows and songbirds are cute and sometimes people throw them crumbs, but a buzzard? 

Buzzards are usually only present either when something has died and begun to smell bad or when something is dying, like in all those western movies when the hero is stumbling through the desert looking up through the heat waves at the buzzards that are circling and you know it's only a matter of time. 

The association is generally a very negative one. 

If I was a human, I'd run away, too. 

Only I'd be the buzzard, so I'd eat the food they left. Waste not, want not and all. 


I think after a few years of this, though, I'd develop a conscience.  


So I would move on to more respectable buzzarding activities, or at least activities that I felt would make up for the years of free food and terror I caused. 


2. I would scare the hell, very specifically, out of assholes. 



That is a tree branch, and yes I am aware that it looks like something else. 
Call them what you will. Jerkfaces, sociopaths, my ex-boyfriends... There's always one running for political office somewhere, or trying out a new ponzi scheme on a host of unsuspecting people, or heading up Monsanto's legal team. 

I'd find them. 


I feel it would be my buzzard duty. And they might not notice at first, but even someone who is generally oblivious to their surroundings
 is eventually going to notice a fifty pound*, red-headed, sharp-beaked, squarking buzzard pacing them. 



*I don't actually know how much buzzards weigh, on average, I just think that if I was a buzzard I'd be huge. I'd eat my buzzard Wheaties. 

I've never been stalked by a buzzard before, but I can imagine it would be a harrowing experience. 


My target, thinking I was only a buzzard and probably just confused, would go home where it's safe and buzzard-free. They'd have a drink and abuse the cat or whatever it is they do (I imagine the head of Monsanto's legal team spends at least an hour every evening rubbing his hands together while laughing like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons) and then go to bed. Bed is safe. Buzzards are silly, they'd think, happy in their certainty that the buzzard-stalking moment was a single, isolated incident, unlikely to be repeated. 


And that's where they'd be wrong. 


I'd sit patiently outside their window and wait until the morning came, when they foolishly opened the blinds expecting just another sunshine-y, happy, buzzard-free day in which they can continue being complete D-bags to everyone and everything around them. 




3. NO. No, I say unto you, NO. 


Once they called animal control I'd leave, but animal control can't be around all the time, and I'd keep just out of distance while maintaining visual contact as much as I could, so that even if I wasn't there being all giant and buzzard-y, they'd think I was. They'd never feel safe again. 


Because they wouldn't be

At this point, I think the extra satisfaction of providing vigilante buzzard justice would've given me an extra long life. I would have far outlived the standard buzzard life expectancy of 21 years (even surpassing Nero, the famous in-captivity turkey vulture who lived to be 37). I'd be somewhere between 50 and IMMORTAL. 

And I'd probably have a following, being that I would be massive and ancient and always have a good idea as to what to do with the day. I would be LORD OF THE BUZZARDS, and other buzzards would come from miles to be in my pack of awesomeness and justice. Because though flying around dead carcass all day is fun, stalking dirtbags is far more so. 



Not what you expect at work, generally. 
Because everyone knows the only thing more terrifying than being stalked by a single dinosaur-buzzard is being stalked by a flock of twenty. 

You'd go outside at lunch and there would be buzzards circling. You'd go to your car and notice with dismay that it was covered in buzzard poo. You'd go home and there'd be a buzzard on your front porch, staring at you with big buzzard eyes and saying 'squark' repeatedly, which of course you wouldn't understand, but you'd get the feeling that it was trying to tell you something, which would be true. 

The buzzard would be telling you to get your shit together. Stop being such an asshole. 

Because the Buzzards of Justice are always watching.





BUZZARDS OF JUSTICE


We would have t-shirts and stickers and probably a website, and the villains of the world would tremble in fear when they heard the telltale flapping of wings. 

Justice has come for you, evil-doer. Justice and copious amounts of bird poo. You will never be clean again, ever. EVER. 






I mean, if you have to be a buzzard, at least you can use your powers for good. 





*Dikteon Cave: Cave which was reputed to be the place where Zeus survived his childhood.**


**He survived because there are loud birds at the entrance, and they would make enough noise to drown out his cries so that the Angry/Hungry Dad Unit, Cronos, couldn't hear him.***


***This was necessary because Cronos was super hungry and ate all his children because of a prophecy that one day, one of his offspring would overthrow him. You know, like you do.****


****Btw, that totally happened. Yay Zeus! Way to survive. The end. 

Thursday

We Did Not Die! Yaaaay!!

Excerpts from my conversation with Captain Awesomepants during a rather eventful* cab ride through Athens:

(this first part is written. We were passing notes via the iPhone notes app so that our driver couldn't hear us)

me: What's with the teeth sucking??

Cpt Pants: That's what meth addicts do.

me: oHHhhhh


5 minutes later:

Cpt Pants: You know I love you, right?

me: You think we're going to die, don't you? Are you telling me this because you think we're going to die?

Cpt Pants: YES. Yeah. Pretty much.


The good news is that We Did Not Die in a fiery ball of Greek taxi cab somewhere along the Athens highway, which is nice. Instead, we got a 45 minute ride through the depths of Athens from a 6.5 foot tall, tooth-sucking, twitchy, chain-smoking, meth-head whose car shook, rattled, vibrated and carried on very much like a car that is about to explode the entire way (especially when going over, say, 35 mph. As most of the drive was conducted in either LIGHT SPEED MODE or stopped, it was like getting a massage from an evil robot).

It was fun if you like near-death experiences, but mostly it was petrifying. He kept trying to talk to us but his English wasn't very good and our Greek is non-existent so the conversations were extremely short (You like Greece? Yes, we like Greece! ......) Also, he kept texting and answering his phone which has a dampening effect on banter. And I'm not sure how it is in his world, but in mine the person on the other side of the cell phone can't actually see you when you talk to them. Because you are talking to them on the cell phone. I think in his world he might have had some idea that whoever he was talking to could see him, which would explain the constant and manic gesticulating at the phone.

As I said, fun if you like near-death experiences. He tried to convince us to call him so he could give us a ride to the airport the next day and we were all: no it's cool! We'll walk. 40 miles is nothing!


Anyway, safe and sound in the Athens hotel, then an easy and air conditioned cab ride to the airport yesterday by a very nice man who told us the history of Crete. Now we're in Crete. And I have internet. Happy day.









*by which I mean: fucking terrifying. 

Monday

The Great France Adventure: Day ?

The problem with drinking wine with lunch is that is highly de-motivating.

sigh.






Life is hard. 

Saturday

Chamonix has fondue

Cheese fondue is awesome, until it is Not Awesome At All.


Currently in the Not Awesome phase. Barfing might occur.

Wednesday

The Great France Adventure: Day 3

I have a cold. I am a hateful bag of misery and doom.


UPDATED: Everything is better. Captain Awesomepants braved his fear of all things French and ventured forth to bring me drugs! sigh. I took a ubiquitous looking white pill and feel about 9million times better.

Time to eat. Also, wine.

Monday

The Great France Adventure: Day 2

Observations:

1. 3 am in Paris looks a lot like 3 am in Montana. Dark. And kind of boring.

2. I NOW HAVE COFFEE & therefore rule the world.

It is magic coffee and comes out of a shiny machine that makes a lot noise and renders all human interaction entirely unnecessary. OMG I want one. I will never have to speak human again.

I actually giggled in open mouthed wonder when it made my magic coffee. The other patrons are French and were thus unimpressed with my enthusiasm. Whatever, I bet they all have one at home and are used to the awesomeness it provides.

3. I look very much like I hugged and/or wrastled a German Shepherd. Incidentally, I did, though I also washed this sweater. The hair that is covering it seems impervious.

4. France is apparently entirely trustworthy, or at least my fellow hotel patrons are. We slept the night through with the key sticking in the lock in the door.
Let's take a moment to review that last bit and marvel at my profound.... Awesomeness/incompetence? Jetlag? Ability to repel crime? ALL OF THE ABOVE?

Indeed. 

Onwards. Allons-y.


I'm blogging from Paris and yes, I do realize this means I have an "internet problem."

So I got all Luddite-y and decided to unplug for the duration of my vacation en France, which lasted... exactly.... one hour.


The Great France Adventure; Part 1, Day 1:

So far my keen observational insight has led me to note the following:
1. Everyone smokes here.
2. I am the most insecure American on the planet.
3. Captain Awesomepants is the 2nd most insecure American on the planet.

I know these things because:
1. Everyone is smoking.
2. I am terrified that someone (or everyone) will notice my flip-flops and jeans and badly shaped hair (it's the humidity and lack of sleep dammit) and laugh and whisper to each other in immaculate French "stupid American tourist" before jauntily readjusting their scarves and hopping on their mopeds, while blaming me for the Bush administration and Monsanto and ruining the planet with globalization and all bad food ever created ever. Oh and for freedom fries. My insecurity runs deep. 

I'm probably not correct, but OH MY GOD I MIGHT BE. Jsyk, this thought could ruin your day.

3. Captain Awesomepants has become mute, staunchly refusing to interact with anyone who is French. We are in France. This might be a problem.

Oh. And I believe I am about to spend something like 16 euro on coffee, which is, I think, approximately 900 USD.

It is very good coffee.




Thursday

Movie Review: Immortals-- Death and More Death and Naked Greeks With British Accents!

I really wanted to like this film. I really did. I tried so hard, but even with two whole  glasses of wine I couldn't do it. This movie is such an epic fail I had to do a blogpost to try to explain it to myself in retrospect.

A breakdown of the film Immortals: 


First off– the main characters:

1: The Bad Guy. This character is called King Hyperion** and he hates the crap out of everyone (especially the Greek gods, of which there are 5 rather than the more traditional 12. sigh) and is played by Mickey Rourke. Mickey Rourke has exactly one expression for this entire movie: Angry Face, which is made more obvious by his brilliant use of Angry Voice. Sometimes he spits. Mostly he hates things and whacks their heads off with his Angry Sword, which I don't even remember because I couldn't stop laughing at how silly his headgear was.

This is my interpretation of Hyperion. Please note The Most Ridiculous Bad Guy Outfit in the entire history of filmmaking:

Side View:



*The face helmet is especially entertaining, as it is seems just slightly illogical to wear something that impedes your peripheral vision that much when you are at war. Or driving. Or cooking toast. It looks like the underside of a sea urchin. It is not threatening in the least, unless you are trying to make your enemies confused by their emphatic hilarity at your stupid, stupid helmet.

**Oh Hollywood, just... f you. Hyperion is a titan. Anyone who knows anything about Greek myth (which, sadly, it seems you do not) knows that, and also that there was never any "King Hyperion," nor were the titans mortal, nor were the gods, and for the love of all that is holy-- MOUNT TARTARUS???? Curious-- how can Tartarus be in the underworld if IT'S A MOUNTAIN?????
You incomprehensible nitwits. At least try and pretend to have read a book at some point.



2: The Good Guy. I have no idea who this actor is but I want to talk to his eyebrows. They have a lot of range. This is Theseus, as in: Theseus the dude who is famous for killing the Minotaur in the Labyrinth that Daedalus built beneath the palace of Knossos in Crete. That guy. Btw, none of that made it into the movie. Except for the Minotaur. Sort of. More on that in a minute.


Theseus spends most of the movie being conflicted about life and pensive about responsibility. He also wears almost no clothing, which-- though fun to watch-- is stupid. It gets cold in Greece. Also there are at least *5* scenes in which Theseus' junk should've been fully visible, but a strange shadow moved over it at just the right moment. Cheaters.  Or maybe he just had really full coverage man-panties on underneath his skirt.


3: Zeus, who sometimes appears as a random old man who is helpful and friendly to everyone and wears a gray cloak. A lot like... Odin. And carries a... um...  hammer? A lot like Thor. 


I don't even know what to say here, except for that whoever made this movie reaaaaalllly liked to see men in tiny skirts.

4: The Love Interest. There is absolutely nothing to this character, so I've pointed out the one thing this movie made sure to announce like 28 times.


I get tired thinking about this kind of character/Hollywood BS, so I'm moving on. 


5. The Titans. The titans are some other characters in this movie who hate everything and just want to kill stuff, but apparently they're really screwed because they're just super easy to kill themselves. I know because in the climax scene when the 5 (sigh) gods are fighting the 703 (???) identical sibling titans, all it takes is a minor shove and the titan's head EXPLODES IN GOO. There is so much blood in this movie, even I was impressed.
p.s- I know 'twins' is not a correct word to use when describing the phenomenon of 703 identical siblings. Alas. I have learned to live with my grammatical inability.



6. The Minotaur. This is the part that clinched the contempt for me. The first half of the movie I kept thinking: Theseus? Isn't this Perseus? This looks like Perseus to me, I wonder when he's going to run off to rescue Andromeda.
But then the fucking Minotaur showed up. Only it wasn't the Minotaur, it was a dude in a metal bull mask who grunted a lot, and they weren't in a labyrinth, they were in a burial chamber that was covered.... in rose petals. Because they have a lot of roses around.


Weak, Hollywood.




I honestly have no idea what bull-dude was wearing, so I drew him a skirt. A fuchsia skirt. With yellow daisies. You're welcome. 








Wednesday

HE Washing Machine FAIL


Dear Makers of "High Efficiency" Washing Machines Everywhere:
aaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAARRRHHGGGGHHH#%^W$&%#&(&)OYUIGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA&@#&)(&AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
RRRRAARRRRGGHBLLLAAAAARRRRRRRGGGHHHHHHRRRRRRAAAAARRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA*
*You lying sacks of digested dog kibble. Please allow me to express my feelings to you in a variety of consonants and vowels that imply that I am both screaming and growling at you. What the hell were you thinking? Why, why with the infinite technology and brilliant design available to you did you make a washing machine that does not seem to utilize water? Further, why did you make this non-water "washing" machine with only three settings: endless, eternal, and infinity? Do you know my clothes have been in a wash cycle since December? I would like them back, please, and I would like them to be clean when they come out, which they will not be, for you-- you nefarious wash cycle bastards-- have created a machine that not only takes forever, but apparently spends the entire time doing jack all. WTF is my washer doing for all those hours of "high efficiency" washing? Fuck you. 
Best,
-Sixofthis

Tuesday

This Post Is Not About My Dog. Mostly.

I am bad at sleeping. Terrible, even. If there was a 'sleep test,' I'd totally fail, though I'm sure I'd get some points for really inventive sleeping positions and my incredible thrashing technique. I've never been a good sleeper because I love early mornings (quiet, no one around to ask questions, THE COFFEE IS ALL MINE) and for whatever reason my particular physical chemistry makes it nigh on impossible to sleep for 8 hours straight (apparently the BBC thinks this is normal, which is nice, but the article linked does not address the issue of the mind blowing boredom one experiences at 3:30 am. It's times like those I really wish I smoked cigarettes because then I'd have something to do).

Anyway, I've always managed to be mostly functional on my average 6 to 7 hours of sleep a night. Mostly. I will never be a rocket scientist, and I'm alright with that, and I'll probably never be entirely emotionally sane, and I'm alright with that too. Moodiness tinged with irrationality makes for better art.

But the dog. Oh My God The Dog. We have a tiny, furzy, snarfling, adorable, sleep terrorist. She is evil, methodical, and unstoppable. I have slept *exactly* two full nights since we got her, approximately 900 years ago.


This, however, is not another post about my dog, but about what happens when I get woken up every three hours for about a week straight.

This is me with sleep:



*Drawn just slightly off scale. I don't know why I'm listing like a sailboat in a strong wind, either. Whatever. Maybe I'm flying. 


This is me without sleep:


*As you can see, I'm a motherfucking bear. A confused bear with extra claws, and random back spikes. Also, not pictured is that I breathe fire. 




Bears are not very functional. Bears are often confused by things like running water, clothing, gravity, light switches, and door frames. Bears do not get homework done. Bears play video games for entire afternoons and eat large amounts of chocolate-whatever-is-in-the-kitchen while whining about how everything is mean and hateful and doomy. And bears pick fights. Stupid fights, during which they can make a lot of noise (but very little sense). RARRRRRR, BLARRRGH. I think I've made my point. 

Not that I'm describing my morning, or anything. 



I need a nap. 










Saturday

Does Posting About Food Count?*

Yet another picture of something I really want to be eating right now: 


Fresh pasta, guianciale (pork jowl, don't worry-- it was a happy pig before it died), fresh fava beans & asparagus, and parmesan. Cooked (this is the best part!!!) NOT BY ME**. omg omg omg so good.

*Probably not. Oh well.

**(Adam, move to Montana. Seriously. Do you have any idea what I'm cooking for dinner tonight? You don't want to know. It involves boiling water and nothing else. Cpt Awesomepants shall despair. Woe. Woe is me.)

:(




Friday

Hey Guess What?!?! It's SNOWING!!!! again.

yippie frickin doo. In protest I have been moping. Unfortunately, I think that means the snow wins.

dammit. 




Here is a totally unrelated picture of what I really wish I was eating right now:



These are.. um something that has a real name (?) but we always refer to them as 'pork balls' both because it sounds funny (and we're in the 3rd grade, both of us, forever) and also because that is the primary filling substance, around which gooey sticky happy-making dough is wrapped. Sometimes there is also a quail egg inside (!!!eeee!!!). I cannot describe the amazing happiness of eating one of these. I think it is made of tiny fairies and magical icicles and crunchy bits, which fall into not one but THREE of my favorite food categories: crunch and/or salty and/or doughy. Also? Cilantro and fried shallots. WIN.

You can find them at Ping in downtown Portland, Oregon, and if you read this blog post and are influenced to go get some immediately, then please take pictures and send them to me so that I may live vicariously through you. And say hi to Abraham the bartender. He is awesome.







Tuesday

Math?

I'm home right now waiting for some shelves to magically move themselves onto the walls. They are doing a great job of it, which is very nice of them. Cpt Awesomepants is next to me doing math, which I'm reasonably sure he's not enjoying too much, as he keeps cursing and telling the book to go fuck itself.

I have historically not been so good at math, for I like to paint and draw and write and make messes and run around in circles.

Also because math involves problems like this:

At 2:38 Serge entered an elevator on the 34th floor of the regency hotel. At 2:40, he stepped off at the 5th floor.
Find the elevator's average rate of travel in number of floors per minute.

and I'm all: NO. HELL, NO. Let's go run around in circles!!!



PS-- if anyone actually solves this, I will totally post it. Also I will give you a cookie.


PPS-- Captain Awesomepants, you do not count.



UPDATED:
Holy crap people actually answered this question.



Due to aforementioned mathematical issues, I have no idea who answered it correctly so I've just decided that you ALL get cookies, albeit virtual. They are low-fat! I didn't even have to try.
win. 

Monday

Things You Can Buy at Amazon

There are just so many options, how does one choose which to buy?


You may wonder why I was searching for cow skulls on Amazon.

You may continue to do so.



My Dog is a Tiny Fur Terrorist and I Will Never Sleep Again

Dog is on steroids again. My love/hate relationship with steroids at this point rivals only Golem's love/hate relationship with the ring. Ring/steroids= life. Ring/steroids= unrivaled glorious MISERY and NO SLEEP and EATING RAW FISH HEADS WHILE BEING ALONE FOR 500 YEARS AND TALKING TO YOURSELF BECAUSE ALL OF A SUDDEN YOU'RE YOUR ONLY FRIEND.

I should probably begin this post with the disclaimer that I'm just stupid tired and am therefore not entirely sure of what is funny anymore, also-- I like my caps lock. And volume control is hard right now. sorry.

A brief rundown of the past 2 months:
2 months ago: Dog is off steroids. Rejoice!!! Dog is healthy! Dog sleeps through night!!  Dog has normal kidney count (I still don't know what this means, but the vet was smiling when she told us so I assume it is good news).

6 weeks ago: Dog goes into heat. First heat, they tell us, takes approximately 3 weeks. We begin to resemble helicopter parents (WHAT IS DOG DOING? WHERE IS DOG??? SHE HAS BEEN OUT FOR 5 MINUTES UNSUPERVISED, OMFG IS SHE HAVING SEX???)

5 weeks ago: We move. Dog is still in heat. This is fun.

4.9 weeks ago: Move stress + heat cycle = dog has a relapse and goes back on 'roids. This means that: she wakes up at least twice a night to go out and drink a metric ton of water. This means that: we do not sleep so much. Because sleeping is for weenies. 

3.5 weeks ago: dog is supposedly out of heat. Dog gets fixed. Yaaay!! All our problems are over!!

3 weeks ago: Or not. Dog has another relapse. Back on 'roids.

2 weeks ago: Optimistic vet says to go off 'roids.

1.5 weeks ago: This does not go well. Dog ends up in hospital. Is back on 'roids.

Up until present: Dog is still on 'roids. For whatever reason, dog is now getting up 6 times a night to decorate the lawn and drink more water than we thought was possible to drink without barfing or being a camel. Or a whale. Do whales drink a lot of water? I assume they must. Swimming is tiring.

This means that: I am so, so, so sooooo very tired, and so so soso soooo very cranky and I'm pretty sure at this point both Cpt Awesomepants and I look a little like Golem. Cpt Awesomeapnts is in a corner twitching and talking to himself. Every time I fall asleep I hear the bark, which means: I need to go out and I will totally pee on the floor if you do not let me do so. Also, I will never stop barking. Ever. I will bark forever.


For one so cute and little and fuzzy, she would do very well working at Guantanamo.










Tuesday

Why I Think Video Games Are Better Than Real Life

I mean, I only feel this way sometimes. Like when it's March (if you look in the archives, you can see that I feel this way every year! And that I like to complain about it. This is what blogs are for.) and it just snowed and all I want is sunshine and um less snow. In fact no snow. F off, snow.

Anyways, I've been rabidly obsessed with DragonAge Origins for a while now, too long to really admit and still have any last shred of self respect, but I've finally figured out why this is. And now I shall tell you. With pictures! yay.

See, in reality, or normal life, or at least the life wherein you are not actively fighting zombies, everything appears entirely normal all the time.
Like so:

this is a normal person.
Problems, however, often erupt due to the fact that what *looks* normal is often rather ambiguous morally, such as the many examples (all very depressing hence the lack of detail) of normal seeming people that then go on to do entirely fucked up things to other  people, things, and places. Like Monsanto, who as we all know is the devil.


THIS IS A PSYCHOTIC TOILET STEALING MANIAC WHO KICKS PUPPIES. Looks surprisingly normal. Might be CEO of Monsanto. 
The lovely (and addictive) thing about video games is that there is no such thing as moral ambiguity ANYWHERE in the ENTIRE GAME (at least in DragonAge), which essentially means that you know exactly who to kill, because they look like so: 

*except for looking scary, and possibly poking out eyes. Because it is evil.

Everyone who does NOT look like this is totally unequivocally on your side busily fighting the good fight with really big swords and stuff, and standing heroically around and being nice to each other.

Frankly, it's refreshing. I wish all bad people looked like orcs, it would make politics so much easier to understand.










Wednesday

The Bible Would Be a Whole Lot Better if There Were Unicorns In It.

Just sayin'.

Because then Jesus would ride in on a unicorn and be all "check out my sweet ride, yo! IT'S A MO' F-ING UNICORN!!!" (because Jesus doesn't swear. Because that would be wrong.) and the unicorn would be all "neigh" or whatever unicorns say, which we don't know because there aren't any except for in the Bible and they have mostly silent parts.

Also? Jesus should totally have a castle in the Bible. Because then he could be all "F YOU ROMANS!!" and they wouldn't be able to be mean to him because he'd be in a castle with a moat with alligators in it. And his unicorn would have laser eyes.






Monday

My Dog, Plus Rice

It was a good idea until it went very wrong. Give dog the rice inside the container, that way she can eat it and not get it everywhere, right?


this is a fun game. 

I suppose it is time to vacuum now. 

Thursday

I am feeling about as creative as a moldy broken banjo. twang, twang twing.

Dear January, please snow. Barring that, please send me some ironic wit with which to write either 1. a dissertation, 2. several blog posts, or 3. a novel.

Barring that, please send zombies, so I have something to hit with a large stick. That will help a LOT.

Thanks. You're swell. 

Monday

I was supposed to start my dissertation today and instead we bought a house.

I am the GOD OF PROCRASTINATION.


the end.