I have realized that I haven’t written anything substantial in longer than I would like. By “substantial,” I mean something like “The Curse Of The Moongician” or “The Big Big Meal,” which are my favorite kind of things to write. But, you know, I’m a super busy guy. Busy being cool, sleeping, and making LOST videos that make me laugh. I felt incredibly scatterbrained today, so I wrote a collection of first paragraphs of the kinds of stories I like. I don’t yet know which one I will actually write first. But… here they are…
Donny Isn’t Dead Anymore
It was the 11th hour (after the 6th hour), so it was like 5PM, which was the perfect time for a Latchkey kid to finally come home and watch reruns of Saved By The Bell. This particular Latchkey kid, however, had never heard of Saved By The Bell, and even if he did, he would not like it because he only likes shows about high school students who play sports. He had never heard of Hang Time either, but he would definitely love it. His friends Gary and Gary had been trying to get him into it, but he just didn’t have the time to commit to a new show, because he was already way into Classketball, which was a show he wish existed.
The Mask That Lived Next Door
New neighbors are always exciting, especially for the main character, who loved making new friends who lived in a close proximity. He called them “neighbors” to their faces, but in his head he called them “friends.” So, yeah, the main character is a male, and apparently has a pretty sad life. Let’s watch…
Murder Can Be Murder
When the students’ votes were all counted, it was officially decided that Gerald Dean Ferrari had the “Carriest Name.” He would have preferred “Failed Female VP Canditatiest Name,” but how could he compete with Saraldene Perrarlin? He couldn’t, that’s how, and that’s why a few days later he killed that bitch til she was dead. On the bright side, though, she was going to grow up to be kind of like Hitler. Not in the horrible genocidal maniac kind of way, of course. More in the failed art student kind of way. Wait… that’s not really a bright side, is it?
The Crime Detective And The Seductress From Jersey
The scene was gruesome. It was literally a fucking wreck. You see, the now dead group of friends had fucked too hard the night before and were now a mangled pile of flesh and boners. Detective Notsoley took a drag of his cigarette and coughed up some puke. It was, after all, his very first cigarette, as he had wanted to impress the sexy new chief of police. She had knockers the size of regular-sized door knockers, and her breasts were very large, as well. Would he solve the Case of the Fucking Wreck? Would she resolve to let him fuck her rack?
Demon Baby Heart
Since Jack was a little boy, he always wanted to be a father because then he could tell people his own age what to do. As he grew up, though, he figured out that you can’t be a father when you’re seven, and if you’re a father at age 35, your child will not also be 35. So as he became a man, he became less and less interested in becoming a dad. By the time he was 32 and his wife was pregnant, he still wanted to be a father, but he didn’t want to be a good father.
The Shock Shack Shocks Back
They called it The Summer Of The Boozin’ Car Parties. A more appropriate name would have been The Summer Before The Summer The Shock Shack Shocked Back, but they had no premonitions of the future, so The Summer Of The Boozin’ Car Parties was acceptable. They did, after all, have tons of Boozin’ Car Parties that summer.
This can of Red Bull says, “lightly carbonated,” which it is. I can tell because there’s this feeling that my stomach is bleeding internally (as opposed to my stomach bleeding externally, which I would not really worry about. What would I worry about in that situation? My stomach is apparently outside of my body). The can also says “serve chilled.” Is Red Bull really “served,” though? Steak is served. Wine is served. Dessert is served. Red Bull is bought at gas stations. There is no “Taurine-Enhanced Flavor Drinks” section next to “Pastas And Salads” anywhere. I don’t really have a point here, but you should know that THIS is completely ridiculous.
And you are trying to get a hold of this Randy person, so you make a phone call, and Randy doesn’t answer. Someone else does, so you say, “Hi, I’m looking for Randy,” but don’t you really mean you’re listening for Randy?
This Monday will mark the official resignation of the 44th President of the United States, insiders say. After not even a full week as President, Barack Obama feels he has already “done enough for the country” and will no longer be able to govern because he doesn’t really feel like it anymore. “I had a good run,” says Obama. “There was that really emotional and historical inauguration, and everything else has been fun, but I think it’s time to get a white dude back in the White House.”
Americans everywhere have already begun to protest this decision, picketing and marching across the nation with only one sign that reads “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” The sign, though proving ineffective against President Obama’s sheer force of will, can be seen from space and is now being referred to as “The 8th and Saddest Wonder Of The World.”
In a move that doesn’t sound like him at all, Obama has chosen to completely ignore the American people and will still be resigning. “Look,” complained Obama Monday morning to everyone. “I’ve already started a troop withdrawal, reversed a ban on funding for abortion, reversed Bush’s effect on the climate, ‘closed’ GITMO, and charmed the nation with the adorable and refreshing relationship I have with my wife. What more do you fucking want?”
"Universal Health Care?" America suggested.
"Fine," said Obama, as he signed one last executive order that somehow immediately started an astoundingly-efficient Universal Health Care program. "There. Now… are we done here? Can we be done?" He then got up from his desk and slowly walked towards the exit. The country began to collectively mourn and all seemed to be lost.
Proving once again to be an awesome and hilarious guy, Obama turned around, gave a thumbs up, and shouted “Gotcha!” While America laughed at the President’s elaborate joke, he signed an executive order that, according to Obama, will “give a cute pet to anyone who wants a cute pet.”
When asked if he would be pulling stunts and jokes like this a lot, Obama said, “There’ll be days like this.”
There are way too many people on Facebook with the quote “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die” in their Favorite Quotes section. The worst part, though, is that all of these people attribute the quote to the Dave Matthews Band. It’s from the fucking Bible, you horrible, horrible morons. What are you, like 15? Oh, wait. You still love the Dave Matthews Band… Of course you’re 15…
Open Letter From Whatever Bush's Dog Was Named To Whatever Obama's Dog Will Be Named
Dear your name,
First thing’s first: Welcome to the White House! The next 4 or 8 years of your life are going to be a real roller coaster ride. Second thing’s second: I’m a dog, so what’s a roller coaster?
As the nation’s First Canine, you’re going to feel a lot of outside pressure to be a good and responsible role model for American puppies everywhere (everywhere in America). But if I’ve learned anything from my master (which I haven’t) it’s that you shouldn’t let anyone affect you in that way. Do what you want, don’t waver, sniff ass, and take names.
Now, on to the really important stuff: Pooping. Pooping in the White House is tricky, because no one wants you to. BUT there is no reason you should have to not poop in the White House. Here are some good places to poop…
Under The Desk In The Oval Office If my experience is any indication, your master will almost never be at his desk and will rarely be in his office, so poop away! I once pooped under that desk for a whole month, and when someone finally noticed, they just thought it was my master. He was only kind of sure it wasn’t him, so he accepted the blame. Score!
The Toilet This is a good one, because no one will believe that a dog would use the toilet for not drinking. If they do believe it, then you might get a head pat, which I assume you love because of the whole dog thing. It’s kind of hard to explain how to use this contraption, but just learn how I learned: Watch your master use it. I assure you, he will eventually use it correctly, and then you will know what to do.
The First Lady’s Mammy Collection I don’t know anything about your First Lady, but mine had a pretty extensive collection of Mammy dolls. So many, in fact, that if you poop on or near one, it will not be noticed for many moons. So many moons, in fact, that she actually never notices and is so racist she just thinks your turd is part of the collection. It helps if you put doll clothes on the turd.
Enjoy your stay and enjoy the spotlight, and most importantly, congratulations to you. I am sure you are up to the challenge of upholding this prestigious position.
Sincerely, my name
P.S. - Bark woof pant pant woof, because I’m a dog.
The Curse of the Moongician (And Other Tales to Tell 'Round Midnight)
I am reposting this for two reasons: 1) I told myself I would not post something about LOST today and 2) I am busy at work and will not be able to write anything. So… this requires no work on my part and is definitely not about LOST.
The Slightly Haunted Mansion Party Across The Street From The Significantly More Haunted Mansion Party
The invitations were sent out by The Mysterious Host three years before the date of the party. He wanted to ensure everyone would attend, for this was no ordinary party. It was a dinner party, and those (he felt) were more important than ordinary parties.
One week after the invitations were sent out, The Mysterious Host received his first RSVP. “No way,” it said. The Mysterious Host infuriated himself, meaning that he was infuriated.
"No?!?" he shouted to the ceiling. "Fuck you…" he turned the RSVP over. "Fuck you, Rilph Mangoomery! You will be attending this dinner party!"
The Mysterious Host walked over to the fireplace that was somehow in the center of the room. A strange beaked sculpture sat atop the mantle. The beak had eyes and The Mysterious Host stared at them for a good four minutes, deep in concentration and infuriation. Very suddenly, a tuxedoed man with no beak to speak of entered the great hall.
"What is it, Toddy?" whispered The Mysterious Host.
Toddy The Butler lowered his head and spoke softly, “The kindly basement ghosts told me the first RSVP has arrived.”
"That it has, Toddy. That it has."
"It is no matter, Toddy," answered The Mysterious Host. "Everyone will attend. The Beaked Sculpture will make sure of that."
"Of course," said Toddy oh so humbly. "Will the Master need anything else before bed?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary, Toddy."
"So just the hug, then?"
"Yes, Toddy. Just the hug."
Toddy The Butler hobbled over to The Mysterious Host and gave him a great big hug. He whistled horribly as he walked out of the room, leaving The Mysterious Host alone.
"Make sure the kindly basement ghosts don’t stay up too late," said The Mysterious Host. "They have school tomorrow."
"Of course, sir," Toddy whispered as he closed the door behind him.
Three years later, after four more negative RSVP’s and four more assurances from the Beaked Sculpture that everyone would attend, it was time for the dinner party. The mansion was alive with activity even though most everyone in the mansion was very much dead. The preparations were 3 years in the making and The Mysterious Host was elated with the results, though he was currently hiding in the dungeon’s closet until the designated time. The food was delicious, the place was spotless, and the terror was being kept to a minimum.
"BING-BONG-BOO!" shrieked the doorbell, and Toddy The Butler hobbled to the gate. He opened the door, glanced out, and turned back around.
"The Duke and Duchess of Jersey!" Toddy announced, as a marvelously-wigged couple entered the mansion. They glanced around the great hall in awe. They would have gawked, but neither of them could open their jaws ever since a few days after they RSVP’d that they would not be attending the party.
"And yet here you are," thought the nearby Beaked Sculpture. Both the Duke and Duchess avoided its gaze but could still feel its eyes penetrating their decadence.
"BING-BONG-BOO!" shrieked the doorbell.
"General Bonard Ancients!" announced Toddy, as a gruff old man in a tan uniform entered. His medals were so plentiful that many of them had to stay home, but his favorites were still adorning his uniform. "Most Burdens Carried." "Best R & B Album of 2006." "Bravest Handshake." The General’s gun could also be seen holstered on his right side.
"You’re going to have to do better than that," thought the Beaked Sculpture. Bonard coughed into his hand, which (after the cough) had a spot of blood on it. Yes, General Ancients had been coughing up blood ever since several days after he RSVP’d that he could not attend the party.
"BING-BONG-BOO!" shrieked the doorbell.
Toddy opened the front gate once more and announced, “Please welcome Lady Hello I’m Beth!”
Lady Hello I’m Beth entered quaintly and quietly. She walked with grace and frailty, and her pale white skin was reminiscent of any porcelain doll you might want to consider at the moment. She glanced at General Ancients’ blood-splattered palm and felt a pang of envy.
"Yes," thought the Beaked Sculpture. "You miss your blood, don’t you?"
Lady Hello I’m Beth did, in fact, miss her blood greatly, but she was definitely not going to answer the Beaked Sculpture. This was partly because the Beaked Sculpture was thinking and not speaking, but more importantly she was terrified of it.
"BING-BONG-BOO!" shrieked the doorbell.
"My goodness, what a startling doorbell," said a startled Lady Hello I’m Beth.
"Don’t worry, madam," consoled General Ancients. "There is nothing to be too worried about. The truly terrifying mansion is across the street."
The Duke and Duchess of Jersey gave their muffled agreement.
The final two guests arrived at the same time. Dr. Marney Eloquence was one of them. He was a basketball maker turned avalanche expert. The other was Rilph Mangoomery, the famous Congressman and dancer. Each had seven black eyes. Mangoomery also sported a nasty limp. In the interest of keeping things moving, let’s just say the Beaked Sculpture taunted both of them and then it was time for dinner.
The mansion’s overly polite staff served dinner promptly and accurately. They were clearly specters of some kind, but they were extremely helpful and mostly kept to themselves. Mostly.
Dinner was a kind of meat and a kind of vegetable and that was that. The Mysterious Host’s empty chair at the head of the table was so noticeable, his absence was practically all they discussed. One thing they for sure didn’t want to discuss was the Beaked Sculpture that was perched on the back of The Mysterious Host’s empty chair.
"Does anyone even know who owns this mansion?" asked the General.
"Reason and logic would dictate whoever it is should be sitting in that chair," deduced Dr. Eloquence. "You see, when I was in the Andes studying avalanches’ effect on marmalade, I found that—"
"Listen, Egghead," interrupted the General. "Your scientific babble will do you no good here. You must know how haunted this mansion is."
"Only slightly, it would seem," observed the Doctor. "You see, when I was in my lab, conducting experiments to determine whether or not avalanches could survive a nicotine overdose, I found that-"
"AGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" came a spine-shattering scream from somewhere outside the mansion.
"Oh, good heavens!" exclaimed Lady Hello I’m Beth.
"You still needn’t worry, madam," General Ancients calmly told her. "That definitely came from across the street. I can only imagine what those guests are going through.”
"Certainly not such a pleasant meal as this," she mused.
"Certainly not," Bonard gruffly agreed.
"You know," Dr. Eloquence began. "This meal actually reminds me of some science I once did for-"
"This is ridiculous!" shouted a so-far silent Rilph Mangoomery. "What are we doing here?"
He stood up and began to limp back and forth. “We are all here against our will, we are all here at the mercy of that… that thing,” he said and pointed to the Beaked Sculpture. “And the worst part is, we don’t even know why we’re here. Tell me, doctor, can your science explain any of that?”
"Funny you should mention science, Congressman," the doctor began. "When I was getting my masters at The Ohio School For Universities, I found that a pinch of salt and just a dash of imagination can conjure up quite the-"
The room suddenly fell silent. Not because anyone was interested in what Marney had to say, but because the Beaked Sculpture began to move. So far, it would only randomly appear somewhere and remain still. No one had seen the Beaked Sculpture since… well, since it had locked the Duke and Duchess of Jersey’s mouths shut, done something horrible to General Bonard Ancients’ lungs, drained Lady Hello I’m Beth’s blood, given Dr. Eloquence seven black eyes, and given Congressman Mangoomery seven black eyes and a gimpy leg.
"It’s…" whispered Lady Hello I’m Beth. "It’s moving…"
"Quiet, madam!" the General advised. "We do not yet know its true intentions."
The Duke and Duchess added their muffled agreement.
"What’s the matter, Duke?" the Beaked Sculpture thought. "Beaked Sculpture got your tongue?"
The guests stared at the Beaked Sculpture as it spread its wheels and flew out the door. There was more silence.
"It has wheels?" Lady Hello I’m Beth asked meekly.
"TODDY!" shouted the General, and Toddy appeared rather quickly.
"Yes, General Ancients?" asked Toddy politely.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?!?"
"Oh…" Toddy looked down at the floor and avoided eye contact. "Master does not want me to discuss the Beaked Sculpture, sir."
"And your master is…?"
"Oh…" Toddy looked down at a different area of floor and continued to avoid eye contact. "Master does not want me to discuss who master is, sir."
"Then what fucking GOOD ARE YOU?" barked the General, and he raised his hand for slappin’. Toddy cowered as Congressman Mangoomery walked over to the General.
"This is not how we should go about this, General," Rilph said calmly. "We may be confused and a bit frightened by this slightly haunted mansion, but we are all civilized people and we are still guests in this mystery person’s home."
The General lowered his slappin’ hand and sat back down. “I’m sorry, Toddy,” he said. “You may go about your business.”
Toddy was gone in a flash and the guests were left to pick at their one kind of meat and one kind of vegetable.
"Perhaps it is our estranged father wishing to bring us all back together for the holidays," suggested Lady Hello I’m Beth.
"We are not siblings, M’lady," the General pointed out.
"Just an idea," Lady Hello I’m Beth mumbled.
"No need to be embarrassed, good woman," Dr. Eloquence said. "Sometimes the most unlikely answer is the correct one. Why, when I was using science to divorce my whore wife of fifteen years, I discovered that a particular strain of avalanche bacteria, when left out in the sun for several days, can act as a very effective-"
"AAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!" came another scream from across the street.
"My…" began Congressman Mangoomery. "Despite the unknown circumstances of our coming together, I am quite glad we are not attending the party across the street."
"Indeed," the General concurred. "All we have to deal with are these…" He pointed to the several kindly basement ghosts in the corner. They had been doing a fancy jig for the guests’ enjoyment, as well as their own. "I suppose the only truly terrifying part of this mansion is that cursed thing with the beak."
"BING-BONG-BOO!" shrieked the doorbell.
The guests all glanced at each other. All of the guests had already arrived. They were all the guests. Who could possibly be at the door?
"Well, if no one else is curious…" said Congressman Mangoomery as he stood up. "I am going to see who could possibly be at the door."
"Of course I’m curious, Mr. Mangoomery," replied Dr. Eloquence. "I am a man of science, after all. In fact, during my younger years I did several experiments on the effects dry pussy has on cow hearts which I think you would find fascinating. You see, on Tuesdays, and ONLY on Tuesdays, an avalanche will—"
The Mysterious Host had waited long enough. The dungeon’s closet was starting to feel quite cramped, and it was almost time for the big reveal. As if it were all planned ahead, which it was, there was a knock at the closet door. The Mysterious Host opened it and saw the Beaked Sculpture waiting for him.
"So it is time…" said The Mysterious Host.
"It is time," thought the Beaked Sculpture.
"Well?!" asked The Mysterious Host.
"Yes," spoke the Beaked Sculpture. "It is time."
"Very good. Tell the doorbell to shriek."
The Beaked Sculpture bowed, spread its wheels, and flew off. The Mysterious Host clasped his hands together.
The guests had gathered together in the main hall. Toddy finally arrived and headed toward the front gate as the kindly ghosts passed out treats and complimented everyone.
"Are we to finally meet our mystery host?" asked literally everyone at the same time. Except of course for the Duke and Duchess of Jersey, who merely nodded as everyone else asked.
"Perhaps," said Toddy.
"PERHAPS?!?" shouted an irate General Ancients.
"I mean ‘yes,’" Toddy corrected himself. "But he is not at the door."
"Surprise!" yelled The Mysterious Host from behind everyone. He was cloaked from head to toe and his face was shrouded in darkness. Perhaps one day he will be described at length, but it is not this day.
"YOU!" shouted Congressman Mangoomery.
"Yes," replied The Mysterious Host, then he paused. "Wait, do you know me? Can you see my face?"
"No," Mangoomery said quietly. "I just… you know. Just felt right."
"Well, I appreciate you all attending my party. I do hope you enjoyed yourselves."
"To be quite honest," the General began. "This was one of the better parties I’ve been to. My only complaint would be the means by which you forced us to attend." He coughed into his hand for the second time that evening. There was much blood.
"Ah, yes, I do very much apologize for my methods," The Mysterious Host gestured to his Beaked Sculpture. "Which reminds me… Beaky?"
The Beaked Sculpture stood on up on all sixes. A low hum was heard until it become a very loud low hum. A flash of bright light emanated from the thing and in less than a second the light and the Beaked Sculpture were gone.
"I do declare!" exclaimed The Duchess of Jersey.
"I also do very much declare!" exclaimed The Duke of Jersey.
Yes, everyone seemed quite fine. The Duke and Duchess could speak, the fourteen black eyes had disappeared, the General was breathing healthily, and the color and blood seemed to have returned to Lady Hello I’m Beth. Congressman Rilph Mangoomery, thrilled that his leg was now in full working condition, did a few fruity little dance steps for posterity.
"Everyone feel better?" asked The Mysterious Host.
"What ho!" cried Dr. Eloquence. "I dare say, I haven’t felt this good in ages. Why, this reminds me of my days backpacking across the periodic table. We had just finished shoving some worms in our centrifuge when—"
"Again," The Mysterious Host interrupted. "I apologize for any inconvenience your ailments may have caused over the last three years. But like I said, I needed to assure you would attend tonight."
"But why?" demanded the General.
"BING-BONG-BOO!" shrieked the doorbell one more time.
"Ah, yes. It’s time for the ‘big reveal,’ as it were."
The Mysterious Host nodded to Toddy, who opened the front gate to reveal blue skies and the freshest of grasses.
"Do you see?" asked The Mysterious Host.
"Uh… what?" asked a confused Rilph Mangoomery.
"We have been on Earth all along," explained The Mysterious Host.
"I’m pretty sure we all assumed that from the very beginning."
Yesterday, a plane had to make an emergency “landing” in the Hudson River. There were no survivors, but 3 years later it will be discovered that 5 people actually did survive and one of them had given birth to a baby boy while in the Hudson River. The survivors, dubbed the “Crashed Plane 5 And A Baby,” say there were no other survivors and nothing weird happened or anything, they swear. It seems odd because no one ASKED them if anything weird happened, so there does seem to be something fishy about the whole thing. Either way, though, the fat guy’s pretty funny.
I got a chance to sit down with one of the survivors, the Arab, and before I could even ask him a question, he fell in love with my assistant. She betrayed him shortly after, he tortured the shit out of me (claiming I was one of “them”), and then he fell in love with the ticket girl at the movie theater. She betrayed him shortly after.
The Crashed Plane 5 And A Baby are starting to readjust to life away from the Hudson River, and even though they’re starting to see weird shit, they are all content with staying in the real world. All, that is, except for the survivor who seems to be their leader, who we’ll just call Jack, because this joke’s already wearing pretty thin. “We have to go back!” Jack shouted at me. Then of course, I pointed out that he WAS back, because the Hudson River was like, right over there. He turned around, saw that the Hudson River was right behind him, and then talked at length about how the Crashed Plane 5 And A Baby need to go with him. As I listened closer, though, I realized he was actually just talking about Party Of Five.
The rest of the survivors have little or no interest in returning to the Hudson River. The funny fat one, for example, just wants to get back to a normal life. “No way do I care about going back,” he says. “Not only is the Hudson River full of monsters, ghosts, and creepy scientists, but I’m just super excited about catching up on LOST. Is it still alarmingly similar to what we all just went through?” Yeah. Sounds like it.
Somehow, this article is dedicated to Battlestar Galactica, which returns today.
This past Sunday marked the Nth annual Golden Globe Awards, which honor the best in television and film kind of. The stars came out in droves to get an idea of who might win an Emmy or an Oscar later this year. As it turns out, some people will, some people won’t, some people might, and some people might not.
Much of America probably watched the ceremony, and many of them thought one of the other people should have won instead of the person who actually won. “I don’t think that guy should have won for Best Guy,” says Brawn Lessman, an avid watcher of the Golden Globes (in that he had it on in the background). “Best Guy should go to the actual best guy, and whatever guy won didn’t deserve it. One of the other guys did.”
Another thing that happened in or around the ceremony was that everyone wore different kinds of clothes. Some people looked good. Some people looked like shit. But the important thing is that we can talk about it at length without feeling like useless members of society. Take that one girl in the dress, for example. What was she thinking? My opinion is that she would have looked better in a dress made out of a better dress than the one she was wearing. And those SHOES! I’m sorry, but how is she getting good arch support out of those things? She’s probably not, that’s how.
Perhaps the most memorable and shocking moment was the award given for Best Supporting Actor. The winner, of course, was The Joker, who played the late Heath Ledger in the biopic about the actor’s career, Death Ledger. “This audience deserves a better class of acceptance speech,” The Joker sneered. “And I’m gonna give it to ya.” He then proceeded to hand Jack Nicholson (the actor) a small box. He handed another small box to Jack Nicholson (the award ceremony-attender). In each box was a small trigger that would give a Best Comedy Series Golden Globe to that TBS’s My Boys. If neither trigger was pulled, then My Boys would also receive the award for Best Drama and Most Awesome Thing. Both Jack Nicholsons, not knowing what to do, hesitated for 3 hours, which was about half the running time of the ceremony. Eventually, though, Jack Nicholson (the award ceremony-attender) dropped more acid than he had already dropped earlier that night and pulled the trigger. The joke, of course, was that pulling the trigger actually gave My Boys every award ever. It also blew up the theater, killing everyone inside and it changed the endings to every movie ever made so that it’s always just a dream.
And why didn’t Batman do anything to stop this?
Snubbed by the Golden Globes, Batman decided to just stay home and veg.
The Curse of the Moongician (And Other Tales to Tell 'Round Midnight)
It has been a while since I have written one of these, and I can not seem to fall asleep, so I figured maybe a spooky story would help make me tired. I wrote this and now I am going to go find and read a spooky story.
The Goblynnes Who Dannce And Singe Then Steale Ouw’r Thyngs
We, of towne, are blount and bwind
We live in a towne of b’wunder
We, of towne, are staunte and whymmed
And I, the town, am k’lundered
And we, of towne, have goblynnes to feare
(Th’yre not just normall goblynnes)
Th’y crooke and take and theef so much
A bet’r name would be roblynnes
Or maybe even robber-lynnes But probably just goblynnes
They comme, of course, from tepid’sh mire
They grynde th’eir haunt’d teeth
They trumme with lorse on Snepitesh Pyres
They hide in the bwaunkedde heath
They certainly look nice enough for goblins, though Maybe we should trust them this time
These goblynnes, we see, are not scary or mean
Nor they brathe, nor they clond, nor they grybbled
These goblynnes, they be a lot merry and clean
They be stwave, they be fwond, they be styppled
It’s me, the town again. Those goblynnes sure are nice and a lot of fun, but has anyone seen them today? I leant them some gold last night while we were all dancing.
We seeme to hayve bene wor’nst and trick’edde
Our problems be greene and the goblynnes be wyckid
Pretty sure I gave it to “Ted.” Has anyone at least seen Ted?
Alas, ember’d gancey was roused on the paye’den
Agrassed under flansy up’poud in said paye’den
The clorbe and the venches, all drunced in the blay’locke,
We skorked in a flence on a sprumped up Hyntray’nogge
Not gettin’ that back, am I?
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
We like wenn the goblynnes all dannce and singe
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
But wenn we’re asleepe, they steale all ouw’r thyngs
So my little video about that horrendous e-mail I got has been removed from YouTube for violating… something. Perusing their “terms of violation,” I can’t seem to determine what I did wrong. The only thing I can really think of is that I said, “Now here’s my penis” and I didn’t actually SHOW it. So maybe someone complained because they would have preferred to see my penis. Other than that, I guess it’s possible that someone was offended by the “Mad Money” (A Katie Holmes Joint) poster in the background. So from now on, any video I make will feature too many penises and not enough “Mad Money” posters.
Interviewin' With Dr. Mister Cody (with special guest interview'r Lawyery Gordy)
On the way to recording, my associate and I came across someone who looked remarkably like Damon Lindelof, co-creator of ABC's LOST. With the 5th season starting soon, we convinced him to let us ask him a few questions...
Dr. Mister Cody:Thanks for taking the time to sit down with us, Damon.
Lawyery Gordy:I was going to say that, too, Damon.
Damon Lindelof:My pleasure, Mom. (to Dr. Mister Cody) Dad.
Dr. Mister Cody:That was weird.
Lawyery Gordy:Let’s get down to business.
Dr. Mister Cody:What?
Damon Lindelof:Do you have any change?
Lawyery Gordy:Oh! Like are we ready for some of our favorite characters to go through some pretty fundamental changes?
Damon Lindelof:God bless you.
Dr. Mister Cody:Ummmm… Thank you?
Lawyery Gordy:Now, Damon, you’ve written many of the show’s most memorable episodes. Is there any particular character you like to write for most?
Damon Lindelof:None of ‘em! Let ‘em all go to hell!
Dr. Mister Cody:So, you’re going to go on the record as saying that the island is actually Hell and the characters really ARE dead?
Damon Lindelof:We’re all dead, man. All of us. You, me, you. I saw so much death during the 40’s and 70’s. They’d take a guy just like you and cut his arm off for no reason at all.
Lawyery Gordy:Just like me?
Dr. Mister Cody:Just like the armless scientist from the Orientation videos. He’s missing an arm! Wow, this is pretty revelatory stuff.
Damon Lindelof:Not to mention the cotton candy machine on the third floor.
Lawyery Gordy:I didn’t expect Damon Lindelof to talk in puzzles so often.
Dr. Mister Cody:Acutally, I’m starting to think maybe this isn’t Damon Lindelof.
Lawyery Gordy:That is just like you. You think you know so much about LOST. We’re all fans, Dr. Mister Cody.
Dr. Mister Cody:Yeah, but not like me. I’m such a big fan that I know this isn’t Damon Lindelof.
(Damon Lindelof has been chewing on his own face)
Dr. Mister Cody:Fine… Now, Damon, you’ve been working on the show since its conception. This past season has laid to rest a lot of fan speculation that you don’t actually know where the show is going. But you, of course, do. How does it feel?
Damon Lindelof:Feels good.
Lawyery Gordy:See? That was definitely a straight answer.
Damon Lindelof:Feels really… really… good.
Lawyery Gordy:Such passion!
Damon Lindelof:I can’t remember where I left my mother.
Dr. Mister Cody:This… isn’t him, Gordy.
Lawyery Gordy:He’s talking about Claire, idiot. Claire’s a mother… she disappeared… no one knows where she is. He’s not crazy.
Damon Lindelof:You call me crazy, boy?
Lawyery Gordy:See, that was another response. He definitely knows we’re interacting.
Dr. Mister Cody:I’m going to ask him if he’s Damon Lindelof, and we’ll use that as a jumping off point.
Lawyery Gordy:Fine. Embarrass yourself in front of Damon Lindelof.
Dr. Mister Cody:Are you Damon Lindelof?
Damon Lindelof:Not really, no.
Lawyery Gordy:See? More non-commital answers. Just like on LOST!
Dr. Mister Cody:That’s a good point… I feel like if we were interviewing the creator of a different show, it would be much easier to tell if they were crazy or not.
Damon Lindelof:I’m not crazy. I’m just homeless.
Lawyery Gordy:Hear that? He’s just homeless.
Dr. Mister Cody:WHY are you homeless?
Damon Lindelof:Too crazy.
Dr. Mister Cody:Have you even HEARD of Lost?
Damon Lindelof:OH! On ABC? Hell, yeah. That shit’s crazy. I’m on the fourth season and I STILL don’t know what’s in the hatch.
Lawyery Gordy:Thanks for your time and insight, sir.
Damon Lindelof:Can I crash at you guys’ place tonight? I got these shoes that tell God to make it rain.
Lawyery Gordy:It would be my pleasure, Mr. Lindelof.
Dr. Mister Cody:I think I’m going to stay at the YMCA tonight.
Had a way fun Bernards show this weekend. Made a whole lot more money than we thought we would. Over the next few days some, most, or all of The Bernards will be in the studio recording an EP. Probably just most, but it’ll still be a blast and hopefully a productive blast. Also got some good video of the show, so hopefully that will be up sometime soon. Other than that, working on a pilot and other doofy crap for the entertainment of others. If you came here looking for jokes, though, sorry. No jokes this morning. Jokes later this evening? Maybe jokes later this evening.