Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: such as it is
Spineless
If I had known Walnut had become a quivering pile of ichor, I would have packed a draught of NoSnivellus potion. I mean, my word, the indulgent flatulence I see before my eyes! I do not believe I have seen anyone reduced to such spineless inanity . . . save, perhaps, Lucius Malfoy — back in school, when I caught him in the broom closet with black-and-white boudoir photos of Yvonne DeCarlo and a handful of hippogriff oil.
Blathered our dear Walnut, “I’ve written this long post on death, but I don’t know whether to publish or shit-can it –”
I slapped him sharply across the mouth. I find this is the best way to focus his attention.
“Snap out of it, man!” said I. “Did you learn nothing from your brief and largely abysmal time at Hogwarts? Do you lack even the most delicate shred of Slytherin pride?”
In a manner reminiscent of Moaning Myrtle at her most despondent, Walnut wailed, “But what should I do?”
“Fool! Save it as a draft and let your wife read it. The woman has more sense in her little finger than you have in that fat grizzly thing you call a head.”
“But but but then I won’t have a post –”
“I’ll write your post. Satisfied? I’ll be a hack-writer for you, but you must cease this miserable moping at once.”
“You’ll write it? But, what will you write?”
“I have no idea. Perhaps I’ll answer questions about your failure at Hogwarts. Perhaps I’ll — what is it you do when you’re at a loss? — perhaps I’ll share my recipe for batwing and elvenballs soup.”
The floor, as they say, is open.
D.
Live blogging tonight
7 PM PST. We have lots of catching up to do.
See ya!
Doh! Running late. Make that 7:30 PM PST.Â
D.
P.S. The Talking Brochure lives on! Corn Dog has the scoop.
P.P.S. Evil Editor did review my query. I missed it. Some of the comments were effing hilarious. (September 18, Face-Lift 191.)
Today at work . . .
I had to cut short a rendition of “Happy Birthday to You” three times (the OR nurses called me on my b-day to do it by phone . . . enough is enough), and I stuffed myself on the pot luck they held in my honor.
What a great crew!
My only gripe: a certain someone nixed the idea of getting me a b-day cake shaped like boobs. My one chance to get a boob cake got killed because of fears of “inappropriateness”! Peeved does not begin to describe it. Not that I didn’t enjoy my piece of the sheet cake, but a boob would have rawked.
And their idea of a spanking paddle is a skinny wooden paint-mixer. I could gripe about that, too, but it’s really the thought that counts. I tried to persuade them that the only legitimate birthday spankings were bare hands against bare bottoms, but suddenly they all found other work to do.
I can’t believe they want me to be Chief of Staff next year. I’m gonna turn this place upside down.
D.
My luck
Yet another adventure in Random Flickr Blogging.
Given an email like this:
You have been invited to join the Colon Cleansing Treatment group on MySpace. Click the link below to see the group: http://groups.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=groups.groupProfile&groupID=103939131
I would hope for members like
(Ah, red eyes and colon cleansing. Does it for me every time.)
But my luck, the only other member would be
Geek toy!
Major coolness for engineering geeks. Check out Armadillo Run, a virtual erector set with realistic physics. Jake ripped through the free demo in about two hours, leaving his World of Warcraft adventuring behind.
Here’s the blurb from the website:
Armadillo Run is a physics-based puzzle game. You have to build structures with the purpose of getting an armadillo to a certain point in space. There is a selection of building materials, each with different properties, which can be combined to form almost anything. The realistic physics simulation gives you the freedom to solve each level in many different ways.
Why didn’t they have stuff like this when I was a kid?
Because computers were the size of Walmarts back then, and all they could do was add, subtract, multiply, and divide — that’s why! You old fart, you.
D.
Zoning
Who needs drugs? It’s easy. Get less than four hours of sleep, wake up at 6:30, go into the hospital, have one of those days in which nothing but nothing goes the way you expect it to go, work straight through until 5:30, and then come home to a family who expects you to cook for them.
Hah. Ain’t gonna happen.
***
Don’t forget: live blogging this weekend with mad libs. But mad libs do not create themselves out of thin air, folks. If you think you can make a live blog chat at 7PM Pacific Time this Saturday, send me a 100-200 word scene and I’ll Mad Lib-ify it. Others will supply their slew of adjectives and proper nouns, and I’ll read the results out loud for the chat.
That email addie again: azureus at
harborside dot
com
***
Soon: as a followup to last week’s Thursday Thirteen (Thirteen Patients), tomorrow I’ll write about Thirteen Doctors. Subtitle:
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
***
Thanks to my betas who have responded to the most recent email. Yes, I know the ending sucks. Or doesn’t suck enough. Or doesn’t have enough sucking. Something like that. Rest assured, by the time I finish this first edit, everyone should leave the scene satisfied.
D.
I hear boos from the peanut gallery
Balls and Walnuts extends its welcome to Britney Spears fans the world over. You see, someone at the Hey Britney Forums discovered my photoshop of her infant son holding a beer, tied to the front of Mel Gibson’s Road Warrior car (apropos of Britney’s reckless child care practices).
Unfortunately, my critic writes in Spanish, and the only thing I can understand is that I’m a muy mala persona for creating such an image. That is just so wrong. I’m a muy mal person — damn it, get the sex right. Britney, she’s a muy mala persona. Are we straight on that?
It’s 10:40 PM and Jake is asking us about the meaning of life. I told him I’m hoping I’ll get through life hurting as few people as possible and hopefully helping a few. Karen told him, “My life has no meaning,” which was news to me. She can be so disturbing sometimes.
Meanwhile, NBC Chicago’s website has posted a photo proving psychic Dorothy Allison correctly guessed the appearance of JonBenet Ramsey’s killer:
Yeah, I think it’s pretty effing amazing. She’s wrong on the eyes, nose, lips, chin, facial shape, and hair style, but damn! She guessed it was a guy. I am impressed, and also a little creeped out, given the obvious resemblance to another killer:
But, honestly: can Fox News and the media in general find any more ways of trivializing this poor girl’s murder?
D.
Show-off
Twenty minutes ago I discovered a new low to which I would sink in order to be the center of attention. But to be violated by three women — how could I pass up an opportunity like that?
The things you learn . . .
While googling “insomnia cure,” I found this IMDB page on a movie entitled, “The Cure for Insomnia”:
This film is basically an experiment designed to reprogram biological clocks for insomniacs so they can sleep again. L.D. Groban reads his own poem during the span of about four days, which is interspliced with stock footage of heavy-metal videos and x-rated footage.
You read that correctly. About four days. Lest there be no misunderstanding,
This is the longest movie ever made at a total running time of 87 hours. It premiered in its entirety at The School Of The Art Institute in Chicago, Illinois from 31 January to 3 February 1987 in one continuous showing.
One viewer’s thumbs-up vote:
check it out next time u have 85 hours to your self
I think I’ll sleep well tonight, but I can never be sure until ten or fifteen minutes after lights-out. That’s when the fatigue of the day either takes hold or mysteriously vanishes. As I mentioned in a previous post, drugs help (my usual cocktail: melatonin plus half a benadryl). Exercise helps. Sex helps. Nothing works 100% of the time.
What works for you?
D.