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02.24.2004 - 7:03 p.m.



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 cool.

I would totally cast my buddy Feng 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.


You think you're so fancy, with your comic-book-savvy, just swaggering around all Smarty Smartington! With your pockets all full books, and...stuff!


(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 cock".

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 of thing.

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.



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 brains tiramisu cuticles!

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9 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

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