I’m afraid I don’t have any new long-form subject-driven wisdom to piss away precious pixels on tonight – it turns out that writing 1,100 words imagining God as potentially an ineffectual, horned-up spastic is harder than you’d think… although it turns out that it’s infinitely easier if you do it while half-watching Jennifer’s Body.
Throw on top of that that the last thing my homemade TiVo played before the sound output self-destructed was – purely, I’m sure, by coincidence – Jennifer’s Fucking Body, and I’m a little tied up right now. But I suppose that’s what I get for allowing the machine to interface with Diablo Cody, and I guess I have to count my blessings that I never got a lap dance off her.
I’m hoping to have something tomorrow on how Pee Wee Herman intended to beat the rap in his 1991 public indecency case, while simultaneously fervently hoping that he’s not using “rap” as a euphemism.
In the meantime, I’m gonna take this opportunity to do a little maintenance on the site as a whole. Back when I had the idea to integrate Twitter into the site, I had images of a little sidebar filled with 140-character bon mots to flavor the longer pieces on the main page. Unfortunately, I hadn’t taken into account that writing more than 140 characters is fucking hard, that I am fundamentally lazy, and that eighteen months later the archives would become nothing more than a journal of gutter mumblings from whatever bar I happened to be in. Which I suppose could be compiled into some kind of pidgin beat poetry, but only if you’re using “beat” as a euphemism.
So I will be, over the next day or so, manually herding all the Filthy One-Liner compilation posts into their own sub-category. However, I don’t want to leave you empty handed (Which is not a euphemism; I think we can agree that two thinly-veiled whackoff jokes are enough for one piece). So in that spirit…
I’ve written a lot about Comic-Con this past few weeks, to the point where some of you might be thinking about buying tickets when they go on sale soon. And, sure, I might have painted a picture of a long party filled with non-stop amusement and spectacle where you might meet someone fun to drink with in a bar…
But remember: the stereotypical sci-fi geek was not born in a vacuum, which mean that THIS guy will be there, too. And unlike in Jennifer’s Body, he won’t have the decency to kill you after he’s engaged you in conversation.
(via Topless Robot, which you really should be reading.)
*“There is no Klingon word for ‘masturbation’”