Saturday, September 6, 2008

Bathroom Monologue: “Which has more alcohol, a glass of red wine, a bottle of beer, or a shot of scotch?” –An interviewer in Debra Ginsberg’s Waiting

Chambers wrinkled his nose and leaned into the interviewer.

"The bottle of beer. Technically the three have the same alcohol content, but if the beer comes in a bottle then I can't stiff you like I can pouring wine or scotch. If you're asking recreationally, I recommend wine if you're in a good mood, beer if you're in a bad mood, and scotch if you've got nothing better to do. Since there's more alcohol per liquid ounce in scotch, (which most of your applicants trip over because they're nervous rather than ignorant), it gets you drunk the fastest." Chambers rose, winked and patted her on the shoulder. "Call and tell me my hours when you stop quivering."

Friday, September 5, 2008

Bathroom Monologue: That Urban Legend

Jennifer drove closer to the edge of the road, but the semi wouldn’t pass. It kept flashing its brights and blaring that awful horn. She slowed, hoping it would speed up and pass. It didn’t. Instead, he rolled down his window and waved frantically at her.

Cursing, she pulled into the breakdown lane – but the truck pulled off after her. Immediately the driver jumped out of his cab.

She didn’t wait for him. She took off.

Still, half a minute later the truck was back behind her, its brights flooding her tiny car. She trembled and shouted out the driver’s side window for him to leave her alone, but he kept pointing to something in the back of her car. Was he nuts?

“Just go away!” she cried at the truck.

The driver responded with something like, “Look out! He’s in the back seat!”

Finally Jennifer swerved off the road at too high a speed for the truck to follow. It went barreling down the freeway. When it was out of sight, she let out a slow breath of relief.

“Are you okay, Uncle Frank?” she asked to the back seat.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Wonder what got into that guy.” Her hulking uncle adjusted some of the junk on his lap, moving the axe from his right to his left shoulder. The back seat was strewn with gardening equipment.

“Thanks again for helping move, darling.”

“No problem, Uncle Frankie.”

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Have you seen my R.A.Q.? 2008 Edition

My birthday tradition begins...

B. Gorsky asks, “Why is the hamburger superior to all other delicious meal choices?”
-Like many of humanity’s greatest achievements this phenomena is largely the result of personal excellence and cooperation. The excellent burger need not only be an excellent burger; it can be paired with excellent fries for a most excellent combo. As one eats these items in combination one can grill another burger or heat up more fries as either item is depleted, thus making it a modular cooperation of delicious proportions. Other combinations, such as chicken breast and carrot sticks or soy and soy sticks, simply do not satisfy as well individually, and certainly not in tandem.

B. Gorsky asks, “Why _do_ sodas rule?”
-Because they are a bubbly drink that you don’t have to consult a witch to obtain. Champagne is sorcery.

B. Gorsky asks, “Do you miss your beard?”
-Every time I scratch my chin or cheek, every time I have to buy new blades for my razor, every time I cut myself because those damned things are legal, and every time I’m pretending I’m a swamp monster. Every damned day.

Shelly asks, “What is the coolest (so far) issue of Thor?”
-Michael Straczynski writes a very good Thor. However, no other issue has the balls of 4, dropping a blond Norse god among Doctors Without Borders and an ethnic cleansing conflict in Africa. That took brass ones. And Heimdall’s eyes! Oh, check it out for yourself.

Jen asks, “A date with which superhero would most likely result in an STD?”
-Captain America. He served in so many World War 2 comics that the damned conflict never ended, and as we all know World War 2 exposed our boys to an ungodly number of French prostitutes, bold feminists and bored housewives. He’s probably got a germ warfare lab for a crotch these days.

More comic book and fewer eschatological questions than I expected. See you next year!

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Bathroom Monologue: Dear Diary

Why did God let me happen? Man perfected robot dinosaurs when he invented Grimlock, so why did they make me? All I ever do is fight the creature I was designed after. Why? It’s not that compelling a spectacle. I can only have a new cannon shoot out of so many appendages before they all blend together and I feel like a giant derringer with a tail. They might as well have made me look like a gun instead of an anatomically retarded tyrannosaurus.

I’m what Mary Shelley would have created if she’d been afraid of lizards and toasters instead of ghosts. Crazy Romance-era bitch. I can’t get a purpose in this life. Every psychoanalyst sends me to an electrician, and every electrician runs in terror. I tried finding Jesus, but short-circuited at the baptism and leveled the county. All I want is peace and all I get is rust. Time to face it. I’m obsolete technology. And what do you do with ten million tons of obsolete space titanium?

But things are looking up. I’ve got an audition for the new Gundam series on Friday, and the U.S. military is building a robot version of whatever the Hell that thing in Cloverfield is, and he might need an acting coach.

Who am I kidding? If Godzilla doesn’t come out of retirement I might as well recycle myself.

The Cosmic Monster

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Bathroom Monologue: Dear Godzilla (2)

Life is gravy. I want to thank you for this career of cameos. Being a three-headed golden dragon with no arms could have made finding an occupation difficult if not for you. You, sucker, made it so easy. I smack you around a little, you smack me around a little, we all get rich. I was a headliner at first. “Ghidrah: The Three Headed Monster.” And thank you, Rodan and Mothra for launching my career. Shame you took your pay in a lump sum. I’m still cashing royalties out of that, as I am out of every other movie of yours I appeared in.

Godzilla Vs. Gigan? Percentage.

Destroy All Monsters? Percentage.

Godzilla: Final Wars? Percentage and a whole new wave of toys. I love the collector’s market. You rip my head off, time travelers rebuild me as Mecha-Ghidrah, and presto, most demanded plastic kit in Japan. Collectors make it easier to afford the spray paint that keeps my scales shiny gold.

I just wanted to thank you for this life of luxury.

And congratulations on the new kid. Hope this one stays alive – your progeny are notoriously stupid. Makes me glad the other heads always devour my young before one us gets emotionally attached.

Ghidrah, Ghidrah and Ghidrah

Monday, September 1, 2008

Dear Toho (You thought it was over?)

It’s recently been brought to my attention that you retired the Godzilla franchise. I commend you on finally putting that old dog to sleep, but I want to inquire why I’ve only had three roles in the last fifty fucking years. And last time I died twice in the same movie. Twice in the same movie! Mothra has the phoenix fetish and even she doesn’t suck that badly!

I have two beaks, one serving as a pincer. I have an organic buzzsaw running down my chest and three razor wings that let me fly while leaving my arms free. And my arms? They’re fucking swords! I’m pretty sure I can shoot lasers from my cyclopic eye. I would give Charles Manson nightmares. How come I can’t get my own movie?

Or at least let me fight Gamera. I can take an overgrown turtle that’s greatest feature is shooting flames out his butt. It’s not like he does anything. We’ll restart my career over his carcass, then launch a solo picture.

“Gigan: New King of the Monsters.”

No, wait. “Gigan: Prime Minister of the Monsters.” I’ll be a fairly elected ruler of the giant menaces. Think it over. I’m going to go get drunk at Megalon’s.


PS: If you give that giant cockroach a deal before me I’ll lay eggs in your children’s ears. I can do that. I checked with fan fiction.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Bathroom Monologue: Criticism Vs. Slander, OR, I’m saying this before I get anything reviewed, OR, I’m looking at you, user reviews

Bitching is not criticism. If you have nothing nice to say, you have probably not criticized. Criticism is not essentially negative; it is essentially reformative. Criticism directed to the artist or individual reflects what worked, what didn’t, and how both could improve, or strives to understand how they some of these elements functioned. Criticism directed to the general audience is to reflect the qualities for artistic or general appreciation and stimulate thought and discussion. There is a weird notion that “This sucks” is criticism. “You’re a shitty person” is not criticism. It is closer to slander. So is a full-page article ripping into a book, or movie, or album. It’s similar for people who solely praise something, except rarely does anyone call that “criticism.” They call it “praise.” The state of criticism in this country would be better if more people were honest that they were “bitching” instead of “criticizing.” Bitching is in human nature, though it’s often looked down upon and we sometimes deny we’re doing it to justify something or other. But as naturalists can teach us, you can only understand pieces of nature when you label them properly.
Counter est. March 2, 2008