RKNet Blog... Thing

It’s rare that I decide to comment on political matters, or politics in general. I find the entire subject fraught with philosophical dead ends and sand pits. Politics deals with handling the issues of large numbers of people by trying to make decisions that effect the masses while pleasing as many of them as possible. In short, a Sysiphean task of mind-bogglingly awful proportions that no one will ever do “right” no matter how great or wise they may be.

At the end of the day “Republican” and “Democrat” are just words. Just ideologies of people whose decisions may effect systems that do directly effect our lives, but do not run our lives any more than we allow them to do so. It’s the beauteous terror of what is still more or less a free country that our success, or failure, is still mostly within our own hands, and the hands of those we trust most. If those hands you trust most are those belonging to strangers in the national government, you should be prepared at any time for disappointment.

That said, I am now and always will be a cruel advocate for self-sufficiency and not living beyond one’s means. This does not mean separatism, rigorous self-denial, working one’s self to death, etc are the best or only options. That kind of pessimism comes from the blissful, privileged innocence in which most of us were raised.

The short version of that is: Fuck the system, take care of you and yours and things will probably turn out ok.

Despite my recent splurge on a new phone, and my recent decision to maintain my technicolor hair professionally, there are many aspects of my life related to spending and saving money that I don’t share. Most of those things consist of ways I cut corners, entire categories of Things I Simply Don’t Do Because They Cost Too Much(tm), and my recent commitment to agressive debt reduction and budgeting.

All that said, here are some articles from a terrific blog about getting a freaking grip on the root of all evil.

• Are You Worried About Today’s Economy?
• Five Tactics for Pursuing Voluntary Simplicity
• The New Thrift and Seduction by Debt
• Unit Pricing: Get More Food For Less Money

And an idea that I am getting more excited about the more I think about it: Buying into a local farm for fresh produce, eggs, meat, and dairy all year. (Or at least all spring, summer and fall!)

Just look at all the options for the area!
Who wants to buy in with me, when I figure out what the hell a “share” at a farm adds up to?

If someone reliable could tell me when in the future films would become solely based on finances it’d certainly save me the hassle of looking up articles on the Internet. If someone told me it would be next week I wouldn’t be shocked in the least since in it’s current state it’s just about at the point where it’s not about telling a story but a good way to rope in a few thousand people and scam them out of $10 because Will Smith pretends to act (I’ll get into that in just a moment.) As an up and coming independent film maker I have many issues of how things are dealt with in Hollyweird. To rattle of several quick ones — planning sequels months prior to the film’s release (it’s a half-cocked gesture mostly from the studios and regardless of how good you think it is or how profitable you believe it will become you must keep in mind the judgment of the public will have the real say), the MPAA and their rating system and advertising standards, 20th Century Fox (I’ll get into them later as well), studios pushing for PG-13 ratings for a wider audience (I don’t care what educational background you have but to try and make “Punisher: War Zone” PG-13 because “The Dark Knight” conveniently was and made a shit-ton of money doesn’t make it just. How can you make a man’s head exploding soft-core?), and painful “actors”. Let’s break it down, kids.

In case you haven’t noticed that for the last several years 20th Century Fox has prowled on modern celluloid like a drunk man in a bar or a 13 year-old white kid from Iowa who thinks he’s black, they think showing their cock will win affection. Wrong. Lately they’ve really been pouring gas on themselves. The bigger stunt recently is their lawsuit against Warner Bros. over upcoming comic book movie “Watchmen”. The studio claimed that Warner Bros. didn’t hold the rights to make the Alan Moore graphic novel or at least distribute the picture, never minding the fact that Warner Bros. owns DC Comics/Vertigo for which the graphic novel resides on.  So now they are currently in a legal battle to do either one of two things — make it so that Fox is the distributor (which can only mean they will ghastly edit the movie into a mind-numbing 90-minute feature that contains only the parts where there is fighting and shit blowing up with no intellectual transition) or to completely wipe the movie’s release date off the calendar completely, never releasing it. Though luckily given that the justice system moves about as fast as tree sap downhill in the winter the trial may not actually begin until January of 2009, a mere two months before it’s slated release date. Given that Fox has a tendency to shoot their wad like they know what they’re doing chances are (this is at least wishful thinking) the case will rule in Warner Bros.’s favor.

Another valid point that Fox has no idea what they are doing to tell a story visually is going around the creators to have it your way. This is unprofessional and also a dick move. One instance stated in the following article is on the upcoming “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” which tells the tale of how Wolverine came to be (Weapon X program, scrapes with Sabertooth, etc.) and needless to say a very dark tale which requires seemingly dark environments.  One such environment was changed without the director’s knowledge. What called for something “dark, dinghy and somber” was changed to something less depressing with lighter colors and cleaner textures. Now if in the correct fashion this can work in favor but unless you’re doing some “One Hour Photo”/”American Psycho” clean-looking thriller then you are a pussy of a film maker. Changing a set’s design to something more cheery (a colorful euphemism) is almost a denial of reality itself, thinking it can’t be this dark and disgusting when in truth it can be because it fucking is! You can’t cover a bald Kevin Spacey in Laffy Taffy and believe he just killed Brad Pitt’s girlfriend (if you can, please lower your dosage.)

Changing lanes here — YOU CAN’T PUT WILL SMITH IN EVERYTHING! Okay, chances are I’m blaspheming here but you know what I have to say this, why should I really give a shit about a movie because Will Smith is in it? Because conveniently 98% of the movies he’s done have raked in billions?  Will Smith isn’t that fantastic an actor. His barometer for character ranges from a good guy who says “fuck” a lot to a good guy who doesn’t say “fuck” at all. Occasionally he’ll mix it up and have the good guy be a bit of a dick or an arrogant douche but for the love of God just knock it off. It doesn’t matter how fantastic he seems you can’t cast him as “The Karate Kid” or Captain America, it’s wrong on every level imaginable to the sane. If I could ever afford his salary for a movie I’d have him play a serial killer who hardly speaks just to break the mold, and when he does speak it’s in a strange language. To help illustrate my point, whenever I see a movie that has Will Smith in it I know it’s Will Smith, I can’t believe he’s anyone else. I can believe Christian Bale as Bruce Wayne and Trent Reznik, I can believe Josh Hartnett as Slevin Kelevra and The Salesman, but you throw Will Smith into a role I’m gonna know it’s him regardless. Captain Hillard, Muhammad Ali, Jesus Christ, I’ll only think, “Oh, hey, Will Smith.” You may think I’m daft for uttering or even thinking such a thing but I’ve heard a similar tear about Christopher Walken and look at his fucking acting skills. (Inside joke: 111th biopic on Andy Warhol starring Chris Walken.)

A couple other mini-rants. If you’ve never been to Massachusetts or talked to someone from there for more than 20 minutes then it’s news to you that often people from their have a habit of shooting their mouth off. Mark Wahlberg is from Massachusetts, so for him saying that Max Payne could take down Batman in hand-to-hand combat makes sense coming from him but is ghastly offensive to the point where if I saw him in a pub I would shatter the closest bottle near me and jab it into his eye socket. First of all the two characters are miles apart, Payne wants revenge for his wife’s death while Bruce Wayne/Batman wants justice for them and others. And also dropping the obvious factor to play in, he’s fucking Batman. Imagine if you will a man standing before an expert martial artist who is performing a series of moves for intimidation and Joe Guy takes him down by jabbing him in the throat. And in the interview where he made this claim he mentioned it was strictly in the matter of fisticuffs, not the box office which shows even more delusion since if you’ve seen any previews for “Max Payne” you’d know that Fox has ruined another video game on the big screen. Well kids I’m putting out the ashes for now. My next piece will detail the new releases of Metallica’s “Death Magnetic” and Nine Inch Nails’ “The Slip”, and how the two contrast each other. See you on the other side, keep it sketchy.

=Sketch/Ed

“Now drugged, and wielding a camera tripod, Blacky begins to charge…””

Last night, while flipping through the channels, my roommates and I came across an exceedingly misleading show entitled “Untamed and Uncut: Goose Attack.” Naturally, we were sold. The boys and I exchanged solemn nods. “Let’s do it.””Would it be weird to watch porn with my roommates? Such, apparently, specific porn? Don’t care. Maybe you missed the title…it contains the words “Goose Attack.” With visions of rampaging men and their equally rampaging and, well, uncut mansticks (too far?) goosing chicks (with, I like to think, perforated wooden paddles), I eagerly clicked “select.”

Well, “Untamed and Uncut: Goose Attack” was not a porn… I suppose I should have guessed. In fact, it was on Animal Planet, though incidentally, the description of the show straight from animalplanet.com is as follows:

Gritty, shocking, compelling, *and always raw*, each half-hour episode takes viewers on a journey around the world to meet the people who’s lives are forever changed by a moment in time with an animal.

I wish I could tell you I made that up.

No, “Untamed and Uncut” wasn’t porn. And it didn’t even feature animal sex (foiled again.) What it was, though, was one of those “when animals attack” type deals. And, just what was the series-documentary covering today? A rampaging bastard (named Blacky, oddly enough) looking something like this:

Dude, Blacky was a Beast; almost the size of an elephant! Motherfucker was raging his way through a little town in Thailand- tipping over motorcycles, throwing trashcans like fucking Donkey Kong and just generally charging around, terrorizing tourists, for three hours… Three Hours! At one point (after poor Blacky had been shot with a tranquilizer dart) the announcer actually said, “Now drugged, and wielding a camera tripod, Blacky begins to charge…” This show rules!

If you’re wondering what the deal with the “Goose Attack” portion of the show was all about… well, a goose attacks a fisherman and his dog. I’d actually seen it before and to this day it gives me visions of being mauled to death by legions of loons every time I go kayaking. Speedy fuckers.

For reference, film evidence of various persons being assaulted by large birds.

Whether or not you feel that you’ve just wasted four minutes of your life reading about my (decidedly satisfactory, though misguided) attempt to catch some silly porn action, I highly recommend you start watching this “series-documentary.” It’s got all the elements of a good “when animals attack” show: gratuitous violence, badly generated computer animation (though the website claims to offer “ground-breaking computer graphic imaging,”) stupid commentators and an obtuse morbidity that’s just damn funny (later in the show, someone says, “I was just waiting for that sickening sound of Stan’s flesh being chopped up by those propellers…”) If that doesn’t sell you, I don’t know what will…

Let me start by saying that this grouping is little more than a list of some of my favorite books. It in no way purports to be comprehensive in any sense, nor are the books presented in any particular order.

Many are distinctly Modern (I’m looking at you, Dave Eggers, Nicole Krauss and Lauren Slater). Others employ a favorite story-telling technique, Magical Realism, that I personally, can’t get enough of (thanks Toni Morrison, Salman Rushdie and Gabriel Garcia Marquez). Still others are included because they’re beautifully told, utterly unique or just plain cool.

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (Dave Eggers)
Eggers’ first novel is part memoir, part fiction and all modern. This book is bigger than itself. Eggers’ wildly experimental prose, self-conscious narrative and sheer humanity make this one of my all time favorites. The story details his family’s struggle to adjust to the death of both their father and mother in the span of just 32 days- yet much of the book is sheer fantasy and Eggers takes creative liberties in calling this story a “memoir.” (See “Lying: Lauren Slater, below) I would highly recommend this book to aspiring writers.

100 Years of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
A legend in and of itself, this book traces the lineage of a family in a small, supposedly South American town “on the edge of nowhere.” Employing some stunning examples of Magical Realism, a literary technique that has one character literally being drawn into the sky never to return, Marquez’ style is resonant of a fairy-tale so that the impossible is readily, even eagerly accepted. The opening line alone speaks volumes about the way this book hooks you: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”

Song of Solomon (Toni Morrison)
Morrison needs little introduction on my part, and I had a difficult time choosing just one of her novels to highlight. However, Song of Solomon, to me, is perhaps her most experimental yet down-to-earth story to date. The story is a part coming-of-age, part alamentation of the lasting effects of slavery and part an examination of love, in all its strange and often distorted manifestations. Oh, and you’ll find some gorgeous instances of magical realism thrown in there for good measure as well.

Midnight’s Children (Salman Rushdie)
Hilarious, beautifully written, and impeccably structured, Rushdie constantly teases and tests his readers. The story, which traces a young man, Saleem, and his family as he grows up during India’s independence movement has been called a metaphor for the growth, and coming of age, of the country. Rushdie is truly a unique voice and Midnight’s Children is unabashedly accessible.

The History of Love (Nicole Krauss) 2005
A beautifully understated story with distinctly modernist leanings, The History of Love braids together the lives of three characters inextricably, yet distantly tied to each other: Leo, an old man who fears he is disappearing; Alma, a young girl on a quest to find happiness for her withdrawn mother; and Litvinoff, a mysterious and brooding Chilean man from another time. The History of Love truly stuns with some of it’s passages, one in particular stays with me:

“The first language humans had was gestures. There was nothing primitive about this language that flowed from people’s hands, nothing we say now that could not be said in the endless array of movements possible with the fine bones of the fingers and wrists. The gestures were complex and subtle, involving a delicacy of motion that has since been lost completely…”

The Unbearable Lightness of Being (Milan Kundera)
Perhaps a bit pretentious, this work of modern/post-modern fiction examines the insignificance of each and every one of us through a couple and their various infidelities. Uplifting, no? While it’s fair to say that not much actually *happens* in The Unbearable Lightness of Being, so much is said. Kundera believes this “lightness” (our insignificance) to be somewhat wrenching. I myself find it a bit liberating. Whether or not you enjoy the story, Kundera’s structure and prose make this piece worth reading, and the points it raises might send you on a philosophical quest of your own.

The Ear, the Eye and the Arm (Nancy Farmer)
I’m biased because this was a childhood favorite. Set in Zimbabwe in the year 2194, this story follows three royal youths through the various underbellies, subcultures and cults they encounter after they’ve been kidnapped. Three detectives with genetic deformities (super sensitive ears; excessively perceptive eyes and the third with a sense of empathy that often causes him to break down in tears) are assigned to find the children. Yes, it’s science fiction. Yes, it’s a children’s book. Yes, it’s worth reading. Take it to the beach!

The Darling (Russell Banks)
Russell Banks is a beautiful storyteller with the unique ability to put himself in the shoes, and heart, of almost anyone. The Darling is the story of Dawn/Hannah, a middle-aged woman whose rebellious past led her into the depths of Liberia where she experienced all manner of horror and beauty. A striking story told with the fresh rawness of a new wound, passages from the Darling will haunt you for years after you put it down.

Ulysses (James Joyce)
Read this book just to say you did it. Ulysses is an epic novel, yet spans just one day in the life of its protagonist, Leopold Bloom. Some say the book is pure genius. Others denigrate it as over-hyped fluff. Personally, I’d need to read it about five more times to make a fair assessment… But one thing is certain: Joyce went places with Ulysses (which was banned in the United States for obscenity in 1933) that few writers had gone before, and few have gone since. From his topical choices to his stylistic ones, Joyce has a voice and character all his own.

Lying: A Metaphorical Memoir (Lauren Slater)
This book will change the way you think of the term “memoir.” Slater challenges the concepts of truth, its contexts and even its very existence at the core of the human experience. Beautifully written and constructed with a modern twist, Lying has been called “metaphorical memoir,” (though she begs throughout to be understood as non-fiction.) This book continues to frustrate and enchant me, yet Slater’s beautiful prose and (here it is again) modernist tendencies keep me coming back for second, third and fourth readings.

Honorable Mention:
The Angel on the Roof (a collection of short stories by Russell Banks), How We are Hungry (a collection of short stories by Dave Eggers), What is the What (a creative non-fiction account of the life of one of Sudan’s Lost Boys, as told to and expanded upon by none other than Dave Eggers)

Note: If my liberal use of terms like “modernism” and “magical realism” annoyed or offended you, please see my upcoming post detailing these literary techniques and my interpretation of them. Until then, click the links, fool! Modernism - Magical Realism

That is not dead which can eternal lie,
And with strange aeons even death may die.

Something I have learned over the past decade is that every investigative hero requires the correct and proper equipment. One thing they require is a sensible bag to store manuscripts and treasures in. Indiana Jones had his modified gas mask bag. Dean Corso from “The Ninth Gate” had his canvas satchel. Spider Jerusalem had his leather book bag. Currently I use a Megatokyo bag shoulder bag or a Burton snowboarding rucksack depending on what I’m doing. Both have served me well and see many wonderful sights. When I was first exposed to the Mythos I don’t know what my bag was. I would have been at school and just started doing my GCSEs. I believe that I used a cheap nasty messenger bag at the time.

My first exposure to the Cthulhu Mythos was rather appropriately took place outside of a library. Somehow talk drifted to the Necronomicon. A goth kid from the sixth form had bought a copy of it into school. “This is a famous book of occult bad ass,” was how it was described to me. No word or mention of Mr Lovecraft or of the books fictional origins. Sadly for my fifteen year old self a little research soon uncovered the books falseness.

Many people though still think that the Necronomicon is a real book. The copy that the acquaintance in the sixth form had was undoubtedly now a copy of the Simon Necronomicon. But first the fictional history of the book.

First mention of the book appears in the 1921 story “The Hound” (published 1924) as a book written by the “Mad Arab” Abdul Alhazred who was mentioned in a story written one year earlier called “The Nameless City”. The Necronomicon itself is mentioned in no less then five of Lovecraft’s Mythos stories. With references made to the tome in “At the Mountains of Madness” and “The Case of Charles Dexter Ward” among other stories.

In the 1921 story “The Nameless City” the rhyming couplet by Abdul Alhazred is given at two points in the text. This couplet appears in “The Call of Cthulhu” from 1928, it is identified as a quotation from the Necronomicon. The couplet is the one at the top of the essay. Some description of the text is given in “The Dunwich Horror” with the book being often described as bound in leather and having metal clasps to keep the large book’s pages safe from damage.

The authenticity of the Necronomicon has been in question since the time of Lovecraft with the author often being asked about the book. His answer was always that it was an invention of his own. In a letter to letter to Robert Bloch in July 1933 he clearly writes: “As for the “Necronomicon”—this month’s triple use of such allusions is bringing me in an unusual number of inquiries concerning the real nature & obtainability of Alhazred’s, Eibon’s, & von Junzt’s works. In each case I am frankly confessing the fakery involved.”

But still rumors of the books authenticity persist. These rumors helped by various differing editions of the Necronomicon being published in the years since Lovecrafts death. One of these the Simon Necronomicon mentioned above was released in 1977 by Schlangekraft, Inc. in a limited edition of 666. The book was later released in paperback and has never been out of print since. Unfortunately I’ve never read the Simon Necronomicon. So I can only give a quick digest of the information on Wikipedia. But it might be of interest if anyone wants to read further into the subject after.

The book claims in it’s introduction that it is a translation of the Greek Necronomicon. The content of the book is mostly based on Sumerian mythology with attempts to tie various entities in Mesopotamian mythology to correspondent entities in Lovecraft’s Mythos. Eh, what else is there to say? It’s black magic bullshit with curses and summons written in a mix of English and ancient Sumerian. With warnings all over the book claiming it’s danger. The back cover saying that this book is “the most potent and potentially, the most dangerous Black Book know to the Western world.”

Whatever the truth is and I suspect that the truth is fictional. The Necronomicon has a place in pop culture like no other book. With references to the book appearing in the Evil Dead film series, web comic Megatokyo and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld book “Moving Pictures”.

Will.

Next a journey into the occult underground of The Invisibles and Chaos Magic.

Pages of obvious interest:

The H.P. Lovecraft.com page about the Necronomicon, contains further information about the Necronomicon.

Wound and Infection Treatment Stories #1

Tales written for discerning young ladies with a keen admiration of the manliness of the male half of the species, this volume deals with heart-pounding tales of men performing stunning feats of self-surgery and suffering such injuries as would surely destroy men of lesser manliness. Yet never fear! For these manly men always get the better of every trial and tribulation that comes their way! Read on for more exciting stories of the manliness of men!

Mark was a willowy, handsome young lad, with shoulder length flaxen hair which he brushed into his pale, rosy-cheeked face often to cover his sparkling, glassy blue eyes in impish defiance of social mores.

One fine summer’s day he sat on his back porch, clad in his favorite jean shorts. This in and of itself was nothing significant. Yet the story behind his reason for sitting thus when there was action, adventure and, yes, even danger to be had out in the wide world is indeed a stirring tale.

Being as clever and crafty as he was, Mark had made these shorts himself when his favorite pants finally ripped so significantly that his girlfriend at the time had insisted with the venom only a lifelong student of modern fashions could that he do away with them. Yet young Mark would not be denied pants so well-worn that they had become something akin to a companion. Indeed, many was the week which had passed without him parting with them long enough even to wash them. He simply couldn’t bear to part with these pants! No, this was a man of deep concerns in his life who simply would not give up the familiar comforts of the threadbare pockets, nor the subtle sophistication which came with the various inked designs which turned the faded denim into a black and blue patina which echoed his triumphant past’s loves, hopes, and outstanding feats of stunning bravery. It was as grave a sin as asking an honored crusader to part with the finely wrought chain mail which had saved him from savage and ignominious death through countless battles with fierce and pitiless Moors and Turks!

So passionate had our young Mark been when confronted with the possibility of losing this treasure, he had snatched up a sizable blade from the kitchen counter in heated desire for swift yet just resolution to this disgraceful feud between aesthetic schools of thought, and with such fervor did he hack away at the offending lower portion of his beloved jeans that it caused him several injuries. Indeed, he was not mindful of such lacerations! An impassioned and bold man such as this could have no room for outward manifestations of pain when there was a battle of wit and craft at hand.

So deep was his anguish at the mutilation of this jewel of his possessions that he hurled the remnants of the pants - along with the now crimson-stained blade - as far as his slim, tight-muscled arms could manage with a pained howl escaping his chest. Regrettably his then-girlfriend hadn’t the presence of mind to clear herself from the path of the flying objects, and suffered a nasty shock as sharpened metal pierced the drywall beside her head.

What woman can understand the true nature of such manly displays, when the depth of feeling must manifest itself in a true man’s course of action? Few can, and alas this was the last he ever saw of or heard from that young lady. Indeed, though he had won a victory over an intractable situation, she simply couldn’t understand the depth of his sincere heartbreak, nor his truer, sentimental nature. In his woeful mourning over losing both his love interest and a significant portion of his most treasured pants, he neglected to care for himself and the injuries he sustained during the confrontation.

As a result, he found himself sitting on the back porch of his home in a grim and pensive state. He had moments before prepared himself for the task which lay before him in that golden afternoon. The slanting sunlight pierced the smoky air around him and cast a beam better than a surgeon’s lamp on the site of his concern. One of the the wounds he had sustained during his heart wrenching episode of confrontational tailoring had taken a turn for the worse. Such a strong believer in independence was he that Mark was not employed and could not provide the sum necessary to visit a trained medical professional. Nor did he believe in such ridiculousness. As a true student of manliness he felt strongly that anything which could be accomplished by his own hand should be! Oft was he praised for such, and oft chided by those who did not understand. Nevertheless he was prepared for the task ahead of him. His anesthetic of choice was taking hold, calming him adequately for the work ahead.

The wound in question was a clean slice whose depth had allowed all manner of dirt in, and despite having been liberally (albeit indirectly and not deliberately) splashed with cleansing alcohol during the last two weeks it was now a very angry shade of red. The protective layer of dried blood was flecked with dirt and a clear fluid leaked from beneath it with only the slightest pressure. If it was painful to look at, it was surely more painful to actually have and feel, yet young Mark showed no pain or fear. With a trusty pocket knife in hand, he paused only once to take a deep breath and hold it in before exhaling in a great rush. A sagely expression came over him, making his heavy-lidded eyes seem cloudy and distant. With a dazzling quickness he sliced open the hardened surface of his grave injury and Oh! what happened then! A rush of milky fluid rushed forth, gleaming wetly under the light of the afternoon sun. Unfazed by such Mark quickly wiped it away and proceeded to squeeze with the all the somber detachment of a true warrior. Once the rupture in his smooth skin was running with the pure crimson of a clean cut, he wiped his hands off on the comforting cloth of his shortened jeans and simply sat. Clearly this quiet contemplation was his way of cleansing his spirit as well as the site of his bodily harm.

His phone rang and with all the unhurried grace of a seasoned general, Mark reached in his pocket, saw that the name on the phone simply said “Cunty Whore That Dumped Me” and thumbed the silencer with unperturbed ease.

This concludes our first installment of Heart-Pounding Tales of The Manliness of Men Vol. 1: Wound and Infection Treatment Stories! Won’t you join us next time for more thrilling, fascinating and stirring tales of manly men and their aplomb in the face of mortal wounding and dire infections?

This morning my mother copied to me via IM an email or a page she had found. Within contains the most complete list of paranoias, hoaxes, wishful thoughts, and general falderall ever generated via email chain letters. It is a tremendously entertaining read and I absolutely have to share with you all. Oh, and if you don’t digg, del.icio.us and put this on your facebook then bad luck and extreme misfortune will infest your pathetic soul for all eternity. Bill Gates told me so. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

This is pretty cute and I thought you’d get a few healthy chuckles from it. :) I just want to thank all of you for your educational emails over the past year. Thanks to you, I no longer open a public bathroom door without using a paper towel. I can’t use the remote in a hotel room because I don’t know what the last person was doing while flipping through the adult movie channels. I can’t sit down on the hotel bedspread because I can only imagine what has happened on it since it was last washed. I can’t enjoy lemon slices in my tea or on my seafood anymore because lemon peels have been found to contain all kinds of nasty germs including feces. I have trouble shaking hands with someone who has been driving because the number one pass-time while driving alone is picking your nose (although cell phone usage may be taking the number one spot) Eating a Little Debbie sends me on a guilt trip because I can only imagine how many gallons of trans fats I have consumed over the years. I can’t touch any woman’s purse for fear she has placed it on the floor of a public bathroom. Yuck! I must send my special thanks to whoever sent me the one about poop in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet sponge with every envelope that needs sealing. Also, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason. I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time. I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are se nding me for participating in their special e-mail program. I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa’s novena has granted my every wish. I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers. I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day. Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes. Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains. I no longer can buy gasoline without taking someone along to watch the car so a serial killer won’t crawl in my back seat when I’m pumping gas.. I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put ‘Under God’ on their cans. I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer. And thanks for letting me know I can’t boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face…disfiguring me for life. I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS. I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me. I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise. I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don’t support our American troops or the Salvation Army. I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a num ber for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica , Uganda & Singapore and Uzbekistan I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe. Thanks to you, I can’t use anyone’s toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt. And thanks to your great advice, I can’t ever pick up $5.00 dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg. I can no longer drive my car because I can’t buy gas from certain gas companies! If you don’t send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your b ack, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor’s ex-mother-in-law’s second husband’s cousin’s beautician… Have a wonderful day… Oh, by the way….. A German scientist from Argentina, after a lengthy study, has discovered that people with insufficient brain activity read their e-mail with their hand on the mouse. Don’t bother taking it off now, it’s too late.-

Nothing makes you think harder about the quality of your life than having the shits. Truly. Nothing gives you more pause for thought than when your colon is doing things you know damn well it oughtn’t do at all.
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The Eagles of Death Metal - The Ballad of Queen Bee and Baby Duck

This song is great. It’s dripping with influence from psychedelic bands of yesteryear and it’s got the silly sensibilities which made Toni Basil’s Mickey so infectious. I really don’t know what to say about this song other than I love it. Don’t let the name fool you, they sound nothing like the Eagles, or death metal. (At least not on this track.)

(P.S. on an unrelated note, it’s my birthday!)

My favorite part of the image? “Total odds of dying 1 in 1″.