I gotta say: Any of you who use LoudTwitter? I stop following you on Twitter itself. Because after a while it gets circular, man! I mean, and the problem is that the stuff being twittered (twitted? twat? well it’s a twit, right, so past tense must be twat.) is all one line things that you wouldn’t blog.

Except then you blog them all in little lumps.

Hey, your choice. But I, personally, think it might just be the silliest thing ever to do.

If a post is long enough to blog about, most than… let’s say 140 characters… then do so. If it isn’t, then don’t. Or expand it later. Or something.

Though the totally circular logic involved with people who post to twitter about posting to their blog and then use LoudTwitter to post to their blog what they posted to twitter, which is, in fact, a link back to their blog?

Wow.

Anyway, there you go. Just a public service announcement. Do as thou wilt. But if you use LoudTwitter I won’t get your twats to my phone no mo’.

(oh wait, it’s a tweet, not a twit. so I guess it’s a tweet, and past tense of tweet is … nah it’s still twat.)

Last night I saw god.

Well, I saw four gods, really. All of them on one stage. Went down to the jazz bar and they have a R&B/Blues/Funk band that plays the late set on at least Friday and Sat. Normally they’re very good and a hell of a lot of fun. Last night, for about 30 or so minutes they were gods up on that stage.

You know, it happens. To a lucky few it happens. There’s that moment on stage when a band just clicks so well and powerfully that they transcend themselves for a few. When every moment, every note, is just so great you have to give it your respect and awe.

They opened like that.

I’ve seen them before (the band is called Off the Hook) and, like I said, they’re always good. Last night was something else. They started with the piano line to Billy Jean and people half laughed and half looked to see if they were kidding. They weren’t.

The drums kicked in and… snares are not often tuned that well. Just a solid, hard line to them, the kind of snare you hit the fuck out of because it will sound off like a hammer. And they were sounding it like a hammer, let me tell you. A mad, almost angry beat that just flooded the room.

The bass player came in with a thickness to his line that would’ve done the P-Funk All-stars proud. The guitar joined in the fun with a thin long line, Hendrix by way of Scofield. He wrapped it up and down the bass line, sneaking it into the drums and twirled around the keys like he made his home there.

For ten minutes, what with solos and oddball off-riffs, they played the high holy fuck out of Billy Jean.

That was how they opened. And then they kept up that level of maniacal attack for the rest of the set.

I don’t know that they’ll ever be quite that good again, but last night, good fuck, last night they were the King’s Own Band.

Forgot to post the WKRP clip yesterday. So here it is today.

She’d like to know what yer all lookin’ at.

Cat driving me crazy. She doesn’t like it when I write. We have not yet come to terms, the two of us, with how this is going to work. We will.

Writing is going well.

Watched Star Trek VI and The Right Stuff yesterday. Today I think it’s Fellowship of the Ring and … I don’t know yet.

I am tired.

And thousands of words to go before I sleep. So back to it.

You know your night may have gone sideways when you are doing a search on your hard drive for files with the phrase “cavity search” in them.

I found what I was looking for, however. So there is that.

Very little content the next few days, I think. I have five days to finish a big project and I’m home all day. These two things mean that when I remember to post it will be little strange things like this. Such is life.

Last night, in a fit of Star Trek geekery I managed to get the following out in the middle of a conversation filled with laughter and strange yelling:

In Star Trek II Kirk is all about cheating death, he hasn’t had to face it, see? And then Spock dies for him, to save the ship. Spock changes the rules once more so Kirk doesn’t have to choose. But it leaves Kirk this shell of a man. So in III he isn’t really himself until David dies. And then? Oh then it’s on.

Suddenly he’s Kirk again: the man who would rip off your cock and fuck your wife with it, just for the fun of doing it. We get full on Kirk then, who sacrifices his ship to save Spock, in a perfect Mirror Mirror reversal. Because he starts to cheat once more and laugh at death. With your cock in his hand!

And really I already learned the other lesson of Kirk. Taker off your shirt and find some rocks to stand near. That’s all that he had to do in Khan, anyway. He should’ve just been all “Hey, Khan, ya fuck, you wanna kill me? I’ll meet you on that planet, behind the school, after lunch!” and then taken off his shirt near some rocks and kicked some fucking ass! But did he? No. And so Spock got offed. I blame the use of a shirt.

Which is why when they eventually tell me “Oh we have seven thousand ninjas hired to kill you,” I’ll fucking wait for them in front of some rocks and then take off my shirt. At least that way I’ll have a fucking fighting chance. Because that shit is going to happen, and I have a plan in place.

But Picard? Fuck him, he had a “No dick ripping off” clause in his Federation contract. No, Kirk though…

Ever wonder? In the movies we see Starfleet is in constant contact with the ships, right? But in the original series they never talked to the Enterprise, not really. So I wonder if Kirk just stole the ship then, too. “Oh just go out on a five DAY mission, see some stuff, bring the ship back.”

Five years later he comes back with a ship.

They make him an Admiral to get him the fuck off the ship. They figured he did some good shit, taught them about tribbles and whatnot, so why lock him up, just get him OFF A SHIP! But then he ends up on one again and goes off, saves the universe. He comes back and they try to get him off the ship. So he steals it, again, and comes back, again, without it.

So what do they do? Give him a new ship! You gotta figure at that point they were just like “Fuck it, let him have one. Hey Kirk look! A new ship! Go on, take it! Just… don’t come back, all right?”

And Next Gen? What the fuck! Why do you need an empath on the bridge? “Captain, those aliens are mad at us, I can feel it.” They have weapons lock, ya crazy dame! We know they’re mad! Fuck. So sure, tell us something new. No, let’s let the Reading Rainbow guy explain things to us.

Who hires a blind engineer? Who does that?

And in the first season: A klingon as science officer? Good move. “Captain, readings indicate I’m not sure what they are. We should fire.” That was his entire advice, nine times out of ten. That’s helpful. So now we know, what, they’re hungry, and we should blow them up? I feel better all the time.

And then we’re gonna let the robot drive the ship? Did none of these people see 2001? Why was that a good idea?

These shows were sooo fucked up.

Yeah, and that’s why people don’t end up on the phone with me. Some days I just can’t help myself. And now back to work.

Found by unrep:

Yes that is from a real website. Yes they are serious.

My problem is I was looking for whore on whore on whore on whore on whore on whore on whore action. They only offer whore on whore on whore on whore on whore on whore action. Too small time for me.

Also: do you think whore on whore on whore on whore on whore on whore action ever results in pimp shooting pimp shooting pimp shooting pimp shooting pimp shooting pimp action?

Catfight Gangbang also feels like a late 70s punk band. They opened for the Ramones (in more ways than one?), right?

I do dig the whole Kid ‘N Play color scheme though. That shit is FRESH.

I am mentally at loose ends today.

I have fun stuff I really want to talk about that I can’t. I have a ton of writing to do over the next five days. You know the drill.

So yeah, that’s how I’ll be spending my Thanksgiving: At home, alone, catching up on deadlines. Which is how I like it. I enjoy a few days to dedicate to nothing but this sort of thing, so rest assured I’m having a good time.

I have a book to review, a lot of stuff to write and some other projects to try and firm up. It’s hectic. Just the way I prefer it.

S’anyway, that’s about it. Meanwhile, I am in the last stages of gearing up for the weekend (a bit of shopping to do) and then I settle in for a few days. So in the meantime I am scatterbrained and sleepy.

Hmmm? Yes, oh hello. No, I’m sorry but APK’s brain can not be reached right now. Perhaps you would like to speak to Batman? Mmmm, yes that could be arranged, sir. Ahhh yes, I do understand, thank you very much, sir. Yes, I’ll fetch him, do hold.

Yes? You want to what? While I what? Excuse me, mister, but I think you have the wrong… yes I am wearing grey tights with a big bat on the chest. Yes, I do understand how that could make you think you have the right person, but I don’t think you… Yes the boy is next to me. What? No! No you can not! ALFRED! Take this call!

Very good sir. Yes, I understand. No, sir, you wish to lick them slowly, yes I do grasp your desires quite well, thank you. There is no need to be quite so articulate. Oh my, sir, that is hardly appropriate. Good-bye!

Damn them. Koota has needs! Young, spandex clad, short-pants wearing needs. Damn them to hell. Koota shall have his revenge upon this “Batman”.

It’s time to rise up, world! Time to raise our hands and throw off the shackles of oppression. Send your cheers to heavens, people.

Today is the day!

TODAY WE CAN SQUEEZE THE CHARMIN!

Dick Wilson, the human based avatar for that Satanic fun stopper Mr. Whipple has died. He can stop our squeezing and laughing no longer.

Poor Mr. Wilson, possessed by the evil spirit of Whipple (also known as the Fun-Stopper) was finally freed from this mortal coil and his soul sent straight to Heaven where they told him to stop squeezing the clouds, laughed, and sent him to hell.

TODAY WE CAN SQUEEZE THE CHARMIN!