02.24.2004 - 7:03 p.m.
GEEKY COMIC BOOK STUFF
Oh, boy. Oh man. So, I've been
all into this Preacher comic book lately, okay? I've been reading
tons of the graphic novel compilations and casting a movie in
my head (Cassidy = Colin Farrell. Tulip = Patricia Arquette.
Jessie Custer = Johnny Depp?).
Up until yesterday, I thought
Preacher was the best comic ever made. Then, I met...
Spider Fucking Jerusalem.
Holy shit. Love it. Love. So
I would totally cast my buddy
in that role, although he'd have to get a few tattoos.
Seriously, if you like comics
at all - well, then I'm sure you already know all about
this particular series and you're totally disgusted with me for
taking so long to find out about it.
SO WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?
You think you're so fancy,
with your comic-book-savvy, just swaggering around all Smarty
Smartington! With your pockets all full of...um...comic books,
(Except you totally
told me, Adam. You cheeky git.)
Anyway, Transmetropolitan rules.
So, between reading these two
hard-boiled, extremely profane type of comics, I have a certain
nomenclature that's stuck in my head these days. I'm sorry to
say it involves even more of the F bomb than usual. Plus, melodious
turns of phrase like "I don't give two tugs on a dead dog's
You know how it is.
Unfortunately, I'm right in
the middle of having to write a lot of copy at work, for one
of our product's retail box design. Like, the sort of copy that's
supposed to make you clutch the box with your sweaty little paws
and immediately race up to the counter to plunk down your hard-earned
cash, because by golly it sure sounds like a swell software
application. Crap like powerfully customizable. That sort
Only, all I can think of is
"Buy this fucking app or I'll pull your guts out your fucking
asshole and use them to play 'La Bamba', you moaning pussy."
"Buy this now or I'll
take a dump on your head the size of a birthday cake."
"Look, shiteyes, to fuckery
with you, if you don't buy this goddamn app you'll be butt-fucked
by crazy farmers with calloused haystack-lifting cocks in a dark
alley, so get out the christly credit card already."
Which, I don't know, maybe
doesn't work so good on the old CompUSA shelf.
LET US END THE GEEKY COMIC
BOOK STUFF AND ALSO THE SWEARING (FOR NOW)
I need to stop self-cannabilising.
Lately I've been chew chew chewing my cuticles, nibbling away
voraciously like some kind of deranged flesh-eating gerbil. It
leaves the edges of my fingers all ragged and icky and, of course,
simply DEMANDING to be chewed some more. What a gross habit,
which I am sure is neither charming in appearance nor what you
might exactly call germ-free.
I'm not completely certain
what got me started on this vigorous new hobby, but I think it
might have been a series of uncomfortable meetings I've been
in recently. The sort of meetings where angry words are volleyed
back and forth between the other people in the room and you become
very, very focused on doing something that communicates your
neutral position so you caaaaarefulllly push back the cuticles
on your nails, one by one, because it requires alllllll your
concentration, and ow, oops that one now needs just a
little tiny nip to make it juuuuust right...
Yeah, so, I'm pretty sure that
might've been it.
Beware the Cuticle Slippery
Slope, people! Once you start, you're damned for eternity! A
shambling wreck, barely human, endlessly starving for
last ::: next
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004