Category: humour

easter monday

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Jesus is hungover. Or rather, he’s been on a bender all night watching pornography and eating Cheetos, and now, he’s wondering if he can turn those powers of water into wine into returning his foreskin to its original colour.

But, hey, it’s a day off, right?

(For the record, I’m not Jesus, and Cheetos are terrible lube.)

Target: 1200 words
Written: 1177 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Look Homeward, Angel, Thomas Wolfe
Comics: Hit-Girl v3 11-12, Kick-Ass vs. Hit-Girl 1-2
Music: Early Trax, Ministry

saturday

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Sweet shit Jesus, it’s the weekend.

Here’s a joke, as told to me by a German tour guide.

A statue of Adonis and a statue of Aphrodite stare at each other from across a courtyard. They’ve been there for hundreds of years, posed, gazing into each other’s eyes, sculpted, their perfect bodies the ideals of male and female.

Along come Cupid, who thinks, what beautiful people, doomed to stare at other for eternity with no contact, no words, no nothing. I bet if they were real, even for an hour, man, they’d fuck like rabbits.

(Sorry, ridiculous and sublime).

So, he gives them that time and they rush together, stare into each other’s eyes and whisper sweet nothings in one another’s ears. Then, they disappear into the bushes and man, the noises that come out of there. Cupid thinks, damn, I guess they really were jonesing for each other. Jesus, that’s some kinda something going on back there.

Finally, as the hour emerges, out they come. Adonis says to Aphrodite, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

Aphrodite turns and says, “Yes, but next time, you hold the pigeon and I’ll shit on its head.”

Good night, folks. I’ll be here all week.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 186 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Second Book Of The Tao, Stephen Mitchell
Comics: Kick-Ass v4 3-4, Hit-Girl v2 3-4
Music: It's In Our Hands, Bjork (which now sounds gross, in the context of that joke)

it occurred to me

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That it might be funny to make little haikus out of the post listings on the right.

It currently says

i am also eating shit
we know you’re eating shit
never let it be said

Which isn’t traditional haiku, but it’s followed up by

so i went off the drugs
dogsittin’

Which in itself is kind of fun.

Something to think about.

It would lock me into the site’s look and feel, which is kind of hilarious.

Mornings are fucked when you’re thinking about barking dogs and yoga butt and the lack of porn in a main character’s movie collection.

Writing is weird.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 986 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Stieg Larsson
Comics: Shadowhawk v5 6-9
Music: In The Chamber: The String Quartet Tribute To Linkin Park, String Quartet (this is a real thing, no shit)

we begin again

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While The Mungk was largely fatalist, and explored the beginnings of trauma without redemption more than anything (along with a slight dose of the mini-traumas that chip away as us piece by piece), this is going to be a vent.

I like funny things. I like humour.

I’m also obsessed with politics. Like, I don’t enjoy them; I just can’t look away. Motherfuckers run this world, whether that’s because they’re literal pieces of human shit (see Trump, everyone who supports him) or weak-willed do-gooders who still think that playing by the rules and taking the high road is doing anything other than handing our world to the forces of evil, who don’t give a fuck what road they take and ignore the rules, it’s largely irrelevant.

Bad Neighbours (the working title) is my way of expressing that. Of diving into ineffectuality, and how it completely fails to address the behaviour of those who could care less about custom, tradition or little things like “the law” or truth.

So, you know, going lighthearted with it, with a dose of fucking fatalism, wrapped up in barely concealed social commentary.

Fuck it. Why not?

Because fascists will hate me for portraying as the boors they are and liberals will hate me because of the mirror I hold up to them ineffectual weakness?

Fuck ’em. If the world is going down, I’ll go with it.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 979 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Radical Acceptance, Tara Brach (I'm not sure it's working, though I love the concept, minus the woo woo)
Comics: Pitt Crew 1, Pitt 17-20
Music: I Will Always Love You: The Best Of Whitney Houston, Whitney FUCKING HOUSTON HOW DID THIS HAPPEN GODDAMNIT MY EARS

fighting back

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Well, mostly. I’m holding my own, but also partially drowning in phlegm and mucus.

This may be the birth of the Anti-Cold.

It’s like the Anti-Monitor, but against all things cough and snot related.

Snot robbed my mother, and I must avenge her! Mucus kicked my dog! Phlegm killed my Uncle Ben!

Can cough medicine make one delirious? Asking for a friend.

Target: 1000 words
Written: 2217 words, comic: Western Cradle #3

Read: Me Talk Pretty One Day, David Sedaris
Comics: Preacher 31-33, Preacher: Cassidy - Blood & Whiskey 1
Music: NWA Greatest Hits, NWA (fuck 'em, right?)

still working on a cold

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It still sucks, but at least, the running, drippy bullshit is mostly over.

Now, it’s annoying cough, hey, thanks for joining the party. Did I introduce you to plugged ears?

No?

Well, here, you two will get along swimmingly. Perhaps we can entice fever over for a little menage-a-trois?

No? Not yet? Just the tip?

Is delirium a cold symptom? Asking for a friend.

Target: 900 words
Written: 152 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Shining, Stephen King
Comics: 100 Bullets 53-56
Music: Never Let Me Down, David Bowie (apparently, he hated this album, which, like, okay, I guess it's less lyrically poignant than most of his others, but it's not exactly horrible, which just goes to show how good he was, I guess.  If the work you hated is still pretty good, you must be doing something right.)

still sizeable

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Like, top of the bell curve, I imagine, for most.

Not horsecock, just average white guy.

That’s how we measure size in the internet era. In the Nineties, you would have said, Nicole Eggert pre-Baywatch, not Pamela Anderson mid-Baywatch.

And now it’s weird.

Target: 900 words
Written: 1631 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Hunter Of Worlds, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: 100 Bullets 25-28
Music: Nervous & Weird, Everclear

evil dead: the musical

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I’ve seen it once before and enjoyed it thoroughly, even if I ended up looking like Sissy Spacek at the prom in Carrie.

Splatter zone, baby. Why wouldn’t you?

Are you so stuck up you can’t get a bucket of blood thrown on you?

Huh?

Are you?

Weird, dude.

Target: 900 words
Written: 141 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: Lost In The Barrens, Farley Mowat
Comics: 100 Bullets 5-8
Music: The Needle And The Damage Done: Outcesticide, Volume 2, Nirvana

what’s not to love?

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It’s Deadpool & Wolverine day for me, and I am stoked.

Not only is Ryan Reynolds one of my favourite comedy actors and fellow geeks, he’s also a good Canadian boy, which I appreciate.

Weirdly, I’ve never been particularly nationalist, but I like to support the locals, especially when they’re doing cool things (sorry, Bieber, Nickelback, you ain’t my cup of tea).

Anyway, excited. The first two were great, so I can’t wait.

Also, my second writing was hit this morning, so a mini cigarillo is in order, and it’s nice enough to do it, so yay!

Target: 800 words
Written: 430 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Adventures Of Captain Hatteras, Jules Verne
Comics: The Crow 3-5, The Crow: Dead Time 1 (can I just say that The Crow is a seminal work in Gothic horror/romance?  Every time I've read it, it hits me - fucking angst, anger and love injected straight into my veins.  Absolutely gutting.  Absolutely beautiful.)
Music: Underground V5.0, Linkin Park

sledgehammer

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I don’t know why, but every time Sledgehammer comes on, I want to get angry. It’s not that the song inspires that in me, it’s that, no matter what I do on my shuffle, it somehow manages to come up.

Like, every time.

I’m not that big of a Peter Gabriel fan; in fact, I think that’s the only song in my repertoire, and I think it came as part of a new wave playlist or something.

But the sledgehammer keeps returning, and it’s not cool, like the 80s TV show.

It’s just a bludgeon, one more little way for the universe to throw tomatoes at my face.

I am a Shakespearian actor playing poorly on an off-off-Globe stage.

And I’m not even in one of the good ones, or playing the juicy part.

I am the walk-on; the Sir Andrew Aguecheek of middle-class Canada.

Forever pursuing; forever the joke.

Target: 800 words
Written: 262 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Regiment, Farley Mowat
Comics: Postal: Deliverance 5-8
Music: Underground 6, Linkin Park