Archived entries for friends

And when I say blogging, what I really mean is doing some kind of text-based performance art. Like sword swallowing whilst live tweeting it.

His Secondhand Underground blog is here and deals with the local thrift store flora and fauna.

His other one, Oh Dear God Why, concerns itself with his “taste tests” of exotic and probably dangerous food stuffs.

Individually, they’re funnier than anything I’ll ever write. Together? They put the rest of the Internet to shame.

Lucinda Belle Craddock née Van Mott clutched her bucket of quarters and pulled the lever one more time, for Frank. The little Chihuahua in her arms had always loved the rolling tumblers of the slots machines. Lucinda Belle had been told on more than one occasion that pets were strictly forbidden from the gaming floor of the casino. And, on more than one occasion, she’d stomped a foot or poked an eye and run off into the clouds of cigarette smoke expelled from retiree’s lungs.

After all, Frank was her lucky charm, and she’d be damned if any casino gendarme was going to take him from her. What’d be the point of gambling without your lucky charm. That’d be like screwing truck stop hookers without a rubber. An activity which her late brother had taken up during his wild oats years, and subsequently resulted in his genitals rotting off and the state declaring him legally insane. Which is how she managed to come into sole possession of her family’s rather sizable fortune.

And also how her fortune hunting husband came to find her. Billamont Craddock was a stunning, weather hewn piece of a man. He piqued her attention with stories of adventures on the high seas, and kept it with a penis the size and rigidity of a marble rolling pin. She’d learned from her brother though, and kept that thing wrapped up during their courtship and well into their marriage. Which apparently didn’t sit well with Billamont, who tried to poison her for her money three months in.

It had been Frank, a wedding present from Billamont, that had discovered the poison by lapping at Lucinda Belle’s morning coffee. She’d spent a rather obscene amount saving the dog’s life. And marginally less having Billamont shot. Both were worthwhile investments.

A remind about these, I’m taking prompts from Lindsey and spitting out 300 word bits of fun.

From Kip’s Memphrapalooza Thanksgiving Bash 2010 Photobooth Epicness that happened this weekend.

So, LT‘s posted this interesting writer’s prompt challenge called “Opening Lines“. She gives you an opening line, and then you run with it. The lines are all nice and loose things that can lead you in every possible direction. With my FastFiction reserves running dangerously low, this is a great way to keep my writing short, stark little bits.

I’m going to put an extra stipulation on this: each piece must be 300 words. Half again as long as my normal FastFictions, which makes these completely different gremlins to work with.

Anyway, here’s my first one.

(Fair warning – might be considered Not Safe For Work if you’ve got a place that’s really strict about text subject matter.)

The Routine

When she finally took her hands off his neck, he still wasn’t dead. Which was always a slight disappointment to her when they did things like this.

She had gone through all of the motions. Dress up in the leather. Put on the heels. Don zipper-lipped mask. Choke him ’til he cums – she didn’t even have to touch him – he’d pop on his own. And the whole while, blithely wish this would be the time that she’d hang on just a bit longer or press just a bit harder and wouldn’t have to do this ever again.

It’s not that she didn’t like it, didn’t love him. She just found all of it so boring now, so routine.

It didn’t used to be like this. It was wild and salacious at first. Dressing up in outlandish costumes, sticking things in places they’d never been before, doing it in places they shouldn’t be doing it. Fucking like they wanted to send every prude in the world screaming back into their holes. And while it lasted, it was absolutely magnificent.

But now look at them. They’d turned themselves into some kind of sexual freakshow. Hell, she couldn’t even come with out a half-frozen glass butt plug in her ass, Tom Waits’ “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up” blaring through the speaker and her husband wrist deep in her.

What she wouldn’t give for that awkward, clumsy sex she knew all those couples in places like Kansas and Ohio were having. Sex under Walmart bought sheets in flannel nightgowns. Sex where the only thing coming near her genitals were his. Simple, uncomplicated coupling. Was that really too much to ask for?

She sighed, rolled off of him, and wandered off into the kitchen to get the butt plug out of the freezer.

I won’t even attempt to explain the long, complex string of missteps that led to where I’m sitting right now, staring into the face of one of the most foul things that has ever (and hopefully WILL ever) cross my lips. Suffices to say that I love a bad idea and as soon as I heard that someone that I knew personally had decided to infuse a pint of Beefeater with a link of spicy Mexican sausage, I was there. And as soon as I recovered from the experience of actually tasting the stuff (which took several minutes, to be sure), I knew I had to share it with the world. My friend Richie’s dark genius must be made known to you all. I am but the humble messenger. If you ever end up actually trying this stuff, please don’t shoot me. Remember: I Warned You.

Chorizo Gin.

What in the unholy fuck.

Go read it. You’ll laugh, a lot.

Makeup and Vanity Set dropped a new 8 track EP last night. It’s called Charles Park II, and it’s basically him using Goblin’s classic Dawn of the Dead soundtrack as a witching rod to find the right places to dig down and harvest his best jams yet.

Give it a listen, then immediately go buy it. There’s really nothing better you could possibly be spending $5 on.

22 of us, in custom-made action hero t-shirts, went to see The Expendables this weekend.

I’m sorry, moving going audience, we’re the reason you can’t have nice things.

What happens when you invite people over to a pizza party, giving them the simple, but vague direction of “bring some toppings”?

Pure awesome, that’s what.

PS: Avocado on a pizza is better than it has any right to be. It is like plant foie gras. So good.

Posted via email from brainreleasevalve’s posterous

Been wondering what’s going on with my other site, The Great and Secret Thing?

We’ve been busy rebuilding it from the ground up to make it easier for the user to find content on, and then vote on what they like best. In a few weeks we’ll be rolling out new user tools for anyone what wants to contribute to the site.

Here’s part of what I said about the new design:

The redesign itself was done by Laurel Amatangelo, and coded by me off of the WP-NewsMag theme. The last design of the site was about old libraries, hidden tomes, and secrets. This one is about a dusty, traveled letter, read, reread and passed through many hands. We’re still The Great and Secret Thing, but we’re no longer gnostic in our secrets. Now it is all about sharing each of our secret talents with the world.

Hope you all like the new site, I know I do.

Oh, and go vote for some stuff.

I’ve finally wrangled my pictures from the 2010 Memphis Zombie Massacre and put them up on here on Flickr. Give ‘em a once over and let me know what you think.

I was going to post a few of them here, but I’ll wait and pick out my favorites for a Project365 post.

I shot all of this with a Nikon D3000 and the kit 18-55mm VR lens. Sure, there’s a little bit of Photoshopery there at the end, but I was amazed at how versatile and exact that lens was for something so cheap.

I’ve got a friend up in St Louis that’s set up a Cafe Press shop for these shirts. He, like all creatives, is poor and could use some of your money to put food in his mouth.

Male version here. Female version here.

From Alpha, with his words:

Just cuz it’s black and white don’t mean it’s good.

I, respectfully, disagree.

They played Act 2 straight through, but then they came back around for some old favorites.

EDIT: Slightly cheating and making this 045/365 for my Project 365

More at my Flickr.

And you can see the rest of this year’s Project 365 here.

Jesus Bloody Christ.

I need a vacation from my holiday.

I was supposed to work through the whole thing, but the server I was working on decided to give me the middle finger, and I wasn’t able to get a fix up until this morning. Go-go borked website launch.

My grandfather also came down with pneumonia and a heart attack on Tuesday night. He’s been living in an assisted living facility for a while, as his Alzheimer’s is so severe that he hasn’t recognized family in three years. It had been his wish for years that he not be kept alive by extreme measures, and that he didn’t want to live half-alive in a hospital bed, as his own mother had been for almost two years.

He passed away on Saturday at around 8am, as I was washing clothes to come and see him later that afternoon.

I am fine, I mourned the loss of my grandfather years ago when the person he was ceased to be because of the Alzheimer’s. This is more a relief for him and our family at this point. I’m sure I’ll have something more to say about this later.

On a different note, Saturday was L‘s birthday party. She decided that she wanted to go karaoke-ing (karaoke’ing? karaokeing? karaoking? bad-idea-ing?). Not only that, she wanted to go karaoke-ing at the fucking Windjammer. A bar where they’ll shoot you for a parking space, a bar where people actually make out in front of everyone, a bar where insulting Jim Croce is likely to get you killed, a bar where every tarted up whore in the places stands up and cheers when some one does that horrible song that refrains “So here’s to all my sisters out there keepin’ it country, Let me get a big “Hell Yeah” from the redneck girls like me”, a bar where they charge you $7 a pop for bottom shelf whiskey and coke, a bar where more people than not think that Sarah Palin would make a great president, a bar where I’ll go up to sing a Muddy Waters song only to have it not be a Muddy Waters song, a bar that looks like it is one errant cigarette butt away from burning to the ground – again, a bar where, oddly enough, when I wasn’t scared out of my fucking mind, I had a decent enough time. But, not a decent enough time to ever go the hell back.

Yes. Things happened. I’ll parse them out in more detail when I get a chance, but for now, here are pandas:

epjfpe

My friend LT just moved into a new house, taking her two cats with her. And as anyone who’s ever moved with cats can tell you, they don’t enjoy the experience. But, there is always humor to be found in the suffering of another, and LT’s one-upped her normal feline schadenfreude by drawing comics of her cat’s experiences. Not just comics, good comics.

4102830924_e024f53d83_bYou can find the rest of the series here.

I have a friend who works as a social worker. She is a very kind and caring woman. But, that doesn’t stop her from being a normal, rational human being and freaking the fuck out when something like this rolls across her desk.

via her Twitter:

PLEASE STOP EVERYTHING in order to appreciate I have an 8-year-old client named “DIJONNAISE.” That is all. Thank you.

Kerry‘s swapped jobs. She used to run the audience development gig at the local paper. Now, she’s pimping the city for the Convention and Visitor’s Bureau.

She’s on twitter as @ilovememphis and she writing about the city over at ilovememphisblog.com.

Her days now consist of going around to all the cool place in Memphis and telling people about them.

I hate her for this, but she’s damn fucking good at what she does. Give her some love.

Some bits from the wikipedia entry on Nuwaubianism that Tim sent me today:

The Caucasian has not been chosen to lead the world. They lack true emotions in their creation. We never intended them to be peaceful. They were bred to be killers, with low reproduction levels and a short life span. What you call Negroid was to live 1,000 years each and the other humans 120 years. But the warrior seed of Caucasians only 60 years. They were only created to fight other invading races, to protect the God race Negroids. But they went insane, lost control when they were left unattended. They were never to taste blood. They did, and their true nature came out.… Because their reproduction levels were cut short, their sexual organs were made the smallest so that the female of their race will want to breed with Negroids to breed themselves out of existence after 6,000 years. It took 600 years to breed them, part man and part beast.

…..

Each of us has seven clones:

Clones are in tune with each other unconsciously and linked etherically, which means anything that happens to you the cloned counterparts of you feels also. For instance you may feel a sharp pain, for no apparent reason like your hand may feel like it has been cut and that is because your clones hand may have been. You can have an emotional break down out of the “clear blue sky” because one of your counterparts did. For instance me, I have had smoke come out of my mouth, it was a strange tobacco, for no apparent reason. It turned out my duplicate in Tibet smokes and the smoke came through me. I do not smoke anything.[42]

…..

Anti-Nubian conspiracies

  • “Haven’t you ever wondered why for the simplest blood tests your doctor needs 4 tubes of blood? Where is all this blood going? The albino man’s ‘blood bank’ is just a sophisticated way of getting all the blood he needs! It is still a form of vampirism.”[50]
  • Alcoholic beverages are made cheaply available to Nubians by the powers that be in order to preserve their blood and organs better “(just like they preserve organs in jars in laboratories)” for later extraction.[51]
  • Disco was created by the devil to win the souls of the Nubians: “The evil one knows that he can control the music world as long as his agents are within the A & R (Artists and Repertoire, who are responsible for choosing who makes it in the music world) of the well known companies. He cannot evaluate Latin or Black music because he (the evil one) has no soul. He only duplicates it… He had to come up with something to win our souls through his means, and he did it with disco.”[52]
  • There is an underground road connecting New York and London. Furthermore, Alternative 3 is a fact, and Mars is being prepared for the evacuation of Earth’s intellectual and political elite.[53]
  • “[P]eople like the Pope, and Queen of England and various political leaders of various countries and some members of the clergy gather at the major Sabbats to invoke the malevolent one. On each of these occasions a Nubian man is sacrificed.”[54]
  • The Illuminati have nurtured a child, Satan‘s son, who was born on 6 June 1966 at the Dakota House on 72nd Street in New York to Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis of the Rothschild/Kennedy families. The Pope was present at the birth and performed necromantic ceremonies. The child was raised by former U.S. president Richard Nixon and now lives in Belgium, where it is hooked up bodily to a computer called “The Beast 3M” or “3666.”[]

That’s right, I’m not above mocking religious that I think are completely insane.

This time around he’s got roasted, salted duck eggs from the local international market. Here’s all you really need to know about how insane this man is:

oh. oh man. oh that is bad. oh dear god that is just nasty and awful. it’s so… salty. and gamey. and… it’s not rotten, it’s definitely not rancid or anything, i mean it’s definitely preserved, but fucking jesus shit ass hell that tastes really bad.

Video Snapshot 3

Read the rest of it here. He starts adding hot sauce later on. Results are mixed.

hello_obama_dollars

I have friends. (No, fuck you, shut up.)

Quite a few of them are impressively talanted deviants. And sometimes those deviants get together and do something completely inapropriate with their time and talents.

Chris Haley and Curt Franklin are two such deviants.

They’ve partnered together to create a web comic called Let’s Be Friends Again. Heavily steeped in mainstream comic satire, the pair don’t hesitate to journey from their chosen medium and cock-slap the zeitgeist when the mood strikes them.

They post twice a week, and get better with every iteration. Go give them your eyes balls and brain cells. They’ll only slightly damage them.

(Please no on tell Chris that I originally typed his name out as “Christ Haley” I don’t think I could deal with that.)



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