Showing posts with label DOOMSDAY IS NIGH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DOOMSDAY IS NIGH. Show all posts


Dissertation Defense is NIGH

I did these when I was about to defend my dissertation. It sums up quite nicely how I felt at the time. 

Aaaand squish.
The end.


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.


My Honeymoon, phase 1; or The Last Part of My Last Three-ish Months; or I'm Pretty Sure I Should Never Be The One To Choose the Travel Destination Ever, Ever Again.

Once upon a time I got married. It was neat. 

Then there was a honeymoon. It was here:

It started perfectly. For 24 hours, it was the beach-rum-infested-paradise-dream-happy that you think of when you think honeymoon. 

Cpt Awesompants shot this photo, for he is awesome. Awesomepants.

24 hours. Just 24. We went kayaking. I got a sunburn. We ate lobster. We slept like the dead, in full recovery from wedding mania that had consumed us for the better part of six months. 

And then it ended, because this happened: 

This is Irene. She is white and fluffy and fucking evil.

This is a better, more satellite-y picture: 

It's like winning the lottery! Or getting shot. A little of both. More of the latter. 

All I can say is: denial + laziness + rum + not wanting to pack up and leave a day after arriving (when it took two days to get there in the first damn place) + blind faith in the incredibly sturdy cabin we were staying in = very foolish decision to stay put = honeymoon that is ruined by hurricane.

After all, I said-- I'm from Vermont. How bad could it possibly be?
After all, he said-- I'm used to crazy weather. How bad could it possibly be?

In retrospect, it was just slightly worse than we could have ever, in our wildest dreams, imagined it could possibly be. It was kind of the like the time Frodo was all: the EYE!! I'm naked and stuff!!! and Sam was all: I CARRY YOU!! and then there was a giant spider, or maybe it was the other way around, but it was all terrible and awful and exhausting and doomy and then the spider bit Frodo. Which is just adding insult to injury.

Part of my recalcitrance to skeedaddle was due to the fact that I'd already once been through the mayhem of evacuating a city because of a hurricane and it was a rather stupid and unnecessary experience. It was in Savannah in my first year of art school (where yes-- I did indeed learn to draw stick figures!!) and it was hurricane Floyd and the entire city was ordered to skip out and go to wherever else like Atlanta at the same time on the same highway which then became an immediate parking lot.

I, of course, didn't have any gas in my car (because buying gas is for sissies) but had volunteered to drive a few friends to Atlanta. So we went to the gas station. This took four hours. Immediately afterwards we got in an accident (I mean this literally, as it happened when we were pulling out of the parking space at the Circle K after buying gas and enough skittles to.. ahem... survive a hurricane). The insurance company calls lasted another hour. We got back in the car, turned around towards Savannah, and decided to chance it.
It rained a little. The wind blew some moss off trees. It was epically anticlimactic.

Perhaps ironically, Floyd was the last hurricane to really hit (and-- concurrently-- utterly fuck up) Cat Island.

Date. With. Destiny. 

End phase 1. Phase 2 up next.


Happy Birthday Cpt Awesomepants

So before I got the doom cold, it was Captain Awesomepants' birthday. 

I drew this to show that even if there was a zombiepocalypse (which, seriously? probably gonna happen. note: make sure you have a chainsaw. Or a double headed axe on hand. Or a katana. But don't leave them lying around because then your neighbors will be all jealous), we'd not only survive but we'd still be all barf-inducing and mooshy and gross all our friends out. The ones that survive, anyway. The ones that read this blog and had the foresight to get a katana

yaaay carnage!!
Happy Birthday. I love you so much I even gave you the chainsaw. 

My Halloween Went Not At All According to Plan

To begin with, I haven't celebrated Halloween in awhile as I've been unmotivated to be cold and/or drunk and/or wearing something dorktastic in public (which is pretty much how all of my Halloweens post-drinking age have ended up, hence the recalcitrance). Further-- Bozeman is a college town and the likelihood of running into blitzed 18 year olds dressed up as skanky whatevers is really high. No, I thought-- I shall stay in. I shall make something complicated like lasagna. I shall ignore the hootenanny. Mostly this worked out okay.

I even finished the limoncello I've been procrastinating on for 3 months, oooOOooh pretty.

Sadly, that was where the nice bit ended and the gooey bit began. FYI? Avocado pits + huge and recently sharpened knives + me = :(

Oddly enough, this is the second time I've whacked open my hand this way in the past month, but I am, apparently, an extremely slow learner. The last time wasn't nearly as bad and I bandaided (yes, I am using this as a verb) it up and moved on. I fully expected to be able to do the same thing this time. See, I'm really not that okay with goo-- I'd be a terrible vampire-- it makes me all pukey and fainty and I act like a 70's horror movie chick who just stands there and screams a bunch while whoever with the axe/chainsaw/angry knife hacks everyone else to bits. In other words, I am NOT at ALL a badass when it comes to blood. 


Luckily, I married Cpt Awesomepants. He is fine with blood (he might be a vampire). He bandaged me up and then we ate lasagna while we waited for the bleeding to stop. 

It did not. So then we were all: you know what would be fun? The ER on the Saturday of Halloween weekend!! FUCK YEAH!!

Travel Bandages! ET phone home.

The ER was not nearly as exciting as you'd think. One of the nurses had cat ears on, but overall it was not the costumed drunken mayhem that we expected. They put us in a room and left us alone for a really long time and I played Angry Birds and tried to be cavalier about the fact that I was dying from blood loss (Cpt Awesomepants thought I was being silly, but what does he know? He's a fucking vampire). The ER doc came in and stabbed me with a massive needle filled with novocaine or whatever to make me all numb and puffy in the finger and then left us to go check on the one very drunk kid who had been found sleeping on the curb. 

Then he stitched me up like a fucking hand quilt. I felt it. It was gross. It still is gross.
I now have three stitches, my very first three! I did not faint, so I am extremely pleased with myself.

This is the picture that's supposed to imply a happy ending somehow, but I didn't have any of those. 

Now I have a bandaided quilt finger and it is much harder to type this blog post, but it's cool. I'm a survivor. 
Happy Halloween. <3


Photos of the month. With voice overs!

I'd like to think that I could imagine what ginormous ravens say to each other during a feeding frenzy/prairie dog roadkill pavement cook-out. Really I have no idea. I think they are likely more intelligent than we (and any amount of research into this magical black-feathered carnivorous roadside chicken will make you agree with me), and thus in this image are having an intelligent and well thought out debate. 

But I've been drinking wine in an effort to get over a very serious wedding dress issue (#$%^&*()(*&^%$#$%^&*(*&^%$#$%^&*()(*&^%$#@$%^&*(>>>>>> or, in other words: fuckity fuck fuck) so I'm not even going to try. Instead, I will insert my own feedback loop, which right now is pretty damn basic. 

Raven One: HI!!!!

Raven Two: HIII!!!!!!

This is the part where Raven One came pretty much right up to my car and looked at me with way too-intelligent eyes and then proceeded to roll its head in leftover prairie dog goo. You'd think it was gross, but really I can't judge. I've had a bad day. If someone soaked the couch pillows in wine and that was all we had, I might just be gnawing on one right now.

And because I've titled this blogpost as having voice overs, I will now give my highly inspirational and thoroughly imagined dialogue.

Raven One: I'm just going to rub my beak in roadkill effluence over here.

Raven Two: Neat.

Touché, Raven Two. Touché.


Thoughts About the Rapture, Part 3

Generally I find doomsday predictions to be fairly harmless and entertaining. The day after another one fails is often spent in smug self congratulation, which is always a good time for me. We are fairly apocalyptic in our thinking anyways, so what's the big deal when another nutbag-with-a-final-date comes along? Usually nothing. This last one, however, was a bit of a slap.

I can't help but want to take the mickey out of Harold Camping because his doomsday prediction was neither harmless nor remotely entertaining; many, many people funneled their life savings into his ad campaign and others actually committed suicide. I'm not going into specifics because it makes my head ouch-y, but I will say that it is as obviously un-Christian as you can get to wish doomsday upon the rest of humanity while you get a cushioned ferry ride up to heaven. Wtf, Mr. Camping? It's on, bro.

This is my tablet-induced depiction of Captain Crazypants himself:

I gave him a coloring book so he wouldn't hurt himself. 

I've been feeling very Jurassic Park recently – I don't know if that's due to wedding planning or too much homework or way, way too much rain, but there it is. 
It might be due to the fact that I made Cpt Awesomepants watch all three Jurassic Park movies in as many nights with me. 
Btw? For a bunch of guys who keep saying "oh I'll NEVER go back to that island," they seem to end up there an awful lot. 

Also, the second movie was quite possibly the worst film of all time, including Scenes From a Mall. This is saying quite a bit, as I have phenomenally terrible taste in films. Just ask anyone I've made suffer through Ernest Scared Stupid, or that last one with Sylvester Stallone when he shoots a f***ing Howitzer bullet OUT OF THE SKY. I have no shame. 

So I was thinking, maybe Camping was actually onto something and it was just lost in translation. Like 
his last prophecy (1994, when the world also ceased to end in a ball of fire). What if....

This is probably a really easy mistake to make in translating the Bible.

I'm going with 'raptor'. It makes so much more sense.


If Camping had just said that the RAPTOR was coming, I think everyone would have taken him a lot more seriously. NOBODY wants to get up to make coffee in the morning and have a ginormo gajillion year old dead/resurrected velociraptor in their kitchen, that is a terrible idea. Whatever Camping was suggesting people do to prepare for the end/dino invasion, we would have done it. Lots of it.  

But he didn't, and the shitstorm that ensued was *entirely* of his making. This is why I have drawn a picture of him being eaten by a velociraptor. 

This, Mr. Camping, is Cartoon Justice. 

No more predictions, okay? Unless there really *are* dinosaurs coming. thx. 



Thoughts About the Rapture, Part 2

Sent to me by Joe, who understands the value of having deliverable raptors.

They pack really well. 


Thoughts About The Rapture, Part 1

I bet you thought that the reason I haven't posted was because I was raptured up, didn't you? That is so sweet.