The 72nd step on the last road home.

The Dirty Baker's Dozen, Part the Second

I'm cleaning out my browser bookmarks by parking some links here:

  • The Marx Brothers on MP3

  • James Jamerson and the Funk Brothers

  • 20 pages of Dan Barry's FLASH GORDON

  • Hitler Meets Christ

  • Robert Christgau

  • pretty organism thing

  • Recipe Goldmine

  • The Look of Love

  • Rodan's Roost

  • Hobo Signs

  • Video Game Tabulature

  • Best time-waster, ever

  • Jesus sells Viagra and Prozac
  • By request, a post about politics

    I call bullshit on people who are anti-abortion except in cases of rape [UPDATE: or incest; I always forget about incest] that have resulted in pregnancy. If these people really think life is precious and deserves to be protected, it deserves to be protected regardless of the criminal behavior of a person's parent.

    On a related note: The clips I've just seen of the difference in audience reception to Bush's kids and Kerry's at the MTV Video Music Awards have confirmed my worst fears, that an entire generation has been permanently bent by 9/11 into something truly brutal, proudly stupid and ugly. Hence, I call for all American children in their 50th to 100th trimesters to be aborted en masse -- just drive 'em all into the sea like they were lemmings. We can't take any chances anymore, else the local terrorists will have won, etc.

    Why can't blogs be this fascinating?

    I mean, really. I've been clicking on links on that site for almost an hour now, and I'm still as delighted/baffled as a retard playing with his first prism.

    The 69th step on the last road home.

    Happy Belated "Show Us Your Tits" Day!

    hello little mammals,

    Oh Miki, yo' so fine, yo' so fine you blow my mi-- holy shit, Emma's running an original DigiTech Whammy into a Boss CS-3! Those pedals fuckin' rocked!

    Thursday marked the ten-year anniversary of shoegazer rock's Woodstock; the Reading Fest where Lush gave the greatest hellgig performance ever committed to a fan's hidden tape recorder.

    For those of you who missed it: The band was playing in the MELODY MAKER tent and was about to play their set's third song when some punter yells "SHOW US YER TITS" to leader Miki Berenyi. Things go downhill from there: Snappy comments are made, PA equipment explodes, songs are restarted halfway in and a good time was had by all ... except for the band, presumably. It's times like this that make me glad that tape wasn't rolling during that unfortunate show I did with my old pal Johnny Cash; I'd never hear the end of it.

    Anyhoo, the bootleg pressing of the Lush show is pretty easy to get; if you have the means, I highly recommend it.

    On to the mailbag!

    Dear Sir,

    Let me start by introducing myself. I am Mr. Wang Qin
    credit officer of the Hang Seng Bank Ltd. I have a
    concealed business suggestion for you.

    Before the U.S and Iraqi war our client General.
    Ibrahim Moussa who was with the Iraqi forces and also
    business man made a numbered fixed deposit for 18
    calendar months, with a value of Twenty millions Five
    Hundred Thousand United State Dollars only in my
    branch. Upon maturity several notice was sent to him,
    even during the war .Again after the
    war another notification was sent and still no
    response came from him. We later find out that the
    General and his family had been killed during the war
    in a bomb blast that hit their home.After further
    investigation it was also discovered that Gen. Ibrahim
    Moussa did not declare any next of kin in his
    official papers including the paper work of his bank
    deposit. And he had earlier confided in me the last
    time he
    was at my office that no one except me knew of his
    deposit in my bank. So, Twenty millions Five Hundred
    Thousand United State Dollars is still lying in my
    bank and no one will ever come forward to claim
    it.What bothers me most is that according to the laws
    of my country at the expiration 4 years the
    funds will revert to the ownership of the Hong Kong
    Government if nobody applies to claim the funds.

    Against this backdrop, my suggestion to you is that I
    will like you as a foreigner to stand as the next of
    kin to Gen. Ibrahim Moussa so that you will be able to
    receive his funds.


    I want you to know that I have had everything planned
    out so that we shall come out successful. I have
    contacted an attorney that will prepare the necessary
    document that will back you up as the next of kin to
    Gen. Ibrahim Moussa, all that is required from you at
    this stage is for you to
    provide me with your Full Names and Address so that
    the attorney can commence his job. After you have been
    made the next of kin, the attorney will also fill in
    for claims on your behalf and secure the necessary
    approval and letter of probate in your favor for the
    movement of the funds
    to an account that will be provided by you.

    There is no risk involved at all in the matter as we
    are going adopt a legalized method and the attorney
    will prepare all the necessary documents. Please
    endeavor to observe utmost discretion in all matters
    concerning this issue.Once the funds have been
    transferred to your nominated bank account we shall
    share in the ratio of 80% for me, 15% for you and 5%
    for any expenses incurred during the course of this
    operation.Should you be interested please send me your
    private phone and fax numbers for easy communication
    and I will provide you with more details of this

    Your earliest response to this letter will be

    Kind Regards,

    wang Qin.

    Dear Wang,

    Thanks for the kind offer, but the rumors of my dire financial straits are greatly exaggerated. Granted, my "mainstream" film career at the moment is about as dead as that National Guardsman who's still lodged between my toes, but I've always been a thunder lizard of modest tastes and simple pleasures. I'm doing OK, folks -- no need for concern! Come November, I'll be off my ass and "back in the game," just you wait!

    Also, I seriously doubt you'll be able to convince the HK authorities that I'm related to that Moussa guy; the cops in your country already know me. Thanks again for the offer, though!

    Warmest Regards,

    The 67th step on the last road home.

    Not to be confused with Jester Brown's LOUIE REAL

    So, I was going over a raw interview transcript this morning, and came across a chain of proper-name typos -- it's pretty rare to get someone who knows anything about a given field to transcribe an interview, so the proper names are usually typed in phonetically -- and came across this, the funniest sound-out, ever. First person to correctly guess it wins a prize [UPDATE:] has won a prize [no more callers, please]: "Jean-Paul Solino"

    The Dirty Baker's Dozen

    Since I like these, but don't refer to them often enough to keep 'em in my sidebar, I'm parking the links here. Enjoy:

  • Julius Knipl radio-cartoon archive

  • The Mercury Theatre on the Air

  • Videogame-music archive

  • IBM Songbook

  • Billy Dee Is A Painter

  • Japander

  • you have bad taste in music

  • Japan: 1948-1951

  • The empire that was Russia

  • Without Sanctuary

  • The Battle of Mikatagahara

  • Congress Cooks

  • Grandma's war stories
  • The 65th step on the last road home.

    Ham Fighters, GO!

    I find the most interesting things when I'm casting around looking for a new name; I know fuckall about baseball, but The Nippon-Ham Fighters is now my all-time favorite team in the history of the world. Ham Fighters! And they're apparently complete and utter losers, no less! That's my kind of team; I've longed to own a baseball hat to protect my fragile head from the elements, but I've always gotten more shit from overzealous baseball fans than it was worth. [I had a knack for unwittingly picking a hat from the bitterest out-of-town rival of the local team.] A few months and sunburns ago, I did some research to see what team was the most pathetic and thus inoffensive to every douche bag sports fan I'd be likely to encounter -- the Seattle Mariners. The fucking Mariners! But these Ham Fighters -- man, when would I ever bump into a baseball nut who would recognize a Ham Fighters hat, much less be offended by it? Never! Someone's got to buy me an old-school NHF hat right now. RSVP.

    Dear Blogger, Happy Fucking Birthday

    According to my occasionally useful Blogger Dashboard, today is its fifth birthday. Huzzah. To celebrate early, I guess it treated itself to the remarkably useless toolbar you see at the top of the page.

    Thank you, Blogger. I enjoyed playing Detective with my Sitemeter log, trying to figure out why/how a steady stream of random people were linking to and visiting my page without an actual link here on the referring page, until I noticed the little "Next Blog!" button on your little toolbar's far right. So thank you, Birthday Site, for the fun puzzle to solve as well as the treat of seeing a lovely cross-section of this fallen world.

    I wish I had kept track of some of the referring blogs' URLs, since there were some doozies -- especially the one by that 19-year old Aryan kid who posted nothing but running tallies of how drunk he got last night [every night] and his musings on how "c00l" George W. Bush is and a fascinating, well-documented theory that "John Carry" is a "faggit" who fucked "Japs in the asshole (and viceversa) instead of killing them like his sgt. told him too" and who even sucked "Hochie Mein's" cock! [This Carry guy's got my vote for Prez!] Anyway, I hate to ask anything of a Web site on its birthday, but could you please resend me that guy's URL? Thanks.

    This is my second-favorite of the random blogs that I've been connected to:

    .I thought you should know, Your not making this easy.
    .I hope your happy, And completely lonely.

    It's like a Zen koan, despite the wrong "your" used.

    The 64th step on the last road home.

    Links, Linx, Lynx

    My fellow Squirrels,

    Welcome the latest citizen of SquirrelNation: Baron or Baroness Dances with Chipmunks! Huzzah!

    Wow. Either these guys are crazy or stupid, maybe both, mixed with a ludicrous amount of ideological zeal. You can't fence a painting that famous, the buyer can't display it even if you could, you can't do anything with it except grab a below-the-fold headline in the International News section for a day.

    The truly heartbreaking thing is that Yahoo linked to pop-star Madonna in cross-reference to "Madonna," the other Munch painting stolen. Because Munch was listening to "Lucky Star" when he painted it. If the Messiah returned tomorrow, Yahoo would link him to Andrew Lloyd Webber's and Mel Gibson's fan-page directories, the nimrods.

    Because Knowing Is Half the Battle. I recommend episodes 1, 10, 11, 13 and 23.

    Fuck you, Gary Gygax. You know, I haven't a clue how to play this game anymore, but I was delighted to see its snazzy drawings again. Made me wish I had a Keane print and a nail & yarn picture of an owl or a unicorn on my wall.

    Shatner has a blog. A fucking blog! The comments section isn't as mobbed with fans as you would expect.

    And Blogger's Spell Checker doesn't recognize "blog" as a correctly spelled word; it thinks I meant to write "bloc."


    hello little humans,

    Another week's gone by, yet I can't think of anything to write an essay about. Really, would it kill you little bastards to write me every once and a while?

    These links go out to the one I love: Sergio Leone.

    THE GOOD: This blog has amused me greatly over the last few days. And it pointed me toward

    THE BAD: This blog, which would make my blood boil at the careerist self-loathing ... if I was near something hot enough to raise my blood temperature to boiling. And if you think she's bad, wait til you see

    THE UGLY: This blog entry, which has a MOV file so funny and infuriating that I almost want to get cable TV or destroy all of Maryland. The Irony Fairy must have to work overtime to allow a regular contributor to FOX News to whine about another weblet's smash-mouth journalism.

    Another THE GOOD: Hey, you nerds remember that great actor I posted about last week? He has a blog and it's great too.

    Well, there it is. Unless I get some good letters between now and this time tomorrow, you all can check out these links and then fuck off. Until this day and time next week, of course!!!

    Warmest Regards,

    ps. Milos asked me to post this reminder: You non-squirrels have one week left to join SquirrelNation before the amnesty offer's deadline passes.

    The 61st step on the last road home.

    The 60th step on the last road home.

    The Fountain of Youth resides in the combination of corn liquor and 9th chords

    It's true. A friend of mine gave me a copy of the STANDING IN THE SHADOWS OF MOTOWN movie a while back; she asked me how old pianist Joe Hunter is after we saw him do a split during a horn solo in "Cool Jerk" or "Do You Love Me?"

    I had to do some counting on my fingers but I quickly realized that, at the time the film was shot, the youngest guy in the Funk Brothers was in his early 60s and the median age of the band was 70. It's the power of fashion, I guess; in the film, the guys wear fairly contemporary classy clothes and glasses, and the balding Funks have gone Kojak. You can a sense of their elderliness in some of the DVD extras, where you can see the guys in typical old-men street clothes, and who needs a cane and such.

    One of the interesting things about the Funks is that its virtuoso, James Jamerson, was the youngest member of his lineup. It's a Mozart thing, man.

    Oh, and Hunter was 75 when he pulled that split. As soon as I have enough money to afford visiting an allergist, I'm gonna find out if I can safely drink corn liquor.

    The 55th step on the last road home.


    Another letter from the mailbox:

    Subject: If you were an American...

    ...who would you vote for in the upcoming election?

    Also, who is the mother of your child and whatever happened to her?


    Dear Tony,

    I'm proud to say I'm a nautralized citizen of the U.S. of A. -- however, I'm not a political animal, so I'll have to beg off answering your first question directly. That said, I do fancy myself a prognosticator of the highest caliber, and I predict that the election shall be close all the way up to Super Tuesday, despite the October Surprise double-whammy of Osama being found and caught as well as gasoline prices suddenly plunging right on schedule. On Election Day, John Kerry will earn the majority of the popular and electoral votes and George W. Bush will be sworn in as President next January.

    I'm not sure which of my kids you're talking about here, but all but a handful of my 159 children were adopted and none of the biological ones went into Show Business and I would assume you don't give a fuck about them. Adoption is a practice I picked up from my old friend and mentor Joan Crawford -- although I obviously was a lot kinder to my kids than that old battleaxe! -- and I'm proud to have passed the practice of adopting slightly crispy Asian war orphans along to my dear friends Mia Farrow and Woody Allen.

    Please, no snappy comments about Soon-yi; I certainly wasn't the one who passed that diddle-your-kiddies ethos on to the Woodman! I mean, sure, I've occasionally eaten some of my kids, but they were all gimpy and thus likely to be brutally taken out by predators sooner or later! You never want your kids to suffer, y'know? There's not a whole lot of assisted-living support for cripples on Monster Island or at the bottom of the ocean or in the deepest jungle, so eating is the way to go.

    I've always thought you meat twigs are weird about your kids; some will fuck and beat theirs with wire hangers occasionally -- but if a pair of humans pound out a handicapped child, they'll totally puss out on eating him every time, even though it's just a matter of time until a cougar or a mountain lion separates Junior from the Special-Ed pack and devours him, wheelchair, colostomy bag and all.*

    No one likes eating lemons -- the sour fruit, the malfunctioning car, the crippled offspring -- but sometimes you just can't make lemonade, and then swallowing the damn thing whole is your only remaining option.


    * This line is dedicated to the memory of Milo "Wheelie" George, Jr., 1995-1999


    Mailbag time:

    Subject: Go on, I dare you


    I write to you not to provide you with a topic for your weblog -- gosh, that should be your responsibility, now shouldn't it? No, I'm writing to you because frankly, I'm wondering why you're such a pussy.

    Let me make my case as plainly as possible: Seattle deserves destruction. It's a town where smug, self-satisfied yuppies with multiple piercings sit around congratulating each other for their high-minded superiority, while voting down school-funding initiatives. It's the sort of town where baseball stadium subsidies are sacrosanct, but the roads never get fixed. It's a place where monoculture pretends to be diversity, where the "alternative" to classic-rock radio is that shitty Citizen Cope song, "Bullet and Target," played fifteen times a day on the Paul Allen-funded "independent" radio station. Seattle is where the local titty-bar owner openly bribes the city council to keep the zoning laws written in such a way as to discourage competition, and where the city council pretends that it goes along with this in order to "protect women."

    More to the point: Seattle hates you. Have you heard what it says about you, snickering under its collective breath? Seattle is badmouthing you to the ladies every time your back is turned. Seattle tells them that you're a chronic masturbator who doesn't even have the courtesy to wash his hands afterward. Notice how women never seem to get your name right?

    It's all Seattle's doing. "Call him 'Godzilla,' dear," Seattle tells them, "He loves that." Seattle suspects you're probably some kind of Limbaugh-listening dittohead or something. It's not your own clumsiness that causes you to misplace your carkeys, buddy -- Seattle is hiding them when you're not looking. Seattle is Gaslighting you, Gojira. Seattle knows you won't retaliate, and chalks it up to your being a spineless, out-of-work actor who makes for a perfect punching bag. And let's make no mistake: You certainly do give exactly that impression to those around you. You see where I'm going with this, right? Seattle doesn't deserve to live. You know this, deep in your heart. What, then, are the rest of us supposed to make of your mystifying inaction?

    Summing up: The rest of us are tired of your empty threats, especially when the evidence seems so clear. Destroy Seattle. Start with Queen Anne -- oops, there goes Frasier's building! -- and work your way north, burning your way through "the Hill's" shallow gay subculture, "the U District's" feeble youth pseudoculture, and North Seattle's meticulous suburban neighborhoods, where self-absorbed professionals can take advantage of urban culture without ever having to meet some scummy homeless person. Reduce it all to smoking ruin, Gojira. You know you want to.

    Shit or get off the pot, O King of Monsters. Destroy Seattle. Do it. Do it now.

    Yours most sincerely,
    Dirk Deppey

    My goodness. Take the blue pill and start saving up for a U-haul, my man.

    Subject: [None]

    Since U R the king of the monsters what are your top 5 favorite monster movies? Y R the orientals way better at making them then Americans?



    Subject: suggestions

    Couldn't you mix business with pleasure and write about destroying Seattle?

    your friend,

    Dear Nameless Dork, and Rose,

    Thank you for your letter, Rose. Perhaps this is a good time to discuss something I've been meaning to say for a while:

    I am not a monster; I am an actor.

    A thespian. A playwright. A filmmaker.

    I don't bag on my fellow monster-moviemakers, but I don't watch any of my peers' work in the genre. I think of myself as an actor first, an Asian-American second, [by the way, nameless dork: sentient creatures from Asia are called Asian; inanimate objects from Asia are called Oriental], and a 500-foot radioactive dinosaur third. As such, I'd like to take a few moments to highlight and praise the first five semi-recent pan-Pacifica indy films I can remember enjoying [Oh, and I would assume the "Orientals" are better at making giant-monster films because the have a passion for the genre and will go the extra mile their Merkin-fan peers don't, doing things like spelling out "you" "are" and "why," and being able to use "than" and "then" correctly in their fucking fan letters.]:

    DOUBLE HAPPINESS: Very funny, very human, very Canadian romantic comedy about an aspiring actress's difficulties with her traditionalistic family and crappy acting skills. Sandra Oh does a beautiful job of acting like a bad actor, which ain't easy! Another Oh vehicle, LONG LIFE, HAPPINESS AND PROSPERITY, is also a charming cannuck production, but it doesn't have the snazzy Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet soundtrack DOUBLE HAPPINESS boasts.

    COMBINATION PLATTER: Another funny romcom, about an illegal Chinese immigrant's struggle to get a green card before he's caught and sent home. It's funnier than that sounds, honest. The movie has an impressively large ensemble of characters, all of whom get a chance to be fleshed out from stereotype to two-dimensional character.

    I think the main reason I like this one is because it's one of the few examples of a Yellow Man/White Woman on-screen courting that's handled even remotely respectfully. Actually, it's one of the two YM/WW linkings I know of, period -- and Long Duk Dong and his 'Merican Guhrrrlfriend is the other. This is a big part of my theory that the English-language film industry collectively fears non-white cock. It's not like they're leery of interracial couples; just compare these two to the bazillion honky man/Dragon Lady movies in existence.

    EAT DRINK MAN WOMAN: Before he came to America to punish cineastes with shitty action movies, Ang Lee made entertaining, interesting romantic comedies. Really! He did!! This one's my favorite, since the torrent of loving shots of amazing food makes me drool like a retard every time. As I grow older, I find myself appreciating his earlier PUSHING HANDS more and more, despite its clumsy, flatfootedness. And THE WEDDING BANQUET is a delight -- especially if you pretend, as I do, that the honky-boyfriend character is actually a woman and thus gives us a full notch on the no-bullshit Asian Man/White Woman relationship-O-meter. Anyway, in addition to the food, EAT DRINK MAN WOMAN also does a beautiful job of showcasing the effortless timing of the late Sihung Lung, who never got his due propers.

    THE SCENT OF GREEN PAPAYA: All of these movies are pretty laid-back in their telling, but this one is absolutely placid. It's one of those movies where nothing happens, but you so want to be in that moments with the characters that you don't want anything to happen. [SPOILERS] When the film jumps ahead 10 years near the end,[/SPOILERS] I nearly destroyed the theatre, I was so pissed that I wasn't going to spend more time with little Mui. And then the ending is kinda creepy, too. It's like what my friend Orson Welles once said: "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story," so stop watching this one the moment you see "10 Years Later ..." You can thank me later.

    MUCH ADOBO ABOUT NOTHING: Normally, I hate cute-titled movies -- and by this point, I had had an assful of movies about my people with titles taken from a take-out menu, a decision I ruefully made after buying a copy of the film PORK WITH PEKING SAUCE, which turned out to be a pornographic political tract, shot on videotape and starring a German male and an Asian she-male. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say I taped over it with the Janeane Garofalo nihilist-romcom vehicle SWEETHEARTS the next time I housesat for a friend who had cable.

    Anyway, I was dragged to see MUCH ADOBO by some friends -- mostly by my and Milos' mutual galpal Mariko Wood, who is as glamorous and she is whip-smart and hilarious and wealthy [wink] -- and liked the film. Even by indy standards, it's ragged and cheap-looking -- it made GO FISH look as lavish as THE GODFATHER -- but it's fun and funny and you can almost see yourself masturbating to it, which you couldn't say for most romcoms around that time. As a side note: With the Hollywood Romantic Comedy at a new low, why are none of the good-but-somewhat-clunky indy romcoms available on DVD? ADOBO isn't. SWEETHEARTS isn't, TOMORROW NIGHT isn't.

    Where was I? Oh yeah, so I'm watching this movie, and all I'm thinking is "Why couldn't the nice-guy lead in this shambles be in a really good romantic comedy? ... Is there another Jujubee in this box? It feels like it does. Dammit I can't reach it! Sonofabitch, I have a crappy mint one stuck in my teeth and I need another one to go in and pull it out AND THIS LAST FUCKING ONE WON'T COME OUT OF THE BOX!!!!! If it wasn't FUCKING MINT, I wouldn't mind but IT'S ALWAYS A FUCKING MINT ONE that gets stuck in my teeth! Fuckers do this on purpose; they put in just so many Jujubees in a box and make sure that you're left with one in your teeth so you have to go buy another box!!!! I'll KILL THEM ALL THE DIRTY NO-GOOD -- hey, there's the nice-guy lead again! Ha ha! That kid's great -- who is he? He's cute, but not Long-Duk cute -- I bet he could play a love interest to a white female and sell it even to the bewildered herd! Finally! Hey, my last Jujubee just popped out of the box! It's a SIGN!!! Take THAT, you toothpaste-tastin' bastard! As soon as I get home, I'm writing a romcom for this fuckin' guy and gettin' it fucking made and collect a shelf of fuckin' awards. And then, I'm gonna melt them down into bomb casings, packing each one with C-4 and taking out every Jujubee factory that makes these little mint-flavored chunks of Hell until they stop making mint Jujubees!!! I'll be a hero to movie and candy fans worldwide, whatever this kid's name is will be the Asian Hugh Grant and everyone will be happy!!!!!!!!!!"

    Unfortunately, I was distracted by a flock of seagulls on the way home, and forgot all about the brilliant plot I had in my mind for an Asian dood/White chippie romantic comedy and the actor who could be its male lead. Fast-forward to a few days ago, when Milos and I are watching the new MR. SHOW DVD set, and who do I see? That kid from the ADOBO movie! He's in the episode "Flat-Top Tony and the Purple Canoes" and he's great. He's cute, he's funny, he's so convincing in both roles I've seen him in that I have no idea what his actual gender preference for mating is and he's got a great name: Kennedy Kabasares. Catchy, isn't it? He'll be a movie star someday, or my name isn't

    -- Gojira Kijou

    The 51st step on the last road home.

    Holy Fucking Shit, Part II: Bex's Boogaloo

    Hear ye, hear ye!

    Release the Rocktagion; Bex Schwartz is blogging! She's a verb!! And a Zagnut!!! You wish she lived next door to you!!!! And that she kept coming over!!!!! Coming over to watch TV with you!!!!!! To watch your immaculately clean VHS copy of Harry Belafonte's episode of THE MUPPET SHOW!!!!!!! And casually discuss how you want to fuck your closest female friend during the non-Belafonte segments!!!!!!!! And by that, I mean that you and Bex would talk about it during the boring parts, not that you want to fuck your friend during those parts!!!!!!!!! So quit wasting time and go forth and bask in Colonel Bushytail's glory, my fellow squirrels!!!!!!!!!!

    In honor of this momentous occasion, I declare August 10 to be Bex Schwartz Day in all of SquirrelNation, now and forevermore! And, I have taken the liberty of borrowing her Fraggle-Data Chart and editing it to illustrate the Fraggle-ness of various stages in my life. Enjoy!


    I just got an e-mail chockablock with links.

    Pat O'Neill is blogging. In and of itself, this is no great shakes, but if Pat's still blogging when the blog of Our Mystery Guest Star launches -- oh yeah, that reminds me: iknowsomethingyoudunno, iknowsomethingyoudunno, iknowsomethingyoudunno -- then we're gonna argue like it's 1999. Oh yeah, the shit's on.

    Oh, the funny, cruel shit I could do if I had the money. Just you wait. Six words: "Dr. Doom. Anti-bullying spiel. Gay bar."

    No Comment:
    Eddie "Freight Train" Campbell
    Alan Moore Design and Construction Co.
    Chester Brown, America's Ham-Radio King
    Frank Miller Lumber Company
    Alex Toth, freelance web-solutions consultant
    Justin Green, M.D.
    Walt Kelly, Comprehensive Damage Prevention Consultant
    Charles Burns & Co. Consulting
    Robert Levin, internationally known glass artist
    Bob Fiore Wedding & Portrait Photography
    Dan Holloway, Motivational Speaker
    Mari Wood links to THE GRID
    Alan Gleason Construction
    Jack Cole Consulting, a site dedicated to the Sullivan-Clinton Campaign of 1779

    Lastly, Gojira has a post up about Fat Man and the atomic-bomb-protecting properties of clouds. Interesting stuff.

    We are a part of the SquirrelNation

    click for full-sized image

    My Fellow Squirrels,

    Firstly, a quick reminder; give these nice folks some money and tell them Gojira Kijou sent you. I thank you.

    Next, it is my pleasure, as Dictator for Life of SquirrelNation, to introduce the newest citizens of our fair and wondrous land:

    Arch Bishop Crazy Whiskers
    Nutty Drunkenpaws
    Pope Curlyarse

    Visit their pages today, and every day that SquirrelNation stands as a tiny beacon of civility and honor in this fallen world! Visit all the links on this page, or else the Owls will have won!!!

    That is all. Go in peace.

    -- General Smallnuts

    ps. Reminder: From this moment until 11:59:59 PM PST, August 28, 2004, I shall publicly grant political amnesty, personal identity and citizenship and add a sidebar link-back to any human who links to The Unofficial John Westmoreland Memorial Tribute Webring in the linkrolls of hir blog/Livejournal/Web site/whatever. Those of you who have longed to convert to squirrelism and become a naturalized citizen of SquirrelNation have less than 469 hours to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Tell just your cool friends about this offer.

    The 50th step on the last road home.

    I'm a Pop-Culture Sheep, Bitch!

    No surprise: The cherry of this Yahoo search was popped sometime between 9pm and midnight last night -- strangely enough, this page wasn't one of them [?] -- and there were four entries in the results page as of this morning, all about as witty and charming as you'd imagine them to be. Times like this make me want to rip a steel mill in half so I can stand close enough to its massive blast furnaces to make my cold blood boil. These truly are times that try radioactive dinosaurs' souls and their resolve.

    Farewell, Rick James. Wherever you are now, may your Rickenbacker electric bass have no dead spots nor wolf tones anywhere on the neck.

    The 48th step on the last road home.

    The 47th step on the last road home.


    In case you missed it, or pretended to not see it [you douche bag], there's a really swank benefit comedy show at the Improv next Thursday. I will allow you a choice: You're either going to the show or you're mailing them a donation. Tell them I sent you, regardless.

    How do you like these apples, nerds? I just wrote a long post about the object of your horny pipedreams, Kirsten Dunst ... but I posted it to MY blog! Ha! You're gonna have to click a link to GOJIRA ELECTRIC JOURNAL MASTERPIECE 2004 to see my writing and the sexy picture I found! For a change, I have you figurativelyin the palm of my hand! Haw!


    ps. Let's count the scant minutes remaining before this search-request response is gone:

    [Yes, I know it looks cruddy scaled down to fit this column. Click here for the full-sized JPEG.]

    The funniest thing about this is that I've never even seen Chappelle's show, but I know this dumb catchphrase and where it's from. All hail American junk-culture aggregation!

    The saddest thing will that every dumbass who posts some variation on the phrase -- "I'm dead, Bitch!" "Rick James is dead, Bitch!" "Natural Causes, Bitch!" etc. -- will think he was the first genius to come up with such a clever idea.

    SquirrelNation, We're on the move, Nothing can stop us now

    hello little humans,

    I am Gojira Kijou. GREETINGS!

    Milos forgot to add the three newest members of his SquirrelNation before the Sabbath kicked in, so he's making me do it.

    So ... welcome to SquirrelNation, new humans. By the powers vested in me by the owner of this blogspot page, I now pronounce you Squirrels. You may now kiss my ass.

    Pope Nibbles his Nuts
    Lieutenant Crazypaws
    General Fluffycheeks


    My Fellow Squirrels,

    Patton Oswalt writes:

    A benefit for our friends Mark Cohen and Christine Anderson, who are getting fucked over by God.

    host: JIMMY KIMMEL

    8pm. the improv. august 12th.

    (and it's 45 bucks a ticket, all of which goes to medical bills.)

    improv: 323-651-2583


    If you can't attend but would like to send a contribution, please send to:
    Christina Anderson
    10701 South Eastern Ave. #1015
    Henderson, NV 89052

    Christina and Mark are hoping to attend on the 12th.

    If I remember right, Mark Cohen does Joey Bishop better than Joey Bishop ever did; he's really funny and thus deserves to live a long time. I don't know who Christina Anderson is, but I'm sure she doesn't deserve to be on God's shit list any more than Mark does.

    All members of SqirrelNation in Los Aangeles are commanded to go. All L.A. humans reading this should go -- that show has an amazing lineup of comics for just $45, and that it all goes to medical bills is pretty sweet. If you can't go, send Christina a check today. [Squirrels: that's an order.] And tell them Gojira Kijou and John Westmoreland sent you.

    Pass it on.

    [By the way, Patton has a San Diego Con report up in his diary section that's funny and interesting enough that I don't mind that the pictures are so fucking tiny.]

    A meme that's sorta fun ... sorta

    Lieber wrote:

    I'd like to challenge other bloggers to come up with their own list of eleven titles that libraries should shelve. No rules, but participants are encouraged to cite a variety of genres, and you get extra bonus points if you can avoid repeating a publisher. One-line summaries are nice, but not required. And no, they don't have to be all-ages books, though all-ages lists are certainly welcome.

    Here's my 11. I have no idea who published what since I don't have the strain of nerdiness that allows you keep track of that shit. And I don't link to booksellers unless they gimme a kickback for the business I send 'em. I think they're all all-ages; at least, if I was a kid, I would appreciate and enjoy reading any of the below. [When I was a kid, I actually did appreciate and enjoy reading some of them.]

    Still the gold standard for strip anthologies.

    Ditto for funnybook anthologies.

    The Patrick McDonell, et al.-written biography/artbook.

    It's refreshing to read comics about a WWII holocaust we're responsible for.

    Feiffer's best.

    I prefer this to the bigger, better-printed BILL MAULDIN'S ARMY because Mauldin's commentary is sharp, corny, bitter and heartfelt, all at the same time.

    Only the mentally ill would not include this one.

    All textbooks should be this entertaining.

    You know the one I mean, right?

    A no-bullshit addition to the Young Readers section.

    It's like a K-Tel sampler of most of Carl Barks' greatest hits.

    This Pawn Shop Is Not A Home

    I paid my bills today. I was walking home from the post office and standing across the street from a pawn shop, waiting for the WALK sign. I don't remember ever visiting this shop, but it has a sign crowing that it's air-conditioned. They really know how to draw in the ace customers, like me.

    Does anyone remember the days when your local pawn shop had bargains on stuff worth owning? Thinking about the last three shops I've visited, all of them seemed to price their wares by assuming everything already is or will someday be worth a bazillion dollars. It's strange to think that I may be of the last generation of people who would go to a pawn shop to buy their first guitar or movie camera because the specialty shops charged an arm and a leg. If, say, a camera shop sells a used digicam for the same price "Frank Fuckowski's Fenced Goods" does, why wouldn't you buy the item from the store run by experts in that field?

    I certainly don't expect to a return to the days when dirty but mint-condition Fenders, D'Angelicos and unpopular-model Gibsons could be had for a hundred bucks a throw from "Honest Arnold's Second-Time-Around Shoppe" -- although I wouldn't finding a few more $100 broken classics that I could fix up and sell, as I did in college; that was fun and rather profitable -- but I call bullshit on these crap merchants trying to get $400-500 for battered cameras and guitars that never listed [not retailed, mind you] for more than $250 when they were brand-spanking new.

    It's also funny to see today's pawn shops trying to sell flogged copies of WARLORD, KITTY PRYDE & WOLVERINE and RICHIE RICH'$ MILLION$ for five bucks each because they once read an article in the newspaper -- you know the kind; some kid buys a comic from a pawn shop's quarter bin and later discovers the comic's actually worth a quarter-million, shit like that -- and they don't want to chance getting "ripped off."

    Of course, the spirit of the true pawn shop has transmorgified and merged onto this wonderful superdooperhighway, where it took me two minutes to find the same model Danelectro electric bass I just saw in that pawn shop down the street -- a reissue, white-sunburst Shorthorn four-string, in case you were wondering -- for a third of the price those yutzes down the street were charging. With hardshell case, no less. And, no one followed me around the store like I was gonna steal something, which is why the Internet wins every time.

    ps. Anyone who can correctly cite the source of this post's title will be given the key to Milotropolis [the capital city of SquirrelNation], and have a day named in hir honor.

    The 46th step on the last road home.

    The 45th step on the last road home.

    Duh, I'm a random smart person! And I don't even use Instant Messenger!

    What kind of IMer are you?

    Random smart person!

    You are one of the very rare people online that can actually speak English. I commend you!

    Personality Test Results

    Click Here to Take This Quiz
    Brought to you by quizzes and personality tests.

    The finest messages in bottles from the Ninth Ring of Nerd Hell

    Lieber and Parker have finished their San Diego 2004 report, the only one that you won't [or shouldn't, if you're one of those sad, hopeless bastards] regret actually reading instead of just looking at the pictures and skimming for names you know. Go there now -- you'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll kill about five minutes. Don't forget to mentally add the sentence "Every nerd you see here will die alone -- very, very ... very alone." to every photo caption.

    I'm so disappointed that no one mined the comedy goldmine that was that SPECIES aquarium housing the semi-nekkid chippie playing with a prop tentacle. Carpe Facetia, you girl-fearing dorks!!!

    The 43rd step on the last road home.

    Why I Hate Comics, Reasons #598 and 599

    My latest, most likely final, favorite comics quote:

    OK, Woodring, Brown, Ware and Hernandez are all terrific talents. No doubt their works were pretty good, otherwise they wouldn't have been nominated. But as a reprint nominee, it means the work has been seen elsewhere. So, why did my collection win? Possibly because it was a better looking, more cost-effective package, or maybe it had extras to enhance the stories collected unlike the others. -- Bob Greenberger, sore winner

    Awfully white of Greenberger to concede that the other collections his book was competing against were pretty good. Why, it's entirely possible that some of them may even be as good as BATMAN ADVENTURES: DANGEROUS DAMES AND DEMONS! If only Beto had gone the extra mile and included some never-before-seen goodies in PALOMAR, or if THE FRANK BOOK had been a little cheaper to yield more bang for the buck! I was undecided on who to pick for that category all the way up to the last minute, but I totally coulda been swayed to vote for the collected LOUIS RIEL if it had, say, a Mike Allred pinup of Riel himself or somesuch. Having to pick between FRANK, RIEL, QUIMBY THE MOUSE and PALOMAR -- oh, and that Batbook too -- was the second-hardest Eisner decision I had to make this year.

    Funniest/saddest moment of the con: During the bring-out-yer-dead segment of this year's Eisners, I understand that Carrie Nodell got a fond-farewell tribute while William Steig didn't merit a single mention. I'm not surprised that this has never been mentioned in the deluge of desperately feelgood, what-I-did-on-my-summer-vacation con reports that have followed. And comics nerds have the gall to be surprised/angered when people outside the culture show indifference to outright contempt for comics and their culture! Worst Field, Ever.

    Posting in the shade of my heart of darkness


    SquirrelNation, Under a Groove

    My fellow squirrels,

    Please join me in welcoming the newest citizens of our proud land:
    Doctor McTwitch
    Arch Bishop Fluffycheeks
    Nibbles Furryface


    I am also proud to declare Prince Crazy Whiskers an official Friend of SquirrelNation for recently hooking me up with the destroy-your-mind delight that is the short film C'ETAIT UN RENDEZVOUS. The pedestrians of both SquirrelNation and the Humans' desolate wastelands are safe tonight only because your beloved leader has no car.

    That is all.

    -- General Smallnuts
    Dictator-For-Life of SquirrelNation

    ps. Reminder: From this moment until 11:59:59 PM PST, August 28, 2004, I shall publicly grant political amnesty, personal identity and citizenship and add a sidebar link-back to any human who links to The Unofficial John Westmoreland Memorial Tribute Webring in the linkrolls of hir blog/Livejournal/Web site/whatever. Those of you who have longed to convert to squirrelism and become a naturalized citizen of SquirrelNation have less than six hours and 27 days to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Tell your cool friends.

    The 42nd step on the last road home.