I got nothing to ad to it, really:

Let’s play a game! You remember Seseame Street! It’s the best game ever! I’ll give you a hint – the first part of the game goes like this:

But wait, how does the rest of it go? I forget. It’s Near… car? Near… bar? Near… argleblargle hooptydo?

No those aren’t quite right.

I know I’m close… oh, right! It’s:
Read the rest of this entry »

So a friend of mine keeps posting posts with the word “western” in them. He has reason to. Somehow I keep reading it as Voltron. Until today I decided I needed to write the Western Voltron. Oh yes.

Five bad hombres! Each one on a horse with a different colored saddle!

Keith “Spats” McHrongy – Black Horse
Lance “Four Toes” Jefferies – Red Horse
Pidge “David” Losalle – Blue Horse
Allura “Princess” Jimenez – Yellow Horse
Brantly “Hunk” Foster – Green Horse

Spats: Aw right, then, you low lifes, let’s go git that there Robeest!

Princess: That’s just a giant spider, Keith.

Spats: Ah know that! But somehow Tits McGee, the evil Queen of the Bordello of Evil, got her hands on giant makin’s. Now we got to git rid of it!

David: Let’s mount up and ride!

Hunk: Yee-haw!

Four Toes: Aw right then let’s saddle up!

Spats: Biggun spider, dead ahead! Quick, Princess, rope it but good!

Princess: Ah’m tryin’, Keith! But it’s too big!

Spats: Well, then let’s form Voltron!

David: Right!

All as one: GO VOLTRON FORCE!

Hunk: Oh my God!

Four Toes: My horse doesn’t bend that way!

Spats: Ahhhhhhhhhhh, the blood! The blood!

Princess: My God, what have we done?

David: How can we go on after this?

Spats: F-form… f-f-form blazing… spurs…

Princess: Oh my god, there’re legs everywhere! The carnage! The guts!

Four Toes: Ah cain’t do this no more!

————–

And that’s really why Western Voltron doesn’t have a second episode, much less season.

Earlier this week, I sent a gift to Lauren, my oft-times editor and co-plotter and collaborator on many laugh-y things. I sent her a gift because, well, I felt like it. Like a late Xmas gift or something. Whatever. The point is a company had sent a box to her dwelling.

Like I always tend to when I ship things to people as surprises, I put my phone number down in the contact info. Just in case, I tell myself, besides no one has ever called me about a package, so where’s the problem? There ain’t no problem here.

There was a problem.

So I’m at work and my cell rings. I’m free enough to answer it and it’s a number I don’t recognize so I assume it’ll be a ten second “wrong number” call. And then the voice on the phone asks me if I’m Lauren. I think I muttered a confused “Buh?” What I didn’t know was that Lauren’s middle name must be “Buh,” because the guy continued on as if I had said, clearly and loudly, “Yes, I am who you wish to speak to, foolish mortal!”

So he tells me I have a package waiting for me. Suddenly things made sense. It’s true, until then I had no clue why someone was calling me Lauren and making my phone ring. But then I got it. They were letting the person who had their number listed as the recipient know the package was there.

Except knowing that I started to worry. I mean I had just, inadvertently, claimed to be another person! That’s gotta be a problem, somewhere. What if, I thought, they ask again? Do I come clean or just say “Buh” again and hope it works? I couldn’t admit to them that I wasn’t Lauren, because then I would have to explain and the entire phone call would become so odd as to implode the universe. But then I would have to keep up this living of a lie. What if, I pondered, they called back later? Would I have to still be Lauren? Where would the lies stop?

And for a few seconds I entered this odd mindset where I would have to telephonically pretend to be Lauren, and avoid her finding out until I was slowly stealing her life, over the phone until something like… I dunno… C. Thomas Howell saved us all, or whatever. In the 80’s. With a mullet. .

And then I got over it, hung up the phone and tried to explain all of this in one short txt msg to Lauren. Whom, I am sure, shrugged and thought “Well, he’s batshit crazy, whatever, package, hooray!” But for a tiny bit there I was ready to star in an 80’s action/crime/thriller. I was.

Buh.

Have a nice night:

So me and a few other folks (C3, Sweetney and Palinode to be exact) were discussing the oncoming storm. and by discussing I mean making it into a series of Michael Bay movies. I then decided I would take our titles and write out plots for them. Here is the result.

We are discussing, of course, the epic franchise no one has done yet named Snowmageddon. It’s like Armageddon, except with snow. Shit blows up. Can ya dig it? I’m talkin’ ’bout Bay.

SNOWMAGEDDON: Beyond Thundersnow

A snow storm is about to hit Earth. From outer space! What? How? It turns out that one hundred comets have collided and formed a swirling mass of radioactive, destructive space snow! An epic space snow storm is on its way and it will destroy all life on Earth unless one man, Ricky T. Avi (Tiki to his friends), can pull together a team of misfits and borderline criminals to stop it. How? A NASA rocket to the heart of the storm where they will spray enough salt to ensure that the snow melts, even in space, and passes us by. The ship, The Plow, is piloted by Tiki’s soon-to-be son-in-law, James ‘Slapdash’ Guntherson, the best pilot Tiki has ever seen. Together they’ll go beyond the realms of the senses, beyond even… thundersnow!
Read the rest of this entry »

————–
Also, the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Daleks. If you ever saw the old Hitchhiker’s TV show you’ll remember what those entries looked like. This is a really good take on it all.

Not generally a fan of Failblog (Too many things that people decide are “fail” because they don’t like them and frankly I despise the TERM fail, as if spoken language is going the way of bad text speak.) but this video is so worth the time. You don’t need sound.

Over the last few days a few different friends have mentioned teas to me. When they do, and all the friends I am talking of are male, they seem, amusingly and jokingly, concerned about the very non-manly names these things have. Two Doves, Raspberry Delight, Fruit Fantasia, Cherry Blossom, that sort of thing. So I gave some thought to it and realized that this is why tea has not gained even wider acceptance in America. It simply isn’t manly enough, where manly is defined as that sort of traditional on paper concept of manly that enjoys tractor pulls, motorcycle gangs and so on. You know, the inaccurate, false and generally trotter out for a good laugh kind of manly. It’s time tea caught on with them.

I gave it thought and identified three key areas where tea can change its image fairly easily and soundly: name, paraphernalia and process.

Name: Tea and Herbal Tea both have to go right off the bat. Tea sounds soft and weak. Herbal tea sounds like something a dirty hippie might drink and we can’t have none of that. I suggest we rename the thing itself to POWER BREW. As for the types of tea themselves I propose a simple system.

When the tea in question is spicy make sure its name has a reference to blades or knives. Instead of Spicy Tisane or Three Ginger we would have Power Brews such as Switchblade, Damascus, Broadsword and Seven Inch Blade (so spicy it isn’t street legal in most states!)

When the tea is tangy its name can have reference to metal. No more Raspberry Delight, Fruit Fantasia or Cherry Blossom. Now our Power Brews would be Crowbar, I-Beam and Chain-link Fence.

Paraphernalia: True tea enthusiasts make tea with all sorts of gadgets. The kettle heats the water. The tea goes in the tea ball. The teapot holds the water and the tea ball. No more!

You heat water inside the Incinerator. The Power Brew is put inside a chamber! It all ends up in a Power Container.

Process: First you heat water in the kettle. Then you fill your tea ball with fresh leaves. Pour the hot water into a kettle and dunk the tea ball in, leaving it to hang there so that the tea can steep until the proper color and flavor is achieved. When done, remove the tea ball and rinse it out so you’re ready to make a fresh pot!

No more!

Insert water into the Incinerator. Load the chamber with Power Brew. Transfer the superheated water into a Power Container. Lock the chamber in, as well. Allow the chamber to explode Power Brew flavor directly into the water, Power Infusing it! Once the Brew is done remove the chamber and empty it, preparing it for a reload whenever needed. Power Brew!

In conclusion, I feel that renaming things in completely unnecessary ways for the sake of appearance could drive the tea market up by an unfathomable amount. Manly men will drink Power Brew. They will happily reload chambers, use Incinerators and drink deeply of some I-Beam and Switchblade. You’re welcome, America.

In the far future a crack commando unit was sent to Arus to escape King Zarkon who wanted them for a crime they didn’t commit. They promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to Princess Allura’s underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as pilots of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you really need five robotic lions who can become a giant robot, maybe you can hire the V-Team.

Commander ‘Hannibal’ Keith: All right you screw-ups. Let’s go. We have to get the lions moving and go save that little girls father from evil farmers.

‘Howling Mad’ Lance: Come on, Hannibal! Let’s just use Voltron and step on him!

Mr. Sven: I pity the foo’ who gets stepped on!

Hunkface: Whatever, you guys let’s just go.

** Later, after 27 explosions, three scenes involving crying children and a montage of action footage **

Commander ‘Hannibal’ Keith: I love it when five lions come together. And form a giant robot. Let’s go back to base.

‘Howling Mad’ Lance: Can’t we stay for pie?!

Mr. Sven: I’m not gettin’ on no flying lion robot.

Hunkface: You just did. You always do. Hello?

Mr. Sven: Well. This time. Fine.