Owl Issues

So yesterday morning I woke up on a floor I don't remember going to sleep on... Which is how I knew it was a good con. But I could not stay, I had to move to my new apartment. So I kissed G.D. Falksen on the forehead, grabbed my roommate, and went to the Waffle House. There is no breakfast as good as an All-Star with a hang over.

I called the guy who did all the steampunk stuff for Castle a douche. But I gave him a glass of schnapps, so I think we're even.

I bonded with the author of Mulitculturalim for Steampunk over cannibalism and cheese. It turns out her favorite cheese is some Spanish shit I can't pronounce... So fuck her.

The haughty bitch.

On the upside, she liked one of the names I submitted for her owl. That just leaves me needing a name for my owl.

You see, I finally picked up that decorative owl. I had to drive around Atlanta for hours to find him. Everyone had run out. They're just too cute to keep in stock, but I had promised Melissa that I'd buy him, so I had no choice. I don't mind going out of my way for my fans.

The problem was that I don't like getting bossed around by a statue. I rebuked against his "For Decorative Use Only" label. I found other uses for him.

And then I photographed them.

Culinary Purposes

Gambling Purposes

Sporting Purposes

Musical Purposes

Murderous Purposes

I think I'll call him Professor Featherbottom.

Give Me a Minute

I'm gonna be afk for a few days, my people.  I have a great deal of things to take care of in the coming week.  I'm getting ready to move this weekend.  I'm getting ready for a convention this weekend.  I have a couple of projects that can no longer be put off.

But hark, do not lose heart.

When I get back next week I'll have a whole string of reader appreciation posts.

So come back, you'll be glad you did.

In the mean-time, just to hold you over:

Haiku About Something I See in the Room Right Now #1

 You've my sympathies

You see things none should have to

My poor, poor web cam

Dear Melissa,

I just heard about the earthquake.  I'm so sorry.  I know it's probably going to be a while before you come back to check that one inappropriate American's blog, I'm sure you have other things to do... but when you do, could you drop a line to let me know that you're okay?

I worry.

I don't have that many fans as it is, ya know?

Anyway, I was able to find that owl again after a mini-adventure, and have been using it for all sorts of non-decorative purposes.  You have to be okay, so you can see the pictures.

That's right, I'm bribing your well-being with owls.  Is it working?


P.S. - Anyone one who wants to can donate to the Red Cross' efforts in New Zealand here: http://www.redcross.org.nz/donate

Adam Jones Speaks - What What (In the Butt)

Okay, so my last attempt at a spoken word cover of a popular song went completely disregarded by my entire viewer base.  A lesser man would have given up there.  Also, a greater man would have probably done the same.  However, a man along the same par as myself would have kept going, which is what I have done.

I've raised the bar this time.  More silly.  More ridiculous. 


I'm not sure where I'm going to go if this doesn't strike a chord.  I'm hoping it doesn't come to that.

What What (In the Butt)
Written by Samwell

       

   
   
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My Recovery

So I had a tricky time getting through Valentine's day.  Not only was I single, awkward, and inappropriate, I was also sick.  Starting Sunday night and stretching well into Tuesday I felt a little like those people glued to the wall with xenomorph excretions begging for death.

The Taco Bell across the street hates me.  If I want a taco, I have to go through the drive-through and disguise my voice.  Even then it's a gamble.  Tuesday night I was well enough to go venture out for food and by gum, I just wanted a burrito.  I pulled up, covered my face from the camera from the camera, and did my best impression of a hung-over Mexican.  When I pulled away with my food, I had found that each of my burritos were twice their standard size.  It was a sign.

Everything was going to be okay.

I came home and became acquainted with a meme called And Not a Single Fuck Was Given That Day.

I'm especially fond of this one.

I was touched.  I was overcome by visions of this one amazing day.  A day where throughout the world not a single person gave even one fuck.  A day where all of humanity got together and was just okay with it all.

I damn near cried.

Also, I listened to this song about twenty times.  It is impossible not to be happy (or at least as sad as you were) while hearing this song.  It makes me dream of better things.

New Fetish: It's an Old Fetish Come Back Again

And so it's Valentine's Day.  I'm sorely tempted to go on about how much I hate being alive today (which is quite a lot) and generally being a curmudgeon.  But that's not why you came here.  You came here for a cheap laugh, and maybe not feel like the most inappropriate person they're going to run into today... for a change.

Okay, fine.

I'll talk about love.  Adam Jones style.

I think I first developed fetishes  fell in love  developed fetishes in the 1980s, which I find strange, because I was born in 1980.  Also strange, because most of them were cartoons.


I think my first love may have been Evil-Lyn.  I know on screen she was all

I have snakes on my boobies.

But in my head she was all

Bam!  Cosmic power!  What's up?

That's when I first developed my appreciation for strong, intelligent women.  She was cunning, capable, and willing to mouth off to anyone; even the guy with a skull for a face.


This was a trend, this would continue.  Especially in the Baroness.

I'm just glad I'm not the only one who's had this dream.

They weren't all evil, though.  I had mixed feelings about Cheetara.

Very mixed.

I wanted  to like Cheetara.  I really did.  She wasn't very assertive, though.  She didn't stand up for herself as much as she should have, and it was hard to get behind that.  And she wasn't evil at all, and that was okay, I guess.  Also, she was a bit cat.  That was the first time I ever had to deal with that "They're not entirely human" thing.  I got over it since then:

I love you Tali!

...but to be honest, most of my dreams in the 80s ended up like this:

Fuck.  Yes.

P.S. - Happy Birthday Sis!

I Don't Know Why We Don't Already Have Funding for This

An actual conversation between a friend and I:

Her: You know what show I would watch? Skeptical Ghost Hunters.

Me: I know that you said Ghost, but what I heard was Skeptical Goat Hunters.  Like, a group of guys that go from town to town saying “So you think you’ve got goats, huh?  We’ll see.”  And they set up cameras and wait for a goat to pass by.

Her: Oh, goat!  I thought you said dope.  Skeptical Dope Hunters.  They go around like “You think that’s cocaine?  Sorry to tell you, but that’s baking soda.”

Me: …Dope!  You said dope... Not “Skeptical Goat Punters.”

Her: How would that even work?

Me: Well, some guy says “Hey, I can punt this goat 10 feet.”  Then the host says “No way.  No one can punt a goat ten feet, I doubt that goat could be punted more than 5½ feet, tops.  Show me.”

Her: Wow, I don’t even think I could punt a goat 5½ feet.

Me: And that’s why we’d be perfect for this show.

In Case You Want to Lose Friends

It seems like I spent most of my free time yesterday laughing at completely inappropriate and tragic events.  Not so much because I enjoy the suffering of my fellow man, more because the overwhelming tragic nature of it all demanded to be counterbalanced.  Also, because there were some inherently humorous elements to it all, even if it was overshadowed by horror.  Also, none of it happened to me, which made it much easier.

But it did all remind me of these jokes I wrote forever ago, which I though I would dust off and share with you guys.  See, I had developed an appreciation for dead baby jokes quite some time ago, and felt the need to give back to the genre.  So I decided to try to engineer my own dead baby joke.  Here are my attempts:

Version 1: A dead baby walks into a bar. The bartender says "Hey, we have a drink named after you." The baby says "Really? You have a drink named Steve?"

Version 2: A dead baby walks into a bar. The bartender says "Hey, why the long face." The baby says "Because I'm a dead baby!"

Version 3: A dead baby walks into a bar, which is funny, because you'd think he would have crawled.


P.S. - Oh!  And the best of newses!  The South Korean came back!  He only stopped by once, but at least we know he's still okay!  Now all we have to do is get somebody in Africa on board, and we'll be sitting pretty.

My continued appreciation to all my readers, at home and abroad that keep me going.

Even Monsters Have Birthdays

You may remember this lady from such things as rampaging through Tokyo, and teaching me Japanese.  Well, you should be quite pleased to learn that she has just completed another year of life.  Good job.

In celebration of this fact, we went out to a karaoke bar over the weekend.  I found out that she was going to be heading for Japan this year, fo realz.  So naturally I needed to sing her Godzilla, by Blue Oyster Cult.  I took the musical interludes to explain to the audience that due to her unusually large size, and the slight stature of the Japanese, they may run in terror from her upon her arrival.  They will bring out their military, their tanks, and their helicopters.  However, she will bat them all away, due to her tremendous upper body strength.

I may have done an exaggerated Japanese accent once or twice.

The point is, there hadn't been any Asian people at the place all night.  As soon as I start getting into the song, there was a nice Japanese family waiting to be seated.  In what I could only imagine was stunned, horrified silence.

At first I though that they may have been shocked by my cultural insensitivity, or "racism."  I later realized that they were probably just concerned for their family still in Japan.  They have probably sent word to their government about the Great White Kaiju coming to their lands.

Happy Birthday, Senpai.

Behold the Place Holder!

Okay, I'm a terrible blogger.

I don't mean to be.  It's the ADD's fault.  Maybe.  I could have ADD.  You don't know.

Okay, it's not the ADD, it's the AD&D*.  I stayed up way too long last night running my Dungeons & Dragons game.  It was a blast.  I had a really good time with it, and my players seemed to enjoy themselves, too.  Which is great!... except that I wasn't able to compose today's post.

Also, they've caught on to my blogging shenanigans at work, so they've blocked blogger.  I'd be temped to be upset, were it not a completely reasonable reaction to how I spend company time.

So what I'm saying is, when I get home from work tonight, I will write you a real post.  It'll be up tomorrow morning for sure.

I'm serious, you guys.

It'll happen.


*Advanced Dungeons and Dragons.  That was what it was called back in the day.  There's a whole history lesson there, but that's for another place and time.

Ah, to be Young

I was seven years old.  It was Christmas time.  We took pine cones and glued glitter to them, then strung yarn through them to wear as necklaces.  I remember wearing a green sweater.  It may be the last time I ever wore a sweater in earnest.  My class got together to sing a song for our parents.  It was part of a Christmas show.  The songs we sang that night stayed with me forever.  We sang "Somewhere Out There," which I much later learned was the song my long lost sister would think of whenever she thought of me.  I remember one song most of all.

We sang "Stand By Me."

I remember one verse in particular:

If the sky that we look upon
Should tumble and fall
And the mountain should crumble to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry
No I won't shed a tear
Just as long as you stand, stand by me

I envisioned that scene in my mind.

That was the first time I had a concept of the nobility of stoicism in the face of apocalypse.

You know, your typical seven year old at Christmas time.

Picture Day!

So the other day I was walking down the street at passed The Brunswick Zone, which is apparently a bowling place, or something.  I always think it's an X-Treme Soup venue.  I'd go if it was.  Any way, they have a sign out front where they wish a happy birthday to whatever children would be excited to see their name in lights in conjunction with flashy stews.

Yes!  Happy Birthday, Natnin!!!

I'm not sure who's to blame here.  Did the Brunswick Zone grossly misspell some variation of Nathan?  Did some mother actually name their child Natnin?  Either way, someone should be ashamed.

I continued down the street passed the liquor store.  They were proudly displaying some of their days deals.

That's... entirely too many Es.

It took me a moment to realize that they had substituted another E for what I assume was an F that went MIA.  I guess that was the point, though.

I continued on to the World Market to sooth my worried soul with their international foods and decorations.  I came across this owl.

OMG Cute!!!

I was seriously interested in purchasing this owl, due to its extreme cuteness.  So I turned it over to learn its price.

Wait... what?

At first I was encouraged by its low price tag.  Then... I don't understand.  "For Decorative Purpose Only?"  What?  What else would I use it for?  Seriously!  No, really.  What the hell would I be doing with this that wasn't decorative?

I wasn't the same for the rest of the day.


P.S. - I did a Google search for"Natnin," just to see if it was a popular foreign name and I was being way insensitive.  All I found was this loving video tribute to food: