squidbag

The End of an Idiot

In the recent panoply of media-reported deaths, none thrills me as much as the demise by goring of young Spaniard Daniel Jimeno Romero, who was gored to death by a bull during the fourth day of the annual parade of fuckwits known as the running of the bulls in Pamplona, Spain.  Truly, I wish I could feel sorry for his family, or lament at the loss this is anytime a young life, with so much potential and years ahead of him, is snuffed out - but really, I keep thinking what a lucky thing this is for the global gene pool, and how Daniel just must not have had anything in his life worth living for, since stepping out in front of a bull is just about the stupidest fucking thing you can ever do.  One has to sincerely hope that Sr. Romero is buried in a bull pasture, and that his marker, which will spawn the best magic mushrooms in the world from its platen of bullshit, is inscribed, "Como grande ahora es su chile, Danielito?"

Big ups to the Pamplona Bulls this week, though, for breaking a 14-year losing streak and popping their first kill in a while.  The franchise has been on a good run all week, some solid lung hits and ankle fractures - injuring some Scots and other Spaniards, one Texan (though not the one you're hoping for) and one Frenchman, which is especially impressive, due to their skill at running away.  It'd be much more impressive if they weren't all being run through the streets only as a prelude to their eventual deaths in the ring at the hands of skinny pricks with pointy sticks.  One bull was quoted as saying, "Snort, snort, snuffle...moo.  MOO!"  After that, there was a lot of cud chewing.

For past thoughts on the yearly goring of morons, see this.

Pack of Ghouls

Let me make a few opening statements about how we as a race of humans deal with death.  I like a nice graveyard.  I like the tranquility of the place, the opportunity to wander around what is essentially an historic park with little markers scattered throughout which track specific lives and human experiences.  I do not believe that there is anything sacred about the cemetery, except inasmuch as other people revere it.  I respect that.  I don't like the current custom of hermetically fucking sealing people into boxes inside of vaults inside the ground, so that we can never contribute to the system again after death.  I would choose to be cremated and my ashes blown into the eyes of my enemies.  In short: While I do not have a high level of comfort with the ritual that surrounds our process as a culture of dealing with death, I understand, respect and even find utility with aspects of it.  I do not step on headstones, attempt to maintain the graves of my honored dead, and usually keep to myself when in a cemetery.  Cemeteries seem very literary to me, very dramatic in their construction, purpose, form and function.

All that must be added to this (if you hope to understand what's in my head): The many wonderful horror comics (many of them in 3-D) of my youth taught me that people who disturb graves, those that would traffic amongst the remains of the dead with seemingly no thought to whose ribcage they might be tromping around in, are ghouls.  They respect nothing and no one, and so everyone's back should be turned to them, including that of Mother Nature.  There are physical prices to pay for being a ghoul.  Ghouls are condemned - so certain customs would have you believe - to have their skin tighten and turn grey, devoid of any normal healthy color, their to teeth fall out, and their eyes bug and strain against their corneas as they become sensitive to light and unable to deal with others.  These thoughts comfort me more than the ritual of burial and remembrance we maintain in reality when I read about shit that we do to each other, even in death, like this series of repugnant acts recently committed just outside of Chicago, in the Burr Oak Cemetery, resting ground for the bones of Emmett Till and Willie Dixon, among others.

Once again, it seems, a group of opportunistic fuckheads has taken advantage of two groups least likely to defend themselves; the dead and the recently bereaved.  They distubed graves, dumped coffins and bodies, shifted bones, double buried corpses, and even stole money from local people under the guise of an "Emmett Till Memorial Fund" started shortly after his exhumation and re-burial.  I'll not re-hash all of the details here, instead filling this last little space with a suggestion: They need to be taken out after trial finds them all guilty of not being able to properly respect others and laid over a stout rock or tree trunk (I like the idea of a trunk because you could count the lines to see how old it was) to have their heads bashed in by a stocky man carrying a maul.  If luck and justice are in attendance, discarding the sharpness of the axe would make it take several tries to do the job right, then their ghoul-fuck corpses could be dragged through the streets to be tossed into a mudhole before being pissed upon and then buried, finally, in an unmarked spot.

Fuckin' people.

Pastor Fuckface Is God's Mouthpiece

Apparently, Pastor Wiley Drake of the Fuckholt Church of the RightWingnut has the voice of God, speaking right into his otherwise cavernously empty melon head, telling him to go on the radio and Internet, and ask for the death of Barack Obama, if that be His will.  Previous things asked for by Pastor Drake include the deaths of IRS employees, and some kind of action against Americans United for the Separation of Church and State.  Pastor Drake is careful to stress - probably to avoid a plague of black helicopters circling above the rock out from which he slithers each day - that he is asking for nothing save the will of Almighty God, but if he ends up on lists because of it, so be it.

A couple of things here, Pastor Drake.  Just some things bugging me, niggling at me, vying for my attention whilst I listen to your waste of breath and cells polluting the world; First, Why exactly would it be the will of God to put Barack Obama into the White House and then subsequently kill him?  Because it's God's will to have Joe Biden in charge?  Come on - no one believes that.  Second, why is it God only speaks violent shit to you?  Are you sure you're not listening to the nasty, drunken Old Testament God who was always throwing down on people, raining fire, floods, boils, and plagues, making bets with the devil and slaughtering firstborns?  I thought New Testament God was kind of God-by-proxy-through-Christ, sending Holy Spirit doves and shit.  But then - I'm not a pastor, I'm only a simple man, and there are perhaps things I don't know.

Finally, why is it you fucking people seem to have a monopoly on God?  Why does God only talk to crazy idiot fuckwits who then turn and spew their filthy gibbering mouths' effluent out on all of us?  Why can't God talk to the Squidbag?  Wait - I'm getting a call from God right now, and the connection's a little shaky, but it sounds to me like he's saying - wait, okay, yeah - SHUT THE FUCK UP, WILEY!!!

I mean - that's just what it sounds like to me.

Nocturnal

10:48 this morning, Saturday, the 11th of July:

ME: (bounding into Max's room, enthusiastically) Wake up!  It's almost eleven, it's time to get up, we got stuff to do!  I'm going to feed your fish before they eat each other!  Get up!

MAX: Why?

ME: You're only still in bed because you were up past midnight reading comics, and we need to get Sean a present, and his birthday party's today, and we might have time for one of the HowToons experiments, and you're missing a Phineas & Ferb right now.

MAX: I'm trying to become nocturnal.

ME: That's not going to work, because then most of us would never see you.

MAX: You would see me sleeping like an angel.

ME: I'm going, now.

Makes ME Thirsty

Ah, the French.  Recently found to be the most arrogant, demanding and insufferable tourists the world over, they have now also spat venom in the eyes of the world by mixing sex and advertising with perversion and childishness to give us this mocking atomic bomb test of a commercial, which - let us not forget - is sort of for a child's beverage.  Don't get me wrong (or I'll find you and stab you), I have been a fan of Orangina for quite some time, as is anyone who feels the need to spend too much money on juice with bubbles and water added to it.  Orangina contains no caffeine, and while cleansing to the palette and moderately refreshing, is best viewed as a mixer, an ingredient to a harder beverage, or a poor substitute for juice, only slightly better than Tang.

Speaking of Tang, check out the tang on that bear, yeah?  And I like a fawn with tits, just not this one.  I do support the inclusion of the transsexual peacocks in the ad, with their feathered crest tails of the males, but obvious human female attributes.  Like a furry's wet dream, a juice commercial that would intrigue Freud and embarrass Fellini.  A minute and 45 seconds worth of citrus money shot, designed to make you...what?  If I associated this commercial with my need to drink a citrus beverage, I'd have awkward grocery store moments.

The femme octopus squeezing her fruited breasts at the camera is my favorite part, though.

Kiss it Goodbye

Bearing in mind that late afternoon on a Friday preceding a holiday weekend is historically the best time to bury something in the news cycle (especially bearing in mind what is sure to be the soul-destroying spectacle of Michael Jackson's relentlessly covered funeral, disposition and final affairs, the recent parade rampant of celebrity deaths, and the various official recognitions of the 4th from a freshman administration) but failing to take into account the rabid appetite of a 24 hour news cycle that not only does not sleep but actually mainlines crystal meth and eats the adrenal glands of small woodland creatures raw and, additionally, her own feeding-frenzy affect on the fourth estate, Sarah Palin announced that she would be resigning "in a few weeks" from the office of Governor of Alaska.  Y'know, as a casual type thing.  Really, just an excuse to put on one of those nice suits we as taxpaying voters bought her, and get up in front of people, and talk folksy bullshit.  Mooseshit.  Whatever the fuck Alaskans have; Innushit.

This led to endless speculation about WHY she had done it, as if there were ever actually a reason Sarah Palin does anything ever.  She did give a little interview today, which was precious, and featured dead animals, as has become the norm.  In it, she attacked the media and Barack Obama, both of which must now come as naturally to her as breathing, killing, and saying "You Betcha."  She says she left the office of the Governor because it was more effecient, that the state spends way too much money investigating all of her ethics violations, and that she wants to disengage from the vicious media machine.  It's not in her immediate plans to run for President, of course, but they always say that.  Finally, this barely coherent woman is writing a book.  I mix soda and bile and try hard not to contemplate bell towers as I drive by them.

Bye-bye for now, Sarah.  The best we can hope for is that she and Cheney have a hunting trip scheduled together real soon.  You betcha.

Legacy Heroes

If you are not a fanboy, you probably do not know this.

The comic book superheroes you know and love?  Not always the same people under the mask.  Sometimes there's a death, a retirement or a disappearance, and someone else is inspired to take up the mantle of the recently departed hero.  If you saw Watchmen, you saw this in the cases of Nite Owl and the Silk Spectre.  DC's the king of this, with more Flashes than you can supersonically shake a stick at, and 7200 (no, really) Green Lanterns.  Even Batman's someone new under the cowl these days, and half of the JSA is made up of what we call "legacy heroes," people like Dr. Mid-Nite, Mr. Terrific, Johnny Thunder, & Hourman, who incidentally, has one of the best porn names in comics, falling just under Iron Fist on the big list.

For a lot of characters, this doesn't work.  No one else is Superman, for instance.  You can have Supergirl and Power Girl and Krypto the Super-Dog, but Superman is Kal-el, the last survivor of Krypton, raised by simple Kansas farmers, and with a boy scout attitude, for the most part.  No one else is Thor, the God of Thunder, for obvious reasons.  No one else is the Hulk, though you can see the messy raw meat train wreck of what happens when someone tries that one currently in Jeph Loeb's Hulk, which makes most of us remember when Loeb used to be consistent.  No one else is the Punisher...unless they have a near-identical backstory, which is how they're making this work currently with Batman and Captain America.  Batman was recently apparently killed during DC's latest universe-changing Summer crossover, which I did not follow.  They are already intimating that he might not really be dead (duh) and in the interim, Dick Grayson, the original Robin and up-until-recently-current Nightwing, is functioning as Batman, thanks to the capable stylings of Grant Morrison, who is a plotting genius.  This works.  Why?  Near-identical backstory.

Batman's parents were murdered randomly, and he dedicated his life to protecting others from his fate.  You know all of this.  Grayson's parents are similarly somewhat randomly murdered by criminals, and he is adopted thereafter by Batman.  So - same training (obviously), same motivations, same (shared) experiences.  Grayson can be Batman, though not permanently.  Wayne does have a personality, after all, and people will miss it.  I don't know how long they'll do this thing; I don't read Batman religiously like I do Captain America.

Two years ago, Marvel killed off Cap in a courthouse steps, orchestrated by the Red Skull, in front of a big crowd, assassination on TV.  Since then, they've had Cap's former partner from the war, Bucky, growing into and filling the role of Cap.  And he's good, he does a good job.  Again, this works because of the background thing - both saw WWII, both are patriots up to a point, both come from a background of work and perseverance.  However, one of the reasons this is interesting and will continue to be is because of the difference - Buck saw action as the Winter Soldier, and his ethic in terms of force has always been a bit different.  Also - he doesn't seem to have the natural leader thing going for him that Steve Rogers did.  So this preps you for what they're doing now; Captain America Reborn, wherein we find out that Rogers was made to become "unstuck in time" and still lives, passing between his past selves.  If this sounds dicey to you, well - I'm waiting to see if they'll be able to pull it off.

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

Legacy

Michael Jackson is dead, and I'm already tired of having conversations about it.  Now that Jesse Jackson has gotten involved though, you can bet this shit will go on forever.  He always seems to bring a bit of class into any major social upheaval, be it an assassination or simply a long-ranging fight over basic human rights.  Also, it looks as though after Michael is laid in state at Neverland, there will be some Anna Nicole-esque legal wrangling over the custody of his probably vat-grown children, and the disposition of his $300 million dollar debt.  Apparently, ticket holders of the shows which now will not go on unless Michael is hooked up to some sort of Tesla galvanic device and electrified around the stage to the beat of his songs, (probably not too much more bizarre than some of Mike's other activities) are being given the consolation prize of keeping the tickets as souvenirs, since they are the last link to Jackson that will be available.  Also, they have Mike-designed & inspired graphics on them.

There seems to be a lot of legacy spin control going on, which only surprises me because everyone who's even remotely affected by the fact that Michael Jackson has died has been around long enough to remember, pretty much, all the shit that's being pseudo-minimized.  Had a chimp named Bubbles, bought the Beatles, tried to purchase the Elephant Man's bones, sleeps in a hyperbaric chamber, movie with Joe Pesci,  has his own theme park out in the yard, diddles kids, has porn, keeps chopping off his face, dated Brooke Shields, married Elvis' daughter, repeated crotch grabbing as a dance move, dangles kids from balconies, interviewed about diddling, showed penis in closed legal session, Elizabeth Taylor, caught fire, pissed off McCartney.  Some of this was found out to be lies spread by Jackson himself, and some of it was never proven in courts, but all of it will be part and parcel of his legacy, whether his family & fans like it or not.  It's inescapable.

No one ever forgets the outlandish shit you get up to, and you cannot control your legacy.  The Bush White House was trying really hard to have him remembered as a patriotic regular guy statesman who just did the job that needed to be done during a difficult time in American history.  Good luck with that.  People will remember the gaffes and the dumbassery, the tanking economy, the rampant greed, the quagmire war, and the rest of the world hating us.  The fact that Osama bin Laden has outlived Michael Jackson should piss you off.  Know now the fault of the Monkeyface.  Back to music - Kurt Cobain and shotguns and heroin, Jim Morrison and vampire sex, Elvis and drugs and food and drugs and food and dying on the toilet, Hendrix and burning guitars & vomit.  Celebrity death gets tied up with random shit they did while alive, and the circumstances of their visit from the reaper.  David Carradine's unusual sex stuff's gonna stay with him for a while.  That's just how it is.

This was unexpected though; in doing Internet "research" about Michael for this blog entry, I happened across this - Michael the inventor.  This is his patent, US #5,255,452, for the shoes that allowed him to do the anti-gravity lean thing seen here at about 7:17.  So - either you just had one of Mike's tricks ruined for you, or you're kind of impressed at his ingenuity.  Or, if you're me - both.  I found this, which made me scream internally, and I also found out that Michael deliberately lied to the press about the hyperbaric chamber (sleeping in it, anyway) and the Elephant Man thing, so I wonder this: could this all be an elaborate hoax to set up Jackson coming "back from the dead" in a zombie-like state to record Thriller 2, capitlizing on the success of the re-issue from last year and the fervor whipped up by his supposed "death?"

Mr. Price, take us out.

Fear the Fush

ABBY:  "Run!  There's a Fush, and it's coming to get you!"

ME:  "A what?"

ABBY:  "A Fush!  It's up in the sky, and, and It looks like a cookie, and, and a hot dog in a bun, and there's a big bad wolf, and a monster inside, and it's coming to get you!  Run!"

ME:  "The Fush looks like a cookie?"

ABBY:  "And a hot dog!  In a bun!"  (runs into kitchen)  "Mom!  There's a Fush, and it's coming to get you!"

MOM:  "What?"

ABBY:  "And, and, there's a monster, and a big bad wolf inside!  Up in the sky!"  (runs off down the hall)

Yeah, I don't really know if Abby ate anything special today or anything, no mushrooms that I noticed.  We pronounced "fush" a few times later, and that's really what she was saying.  Anyway, watch the skies, I guess.

25 Question Quiz

What color socks are you wearing?
I have skin socks over my feet bones.

If you could get away scot-free, would you kill someone?
No one ever gets away scot-free.

If aliens were attacking the Earth, would you run or make friends?
Play frisbee with Gort. (TUNK!  "Shit.  Come on, man...Klatuu Barada catch the damn frisbee already.")

What job do you see yourself at 20 years from now?
Industrial solvent flavor testing.

When was the last time you burst into song for no reason?
Tonight, about three hours ago.

What song was it?
I have a goofy made-up song I sing to my kids when they're getting out of the bath.

Have you ever finger-painted?
Only with bodily substances.

When you die, where do you want to be buried?
My ashes are to be blown into the eyes of my enemies.

Do you consider a giant atom-smasher a threat to humanity?
Depends.  Competent help is hard to find.

Do you want pigs to fly?
Who wants to be shat upon by an airborne pig?

If you could be invisible for one day, what would you do?
Steal from the ridiculously wealthy.  Enact petty revenge.  Watch people naked.  Eavesdrop.  Shit - what would you do?

Would you rather fist-fight a badger or a koala?
Both.  At the same time.  And I hope there's money on it.

What would the theme song of your life be?
Shouldn't others pick these for you?

You have 70 seconds to live. What do you DO?!
Make the most of IT!

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
None.  I step on that hairy fucker before he gets to my woodpile.

Where was the last place you swore you'd never go to again?
Pensacola.  Went back in April.

Does the Taco Bell dog scare you?
How old is this quiz?

Jedis or ninjas?
Jedi Ninja Goodtime Fortune Birthday Party!  Who secretly ate the dip?  Yoda secretly ate the dip!

Would you trust a polar bear with your life?
Hell, no.  Who knows a fucking polar bear's agenda?

Would you rather eat moldy meat or drink rotten milk?
Moldy meat.  I bet that's a delicacy somewhere.

Do you wish Pokemon were real?
No - my house would be full of them.

Have you ever played chicken with cars just for the hell of it?
Yep.  Isn't that pretty much the only reason to play chicken?  Stupid goddamned quiz...

Would you take advice from a talking McDonalds sandwich?
Depends on the sandwich.  Big Mac's got street cred, but that Filet-O-Fish is one crazy-ass mick bastard.  McChicken gives bullshit advise due to his being a cowardly bitch, and Quarter Pounder - we cool.

What would you rather blow up: a puppy or a kitty?
Inflatable Shark.

Do you understand what "e=mc2" means?
The energy of a thing equals its mass times the speed of light (in a vacuum), squared.  With the Internet at your disposal, I'm sure you can do better, but that's as far as I'm going.