Thursday, October 22, 2009
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Thursday, March 6, 2008
12 Super Hero Comic Book Runs That Are My Favorite
Another list! This time, it's 8x as nerdy!
12 Super Hero Comic Book Runs That Are My Favorite
12. Marv Wolfman/George Perez - The New Teen Titans
11. Geoff Johns/Ethan Van Sciver/ Carlos Pacheco/ Ivan Reis - Green Lantern10. Warren Ellis/John Cassaday - Planetary
09. Peter Milligan/Mike Allred - X-Force
08. Joss Whedon/John Cassaday - Astonishing X-Men
07. Brian Michael Bendis/Michael Gaydos - Alias
06. Warren Ellis/Bryan Hitch - Authority
05. Geoff Johns/Mike McKone - Teen Titans
04. Brad Meltzer/Ed Benes - Justice League of America
03. Brian K. Vaughan/Adrian Alphona - Runaways
02. Grant Morrison/Frank Quitely/Ethan Van Sciver/Phil Jimenez/Marc Silvestri - New X-Men
01. Alan Moore/ Stephen Bissette/ Rick Veitch - Swamp Thing
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Even the Japanese Think Michael Jackson Looks Like a Raisin with Hair Extensions
We are the world, indeed. While the Japanese Michael Jackson is the most hilarious, keep and eye out for Japanese Cindy Lauper.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
John is sad. And a little insane.
Garfield minus Garfield is a collection of Garfield comics with that asshole, Garfield, deleted.
From the site: "Who would have guessed if you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life?"
Friday, February 8, 2008
I Can Fix It. A Short Story.
I CAN FIX IT
By Dylan Palmer
___
“I can fix it.”
“Not that I don’t believe you, but it’s -- let’s just say it’s in an unfortunate state.”
“I can fix it.”
“You can fix it?”
“I can fix it.”
Truth be told, Lyle didn’t know what “it” actually was. “It” may once have been a tractor or a small yacht, but now “it” was a heap of burnt plastic and wrenched chrome. Lyle licked his lips, staring down the mass of destruction. The beast in his gut was making the lust noises, and if he could have anything in the world, he would have this pile.
“Would you like to see a picture of how it looked before?”
“No.”
“Then how do you intend to repair it?”
How, indeed? The notion that there wouldn’t be any repair was not one he would allow The Owner to entertain. Lyle’s stomach tied into the kind of knot out of which you’d make a noose, but his expression remained tepid as he munched on a long strand of hay. The hay absorbed saliva so Lyle wouldn’t choke or drown in it. Hyperactive mucous production was common for males in his family.
“I don’t share my methods with strangers.”
“Excuse me if I don’t except that. This is an expensive piece of machinery. I won’t entrust its care to just anyone.”
“I have ways to repair machines that not a lot of people understand.”
The uptight middle-aged rich men, a category The Owner seemed to define, were very receptive to vagueness and implications of mysticism, Lyle found, likely for the same reason they tend to discover Zen Buddhism or Transcendental Meditation upon reaching midlife. He could almost hear the creaking of well-worn forehead muscles as The Owner raised his eyebrow. For the first time, his calm cracked, and Lyle allowed a grin to crane his lip.
“How do you mean?”
“Sometimes they talk to me, the parts, I just know how they go together.”
“That’s… very interesting.”
He nodded calmly, belying his racing heart and the slowly hardening bulge in his pants. It was a matter of minutes and distance now. Before he could caress his lovely.
“How much?”
“This is a special machine. I can see you care for it.”
“Yes. But how much will you charge for repairs?”
“We’ll talk payment after she and I have… communed.”
The man’s face hardened suddenly, like tv dinners flash-frozen at the factory, as Lyle’s turned whiter than snow on volcano rock. He dug fingernails into the palm of his hand, punishment for taking the “magic” too far. Communed? Why did he have to go and say communed?
“You’re drooling.”
“It’s hereditary.”
“It’s disgusting.”
Saliva ran down Lyle’s stalk of hay and pooled on the top of The Owner’s black wing-tip loafer. He felt his hands tremble, and if his nervous system had the ability to shine when provoked, every inch of his flesh would be lit with blinding red panic. And in Lyle’s world, panic generally led to violence.
Nothing would take the pile from him.
Before either man could think, Lyle’s hands were ratcheted to The Owner’s leathery, over-tanned throat, both their faces grossly contorted, one in rage and hatred, the other in pain and fear. Lyle’s grip tightened as The Owner’s eyes appeared to bulge, and then did bulge, from their sockets, dangling on threads of flesh that stained The Owner’s cheeks with his own brand of bloody rouge. Lyle, his grip stronger than the Sun’s on Mercury, pulled his face close to The Owner’s, and pure savagery siphoned into the shape of a man, bit into the dangling eye.
The last thing The Owner saw was Lyle eating his eyes, and it wasn’t the lack of oxygen that killed him, but the horror-induced heart attack.
Lyle wiped pink saliva from his mouth, discarding The Owner and stepping nearer his mangled mechanical beauty. He softly ran fingertips over dents, cracks, splinters, shards, breaks, tears, twists, bends, scorches. And when he finally let his pants drop to the dusty ground, he shuddered with pleasure.
By Dylan Palmer
___
“I can fix it.”
“Not that I don’t believe you, but it’s -- let’s just say it’s in an unfortunate state.”
“I can fix it.”
“You can fix it?”
“I can fix it.”
Truth be told, Lyle didn’t know what “it” actually was. “It” may once have been a tractor or a small yacht, but now “it” was a heap of burnt plastic and wrenched chrome. Lyle licked his lips, staring down the mass of destruction. The beast in his gut was making the lust noises, and if he could have anything in the world, he would have this pile.
“Would you like to see a picture of how it looked before?”
“No.”
“Then how do you intend to repair it?”
How, indeed? The notion that there wouldn’t be any repair was not one he would allow The Owner to entertain. Lyle’s stomach tied into the kind of knot out of which you’d make a noose, but his expression remained tepid as he munched on a long strand of hay. The hay absorbed saliva so Lyle wouldn’t choke or drown in it. Hyperactive mucous production was common for males in his family.
“I don’t share my methods with strangers.”
“Excuse me if I don’t except that. This is an expensive piece of machinery. I won’t entrust its care to just anyone.”
“I have ways to repair machines that not a lot of people understand.”
The uptight middle-aged rich men, a category The Owner seemed to define, were very receptive to vagueness and implications of mysticism, Lyle found, likely for the same reason they tend to discover Zen Buddhism or Transcendental Meditation upon reaching midlife. He could almost hear the creaking of well-worn forehead muscles as The Owner raised his eyebrow. For the first time, his calm cracked, and Lyle allowed a grin to crane his lip.
“How do you mean?”
“Sometimes they talk to me, the parts, I just know how they go together.”
“That’s… very interesting.”
He nodded calmly, belying his racing heart and the slowly hardening bulge in his pants. It was a matter of minutes and distance now. Before he could caress his lovely.
“How much?”
“This is a special machine. I can see you care for it.”
“Yes. But how much will you charge for repairs?”
“We’ll talk payment after she and I have… communed.”
The man’s face hardened suddenly, like tv dinners flash-frozen at the factory, as Lyle’s turned whiter than snow on volcano rock. He dug fingernails into the palm of his hand, punishment for taking the “magic” too far. Communed? Why did he have to go and say communed?
“You’re drooling.”
“It’s hereditary.”
“It’s disgusting.”
Saliva ran down Lyle’s stalk of hay and pooled on the top of The Owner’s black wing-tip loafer. He felt his hands tremble, and if his nervous system had the ability to shine when provoked, every inch of his flesh would be lit with blinding red panic. And in Lyle’s world, panic generally led to violence.
Nothing would take the pile from him.
Before either man could think, Lyle’s hands were ratcheted to The Owner’s leathery, over-tanned throat, both their faces grossly contorted, one in rage and hatred, the other in pain and fear. Lyle’s grip tightened as The Owner’s eyes appeared to bulge, and then did bulge, from their sockets, dangling on threads of flesh that stained The Owner’s cheeks with his own brand of bloody rouge. Lyle, his grip stronger than the Sun’s on Mercury, pulled his face close to The Owner’s, and pure savagery siphoned into the shape of a man, bit into the dangling eye.
The last thing The Owner saw was Lyle eating his eyes, and it wasn’t the lack of oxygen that killed him, but the horror-induced heart attack.
Lyle wiped pink saliva from his mouth, discarding The Owner and stepping nearer his mangled mechanical beauty. He softly ran fingertips over dents, cracks, splinters, shards, breaks, tears, twists, bends, scorches. And when he finally let his pants drop to the dusty ground, he shuddered with pleasure.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Music of 2007 that is my Favorite
Songs, Top 15
15. Foundations - Kate Nash
14. A Bell and Tumble - Ferraby Lionheart
13. A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene - Okkervil River
12. Dashboard - Modest Mouse
11. Genesis - Justice
10. Plus Ones - Okkervil River
9. I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You - Black Kids
8. Down Boy - Yeah Yeah Yeahs/ Umbrella (feat. Jay-Z) - Rihanna
7. I Feel It All - Feist
6. Ice Cream - Muscles
5. Mistaken for Strangers - The National
4. Music is my Hot Hot Sex - CSS
3. Objects of My Affection - Peter Bjorn and John
2. All I Need - Radiohead
1. Fireworks - Animal Collective
Albums, Top 10
10. Of Montreal - Hissing Fauna, Are you the Destroyer?
9. Nine Inch Nails - Year Zero
8. Black Lips - Good Bad Not Evil
7. Panda Bear - Person Pitch
6. Okkervil River - The Stage Names
5. Black Kids - Wizard of Ahhhs
4. Dinosaur Jr. - Beyond
3. The National - Boxer
2. Justice - †
1. Animal Collective - Strawberry Jam
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