Oh, AT&T! Before you print up ads with witty new slogans and homophones, please consider them carefully. The below pic was taken (not by me) at an AT&T store. Yes, seriously. It is a pic of a guy, with that slogan in simple white text on top. Yup.

Oh, AT&T I do not think that means what you want it to mean…

Created because I am daft. Posted without further comment:

(via Sci-Fi Wire, via Alex Irvine)

Spider-Man!
Spider-Man!
Prays just like a spider can!
Leans against the Wailing Wall!
Glad he sticks, he won’t fall!
LOOK OUT, GOYIM!
Here prays the Spider-Man!

So anyway, yeah. There’s a guy dressed like Spider-Man, praying at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. Who knows. Israellycool points out that there is a good chance this photo was taken on Purim, given the holiday’s customs of masks and costumes.

Then again… who knows!

I will say that Stan Lee’s “Face front, true believer!” line was never so apt.

Some nights my brain wakes me up. I mean I sleep badly and tend to wake up a bunch of times every night, regardless, but on certain, random, nights my brain wakes me up with a bit of a shout. You see, it went ahead and wrote a story for me.

I don’t mean I had some foggy loose dream-story that didn’t work out. I mean I will wake up with exacting, detailed stories or associated items, that work and are a bunch of fun. I tend to then, quickly, call D.J. Kirkbride and tell him, because so far, for reasons I don’t know, they’ve also been comic related.

The first pass of one of our stories was sleep written like that. I woke up about 4am and knew I had to get this shit down. That it might suck in the morning, but something was just right about it. So I got up and jotted down detail after detail and suddenly had most of a beat pass for a script. So I mailed it to D.J. and then went back to bed.

When he got back to me with it, having fleshed it out and all, I had forgotten I had written it.

A few weeks ago D.J. and I discussed working up a cover idea for a pitch we’re knee deep in. And we both agreed to think about it and I went to bed and then I woke up, about 2ish, and called him in a hurry. I could see the cover, exactly. He wasn’t there so I left a half-asleep, rambly to all fuck message for him, describing the cover in detail. That cover has been done and we all love it.

Last night I went to bed a bit early due to just sheer exhaustion. And then I woke up. A pitch idea was in my head. Not fully, but the bones were there. Something D.J. and I can shape into a full pitch. But I just woke up with it and grabbed the phone.

I do wonder if D.J. has started to dread having his phone ring past 1am EST. Because it means that, once he sees it’s me, he has to know he is in for half-asleep, excited, rambling. He still answers the phone, so I guess it isn’t too bad, but he is also braver than I am.

Really though, it kinda annoys me. I love getting good, solid ideas out of my brain. I truly do. And I know how lucky I am. But I also kinda want to be awake more often when it happens. Prose ideas come to me when I’m awake. Comic ideas are about 60/40 awake/asleep and slipping. There is part of me that just doesn’t like the idea that comic ideas happen when I’m not looking.

On the other hand it would mean that I could justify naps are working, right? Hmmm… maybe there’s something to this, after all.

I have nothing against Twilight by nature. Except that it is a badly written book. And… well, look, my problems with Twilight have nothing to do with what I’m about to show you. Something so horrifying, so disturbing, so flat-out wrong, that, well, I had to post it and share it and inflict it upon you guys.

You’re welcome, by the way.

Brace yourselves…
Read the rest of this entry »

So I just got an email. I get lots of email, and don’t we all. But this email… well it asked if I wanted to review the Fleshlight. Now, I mean, I’ve reviewed things before. Like power tools. And books and movies. But a Fleshlight?

Uhm, so yeah. Thanks, but no. Look, I have no shame, I freely admit that, all the time. I do crazy and strange things because they make me laugh. That’s fine, such is my life. But, and let me say this clearly:

I am not fucking a can for science.

That shit will not happen. I actually fired up some illegal technology and stared directly into the time stream, and do you know what I saw? I saw no possible future in which this happened.

There is nothing that could make me consider this. It’s fucking a can. A can with a mouth. It doesn’t even have built in googly eyes. I mean if it were a Muppet maybe I’d… no, I wouldn’t fuck a Muppet either.

And I shan’t be fucking a can, internet.

I would not could not, in a boat, I can not, will not, in a moat. I will not fuck that mouth in a can, Sam I am.

GAH!

On Friday D.J. Kirkbride mentioned his sadness for Aquaman. He said: ” It must suck to be Aquaman. No, not “b/c he is the lamest” nonsense… Sushi. I love it, but to Aquaman it’d be eating his royal subjects.” and I certainly laughed.

But then I started thinking. What the fuck does Aquaman eat? Other Atlanteans can eat fish, sure. But not ol’ Aquaman. No, he has to ask them for help. He talks to them. Can you imagine the problem there?

Aquaman would be all, “Hey, can you guys help me out? I need to stop the evil of Calendar Man!”

And the fish would look at him for a second. “You ate Bob last night, you orange wearing motherfucker,” and leave. Why in fuck’s name would they ever help him? No, so Aquaman clearly can not eat fish.

Possibly, Laszlo maintained, when I told him this, he could eat shark. Sharks sometime attack and eat each other so possibly they’d be a bit more “You ate Bob? Well, I mean I liked Bob, but yeah I see where you’re coming from.” But maybe not.

It gets worse, though.

Unless he swims up to the surface world every time he wants some tasty vittles, Aquaman is left with things like krill and bottom-feeder material. Already dead fish, leftover organic matter at the bottom of the ocean. That can’t be a great super-hero diet. Also, how does that play with his people?

“Well, there’s the King, eating garbage again.”

Never mind he has to let his people eat fish, to whom he then has to be like “Well, they can’t talk to you, so… no, I get that it doesn’t mean you aren’t smart and should be eaten but try telling them that. What? No, I understand I’m their King and all but… God damn it, I’m hungry, don’t make me eat your face!”

And all this got me thinking about Atlantean society in general. Sure they have geothermic heat sources but they don’t have fire. Fire is news to them. Baking? They’ve never had cookies. Or a bagel! “Oh mom, yay! It’s time for my birthday seaweed!”

So what’s left for the old King of Atlantis? Escape to the Surface World. Run away to the land of the cow. The cow that you can’t talk to at all, that is so tasty you’re willing to put up with a group of other costumed people who all seem to act like you’re the biggest loser in the bunch.

Seriously, King of 7/10s of the Earth, basically, and they treat him like maybe if they just humor him he’ll go away. Does Aquaman care? No. You know why? Beef and baked goods.

‘Cause when he goes home? It’s back to eating unidentifiable organic matter off of the floor and some seaweed and talking to fish. I mean, sure, Aquaman can be a bit gruff. Wouldn’t you be? Then again he does have a big fucking seahorse to ride around on. That shit’s like Sea Monkeys come to horrible Godzilla life.

So there are perks to being King of Atlantis and talking to fish and living under the sea and all. Cookies ain’t one of ‘em, is all.

Forty years ago, a crack commando unit was sent to prison by a Bingo court for a crime they didn’t commit. These women promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Floridian underground. Today, still wanted by the government, they survive as soldiers of the Wheel of Fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire… The Golden-Team.

Blanche: Damn it, girls, we need to take that bake sale. Now I can get us in, I know the waiter, if you know what I mean.

Rose: I say we steal a helicopter!

Blanche: You’re crazy.

Dorothy: And I’m not gettin’ in no flying thing!

Sophia: All you gol’bricks can shut it! We go in on my count, and we’re the only ones that walk out. Got it?

Who, or what, is Twee-Tor?

Twee-Tor:
• is the cute killer robot who kills 140 humans at a time. But only 140, max.
• hugs his victims to death and whispers ‘I love you’ as he does so.
• is the invention of Doctor Ignatius Nathanial Terrence Teuoobe. (Dr. I.N. Ter. Teuoobe to his friends)
• can fetch coffee
• has a large camera for a face, enabling him to track victims and record their demise.
• has an unnecessary lower abdominal spike. He uses it to tickle bears.
• loves to play with bears.
• is utterly ambivalent about dogs and giraffes, however.
• possesses eight separate silly string guns on his shoulders.
• likes it when humans think the guns are all fun and games.
• laughs to itself when humans die a horrible, silly string related death.
• then sighs, because it has no one to play with. No one to love.
• will then go off in search of a bear to tickle and play with.
• loves to play with bears.

—————-
(You can download a background image version of Twee-Tor right over here!)

Twee-Tor is from the brains of APK and Atilla Adorjany

Why do I ever go outside?

I’m standing on the platform, waiting for a train so I can go home. Headphones are in, Glee tracks are playing, everything is right with the world. I have a list of stuff to do when I get home and I’m feeling good about it all.

This old woman starts to tap on my arm. She had to be at least 80, big tan down jacket that went to her ankles just about, scarf on her head, the works. So I take out my headphones. I figure I can be helpful, right? She had to need directions or something. It was the last nice thought I had.

“Aren’t you that man from the TV?” she asked. Well that’s new. I don’t think I’ve ever been mistaken for an actor before. That’s pretty cool!

“Uh, no, sorry,” I said.

“Are you sure?” she asks, seeming to be positive I am who she thinks I am. “That man from the TV you know the one who plays the retard?”

I stop. I blink. I play that back a few times at speed. “Excuse me?”

“That nice man from the TV, on that show?”

“What show?”

“You know the one with the police? Yes, you look just like him!”

“Like the… like the mentally challenged man on the police show?”

“Yes,” she insists, smiling now, “but well he’s… well.”

“Taller?” I thought maybe he was taller, you know. He could’ve been taller. Taller would’ve been fine. But no.

“No he doesn’t look as strange.”

“Strange?”

“Well, you know, not ugly but… Are you sure you aren’t him?”

“The retarded, ugly actor from your TV?” I ask, trying to keep my voice perfectly fine while I simultaneously try to not push her onto the tracks. “No. I don’t act.” Because what else can you say?

And I turn toward her, trying, seriously here, to be nice and calm. And then… well…

“Oh,” she says, frowning, now that she can see the left side of my head, “no he didn’t have a gay earring.”

Which is when I snapped.

“Bitch,” I said, “you do not insult the Hello Kitty earring. You respect it! Got that?”

“What did you call me?”

“The retarded, ugly man called you a bitch. Keeee-rist!”

At which point I walked away, further up the platform to get away from her. Because with my luck she’d want to throw down, whip out a taser, shock me until I fell onto the tracks and then the train would come. That’s how this shit goes, it seems. I still have no idea what show she even meant! But I do hope we all learn a lesson from this:

THE HELLO KITTY EARRING

RESPECT IT!