Thursday, June 14, 2007

UPDATED!!!!!!Can girls getr manflu? Because I think Frobisher gave me his.

voting is now closeded. but if you have come late to the show, the suggestion corner is still open. subjects so far are: FLUFFY KITTENS, RECIPES, WHY BIN MEN ARE ALL LAZY CUNTS, HOT TO MAKE A WALDORF SALAD, DUGONGS, THE TIME I WAS ABDUCTED BY ALIENS, and OLD KNUDSON-HIS STRUGGLE.
feel free to vote for one or add your own! it's fun and its easy! like me!

I am having a hard time figuring out what to write about. I have a number of ideas, but I am
a. blazed, and
b. running a fever due to having a bad lungal inflammation type summer cold...which in my asthmatic fuckin' case means another day, another NDE. So, it's over to you, kids...
You decide.

1. True Story about a retarded girl in a chicken wire cage

2. Story about weird feelings of wanting to return to a 1920's I never experienced

3. Paranoid rant/Story about how I believe there are certain types of mental disorder that have been inadvertently(ha!) selected for, and uneducated ruminations about economics and groups

4. Anything you can come up with, which means make a suggestion. In this case I will choose completely at random anything which tickles my fancy, although should my top coon Noshit Sherlock decide to make an appearance, she will get first consideration. Some of you lurkers need to come on out of the closet, yo.

5. Some shit about art

6. Some shit about why I hate the DaVinci Code with such a dark and fearsome loathing

7. Story about my garden

8. Previously withheld stories about the Meadows Family

And now, if you all will iscuze my stoned ass, I'm going to surf some boy-kissie-boy porn. Or maybe recipes.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Sable Muskrat Poses Question Two!

Do you love Yahoo news? I love Yahoo news. Yahoo news is the most unintentionally hilarious thing on the web. Every time I return to the screen there is another world shaking headline waiting for me.
'Science finds new evidence which suggests drinking water may relieve thirst'
'Humans need air, research concludes'
'Government panel releases statement on controversial 'The sun is hot' stand'

One weeps. Yahoo, hire another news editor. My cousin Emily is NOT working out for you.
( Remember Emily, her superfluous body hair, and her brief foray into local newspaper ownerage? As self-appointed news editor, her idea of a hot story was the new door the public library had installed. Yeah.)

These days when I'm reading at all I'm reading for entertainment. In between overdoing things in the garden I kick back with a grocery store bestseller.. crack a beer, take a hoot off my inhaler and enjoy the good life...let the ol' synapses get nice and sugar coated, yeaaaah.

I'll be damnded if I haven't found a fantastic author-Stephen Hunter!
Now what he writes are pretty standard 'guys' action-thrillers...what I call 'Men's romance' novels, like Clive Cussler (gag, barf) and Eric VonLustbader (ak, barf, retch). The difference is, Stephen Hunter a. knows his subjects b. enjoys his subjects c. can write creatively d. knows his nuts and bolts and can move a narrative along without any discernible cracks and joins. I mean, even the proofreading is good.

The First Hunter novel we read was 'Dirty White Boys'...prison break, southern cops, class war, natural men, tattoos, guns, regional accents and corruption. It kicked ass. The man flat knows his white trash. Next was Hot Springs-organized crime in the South...Black Light-military conspiracy and snipers in the South, and Pale Horse Coming-race relations, prisons and gunplay in the South. He's written a shitpile of books and I plan on reading them all. So far I've only found Pale Horse Coming to be even slightly dismaying, and I think that's more because I'm a girl. The author just got so far into a guy-culture thing that I got left behind. Which is fine...because now my curiosity's up and I get to find out about something new.

So yeah, my tastes in light entertainment tend to run in the 'kung fu, grievous bodily harm, robots and explosions' direction. Stephen Hunter has no robots, no kung fu, but honey, SO many explosions and so much grievous bodily harm; it just warms the cockles of my little heart. Plus I can read it without wanting to find the author and crack him over the head with a baseball bat.

speaking of robots and explosions:
Do go here.
You heard me.
Go here NOW.
And mind your damn manners, y'all.
There are no robots or explosions. What there is, is some of the best writing on the web. Sopwith Camel is simply excellent.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Whoomp! There it is!

This morning I wake up and hear a shouted conversation in the darkness.
"Wash the baby? She has? In the house? Where in the house? Where's the other one? What?"

I roll over and return briefly to the dream I was having: upper-class Catholic Teddy Bears had tricked me into attending Mass in a spectacular Baroque chapel in order to revive my interest in Catholocism. At the eleventh hour I discover the horrible secret of the pious Teddy Bears: hoardes of enslaved Graham Cracker Babies forced to mine coal deep beneath the Teddy Bear Town, never seeing the light of day, cruelly mistreated by Teddy Bear overseers. 'Ha! I said triumphantly to my dismayed companions. "I bet there's no Sundays off in church for the poor Graham Cracker babies!"

My Biker rushed in at this point. " You want we wash the baby, we have it now over going up!"
I sat on the edge of the bed and struggled with this.
" I said, Lori had their baby on the living room and we have to wash the baby over" he repeated.
"Why do we have to wash a baby?" I asked, thinking 'Yeah, someone's sleepwalking again. I'll get his ass calmed down and sat on the couch and pretty soon he'll just keel over and fall back asl-
" Watch. Watch. We have to watch Alex. Lori had her baby" he repeated.
Well fine.
"You drive," I said.

We showed up at Lori's door at the same time the EMT's, two police cars AND the fricken' Border Patrol arrived. I'm sure the Minuteman Militia were out there in the darkness somewhere too, just in case she had a couple of Al Quaida operatives up there.

It is 2: 45 a.m. Lori greets us with a cheerful 'Hi!"
Lori is in her bathrobe and flannel nighgown, sitting on the floor next to the sofa, smiling calmly, not one hair disturbed, not one droplet of sweat on her face. She is holding a tiny, tiny purple baby, who is is yawning. The only evidence that a dramatic natural process has occurred here is Lori's fuzzy bunny slippers, which are drenched in blood. Apparently between the time her water broke as she was fast asleep in bed and the time she had waddled as far as the front room, the baby just sort of blooped out, like a little purple bungee jumper.
" Yeah, it was fast," explained new dad, completely at sea. "I looked over to ask her something while I was on the phone talking to the EMT's and there was another face looking at me."
Meanwhile Lori gathered up her baby, put a little newborn's hat on him (which went right down over his little head past his nose) and walked over to the gurney, where the EMT's strapped her down and shuttled her away to the ambulance.
The Biker and I picked up their sleeping two-year-old and took him home with us while the new dad followed mom in his car.

Mommy and baby are fine. He weighed in at 5 lbs, two ounces. I've made loaves of bread bigger than that. His name is Sean.
We call him 'Speedy'.