|Oh yeah, spread that love on thick.|
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
So, for my last post I figured why be edgy. Why be crude, or go on about how you can totally be asking for it, or wax poetic about how Miley Cyrus was wearing pants so tight the pvc was literally touching her anus. No, fuck that. I'm going for something a lot simpler, a lot more... personal. Last night my boyfriend texted me at... god three something in the morning. He'd googled my name. And he found... *sigh* my elfwood account.
I can assure you, there is nothing that will make your asshole clench tighter than your significant other, out of no where, saying "Look what I found" and then showing you an account you signed up for before you were old enough to get laid without it being a felony. I turned so god damn red the room was cast in a terrified, amber glow.
This... fuck. This was painful. I barely recalled what I had even posted as work... but something deep, deep in my gut told me that my memory had elided elfwood intentionally. Maybe it was the fact that I signed up for this account when I was 17... or maybe it was because the more I thought on it, the more I realized I trotally tried to delete that once. And, I mean, sweet merciful fucking Buddha my boyfriend, he read things. Things I had long forgotten about. Things I may be ashamed of; things I may want to hide like a dead prostitute.
Gems like this:
"You know what sucks, dislocating both your knees, havign (sic) a fever, and being attacked by a cat that looks like a minion from hell and not being able to bat the little thing off. I plan on writing an epic poem about that...but since I am a lazy little man, I wont. I have decided it is time to stop bashing tolkein. I am not doing this because i am a fan of his work, nor because other fans get angry with me. I do it because it is time ot bash Laurel K. Hamilton. Now, i have read all of her work. I can say, without so much as a second though that this woman needs to find a man. Why you ask? Read Narcissus in Chains, Kiss of Shadows, Caress of Twilight, and whatever book it was that came out before Narcissus in chains. Now, I, like all human beings, enjoys the occasional steamy hot raunchy Faerie/werewolf/ratkin/zombie love fest...just not an entire book about it. Ok, lets see...msot recent bio. Yes, I know, the basics. 17, male, Pagan, sophomore, not angsty (i have been this way sicne i was two, my mom says I'm satan). I have not had a girlfriend since I was 11. This would bother msot people, but not me. We have established long ago that I not only lack emotion, but any semblence of humanity...now, onto the men in pink dresses and hair curlers..."
Was... was I really that bad as a kid? I remember myself being way smarter than this. And an epic poem? And... Tolkien? I hated Tolkien? I'll give myself this point, the guy is a boring fucking read. But, hey, younger me, settle the fuck down. Not about Laurell K. Hamilton, though. That bitch needs to fire her editor and then hire a real one... and then she could actually benefit from finding a good source of steady cock. I'm not even going to take the time to correct this bubbling horse shit for grammar and spelling rules. I'm just so deeply, deeply ashamed of myself. This is just the opening blurb about me, too. It's not even the part where I tried to get creative, just where I wanted to be funny. God willing I won't find this in 2025 and think to myself how much of a dumb ass I was.
That was so bad I needed to go take a breather. What the literal fuck? If only I knew what I know now, perhaps back then I would have had the ability to string together a coherent sentence. Maybe? Possibly? God, probably not. I know I certainly would have choked myself to death if I met 17 year old me today. How have I never punched in the face? I want to hit me, and I'm me!
Then I looked at the writings, and I found something I forgot I had ever even written down. It was... so... I can't say good. I want to, but I can so easily see the places I drew inspiration from. I can also see myself making the kind of mistakes amateurs make. Mistakes like giving somebody a feminine name without ever realizing it. All the names were Celtic, so at least I had that going for me, I guess?
The thing is, I read it. I read the whole damn thing. I had talent. It was raw, admittedly, but it was talent. My boyfriend even commented it wasn't bad when he read it. I, naturally, want to go back and just fix the shit out of it. Replace every fucking thee and thou with the proper ye and you, remove a few things I don't like... add a ravaging sex scene. Good shit like that. At least maybe make it a little easier to read past the 4th paragraph without cringing at myself.
I judged myself hard. Really, really hard. I cringed, I winced... then I read the single comment. And I discovered something. I was reading a story that I wrote when I was 11. Fuck me running. I already felt kind of old. Now, after seeing something that was actually scribed down in the 90's... now I felt like this decrepit withered old husk. How do women in their 50's handle this?
I'm rambling now, but there is still a point here. Delete your shit. I don't care my boyfriend found this, but sweet Christ what will happen the day he finds my FTP porn stash? What of the day I find it again? I never, as a kid, thought I would look back on this shit and feel a twinge of embarrassment. Seriously, delete your shit. All of it. Delete it. And then drink till you forget.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
BD is not a good movie by any stretch of the imagination. The characters are flat, the acting is terrible, the shots are all poorly done, and the overall quality is so low it has to have had a budget of roughly $45 and a can of 4loko. This is intentional, by the by. BD takes all the hallmarks of a good Blaxploitation film and mocks the shit out of them. Michael Jai White is so good as Black Dynamite (yeah, that's the lead character's name. Stop acting so surprised) one might make the mistake of assuming he is legitimately a bad actor.
|Only jive turkeys underestimate Black Dynamite!|
|Also afros wide as a midday sun.|
The entire movie is action sequences, diner scenes, and weirdly fitting stock images from 40 years worth of blaxploitation. Oh, there is also that whole malt liquor shrinks your dick so the man can keep you down angle. For the record, I'm white, I work for a major corporation, and I am male. So... that makes me the man... and I love big black cock... so I am not entirely certain where this weird ass rule-them-with-tiny-penises angle comes from.
Ok, now I'm rambling. So, let's wrap this up; just go rent/pirate Black Dynamite. Just go do it. I can't give a synopsis that does this masterpiece justice. I mean, I could... but not without a boat load of work and the creation of some weird ass new words.
Monday, June 4, 2012
The plot synopsis is actually pretty simple. Predatory aliens land in a small town, harvest the locals, and are dispatched by a motley crew of teenagers and a cop. The clowns wreak as much havoc as you would expect with a few ridiculous clown powers they use to capture/kill people. As far as sci-fi horror movies go, this one doesn't stand out for its top notch characters, expert level acting, and complex plot.
What shines, you may ask? It's by the Chiodo Brothers (Elf, Critters, and Team America are all under their belt), and they are unmatched in puppetry. The clowns themselves are upsetting to look at. They are a monster version of a clown with makeup more befitting skin patterns than grease paint.
|"I've also got a pretty serious drinking problem..."|
The characters are pretty special, too. They are all one dimensional archetypes. You've got a jaded elder police officer and his younger, roguish superior officer, a helpless '80s blonde, a typical every-man roped into it all, and a couple of high school dropouts cum ice cream truck drivers. They're all acted just shy of passably but that adds to their charm. The clowns all have their own special personalities too. My favorite has to be the ugly bastard above. He's the midget. They are all acted surprisingly well.
|They've also got British teeth.|
There is a menace to these guys as the movie progresses too. What we see first is a space ship they may have just had to land out of emergency. The clowns stumble out of their ship and into the town. They nab an old man and his dog and terrorize the main characters on their way out, but they don't yet really convey any signs of genuine malice. As the film progresses we see a clown luring a child out of a diner. He is the first sign that these clowns know what they are doing. He doesn't just try and sneak up on her, but goes to the length of playing pee a boo with her through a window.
The main character eventually theorizes that these clowns come to earth every so often and harvest us as food. In the KKfOS universe it is apparently important to note that our modern clowns were originally based on these space horrors. At least enough so to make the leading male say exactly that.
The movie itself is a gem. I can't give it praise based on genuine cinematic worth, but it doesn't need that. This is a movie that was made to be just terrible. It's funny, the characters are amusing, the clowns are terrifying and the plot is easy to follow. If you like cheesy movies or just need something to feel up your date to you've got a perfect one right here. The bonus is the few parts of this film, components if you will, that are genuinely upsetting.
|Like this thing.|
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
So. Corey hates bitter. I’m trying to find him a beer that he’ll enjoy so we can find a beer to make and the only things that I can find are mild ale, Gruit (flavored with not-hops) or developing some bastard brew technique that doesn’t leave the hops in long enough to make the brew bitter, but does leave the hops in long enough to sanitize.
Ugh, okay, let me explain.
As opposed to making wine or mead, beer classically has way less alcohol content. While wine classically has enough alcohol in it to “keep” indefinitely (the alcohol acts as a preservative) beer normally does not. When you smell stale, sour beer, it’s because the sugars that are leftover from the fermenting process (and what has all those delicious, empty calories) can spoil as the alcohol content isn’t high enough to keep the drink from going bad.
Enter hops. The essential oils and whatnot in the humble little hop-flower and its associated parts not only act as a flavoring agent (yum) but also as a botanical preservative. Add in the fact that the other job that this plant performs is to add a little bitter to counterbalance the sweet of the malted barley (or whatever grain) and you get a beverage which is complex and delicious on the palate.
So, let’s say you dislike hops, or (bless your poor soul) are allergic. What do you do? Well, there’s Gruit, which is beer made with the same principle as regular beer but instead of using hops, they use other botanical ingredients. There’s apparently some historical controversy involving the church but basically the facts are this: Once upon a time we got all our preservative for beer from botanicals other than hops. Sometime during the castle-and-peasant-burn-the-witch time period (Look, we’re not discussing the dark ages or the middle ages and what is what, we’re just not, okay? Let it go. It’s not going to happen.) somewhere in Germany (apparently, plz not to crucify, Mister Internet, thx) a movement came about and tadaa, we started using hops.
Lots of people these days prefer to make their homebrews with Gruit, which is all well and good! I’m totally down with that, but the problem is this: It’s not the hoppy flavor of flowers and grass and aromatics and citrus that Corey doesn’t like. It’s the bitter.
Okay. Okay. We can do this. We can look at the math and sit down and figure out how long and in what stage to add what botanical, be it hops or fucking heather or whatever to make the beer just a little bitter. Just a little. Just enough to be clean, just enough to be sweet and light and balanced.
I am so swamped with halfassed information that I can’t begin to tell you guys where we’re going to start. So, for now, as is the truth with all beer brewing, we must start with beer drinking.
We need to get some good milk stouts and I dunno, a mild ale, or just say “fuck it” and do us up something he can’t possibly bitch about and devote some serious time to making a lambic. HAHA. IT WOULD BE EASIER TO MAKE FRUIT WINE BUT NO. NO.
Corey has the palate of a seven year old. And hey, he’s a lot of people. Lots of folks can’t take the bitter and honestly it’s something you have to let grow on you. An acquired taste.
But for the love of God, if he can come to terms with the nasty ass cheese he’s always buying (Look, cheese shouldn’t be runny and smell like something died in something else’s butt, okay?) and trying to foist on me he can come to term with something complicatedly simple and bitterly delicious.
Or, you, my dear readers, are going to be treated to a lot, lot, lot more swearing as time goes on.
Anyway, cats and kittens. Until then I shall get back to trudging through the muck and trying to find a resolution to this conundrum.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
I mean, it’s been a while, right?
It’s been a long while since I’ve really sat down and posted and I really wanted to let you guys know what’s been going on. House Blarg/House Quiet Chaos has split up some, and right now it’s just myself, Corey and Geoff living the life in a tiny little apartment a stone’s throw from my office. The bad news is the walls are thin and I hate apartment living. The good news? Why, I’m Dana’s neighbor!
Swing by and say hi to Dana. She loves new posters. In case you guys don’t know, Dana’s this lovely writer and fantastic blogger (and drinker of that vile substance, tah-kill-ya) whom I happen to have the dear honor and joy of living near and working with. Her blog is chock full of geological fangirldom ramblings, excellent music choices, and atheist, free-thinking kickassery. She’s a partner in crime and an all-around good time. Maybe someday we’ll get her over to do one of the podcasts—which reminds me….
The podcasts are coming back. I promise. They’ll be a little less shout-y, and maybe a little more write-y, on account of being in an apartment complex but with one as huge as the one we just moved into, you never know who you’re going to bump into at the mailbox.
It’s been a long, hard, unpleasant year in some respects, but an adventure in others. I have to remind myself that my life is filled with beautiful wonderful people, and that where I live is paradise. Is it an even trade off for some temporary discomfort? I have photographic evidence.
But for those of you who don’t believe in following links, here’s a sample:
Just a little taste. Too many beautiful things to show in one simple post. I just wanted to say thank you all. It’s been a beautiful, educational year. Painful, terrifying, upsetting, but in the end, I am stronger for it.
All my love,