Slickr Sunday
What’s slick on Flickr tonight? Grace Slick, of course.
Grace Slick, originally uploaded by dgans.
More slick Flickr photos below the fold . . .
Free fiction! Top notch! Ichiban!
I’ve posted my entry to Microsoar’s Reboot Contest. Dean posted his story a while ago. There you go, folks, two top notch stories, free of charge.
The contest remains open until Midnight on the 31st. Join the crowd!
Live-blogging tonight, 7 PM PST.
D.
The End is in Sight, photo edition
I promised photos the other day, but I did not deliver. My email and high speed internet access were both thoroughly effed up and we only managed to fix things yesterday.
Here’s how much they love me. No other Chief has gotten a banner. I got two.
And this is the small banner. They put the big-assed banner over the cafeteria doors for everyone to see (on their way in to ask for the biscuits and gravy which are no longer served).
See me in action below the cut.
Guy monkeys want to last longer, too.
So, in order not to ejaculate too soon, they fantasize they’re making love to all manner of disgusting things (rotten melons, one of those fugly Wizard of Oz flying monkeys, an old catcher’s mitt, a diseased hyena, Ann Coulter, Zira from Planet of the Apes, the eye-hole of Darth Vader’s mask, Gollum, Barbara Bush). It works, or so I hear. But when y’all (y’all female macaques, that is) vocalize, it destroys the illusion, brings us back to the present, makes us realize it ain’t Bay Buchanan squirming beneath us after all, but rather our hot, furry, screamin’ monkey love-bitches.
Hat tip to Kate Monster.
D.
Festivus Thirteen
Far be it from me to promote anything from Seinfeld (sorry, Jerry-lovers, I’m in the “I don’t get it” camp), but you gotta love Festivus:
At the Festivus dinner, you gather your family around and tell them all the ways they have disappointed you over the last year.
So, for this Thirteen, it’s up to you. Tell me what we’re eating for dinner and then tell me how I’ve disappointed you this year. Just think of how much better this blog will be for your criticisms.
(Sneaky way of getting out of a Thirteen, eh? But I’m in modem hell at home, and I’m getting slammed here at work, and WHINE WHINE WHINE!!!)
Participants get all the linky lurve their hypercritical hearts could crave.
Yay! We’re back in High Speed Land. Here’s your lurve, folks:
Dan: the Master of Distraction’s Thirteen
Kate Rothwell, Professional Scold
Microsoar’s story contest is still open (but, sadly, the only story idea I have is about a trailer trash teenage girl who gets kidnapped for the extraterrestrial sex trade)
Dean’s Friday Flickr babes (looks safe-for-work to me, Dean, although in MY place of work, vibrators and rough sex are regular topics of conversation)
But Joolz, the beans are the best part!
D.
The end is in sight
As of this Friday, I’ll be off call, and will remain so through the end of the year. Know what that means?
Two more days as Chief of Staff.
I know, I know, I really shouldn’t kvetch. After all, the year has been uneventful.
True, we had the Feds breathing down our necks this year, but my hospital (St. Mammon Community) fared well in the end. We’re still open for business — not even a suspension.
And, also true, we had some serious competency issues to deal with, as well as an unruly doctor who needed a stern talking-to.
But aside from the Feds checking our rectums for suspicious freckles, one or two near comatose staff members, and that one anger management issue, it has been an uneventful year.
Oh, wait. I forgot the hostage crisis.
A suspension of feline disbelief
Rustle rustle rustle.
Mist: Pssst. Hey, Ash. The Angry Bald One’s got a foil pack.
Ash: Foil pack?
Mist: Foil pack.
Ash: FOIL PACK!
Doug: Sorry, guys. It ain’t what you think.
Mist: Chicken? I hope it’s chicken.
Ash: You finished all the chicken.
Mist: I can’t help it if you’re slow.
Ash: I can’t help it if you’re a pig.
Mist: Maybe it’s liver!
Ash: Don’t change the subject.
Doug: I’m telling you, you’re not going to like this.
Mist: What’s he saying?
Ash: It’s all gibberish to me. Evidently, it must be something so tasty he’s not willing to share.
Mist: Told you it was liver.
Doug: Don’t believe me? Here. Try some.
*tosses onto the floor two cashews seasoned with lemongrass and mild Chinese chili*
Mist: *sniff*
Ash: *sniff* *sniff*
Mist: Maybe he’s got the liver snacks hidden among these . . . these things.
Ash: I’m willing to wait him out if you are.
Doug: Here. Have some dried pineapple.
*Tosses another bit onto the floor*
Mist: Um.
Ash: Excuse me, Angry Bald One?
Doug: Stop looking at me like that.
Ash: Mind telling me — what is this bullshit?
Mist: If he ever leaves his shoes downstairs, I am so leaving him a present.
D.
Bodily woes
Today, in the wee hours of the morning, I could picture the headlines . . .
Local Doctor Bleeds to Death From Ass
Family Grateful for Life Insurance Policy
. . . but as you may have guessed, I’m still here to write about it.
Sunday Flickr babe: Writer Victoria Redel
I began by searching Flickr for “writer,” and after ten pages, found this page of photos for Writers Revealed. From that whole set, all those faces, I picked Victoria Redel. Here’s an interview with Ms. Redel. Snippet below the cut.
Damn it.
Terry Pratchett has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s disease.
I don’t talk about him much, but he’s one of my literary heroes. I don’t know anyone who melds humor, action, and pathos as well as Pratchett (e.g., Night Watch, one of his best). This is sad, sad news.
From the man himself, with no shortage of class (linked above):
“I would have liked to keep this one quiet for a little while,” he wrote in a letter headed ‘An Embuggerance’.
. . . . The author said work was continuing on his latest works, Nation and Unseen Academicals, and that there was “time for at least a few more books yet.
“Frankly, I would prefer it if people kept things cheerful,” he continued, saying it was “too soon to tell” if the condition was immediately life-threatening.
“I will, of course, be dead at some future point, as will everybody else. For me, this maybe further off than you think.
“I know it’s a very human thing to say ‘Is there anything I can do?’ but in this case I would only entertain offers from very high-end experts in brain chemistry.”
I wish him the best.
D.