Awww, dee! The super-bowl was today?! Toodle gumdrops.
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What makes me mad about the forced digital tv conversion is the way ‘they’ try to make it seem like it’s being done entirely as a favor to me and not because it’s more lucrative for everyone but me, me being for whom it will cost just the same or more.
No, that’s not what it is at all. Having Sassy Invisible Tramp Lady say it should make no difference. She is not going to materialize and pay you tribute if you believe her. Similarly, believing the same words from the creepy “wake up with the king” voice sleazo isn’t going to make Burger King not wake up with you.
That’s a dumb thing to get mad about, but it reminded me of other topics and that’s what most of this is.
I don’t fully understand what the frequencies are to be used for in the future, and surely the organizations who bid for control of them would prefer I not know, and it bothers me rather a bit. What I know it does mean is more power for Verizon and the historically meek and non-ambitious At&t, and more money for underachieving pay tv providers just because. Though I give the latter party’s representative credit for having its own sassy tramp lady actually go so far as to promise lewd conduct.
But don’t try to sell me such an obvious and shallow lie, about the tv. Or, I mean, you did but you should not have. That makes it seem like you’re hiding something. That would be like the government forcing everybody to stop using V C Rs immediately. No, that would be like the government forcing everybody to stop going to casinos which it wouldn’t do because casinos make a lot more money for states which allow them than basic broadcast signals.
Why would anybody buy clothing which expresses such a sentiment? If you’re enough in control of your mind to realize paying $500 to touch an ace of clubs that every other grub fiend has also touched then why would you pay more money for a thing which makes fun of you for it? BECAUSE YOU’RE AN IDIOT WHO QUESTIONS NOTHING. Excuse me. What I meant is that you’re an idiot who questions nothing.
Forcing use of digital televisions because the more expensive variants are capable of displaying a higher resolution picture which is theoretically an improvement over the old one would be like the government forcing everybody to stop eating meat. Which, again, would never happen, because meat is big business, and it’s easier to keep making new pigs and chopping them up forever than to find a new use for some farm land. It could easily be argued that farmers are already paid for enough of the things they aren’t selling.
Often the same people who think the right to slay anything which cannot ask them not to is one bestowed upon them by Mr. God see no irony at all in dousing the eventual product with Velveeta brand cheese product, smothering it between two atrophied round fragments of bleached, nutrient sapped bread product and then drowning the masticated particles with an astounding 32 ounce megavial of Mountain Dew brand green liquid product. I don’t see why a transition from meat would be a difficult one, really.
It isn’t hard to synthesize the taste of meat, or at least it wouldn’t be if people really put some effort into it. It’s not like it’s fruit or anything, where there are just so many reasons to not eat it. Yeah, nice try fruit lobby. I’ll take my chances with scurvy, thank you. Fruit is easy, anyway, because it lacks a nervous system and doesn’t need to convert a few tons of vegetation into wonderful methane before you can slice each individual item into shapes unidentifiable as a thing that once lived. Also, due to rampant pesticide use people are more accustomed to the industrial flavor. It’s an acquired taste. The most logical solution, to ensure a smooth transition™ then, is to start submerging chickens in RAID right before we chop their heads off. In markets where places of slaughter lack the facilities to accomodate suitably sized vats, casual dining establishments may apply to recieve free trichlorobenzene buffalo sauce and dichlorvos honey mustard. It has been judged that these are the common meat accompaniments in which the change would be least obvious. With all the barbecue-ing and deep frying and dipping and dabbing all over the place I have to question how many people do in fact know what meat tastes like.
But I think I was talking about something else. Yes, so, there are a limited amount of radio frequencies, and somebody wants to free them up or something. It’s probably not for an ultra powerful mind control robot that can’t function with cbs and nbc all up in its wavelength, but at least if it is I won’t have to worry about these things anymore.
If it improves communication between public entities, then great. If it gets The Government more short term money to burn in a dessert, oh well, they’d have gotten it one way or the other. That’s probably better than borrowing from China. Even if Chinese businessmen are revealed as the true buyers of the signals at least it’s a proper transaction, and will give them one more thing to do instead of substituting melamine for protein in various food exports. You’re a couple paragraphs late, China.
Eh, please don’t make me become one of those “oh, really? I didn’t hear about that trivial gossipy factoid because I don’t own a TV” people. I already have that reaction to far too many things, despite what might be inferred by my ability to acquire the image directly above here. While I certainly wouldn’t miss trivial gossipy factoids about people with one name, it has been my experience that people don’t like other people who they think hate stupid stuff they like.
I already have digital television service, but I watch few programs, and their contents are easily obtained through internet. So were I the master of my own hovel destiny I would likely forgo television services entirely, but it’s important that the world know whether this is out of fickle spite or simple sensibility.
Bob Barker talks about the digital tv he will not be a part of. I’m surprised they expect anyone simple enough to buy that turducken of an explanation to be both old and smart enough to remember who Bob Barker is. Who’s that? Me not remember thing happen last year! Although he appears here on a stereotypical analog television box the likes of which I haven’t seen since The Clapper updated its ads last year, so maybe his fading relevance is supposed to represent that. Sending it to Antarctica was a tad excessive, I think.
I have read that United Statia has been notoriously stubborn, in comparison to other televising nations, regarding the changes and such. I suspect this spot was filmed and intended to be aired while Mr. Barker was still hosting The Price is Right, with the implication “if you’re still watching this TV when the signal is shut off Bob Barker will die inside it.” By now, of course, we know that the plan was to kill him all along.
Really, why bother wheeling out Barker, trying to appeal to the elderly folk who traditionally struggle with tecnhology being forced upon them, if you won’t make new shows they’d want to watch anyway? That is, I assume you aren’t making those, because I have attained less than half the official retirement year requirement and you don’t make new shows I want to watch, and I understand that visibility to advertisers diminishes with age. You should have Bob saying “If you are seeing this, it will mean that I have failed. Have you considered taking up knitting?”
Apparently producing that was easier than writing something for you today, bimshwel. It worries me.
Accuracy-wise, this is about as far as this picture can go, because I’ll not be satisfied with characters at Super Mario Brothers scale to such a square-foundationed castle. In actuality castles are very big and come in odd shapes. Unless they are White Castles, and clearly this one is green.
It’s about time I got invited to one of those.
As for Eli, why would I want to infringe the copyright of anything I am a devoted face book fan of? And you know his crew is twitting all the ding dong day.
Oh wonderful Eli, how I wish I could have undersea adventures like you! If only we could all visit such exciting photoshop spider webs while dressed in the skins of gummy bears! By all means, point at something off-page that one may assume is more interesting than you. Be sure to give your dog, Finkledy, a Vulcan neck pinch for me.
Faddle-de-dirt, I didn’t want to go to any more comic conventions; walking around for hours having stilted fragments of conversations with people I sort of like who portray Chewbacca but I gradually come to suspect don’t like me and thus I subconciously don’t like right back won’t be a problem at all if I know in advance a mutual dislike exists.
Eli, cite all the dead Frenchmen you want, you’re still a stooge for a soda company.
True enough, the cartoonist Carl Barks went on to I think great renown (I never heard of him until about two years ago, but I didn’t know Camelot was a broadway musical show until roundabout the same time and that it was what Spamalot was making fun of) despite working primarily with Disney-created or derived characters and with Disney’s photocopied signature often in the place of his own, but tostada. When you introduce yourself by saying who you’re trying to be like I just don’t have faith in you.
It’s one thing to evoke thoughts of your predecessors, it’s fine to be inspired, to have heroes. It’s another situation, in my belief, to place yourself on level with them as a promotional tactic. Also, I’m pretty sure if Alex Raymond needed a weird spacecraft for some reason he was capable of thinking of one and drawing one.
On the face-book page Hergé isn’t mentioned at all. Appropriately so, I suppose. He may not always have drawn his own backgrounds either, but he had the sense to hire people who could [and deny them print credit but for the purpose of my argument that’s another issue entirely]. The only Herge tradition I have encountered hint of is the litigious one, and he only seriously got into that posthumously. It is a shame Mr. Remi never got to send letters to websites in his life time. Also, it is well enough documented that Herge was a devoted anti-nazi pacifist during The War and was cleared of any allegations of collaboration, yet I heard that not even two years ago Eli was photographed posing before a massive wall of Hitlers.
I looked up one of these interactive drawing events at the hip hop happenin eli youtube channel, (we will discuss the “Commander X” video some other day, hopefully at least as far beyond this one as the clip seems to last when watched) and discovered it was essentially the same thing I was involved with at some school last year –just eschewing curves in favor of delightful triangles– and thought was a rubbish phony of way of teaching kids to draw things which didn’t look very good and were incredibly inaccurate, besides. After the instruction I would hastily construct a mess of distractions to distract from the example mess.
It may do a bit of good just for giving the kinder confidence to think they have the ability to do something, potentially encouraging them to learn legitimate methods, but at the same time there is no shortage of overconfident older children and occasional adults who think they can do astounding things which in fact are not astounding at all, and I’d hate to think I was contributing to that. I probably got more use out of it than any of the kids did because one of them wanted a shark and I had to learn to make a shark. Tough times.
Although as far as selling my sponsor’s soder on site to raise money to mow the lawn or something, I made little progress. Ehhh, if that stuff costs $3 for a 12 ounce bottle normally, what do you suppose it goes for as a school fund-raiser? or should I say fun raiser
But I’m not bitter. I’m just a horrible person.
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It is my opinion, that for a person who hates chess, I have been spending far too much time tracing over tiny little chess pieces the past two or three days. Who’s responsible for drawing them all over the first page of that dreadful comic I made almost eight years ago?
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Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me!
Contrary to the circulating rumors, this image should not be construed as proof of an upcoming Munchie remake.
I would never be party to such a shameful and needless fiddling with perfection.
Regarding the same sort of thing as last week
Nobody likes to hear
In the early 1980s it was Hama’s task to write a comic book series about the recently reincarnated Gijoe line of little plastic people with guns. What I wanted to ask was how much creative control he had, with regard to what characters there were and which must be used. I wondered how much of it was “Ok this guy has a head made of metal and he wears a yellow snake around his neck and his name is Destro and he’s bad. He needs to be in the next issue.” There’s probably a bit of that in all paid work, but I think in most cases your tasks are determined by a comic or cartoon company rather than a little plastic gun guy company. I don’t remember what I asked but the response was “I wrote all the character biographies myself,” which I knew, and so would not have asked about, so it was probably something unintentionally skeptical whose syllables I spoke. My curiosity often smells like skepticism and in The Big Apple there isn’t always time for a blind taste test.
I saw that Hama was using a pencil to draw something. I believe it was Snake Eyes the silent ninja. I pointed to one of the displayed comic books and said something to the effect of “but you didn’t do the art in these, though, right?” Once again, what I had meant to say was “I think that’s neat that you draw stuff even though you’re generally known as a writer, and that you have kept with it despite being more often contracted to do the other. How well did you know Bernard Krigstein? I think he was neat.” What I actually said sounded closer to “you think you’re hot stuff at this table here when clearly you’re not good enough to actually do that for a living.” Not what I meant at all. Probably not true, either, but as far as finding something he himself drew that nobody else drew over and potentially did fancy stuff to, the internet is not cooperating right just now. It’s more work than I’ve ever had, I do know that.
I suppose it’s nice to reaffirm every once in a while that I can be just as much an unintentional ass quickly in person as after spending hours fussing over some irrevocable semi-permanent typed statement. I just wish I didn’t have to pay a $20 admission fee days in advance and take a train twice for the privilege.
I saw “Hannibal” written on most of the man’s artwork and it was a surprising amount of time before I realized that was his name and not a unifying brand, making my needless “do they ride elephants?” joke defy science by being revealed as worse even than it already was. At this point I encountered the rare, difficult decision between having him think I was too dumb to figure out his name or too dumb to assume he hasn’t been hearing elephant jokes since everyone forgot their cannibal jokes. I hope by now you know me well enough to presume whichever decision I made, it was the wrong one, and that while you may not agree with it, I hope you can agree that I was willing to make that wrong decision.
And so I was particularly perplexed when Mr. King purchased one of the pictures I was carrying around after the third or fourth time I passed his table and finally accumulated the gall to ask if he would look the lot of them over. Pity can work both ways, but I don’t like it any better. That just means pity’s a ho.
Hannibal requested a price and I suggested five dollars? Maybe? He claimed to not be carrying such a small denomination and offered forth a ten dollar unit. Yoink! A tenner! Now for a feast, ‘eh readers? Arf arf!
I fiddled about for a five to return but Hannibal said not to bother. Though bothering is what I do best, greed sometimes wins out. And so, I unfortunately accepted the $10. It was not as bad as the fifty I undeservedly took for a past item, but since that guy was there with his stuff at his own table I still felt like I should reciprocate somehow. I did not. But now I see that the charging rate for his commission work varies by greater amounts than I’ve ever gotten away with in total, so the guy may just have loads of cash lying around. The visitor after me the third time (but before me the fourth) had something drawn for himself and undoubtedly paid a heap more than I received. Bah, I bet I could’ve gotten thirteen!
Although now I remember that I carry around an envelope of prints I made at Staples and not actual drawings, much less in ink, because mine always need computer help and generally suffer from a Catwoman deficiency, besides, so I will continue reveling in single unit transfers for amounts I couldn’t buy a case of Eli Soda with. It is also good to know I’ll never have to worry about former customers making e-bay listings like this.
I thought we were inducting a new presidente today. Why is this bloody high school graduation on every channel? How could anybody be excited to be there?
The actual inauguration bit ended before 1 pm, many channels continued with “coverage” until 3 pm, some 4pm, often with subsequent hours-long blocks of alternate coverage following, with more blocks beyond those. And today the coverage continues. You all know this Obama fellow is going to be president for a couple of years, right? It wasn’t like the debates where the day’s event, in theory, affected something, and you needed to talk about one before another one up and happened and made your stacks of speculations as irrelevant as they were wrong.
Isn’t the whole point of Ad-Aware to protect one’s self from ads? Or are huge multinational corporations heroic and exempt?
I don’t need the full version anyhow since adaware never finds anything worse than the occasional benign tracking cookie from some site I don’t remember visiting in a browser I don’t remember using, and those don’t matter anyway because they’re mostly for “collecting information” that can only be vague and misread with which to target at me more ads I won’t be looking at, and most certainly will not be clicking on if one manages to penetrate my orbs of vision. And yet I always want Adaw to find something, because I probably would not have run the program if there wasn’t a current trend in the system’s behavior that I found to be of a particularly unsatisfactory nature.
How could it get better? The old, free one is already doing absolutely nothing about as well as I can imagine such a no-thing be done. Sure, it’s a monster resource hog just because I made the mistake of “upgrading” to the 2008 edition. 2008 editions of any free program, tending to have mastered all the useful functions they were ever going to by then, set to improve instead their game of RAM-Hungry Hungry Hippos. Putting a download-size program in a big cardboard box covered with plastic filled with plastic insulation plus paper instruction sheets, feedback cards and more astounding offers isn’t going to solve my imaginary computer problems, and it certainly isn’t going to solve my overabundance of plastic and paper rubbish problems. Ehhh, if they could get me big orange bean furniture for my futuristic house boat, we might be making progress.
In November I went to the The National Big Apple Comic Convention meeting. I have since forgotten why. The only souvenir I have not in promotion for the event itself is
,because I thought the guy who made them was giving one to me for free but then I asked anyway what it cost and he wanted five dollars for it and I would have felt bad if I didn’t buy it. I will have to show you what is inside some time.
I don’t like talking to people and leaving. It feels rude (not that posting the product of somebody’s independent labor and going “ha ha that! moving on” isn’t, but in this situation I have paid for the privilege). But staying can also seem rude. It may even be the case that if I stay it will be double, because I hate that song.
I just don’t like that whole museum that watches back setup. I’d rather be on the other side of the relationship. Then the awkwardness is someone else’s problem. Also, from a fixed position there is no pressure to keep moving. The only pressure is to move merchandise. And if there is one thing I excell at above others, it’s drawing attention to trivial things I have made and demanding money dollars and getting that.
You can’t see other displays, if you are one, but I’m probably not interested in most anyway. And if I was I wouldn’t want to spend my money so it may be better that I do not know. One time, I wanted Oreos. But also, to save money, I instead purchased Walmart brand Oreo imitations*. That proves I’m serious. It’s certainly not fun to eat these.
*I know Hydrox were invented first but I’m pretty sure Wal Mart is after Oreo customers, who are simple enough to catch but difficult to transport back to camp.
I see now among my clutter this object that I gained in Boston, advertising a “New England Fan Experience.” That’s the problem. I’m not a “fan.” George Takei’s voice is fun to imitate but I’m not in awe of his life, no.
A fan, I’ve never identified myself as one and I don’t feel like one. The conventional meetups were designed for FANS to meet their false idols and deliver praise, and buy stuff because they want it, not because they fear to upset the people who went to the trouble of making or collecting it and renting space. If all they can make me feel is pity, why didn’t I stay home and just sponsor some of those starving African children all the camera crews are so busy not feeding? And if I start actually thinking about that I’ll feel worse because I probably won’t do it.
And I wonder if anyone really considers itself a “fan” of this guy. Unless he invents pasta sauces in his spare time I’m skeptical his name and potentially imaginary profession bring much enthusiasm to the masses. If he’s anything like this Prego I’m sure his is at least an entertaining presence.
I saw Mark Evanier (he did some stuff, I hear) twice. Once upstairs near the armory (dueling apparently still a fairly common practice among the comic book club) and the second time, in the hotel lobby, where I briefly stared at him awkwardly, from a distance, wondering if I should say something (I did not). At that immediate moment it sounded like he was telling someone else about how a person had said something to him about his website, and I decided it would be peculiar if I did the same. I did think that he might be interested to know that due to my relative inexperience with the forces behind American comics he was the only name-tagged person in attendance that I knew by sight and why.
In my mind Mr. Evanier still owes me for encouraging more courageous readers to bask in the oddity of Skidoo, the not so wacky but rather boring and annoyingly improbable Skidoo, and he surely knows it, otherwise he would not have recently expressed an intention to attend less conventions outside the vicinity of N. America’s west coast this year. The strange thing is that he lives in Stockholm.
Yes, everybody in the whole prison ate the same meal at the same time and got quigley for hours because it was laced with paper laced with a thimbleful of LSD and nobody realized they were eating paper. I just thought you should know. A plausible setup would have replaced the lsd with msg, but even for a prison that would be irresponsibly draconian.
Are blind taste tests telling me I should close my eyes all day just to buy different brands of the same food? It doesn’t seem like much of a trade off. But I would have to do that, because I am already biased, and I would know what I was buying. Just for the taste tests, might I suggest disposing of your empty cans rather than placing them beside the bowls? It’s bad housekeeping first, and having the evidence gone might also help you cut back on your blind-fold budget.
Ehhh, soup is hard enough to
This is from a recent advertisement for the Campbell soup company, which has decided to make its marketing strategy accusing its biggest competitor, Progresso, of infusing its product with Alpha-Bits. When our blind broth biter slops the Campbelled soup she claims to taste chicken meat and nondescript green vegetabloids, and when her mouth molests Progressoup, she only tastes preservatives and MSG. Quite an astounding thing to be able to do, and I think with such keen senses this person may have a bright* future as a drug sniffing dog, but what is MSG? Another ad makes it more clear…
*or dark, if she insists on keeping her eyes covered
Typical half-literate consumer in need of guidance who speaks on our behalf, reading label:
Confident right woman:
Oh, lombard street! This year I resolved to always wait until arbitrary declarations of number-change to attempt to stop my bad habits, so I guess I’ll have to keep requesting infirmity until 2010.
Here’s a hint to tell you a company hack might be behind something: if each and every trademark is acknowledged every single time. Is this the brand power website or the back of a box of Froot Loops?
Phrases like “sponsored by [the company whose junk we’re pushing]” are also generally worth looking into. Adding some vaguely named company ending in “group” or solutions” is merely zesty monosodium glutamate flavoring in the mix to guarantee its irresistability.
Though experts consistently agree I am no commercial artist, I am yet fascinated by the incredibly efficient buchanan group logo. That being a bee (B) with a head which is a G, the G’s open space also functioning as pleasant highlight with a normal background and a violent hemorrhage in the actual very red ad.
Notice how the woman at the front page morphs mightily depending on what place your cursor fondles the flag of. Make sure you choose the one you most closely resemble. If you are a man, why don’t you go out and split logs or something. Don’t you know shopping is woman’s work? If you want, punish yours for using the internet unsupervised.
This is not simply showing you regional spoke-people, your agent under cover, behind enemy lines, under siege, a time to kill; none have names attached, they are just hobos pulled out of boxes, well explaining their passion for the first bowl of soup they get. If they were in any way identified you might be able to look them up and find out what they were actually qualified for. Also, as far as I can tell, in the actual ad clips they’re all lost on the same supermarket set.
I do like the Philipine woman, for having something of a look of disgust in her avatar and also for evidently being the same person as the one on the package of the product she sells.
Although she’s not really selling anything, I suppose, since you practically get it for free.
It is further worth observing that the artist in residence didn’t finish whiting out the boxes of Tide in the background. Hey, it’s a rigorous job.
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Google, that’s just rude.
These last two entries were very whiny, weren’t they? Yes.
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January 5, 2009: Roneldo still too cool for school.
The magic word fairy inside my telephone informed me that the “same people” reviewed this application as the previous, and that once again the raging debate came down to the essay portion (denoted on the form with “please indicate the reasons for your choice of study), because Paier College of Art Incorporated is, foremost, a writing school. And though I communicated inadequate readiness for rigor by filling beyond capacity the space reserved for accomplishments mistakenly with art related items, still the non-approval was a surprise; I didn’t even say anyone was a whore this time.
What bothers me is the thought that I may have been rejected on the basis of my previous rejected application, and if that is the situation, why make me go to the hassle of applying again? Why set me up for two months telepoking the East Haven high school I did not go to but “officially” did, trying to make it deliver unto Paier the exact same transcripts Paier already refused to acknowledge my previous application without, that application which it has acknowledged it did acknowledge? Why did I have to call the school before somebody got around to preparing this note? No, actually, I called the school in January after hearing nothing from it since October, and the admission person said she would return my application as well as the 25 dollar application fee, which I received the very next day. The official typed up notice of refusal didn’t show up until more days later than that. Does watermarked paper take longer to pass through the postal tubes? Did it really require three days to change the word market to marketplace?
Should I be offended that Francis Rexford Cooley still thanks me but no longer “very much?”
The fact that I got the “non-refundable” cheque back, is it an example of people being nice or considering me unworthy even to accept dollars from? Is my money no good here? Is the immediate remailing of all documents back to me once I called the crew out on their inaction some legal maneuvering so that if associated busybodies of my own acquaintance succeed in convincing me I have been discriminated against or simply forgotten by some force of incompetence –when I attempted contact the handler told me the person who knew the whereabouts of my application was at lunch and I would be called back, which didn’t happen for three hours– the school masters can say “what? who? we have no application from such a person, and even if we had, where is the fee? We certainly would not have refunded it, as the fee is non-refundable.”
The problem may have been that I stated a willingness to improve my skills rather than asserting that I knew everything, as any well adjusted commercially minded person would, and might thus have deprived the paierists the fun of breaking me.
I don’t feel bad about losing this time, though, as the telephone person told me “I’m sure you’re a good artist” before we disconnected.
As to why I didn’t fill out application pages for other institutions, it was half a miracle I finished just this one without coming across as crazy, and even the crazy seems to have merely lay dormant until now. I’m no good at no smart stuff. Can’t I just move boxes at a warehouse or something?
Oh no!
page 27 (scroll down a bit, please) of this. Some of the backgrounds don’t make sense, but in this situation the only alternative is to have less sensical backgrounds or none at all, since these just aren’t fixable. Despite that sometimes it occurs to me these are more good to just look at than actually attempt reading.
I really should just draw everything in big wide television aspect-ratio’d rectangles and not worry about how much space gets wasted. But you knew that. And I also did. And yet… (trails off)
I will discuss this with myself some more later.
It is later now.
I have a tendency to think of something that seems funny when shown in three frames but then i realize i’ll need four or five to actually do it, and in that many it’s too stretched out to be funny. Page 27 contains one and a half of these. Whoopth.
I thought that one picture of the creature with the extra large fish and reduced size head was amusing at first, but eventually it started bothering me and continuously did so, because I’m sensitive about the sizes of heads, and also about the idea of shrinking. It is important to remember that the atoms comprising the physical matter we are familiar with are actually quite far apart, and conceivably every thing can be reduced to submicroscopic size without any part needing to be eliminated. It’s not like when you shrink a bit-map or speed up a sound file in windows’ sndrec32.exe. All parts are all still there. “Yingatch” can look forward to a full recovery, or at least to a state no worse than that which it entered the hospitarium in. Its central cranial unit is comprised of exactly as much mass as it was before, not incorporating the exchange of natural oils while it was being handled nor any minuscule loose expendable skin cells scattered off upon being submerged in the bowl’s liquid contents.
And yet I worry about how to make this clear in the still hypothetical situation that the comicness is fixed and printed as a book. In particular I recall an incredibly creepy video game called Chameleon Twist 2 (yes, THE Chameleon Twist 2), and one of the boss fiends’ reaction to being defeated is merely to cease its movement, fix the game camera on itself, slowly shrink in size and eventually abruptly be removed from existence. That is a sight, to my eyes, equal in upset-strength power with instant full-body eradication leaving a non-corporeal spirit of equal volume in its place, which you have no doubt encountered numerous times in your life. Even if you have no idea what I’m talking about I hope you will trust that if I had explained it well you would know what I was talking about. Well, those things CANNOT HAPPEN and you should not worry about them happening.
I’ve never seen someone made so upset by the sight of a chocobo. I’d assume it had something to do with being in a dungeon, traditionally kind of upsetting locations, but these things don’t seem at all worried:
Ooh, we mustn’t foul the air for the PINE CONE, should we? Argo, where do they come from?
Note that my last was a rhetorical question; I know precisely where pine cones come from and am presently working on a solution.
As long as we’re in here, I will transition into a related topic.
You can learn a lot about parents by what they say to their kids in public bath-rooms. At the Clinton Crossing boredom village outside semi-mall restroom:
I’ve seen people use snow-boards, and I never got the impression that doing so was something easier than restraining one’s bowel material.
But then again, one Mr. S. Hedgehog was busting mad beef off bodacious gnarlburgers1 long before the bulk of his supporting cast could no longer be contained by the intestine of creativity so perhaps there is more reason behind this punishment than I once was willing to consider.
It well complements another wisdom nougat overheard in the restroom vicinity of Crystal Mall’s food area some years ago:
Alas, I recorded that so long ago I no longer recall if a child was present or if this was even being said to an acquaintance. Some people, when they learn the secrets to life, feel guilt whenever they see anybody who is unenlightened. But save your words, wise friend. Only when they come to the conclusion themselves can they truly understand. By that same token pretend I didn’t just say that to you.
So the words, then, are true, but I think it may be necessary to void the waiver if you touch what the urine came out of or the protective casing your liberated spigot was waiting unventilated in for the past hour(s) or so. Or even, should the occasion arise, the door. Also, be aware that regardless of voiding, the hand wash pass is not followed by an “ever.” At some point you will have to endure the unspeakable, endless agony of soap and water upon your phalanx covers again. It cannot be helped. We’re still working on that. Between this and pine cones, we’ll be busy for rather a long while. It is unfortunate they both chose to invade our precious lavatories at the same time.
1I forgot
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Other news:
It seems cruel to exlude robots using their own traditional forms of creative expression. A thousand shames upon you, Anne-doray. May all your adversaries oppose you with discarded meats! (on plates)
It seems like only one hundred seventeen posts ago I was remarking upon how it had only been one post since the last year. And now it has been another. At least that is what it seems like. I will let you know if solid, reliable evidence surfaces, and you can tell me whether or not to flush it.