(Nested (Parenthesis)) or, Drink Drank Drunk

Important preface, if you are in any way biologically related to me you may skip this post. Seriously. It will probably be better all around. Still with me? So be it. You have been warned. So, the usual Sunday gaming group , which occupies, appropriately enough most of my Sundays got cancelled tonight. In it's absence, I decided to take up my boss on his invitation to join him, and several other Marketplace dwellers for an evening of drinking. (To that effect, I apologize in advance if this post lacks my usual cogency (whatever you might define that to be), I was slightly buzzed upon returning home and decided the best way to proceed was with a tall cool glass of absinthe.) The highlight of my evening had to be reading the Urban Dictionary definition of the sex act 'Donkey Punching' to a table full of my peers in a dry British narrators voice. Good times. Alas from there it went ever so slightly downhill. I have learned hat one of my Boss's favorite topics of discussion, at least in my presence, (dear God, I hope it is only in my presence) is my penis, good old reliable Herr Wangenstein. It is, at least according to Marketplace lore, eight and a half feet long and entirely prehensile. (The cynical part of me wonders if this might in fact be his attempt to diffuse me as a romantic rival, since after that particular build up, nearly anything I pack in the old trousers would be a (nearly) guaranteed disappointment (Thank the Gods this blog underscores spelling errors, absinthe apparently messily murders my ability to type)). Indeed this lance I pack (Indeed it was remarked I must favor woman of color because as a White Knight I needs must joust a Black Knight to stay in keeping with the traditional forms.) has, at least according to Marketplace lore, been many a fantastical place including but not limited to a gang of midgets, many an unwary passerby (of both genders), possibly even you, right now (It's just that sneaky). Now, Herr Wangenstein is a faithful companion, and it has indeed taken me on some nearly surreal adventures, but honestly, there is only so long a man can awkwardly smile and nod whilst his junk is speculated upon. Five minutes was about my limit. Alas nearly half an hour (Possibly more actually, I wasn't timing) was dedicated solely to my wang (Normally, of course a mere half hour wouldn't be enough (ladies) but this was entirely conversational. Quite a different matter.). I did try to remain a game sport, even adding to the lore where appropriate (There are, on the balance, worse things to be known for after all) but eventually, the time came to extricate myself from the situation, nearly everyone else had already left, my boss was in the company of a young woman and, if I might momentarily co-opt the coarse vernacular of the common man, he had that shit on lock. So I gave my regrets, and beat a hasty retreat. Why, oh why did I not hit the restroom before I left? I was of course a wee bit buzzed, (I believe this has been established) a common side effect to access to free booze, and so during the drive home (after stopping at a Taco Bell to sop some of that liquor up with reconstituted meat related by-product meal) I realized the deep need to void my bladder, the primal, powerful version that only alcohol can truly provide. A burning that stretched from the reservoir of my bladder to the very tip of Herr Wangenstein, (Filling thereby all eight and a half prehensile feet of it, (Needless to say that is a lot) with the mighty urge to urinate on whatever happened to be at hand). My world, gentle reader, was one of pain. Apocalyptic agony surging through every fiber of my being (or at least those fibers located around my crotchal region), A level of pain that told me that surely, although death was stalking me, it would not, indeed could not come fast enough. Worry not gentle reader, I made it to a Wal-Mart (24/7 yo) before my innards burst, leaving a rather large greasy smear on the interior of my van (one with an eight and a half foot long fully prehensile appendage of dubious origin no less). And... Actually, I'm not entirely certain there is an and... if there was a point to this exercise I fear the green fairy took flight with it in tow some time ago..... I shall instead end abruptly with a word of sage advice, remember kids, sage advice from a drunken man is about as useful as a dildo-gram to a puritanical household (which is to say your mileage may vary). Important postscript, If you are in any way related to me and still reading this, come on, man and or woman, you were warned!

OH NOES, FANFIC! or, Thank You Mario, But Our Princess Is In Another Castle

'Baby, You're a Peach': Being a work of fan-fiction set in the Super Mario Brothers Universe

Thursday:

He heaved a sigh and kicked his tiny little legs over the edge of the precipice, seemingly unfazed by the bottomless nature of the pit in front of them. The vast panorama of the Mushroom Kingdom laid out before them. His gaze fixed on a distant [?] block, still shockingly unopened, if only to avoid meeting her eyes.

“Bowser is not known for his leniency on treason you know...”

Princess Peach swept her dress beneath her and took a seat next to her Goomba companion, Enoki.

“I understand the risk you have taken for me... and I am grateful... truly...but...” she trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

“I know, it's that... plumber.”

She reached over one of her be gloved hands, placing it on the top of his mound shaped body, in what was meant to be a conciliatory gesture.

“You needn't condescend to me Princess,” at this the Enoki pushed away from her, and Peach dropped her hand to her lap, self consciously picking at the lace of her dress. A dense silence hung between them, broken only by the distant flapping wings of a Parakoopa Trooper.

* * *

One Week Earlier, Thursday:

“Get a move on!” a Magikoopa, who Enoki recognized as Kamek, growled, as he guided a girl, bound, and with a bag over her head, down the hallway toward the dungeons. Enoki was curious, he had only just begun working at Bowser's estate, so he was unaware of his new bosses propensity for kidnapping royalty at every conceivable opportunity.

Enoki crept stealthily along after the pair, insofar as what is essentially an anthropomorphic mushroom can display stealth, a process aided somewhat by the fact that Kamek was quite loquacious about Bowser's power, about the weakness of the mushroom kingdoms current regime, and his own mastery of the arcane. After what seemed an eternity of rantings, they arrived at the cell reserved for Peach.

Roughly Kamek pushed her into the cell and with a wave of his wand cut her bindings and caused the bag to vanish. Enoki caught the barest glimpse of her before the cell door slammed shut. That glimpse was all he needed. He needed to free her, to be with her. So he formulated a plan.

* * *

A Few Days Later, Sunday:

Enoki took a deep breath and tried to bring his racing pulse back under control. He peered down the hall to her cell, two Hammer Brothers were stationed just outside the door. As he approached their hands dropped to the mini-sledges strapped to their waists.

“Halt!” they cried in unison. “Who goes there?”

“Private first class Enoki, 314^th squadron, Lemmy's Irregulars. I have orders for a prisoner transport.” At that, Enoki thrust an official looking piece of paper at the guards.

“Why haven't we heard of this before?” The Hammer Brothers asked, again in unison (a peculiar side effect of the magical processes by which Hammer Brother pairs are engineered).

“You're hearing about it now,” Enoki retorted coolly, “the boss wanted it kept a secret, to foil rescue attempts. Bottom line boys, I'm sorry, but the Princess is going to another castle.”

After a breathless moment the Hammer Brothers nodded and opened the cell, allowing Enoki in.

“Aren't you a little short for a Koopa-trooper?” Peach asked after sizing up the new arrival.

Enoki was too stunned to finally be in her presence to formulate an answer.

“I... there... ummm... prisoner... transport... castle... pretty...” he stammered.

“I take it back, you fit in perfectly here,” Peach began, a wry smile on her lips and one perfectly trimmed eyebrow raised in amusement, “Lead on, oh noble fascist.” and with that she flounced out of the cell and tapped her foot, seemingly impatient for Enoki to catch up. As soon as they were around the first corner, Enoki whispered,

“Just follow my lead, I'm going to get you out of here.”

“Yes,” Peach answered, “I'm pretty sure we covered that, you know prisoner transport, foiling rescuers. It won't work you know, Mario will come for me, he always does.” At this, a faraway look came over her eyes and a small smile crossed her lips. Enoki's heart sank like a stone.

“Ah, you have a boyfriend...” He frowned, “I suppose I should have guessed” he continued under his breath. Peach was too caught up in her reverie to notice. Enoki sighed, his mood suddenly dark. He was so caught up in his thoughts in fact, that he failed to notice that Peach had drawn an umbrella from somewhere in the folds of her dress, and after a few quick practice hefts, swung it full force at Enoki's head. Fortunately, the largely fungal anatomy of the Goomba's body made it uniquely suited to shrug off blunt force trauma, indeed, unless the strike carried enough weight to crush the Goomba's relatively weak legs (a weight roughly proportional to a somewhat obese human male bearing full force down on them from above, for example), they were surprisingly resilient creatures.

“By Bowser's spines, that bloody stings woman!” Enoki cried as the umbrella bounced off. “I'm trying to help you here!”

“Help me to a new cell you mean? How noble, truly.” Peach's lip curled in distaste as she spoke.

“That was a lie dammit! This isn't a transport it's a rescue!” Enoki was beginning to sound a bit hysterical, so desperate was he to win Peach's approval.

“What, really?” Peach seemed taken aback if only for a moment “Well... you needn't have bothered, Mario is probably already on his way.”

“Well, it seems his services won't be needed today, your escape is already well underway. What is so great about this Mario of yours anyway?” Enoki asked, unable to keep the jealousy out of his voice. Much to his chagrin, she spent the next three and a half hours explaining it to him.

* * *

Three Hours And Twenty Nine Minutes Later:

“...and some things are just better with a mustache.” Peach finally paused to catch her breath.

“Yeah... well, I meant besides that,” Enoki pouted as he stooped over to pick up another of the gold coins that inexplicably littered the ground on the Mushroom Kingdoms better traveled roads. Suddenly they heard a noise from behind.

“Halt,” two voices cried out in unison “The prisoner transport you are engaged in is unauthorized. Surrender the Princess at once or face execution.” Enoki turned to find the two Hammer Brothers who had been guarding the cell standing behind him, signature weapons already in hand.

“Stand back Peach,” Enoki warned and stepped forward to confront the aggressors, “The Princess is coming with me and that is non negotiable, so why don't you two...” Enoki was stopped mid-sentence, as a hammer came crashing down on his head, on they must have thrown into the air before they announced their presence. He dropped to the ground like a pile of bricks after they had been shattered by a plumbers fist, a trickle of fluid rolling out of his lips.

“Further resistance will not be tolerated!” The Brothers cried.

“Try and take me then,” Peach said and pulled out her umbrella, The Brothers hesitated at this, uncertain as to how much damage Bowser would forgive them inflicting. Finally one of them lobbed his hammer toward Peach. Peach deftly caught it in the crook at the base of the umbrellas handle, and spinning, lobbed it full force back. It caught the Hammer Brother square in the head, snapping back his head with bone crunching force. He fell backwards onto his shell, his head lolling at an impossible angle. The other Brother, struck mute by the loss of his twin, leapt up onto a nearby wall and released a massive volley of hammers. Peach opened her umbrella and charged through the line of fire, slipping behind her attacker, and dropping him with a blow to the head.

After Peach was certain he wasn't getting up again, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and quipped,

“Don't you know it's illegal to get hammered on a Sunday?” When no one laughed she huffed, and looked sharply toward Enoki, and upon seeing he was still collapsed she rushed over to his side. “Are you all right?”

“Heh, I'm afraid not...” Enoki gasped out, clearly having trouble breathing, “Sorry Princess, but you'll have to take the rescue from here.” His eyes rolled back in his head, as he said this, and his breathing grew even shallower.

“No... not today,” Peach said firmly, and cast about her surroundings. It was pretty typical, bricks on the road at her feet, rolling grass, and in the distance phallic looking green hills, and perhaps a hundred yards away one of those floating [?] boxes. She dashed towards it and gave it a firm crack with her umbrella, “Here's to hope” she said and waited to see what emerged. When a green mushroom, rather garishly bedecked in white polka dots popped out Peach let out a delighted giggle, “Perfect timing.” She snatched the mushroom up and ran back to Enoki, pushing the mushroom into his mouth. At first nothing happened. A tear rose to Peach's eye and she looked away uncertain as to what had gone wrong, even the most grievous of injuries were supposed to be undone by the power of those mushrooms. A sob wracked her body, though she couldn't really say why, she had only just met this peculiar little Goomba after all. Then she heard a rattling breath from behind her and turned to see Enoki stumbling back to his feet. She helped him steady himself before nearly knocking him back over with the mighty force of her glomp.

“Don't do that again you silly fool, I am quite capable of taking care of myself you know!” Peach cried before finally letting Enoki out of her embrace. Enoki for his part was rather nonplussed blushing furiously, insofar as a giant anthropomorphic mushroom can blush .

* * *

Back to the Present, Thursday

The awkward silence that lingered between the pair seemed to stretch toward infinity, when suddenly in the distance;

“WAH-HOOOOOO” an exuberant shout echoed across the land with the decibel level of a gunshot. This was followed by the sound of running feet, and the occasional sound of something organic being crushed beneath black boots. Gradually the source of the noise became apparent as on the horizon, a red overall bedecked, rather portly looking Italian became visible. Without warning he leapt atop the distant Koopa-paratrooper whose wing beats had been filling the conversational void, and with a sickening squelching sound , dispatched it.

Then for the first time he saw Peach.

“IT'S A-ME, MARIO” He shouted as his gaze fell upon her and grinning broadly, (actually rather idiotically to Enoki's mind) Set off at a full run towards her. He leapt over obstacles, skillfully evaded local fauna, and when he came within a few hundred feet, jumped atop one of the ubiquitous green pipes that littered the landscape. Then the illusion of grace vanished. With arms pinwheeling comically, Mario let out a stunned

“WHOA-WHOA-OH”, and pitched forward down the pipe.

Silence returned.

“That's Mario?” Enoki asked, ill-concealed scorn dripping from his every word.

“Yeah... yeah that was him,” Peach said, sounding a little dazed.

“That pipe leads to one of the disused warp zones as I recall. He should be fine, but when he comes out the other end, He'll be a few hundred miles from here...”

“Oh...”

“I'll understand if you want to go after him.” Enoki said, sadly. Peach once again laid a comforting hand on him, this time he didn't resist.

“I don't think I do,” Peach responded, having a sudden change of heart, the sort that implies the writer of this tale suddenly realized he had already committed more then three pages of time and effort to what was ostensibly a joke, and wanted to wrap it up, character motivations and good storytelling be damned. ”In fact,” Peach continued, “perhaps what I'm looking for is right in front of me.”

Enoki smiled shyly, and Peach smiled right back.

* * *

Epilogue:

The light's were dimmed in Peach's boudoir. The two inhabitants, one a princess of the Mushroom Kingdom, and one, an anthropomorphic mushroom, were regarding each other with a certain measure of confusion.

“So... how is this supposed to work?” Peach asked breaking the silence.

“Actually, I'm not too sure myself... Usually I just release a cloud of spores and, you know, a light breeze and nature takes it's course.” Enoki explained.

“That sounds... unsanitary to say the least...” Peach sounded unenthusiastic.

“Yeah... you don't really seem equipped for spores either...” Enoki trailed off for a moment, then continued “I ah... I guess I really didn't think this through...”

“Look, you're a fun guy and all, and I hope we can be friends, but... maybe you should go.” Peach pulled her clothing back on and opened the door signaling for Enoki to leave. “Maybe I should see what Luigi is up too...” Enoki heard her mutter before she closed the door behind him.

A rather perplexed Enoki was left standing alone in the hall wondering exactly how he could explain his unscheduled leave of absence to his superiors.

THE END

You read it, you can't unread it.

Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World or, I've Liked You For A Thousand Years (AThousand Years)

This is a review of Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World. Spoiler level Mild to Medium

It makes me tremendously sad that yesterday, the pre-screening of The Expendables was so packed they had to turn people away, and Scott Pilgrim didn't even fill a theater. Now, it should be noted that objectivity is not something I bring to the table with this movie. People like me were very much who this film was made for. Put simply, I came. It was damn near perfect. The visual style is spot on. I have officially gone from being generally approving of Edgar Wright to being reasonably certain he is an infallible God. It is unique for an action movie in that very action scene felt completely distinct. Bollywood musicals, Saiyan style superpowers, literal battles of the bands. Distinct. Fun. It is densely packed with video game references, scenester references, hipster references. Speaking of scenesters and hipsters, the soundtrack was delightful for an indie music nerd such as myself, and it meshes well with the film. When 'Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old Girl' came on it gave me chills. The main quibble I have is with the ending. It should come as no surprise to anyone that the movie and the comic differ in some significant ways, being as the movie was essentially done by the time the last book hit stores.
*Spoilers AHOY*
The book ends in a manner where it feels reasonably natural that Scott and Ramona would end up together the final battle demands active participation from Ramona in the process and they both learn the lessons they need to.
The movies final battle plays out in such a way that it feels like the only satisfying conclusion is for Scott to return to Knives Chau. He doesn't.
*End Spoilers*
My other problem is with casting. Nearly everyone involved was absolutely spot on, embodying the characters as I imagined to an uncanny degree. Everyone except Michael Cera which is unfortunate, because he was a pretty key piece of casting. Scott Pilgrim was frankly kind of a douche as presented in the books and Michael Cera is a bit too much of a nebbish to pull off the appropriate level of douchebaggery (And yes I have seen Youth in Revolt, a.k.a. I'm Gonna Drug You Till You Love Me, and no I don't think he pulled it off there either). Ah well, as they say 'Que Cera Cera, Whatever will be George Michael will be George Michael.'
I apologise for the lack of humor,my affection for the movie is just too damn high. It's power level is clearly over 9000, so I give Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World
>9000 Plumtrees (Out of 5)

The Expendables or I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Love

This is a review of the Expendables. Spoiler level Mild to Medium
So, I went to a pre-screening of 'The Expendables' tonight. It was better than I expected... If it took itself a bit less seriously it might have been legitimately good. As it is, my impressions are
1)Charisma Carpenter... Still hot.
2)Dolph Lundgren... Surprisingly good.
3)Jet Li... You're short... yeah, we get it.
4)Sylvester Stallone... For a director he makes a pretty good action hero.
5)Mickey Rourke...
Actually if I may break the list format for a moment, Mickey Rourke gave an emotional and nuanced performance, unsurprisingly because that is is shtick these days, but... see point 4. Stallone's directing was kind of... not good. Examples of this phenomenon are amply available, indeed one need look no further than the first scene with its artificially shaky camera, and constant quick cuts which look like they were made by an spastic ADD riddled 6 year old who is also, in all probability, blind. My quibble here though, is something much more serious. When Rourke was was launching into his emotional monologue about the dehumanization inherent in the murder for hire business and his regrets for not reaching out to protect one life he could have saved blah blah blah. The monologue was cliche, but exceptionally well delivered, the way his eyes moved, the pauses the light stammers, it gave a real sense of reality, it felt like he was genuinely dredging up some painful memories and it was hard. It was the kind of moment that could make you forget you are watching a movie, except... as soon as he starts his speech they drop the goddamn blue filter over the film so the audience realizes that this scene is Serious Business, and it is Sad Panda Time. Can we just do away with the blue filter please? Instead, try this, make a movie with a cohesive plot, and have your characters react to the world around them in realistic ways, and thereby learn and grow from their experiences, thereby eliminating the need for A CHEESY BLUE FILTER TO INDICATE SOMETHING SAD IS HAPPENING ARRRGHGHGHGLSKDAUSGFBAQIU.... Sorry, had a bit of a rage seizure there.
6)The plot... predictable. Example, said by the feisty Latin American... sorry I meant Vilenan, girl 'Rargh... The Generalissimo is bad!' and 'My Mother is dead , my Father is... ...gone' could those two facts be related?
7)The Expendables... a stupid name for this film!
I mean seriously, you call your film The Expendables,and it creates certain expectations, to whit, a group sent into an unwinnable situation where heavy losses are inevitable, because you know, Expendable? It's right therein the title. So how come not a one of The Expendables is killed?
It did have several creative means of dispatching generic Latin Americans... sorry I meant Vilenans(Vilena? Really? That seemed like a good country name to you?).
Long story short if you turn off the old brain meats for a spell and look at the splosions and bullets, it isn't a terrible way to kill some time. I can't in good conscience recommend seeing it in theaters, but a redbox rental probably wouldn't hurt.
All in all I'd give it 2.3 Splosions (Out of 5)

The Twilight Showdown, or Rehash

To help make up for the lack of recent activity, I bring you a classic post from an old, now defunct blog I had. Perhaps this will compel me to actually watch the rest of the Twilight saga... if only to reaffirm that either I don't know a good movie when it gnaws on my face, or, no one else does.

So, I finally got around to watching the movie Twilight, mostly because I picked up a used copy for a friend and figured, you know, since it's lying around watchin' it probably wouldn't kill me. And it didn't kill me... physically. But on the inside... yeah. I died a little. Now, don't get me wrong, it wasn't a terrible movie per se. In fact the baseball scene is quite possibly the most charming thing I've seen on celluloid in some time. I'm sure most folks have already seen this thing since from what I hear Robert Pattinson is now moistening the panties of girls of all ages (Which I find baffling, being as his eyebrows, you know the ones, the ones that give him his patented dark'n'broody™ look, also leave the impression that two ink dipped caterpillars are locked in a constant bloody war for control of his face). So rather than touch on any specific plot points or concessions that perturbed me, allow me instead to present a short dramatic scene that we can reasonably extrapolate might take place in the Twilight universe

Dramatis Personae
Some Chick (SC)
Joe Vampire (JV)
Quileute Passerby (QP)
We join our heroes mid conversation as Some Chick tries to convince Joe Vampire to 'Turn' her to the Vampiric state of being

SC: Please! I only want the same chance at eternity that you do!
JV: No! Never! You don't understand what you're asking... You could never understand...
SC: But I do my love, I know I'll be cursed to subsist on human blood and descend into monstrosity!
JV: ...Well, that's not entirely true, I mean, my family mostly just runs around being extra nice to people... Oh! but we only eat animals... and it is, you know, kinda hard. like being a vegetarian... of which there are hundreds of thousands...but you know *ahem* hard
SC: Oh... well I understand that the weight of centuries will surely leave me with a crushing sense of ennui
JV: ...Not necessarily, I mean my family and I mostly play baseball and dance...but we have to move alot... so that's uh... kinda unfortunate... I guess
SC: But surely I'll lead a horrific existence, unable to ever again see the light of the sun, lest it burn my undead form to cinders right?
JV: Ha ha ha, no. The sun won't destroy you, but it will make you sort of like um... exude glitter and rainbows so yeah, that's... ah... that's kinda inconvenient.
SC: So... wait, you get to live essentially forever, Have crazy superpowers, AND psychic powers of various stripes, and the biggest drawback is... You glitter? And, that is the life you dare not share with me...
JV: You... you just don't understand the true nature of my curse *brood* *pout*
SC: ... Right...
At this point Some Chick grabs a conveniently placed golf club and swings it at Joe Vampire's head causing severe cranial trauma
SC: Jerk!
As Joe Vampire drops to the floor a Quileute tribesman passing by in the background turns to the audience and speaks
QP: Wow! Now that's what I call cracking open a Cold One!
All laugh. Actors take their bow and exit stage left

So, yeah... Lots of liberties taken with the vampire mythos which kinda kills the whole Gothic Romance vibe. On the plus side Ashley Greene is rather hawt.

And now, Bonus content! Robert Pattinson Fan-Art!!

Pain lies on the Riverside,or I'm back baby!

If anyone actually read this thing (my sister excluded), they might have noticed a bit of a lack in the posting department. Never fear gentle readers, I am not dead, rather I was merely living in a a budgetarily enforced state of transiency. Yes friends, like such luminaries as Matt Foley I lived in a van down by the river. Now I am kind of a big dude. To help give you some perspective here are but a few examples of the nicknames I have been given over the years, Jolly Green Giant, Grimace, Grape Ape, Frost Giant, Hill Giant, Goliath, Hercules, Muscles. Perhaps you sense a theme here? This is important, because it means that trying to cram my 6"6' body into the back of a passenger van was distinctly uncomfortable. It also made subtlety a bit of a challenge since tinted windows of no I was pretty visible if I slept on the seats (sleeping in a car pretty much anywhere means you are loitering, if not out and out trespassing) which means knocks on the window in the dead of night from the 5-0 and demands that you move with variable degrees of politeness.
To combat this, I would cram myself onto the floor between the two sets of back seats, making myself as unobtrusive as possible. Now, I don't know if you have ever ever tried to sleep with your kneecaps lodged firmly in your ribcage, whilst a deep sense of paranoia gnaws at your guts every time you can see headlights through the windows "Oh crap! The fuzz!" I'd exclaim, and in trying to make myself smaller, I'd usually get my shoulder caught underneath the seat and flail about pathetically like a fish out of water. It was precisely as comfortable as you might imagine. Additionally, It gets really hot in the van at night one night I awoke from a burning pain in my distended knee, absolutely convinced that a family of South African Devil ants had taken up residence and were gnawing away. Whereupon I lifted my head to let out a girlish scream and tried to massage life back into my twisted extremities. When I laid my head back down, my pillow actually squelched like a sponge because it was so saturated in sweat. That is the degree of heat we are talking. I slipped back into a fitful sleep and dreamed that the Lady of the Lake was rising out my pillow and bestowing Excalibur upon the ants in my knee.
I kept this up for a couple of weeks, before finally accepting the constant offers of aid from some friends of mine, so I once again have lodgings (with all the internet access that entails),because like the noble leech before me, I have mastered the art of subsisting on the life blood of others... yay?

Butterfly Assassins or, Monsterously Hardcore

I was cruising down the road today, past a field of surprisingly fragrant wildflowers, I had my window down, (as I do in pretty much any weather where the ambient temperature is over 10 degrees) when I noticed a change overtake the asphalt. It went from the rather traditional black color, to a near uniform shade of yellow. The reason behind this change quickly became apparent. an inordinate number of butterflies were fluttering about in the field, and frequently flying right into the path of oncoming cars. Splat. I resigned myself to the ensuing slaughter (I certainly contributed to the lush carpet of corpses on my journey), but I was unprepared for one particular butterfly. It was flying in front of my windshield, when it got caught in a draft and blown right through my open window. It hit me square in the face with the equivalent force of a particularly light slap. This exchange was much harder for the butterfly...So, yeah... I totally headbutted a butterfly to death. I can't decide whether this makes me a monster on par with a serial puppy kicker,or just inexpressibly hardcore.