the bone conductor

a draw-er, that is to say; a thing that you draw towards you, so to speak. anyway, in said thing was some stuff from long enough ago that i got all ben kenobi for a minute. “now that’s not a name that i’ve heard in a long time. a long time.” by the way, why did ben kenobi age approximately 52 years in the time it took luke to hit 20? han solo called him a fossil, after he shot greedo in the nuts. first. he went from strapping jedi battle stud to a guy who looks like he’s been reading racing forms in florida since the nixon years, and all before luke hit late adolescency and started whining about how bitchin it would be if his adoptive parents were just brutally murdered and out of the fucking way already. “christ, again with the converters? the droids can’t…? oh, all right, but i HATE YOU and my REAL DAD LOVES ME!” ahahahahaha!

anyway, here’s why: ben kenobi: hillbilly meth lab “old wizard” extraordinaire. it all makes sense, doesn’t it? the sand people are obviously speed freak customers, wondering what the FUCK is the holdup already and can i just get my FUCKING SHIT man? ben, all holed up in a cave in the middle of the desert - or, what we like to call “anyplace in california farther than 20 minutes from downtown” - rambling incoherently and dealing in clearly stolen appliances while his place is surrounded by screeching, spastic, hideous, threatening, yet ultimately retarded shitheads… this seems obvious to me. then he lies to the cops about being some kind of fence for illegal electronics, walks into a bar, starts talking to a huge hippie about smuggling stolen goods, and then suddenly freaks out and cuts the arm off the first guy he sees . c’mon.

any. way. i was looking through this drawer, and i found a bunch of old role playing character sheets and maps (hand-drawn, of course) and various other semi-humiliating paraphernalia: crude sketches, incoherent (and illegible) story ideas and character studies, that kind of thing. but it’s where i found that stuff that caught my attention; it was in a folder i’d titled, pompously enough, “idea incubator,” which i certainly stole from someone. the folder itself is a “pee-chee all season portfolio”, one of those yellow-orangy things with the various sporting activities portrayed on the covers that were ubiquitous back when i was in high school, all of 23 years ago. man. anyway, i was struck that even in the mid-80s, it was surprising that every single athelete portrayed in every single sport was white. white in that 50’s white kind of way, too. and then, i remembered the 80’s. the backlash over political correctness, which boiled down to “what do you mean i can’t be a rascist misanthropic asshole out loud anymore?” hell, the entire idea that the only reason someone wouldn’t say degenerate things in public was purely for appearances sake, and not because, you know, saying things like that indicates a probably toxic level of moronicosity, is pretty apalling when you think about it.

so don’t. trust me on this. just pretend it was all thriller and synchronicity, leg warmers and baggy neon pullovers. it’s better for everyone that way.

and yet i find myself a fan of this guy. it’s like he took the old david letterman top ten driving tips (”come to a complete stop before trying to escape on foot”) to heart. and how can that be a bad thing?

i hope it was worth it; i hope the 80 million dollars you spent on 3′ by 4′ by 1/100th of an inch of pigmented oil was worth it, while this is going on in the world; while families are giving their children away because they don’t have 3 dollars a month. i really hope it’s worth at it this month’s Big Dick Club for the Tiny Dicked meeting, where everyone with a .25 inch dick whips out the receipt for their monets and chagalls and van goghs and vicously hopes everyone forgets about the .25-inch dick part. you could become an international superhero, you could save a generation from the abyss, and… you bought a painting. not to support the artist, obviously, or to support art, as there are many working, living artists who could use a little cheddar. no, you did it to support your sub-.25-inch dick. congratulations. i hope it was worth it.

from a few days ago, but: gabe’s bit with the character sheets at the end of the news post: hi-sterical.

apparently having a job interferes with my ability to type in a recreational fashion. luckily i decided to take today off to drink. once my plan comes to full fruition, the bounty reaped will be of a most discernable variety.

i’m fairly certain i heard someone on the justice league cartoon use the word “brobdingnagian.”

this is so unexpectedly awesome it comepletely made my day:

the caption for this, in my mind, has to be: “mmm… braaaanes… fressshh braaaaanes…”

You know, I don’t even know why anyone would read this, much less feel the need to respond in some way, much much less actually register to be able to do so. Not to suggest people shouldn’t do those things; by all means. Recreational typing: it’s not just for breakfast. And crom knows I have zero desire for playing comment nazi or whatever. And yet, despite all that, my point is really that if you DO feel the need to make your participation known, a good way to go about it is to not submit the following as your initial comment (and request for registered official typey-type approval to do more of the same in the future, apparently):

PROCRASTINATION IS LIKE MASTERBATION YOU DO RELIZE IT TIL
IT’S TO LATE THAT YOU’VE JUST BEEN FUCKED.(OR FUCKED YOURSELF)

Indeed, my friend. Indeed. Oh, by the way, Fark called earlier; your room is all ready to go there. Have fun!

tomorrow i’ll write something about it.

It’s amusing to see the Clinton folks (among others) hitting Obama over his lack of “legislative accomplishments.” I’ve got an accomplishment for you: how about not letting mindless hysteria and horrendous judgement become convincing arguments for rolling over on your constitutional responsibilities, and then claiming later to have been hoodwinked by what might be the dumbest, most arrogant, most blatantly, obviously corrupt administration since Boss Hogg? Does that count?

I don’t really think I expect too much from postal service employees. People bitch too much about the postal service here anyway. I mean, I mail something, it costs me forty-one whole cents, and it gets all the way across the country in three days tops, usually more like two. Here in the City it’s next day. (London was the best about intra-city delivery like that; if you sent something early enough in the day, it had a good chance of getting somewhere else in town the same day. Usually even the somewhere else it was supposed to go to.) I’m not seeing a problem. Sure, maybe not so much for overnight/express stuff, but hey. As Marx famously said, “I’m not a vegetarian, but I eat animals who are.”

Anyway, given the experience I just had, we’ll see if I actually get a new passport in a few weeks or not. Or if I ever see my old one again.

Also, Tuggey’s Hardware blows. They need to close that place down and get over it.