I am taking a rare free moment to honor the birthday of a truly great man and even greater Canadian;
Justin Beiber Archon’s Den!
As a resident of the Canadian Riviera (better known as “New England”) I live in awe of a country that possesses badass versions of all the things we admire ourselves for- moose, maple syrup, hockey, beer, WINTER.
We, as New Englanders, have developed a kind of a hero worship for Canadians because of it- sort of like the kid who thinks he’s good at baseball, but knows for a fact his big brother IS.
This is how I feel about my friend, Archon. He’s every bit the wordsmith and tale-teller I humbly attempt to be- not to mention that he has a heart the size of Canada itself.
Besides, anyone from the same country that gave us SCtv and RUSH isn’t going to be a hoser, eh?
For those of you who have yet to experience this curmudgeonly cunning linguist, click on the Archon-ic moose below for a sampling of one of the cleverest minds the Great White North has to offer. Until then…
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ARCHON!
Today I have decided to pay homage to the late, great Gene Roddenberry on what would have been his 92nd birthday by conducting an interview I believe he might have enjoyed. Now I ask you, what better way to pay tribute to one of the greatest contributors to the SciFi genre than to have a face-off of Starship Captains? Ladies and gentlemen I give you…
JAMES T. KIRK VS JEAN-LUC PICARD
Q: Which species makes a better First Officer, Human or Vulcan?
KIRK: A Vulcan makes the better officer because they use logic rather than emotion to guide their decisions.
PICARD: Generally speaking, Kirk’s right. On the other hand, I cannot speak highly enough of my very human first officer. Once he finally was able to remove that giant stick from his ass and relax a little bit, he turned out all right.
Q: What is the most important quality a Starship Captain must have?
KIRK: The most important quality a starship captain must have is the ability to love females of any species.
PICARD: Diplomacy, which basically is the art of telling someone to suck your cock with such tact and charm that they actually apply lipstick first regardless of gender or race, they sell tickets beforehand, and thank you when it’s over.
Q: The better date: Green Orion Slave woman, or hot human?
KIRK: Green Orion Slave women are the best! Man, there is nothing those girls will not do! Did you know that Green Orion Women have two vaginas? Little known fact!
PICARD: So, you fail twice? By the way, they have an ointment for that rash you’ve been complaining about. As for who makes the better date….have you *BEEN* to Risa? Jamaharon to the Bone, yo.
Q: The worst thing about dealing with Starfleet Command is ___ ?
KIRK: Starfleet Command are a bunch of pussies. If they let us annihilate the Klingons like we wanted to, the Romulans would think twice before attacking us again.
PICARD: I don’t know that I’d have phrased it quite that way, but I’m forced to agree with the good captain. Oh, fuck it: Starfleet Command is run by a bunch of spineless twat-waffles who can’t find their balls with both hands and a tricorder.
Q: Which is the better ride: The classic NCC-1701 or the NCC-1701D?
KIRK: The NCC-1701 of course! The 1701D is for pansies! Scotty would never be caught dead in the engine room of that bomb!
PICARD: The Constitution-class starships are beautiful vessels from a bygone era that I for one believe to be full of adventure, wonder, and excitement. To have been alive in those days, exploring the vast, unknown frontier? I envy those like James Kirk and the ships they commanded. That said, have you *seen* my fucking ship? It’s got phasers and photon torpedoes out the ass! It comes apart so it can kick your ass *twice* as much. And it’s huge! Don’t believe your girlfriend, Kirk, even if she is Orion: Size does matter.
Q: Marooned on a deserted planet, the three things I have to have are?
KIRK: A Green Orion Slave woman, Yeoman Janice Rand, and Cloud Dweller Droxine. Need I say more?
PICARD: A whole planet to myself? Wonderful! I’m overdue for a good vacation. I’ll take my Collected Shakespeare book, my tea, and my flute. On second thought…I’d like to meet this Droxine. And change my book selection to the Kama Sutra.
Q: I’d rather take on in a bar fight: a Cardassian or a Romulan?
KIRK: As easy as it is to beat the crap out of a Cardassian, I would much rather fight a Romulan. Romulans put up a much better fight. Can’t trust those Cardassians, they fight dirty as hell.
PICARD: He’s right about the Cardassians. Sneaky bastards, every single one of them. Romulans can fight well enough, but they’re always so worried about mussing their hair. Now, if you want a real fight, try taking on a Nausicaan. I’ve never lived that one down. And don’t even get me started on the Borg. *THOSE* guys were assholes.
Q: Which is more technically challenging, slingshotting a starship backward in time or dislocating it to an alternate universe?
KIRK: Neither actually. You want technically challenging? Try listening to Spock and Bones for five consecutive years, now that is a challenge!
PICARD: I must side with my esteemed colleague on this matter. Time travel or having your ship flung to the far side of the universe is nothing compared to having to deal with a snotty teenager who thinks he knows everything, and whom you can’t toss out the nearest airlock because you’re trying to get in his mother’s pants. Awkward.
Q: Which is more irritating, tribbles or Ferengi?
KIRK: The Ferengi are okay, they remind me of my Uncle Wilbur. Tribbles can really annoy you, and they multipy faster than Romulian rabbits. God I hate those furry little creatures! Do you know that they ate five years worth of grain? Try exploring the universe without your daily fiber! I was constipated for three years. Damn Tribbles!
PICARD: Can I reuse my snotty teenager answer here?
Q: You’re approached by Q, who is feeling generous and unmalicious – what gift of ability do you ask him for?
KIRK: Ah Q. I heard John Luc complain of the guy. A gift? well for John Luc, he can give him the Shatner 2000, the most futuristic hairpiece in the universe. Oh, and ability. I was sidetracked with the Green Orion Slave woman…she was a barrel of fun. I guess if I met this Q guy I would ask for the ability to give those Green Orion Slave women an orgasm. Did I mention that they had two vaginas? Try giving one of those women an orgasm. They don’t need one orgasm, they need two, one for each vagina.
PICARD: I require no hairpiece, young man. I’m quite comfortable with my appearance. Besides, chicks dig the smoothness. As for a gift, if I was forced to limit myself to just one thing, it would be the ability to go back and correct certain mistakes I’ve made during the course of my life. Barring that, I’d settle for just being able to go back and hide the evidence and bury the goddamned bodies. Oh, and I’d ask Q to give Kirk that ointment for his rash, which seems to be flaring up just now.
By the way, Kirk…get with me after the show. I can teach you what you need to know about those Orion women. Two words: “Vulcan Shocker.”
CLICK ON ALL THE PICS OF THE STARSHIP ENTERPRISE FOR AN ADDED BONUS FEATURE
Welcome to day five of BLOGSHORTS: a ten day, ten story, 110 word writing extravaganza.
Each participating blogger chooses a pooch a day from a list of dogs, thunk-up by our fearless leader BLOGDRAMEDY, and then writes a short story featuring their dog of choice.
Each story is 110 words in length and can feature as much or as little of our canine friend as we like.
Day five features a visit from everyone’s favorite proper pooch, Eddie. Or is he?
EDDIE THE EXPATRIATE
“You are one lucky mutt,” Rover said as he lounged back in his doggy bed. “Archon is the best master a dog could want. Warm beds, plenty of kibble; he even lets us chase Ladyryl’s cats around every Sunday. I’m telling ya, Eddie. This is the life.”
“Anything’s better than living with Frasier,” Eddie said. “Man was a fancyboy. Nothing but bottled water and vegan kibble. Even my bed was organic.”
“You’ll love this. Come here.” Rover led Eddie to his water dish and the two began to drink.
After a few laps Eddie’s eyes opened wide. “Oh my God, is that Molson?”
“Yes it is. Welcome to Canada, Eddie.”
Revisit these soon to be canine classics:
BLOGSHORTS DAY ONE: Tea Cup Cujo
BLOGSHORTS DAY TWO: Toto’s Ruby Red Booty
BLOGSHORTS DAY THREE: Lassie Learns the Truth
BLOGSHORTS DAY FOUR: Fluffy’s Fateful Faux Pas
TAKE YOUR BLOG FOR A WALK AND THROW THESE GUYS A BONE:
RETURN TOMORROW FOR A VISIT WITH THE ORIGINAL SNOOP DOG: SNOOPY!
The advent of Mtv was both a blessing and a curse for me as a kid. Once musicians had the ability to act in their videos, they somehow felt the need to put on a show as opposed to simply performing their songs. Sometimes, as was the case with Billy Idol, it turned out to be a good thing. I remember as a kid sitting transfixed in front of the television whenever REBEL YELL came on, staring at the screen and thinking some very, very grown-up thoughts about this bleach-blonde wonder. And who can forget THRILLER? I remember exactly where I was the first time I watched that video. I can do the dance to this day.
Sadly, not all my experiences were as positive as the ones I’ve mentioned. Not every singer is a star, as music video history has shown us. I’ve dredged up some memories (and hit the YouTube) for a sample of some of the worst offenders. It’s time to buckle in folks, because this is going to be painful. We start our list of bad videos that happened to good musicians with:
KISS – LICK IT UP
I brought a KISS lunch box to the first day of kindergarten, that’s how big a fan I was as a kid. You can appreciate my shock and horror the first time I was subjected to…well, whatever the hell this is. I still haven’t forgiven them.
Damn Yankees – HIGH ENOUGH
The next video is every bit as tragic as the previous one because it features the cataclysmic crash and burn of one of rock’s best guitar legends: Ted Nugent. That’s right, Mr. Cat Scratch Fever himself joined a band who called themselves Damn Yankees- a band that can only be described as having all the raw sex appeal of the Traveling Wilburys, minus the badassery. Click play and see for yourself. The only thing in a Stranglehold in this video are Ted’s balls, clenched tightly in the fist of whomever he sold them out to.
David Bowie – CHINA GIRL
I imagine Bowie fans will come down on me for the next offering, but I will stand my ground. Yes, David Bowie is known for being unconventional and avante guarde, so the oddness of this video should come as no surprise. I contend that it is the utter lack of Bowiesque influence that bothers me most. It’s as if he’s trying to reinvent himself as a lounge singer. Not what I expected from Major Tom. And don’t get me started on the creepy pedophilic vibe running throughout this epic disaster.
David Bowie & Mick Jagger – DANCING IN THE STREET
It seems that whatever Bowie touched in the 80′s turned to musical “Meh,” as demonstrated in this technicolor nightmare featuring the once great Mick Jagger. This video is what I imagine homely girls do for fun at sleepovers. And…now I have no more followers.
Van Halen – TATTOO
This next one may be a bit controversial, since I am not entirely sure this song was good to begin with. It’s the rocking out on the down beat that does it in for me. On the flip side, it’s good to see Carol Channing getting steady work again.
Journey – SEPARATE WAYS
Even the most die-hard metalhead will admit to the powerhouse talent that is Steve Perry and to the awesomeness of this song, no matter how lame and sad this video portrays them all. Journey should have issued a fatwā on the dude who put this crap together.
We have finally reached the top of the crap heap, to the musical spooge floating to the top of the bad video barrel. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the shiniest turd of them all:
Billy Squier – ROCK ME TONIGHT
Poor, poor Billy Squier. No musical career has been harmed by a video performance more than Richard Simm- uh, I mean, Billy Squier’s. ROCK ME TONIGHT was Billy’s biggest hit before this video came out, which makes me wonder who fell asleep at the wheel and hit “go” on this piece of musical holocaust. DISCLAIMER: Pregnant women and people with heart conditions should refrain from watching the following video:
There you have it, folks. My personal list of bad videos that ruined good musicians. If you can think of any I missed, feel free to leave them in the comments. On that note I will leave you with a palate cleanser from my youth. Please to enjoy, WINGER. Feel free to listen with the sound off.
Hold onto your garders people, because this next interviewee works red, white and blue. To commemorate the Fourth of July and a belated Flag Day we sit down with our nation’s favorite seamstress, the ever saucy Betsy Ross (Sparklebumps).
*** So tell me, Ms. Ross, what was it like being raised in a strict religious household?
As I was growing up, I never noticed that anything was amiss with regards to my religious upbringing. I was taught the ways of God and that to stray from them was a sin. It was until I met John that perhaps there was something more to life than praying and confession.
*** It seems you were quite the rebellious young woman. Tell us about your early love affair and your elopement with your husband, John.
I must point out, H.E., that I detest the word “rebellious”. I prefer the term “incorrigible.” No one has ever made me do something I didn’t want to do, and once I set my mind to do something, I do it, no matter what the reaction. That includes my elopement with John. My family was so upset I was excommunicated from our Quaker community. But every decision I made was worth it, because John was my one true love, and anyway, who could pass up the amazing honeymooning sex?
*** After John was killed in battle you went on to marry two more times which was nearly unheard of during the early 1700′s. How do you attribute your success in finding men?
I must be honest when I say that I’m not sure what it is that attracted all the men to me. I suppose my breasts may have had something to do with it, and my obnoxious need for love and affection…
*** I am going to quote Wikipedia here: “There is speculation that Betsy was the “beautiful young widow” who distracted Carl von Donop in Mount Holly, New Jersey, after the Battle of Iron Works Hill, thus keeping his forces out of the Battle of Trenton.” What was it like being so desirable that you potentially altered the future of a nation?
Women have been the cause for wars and the downfalls of countries for centuries. Just look at Helen of Troy. The main thing is to not let it go to your head.
*** Where did you get the idea for the design of the American Flag?
Well, I will let you in on a little secret here. I’m into S&M a bit, and I was asked to design the flag right before I had a more than satifying… encounter. There was blood striping my freshly-washed white sheets, and that’s where the idea for the stripes came from. The stars I thought of because I tried to think of the most beautiful and sparkly thing I could think of to represent each state of glittery happiness our country had. Voila!
*** If you hadn’t made the flag, what would you like to have made instead?
If I hadn’t made the flag, I probably would have designed amazing satiny dresses for prostitutes, so as to give them a semblance of class.
*** What’s history’s biggest misconception about Betsy Ross?
The biggest misconception? ALL women who misbehave are misconceived. You know what they say- “Well-behaved women rarely make history.” I guarantee you wouldn’t be interviewing me if I had remained a Quaker. XOXO
We join Hellis on her journey into the Great White North of Bloggerland known as Canadia. Here she meets a crazy cast of Canuk characters who make her reconsider ever leaving home…
THE SALT WATER MOOSE AND THE FOUR MAINLANDERS
Archon peeked out from behind a tree. “Is it gone yet?” he asked, terrified that he may still be in danger. “Is what gone?” John Phillips asked as he listened to Canadian Rock classics on his iPod. “The Salt Water Moose!, one of the locals said it was Salt Water Moose season, and that we should be careful walking in those woods.” added Archon’s Den.
As the two frightened tourists scampered out of the wooded area and onto the Trans-Canada Highway, they were almost run over by another speeding tourist, Harem’s Master. Harem wasn’t paying attention to the road. Rather, he was distracted by his latest bevy of middle east beauties, as he sped down the highway in the beat up van he rented from the local branch of Budget Rent a Car. Harem swerved to miss them and ran right into…guess what…..a Salt Water Moose!
With that, many of the locals ran out into the highway, and using knives, axes and an assortment of other barbaric tools, they carved the meat from the moose, loaded the remaining carcass into their pickup truck, and took off quickly.
As the moose and his new owners left the scene, an RCMP highway patrol vehicle stopped to ask what was going on. He noticed the blood on the highway, and right away suspected foul play from the two terrified tourists. What’s your names guys, and what are you doing here?
Archon’s Den was the first to speak. “What in the hell are you talking about, you young fellow, you young cops just do not understand things. I worked all my life, and now being arrested by an aboriginal, East Indian, half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop? What sort of vacation is this turning out to be? Why I ever left the safe streets of Ontario to venture to Newfoundland I will never understand!” He grumbled.
“Your name, sir?” the cop repeated.
“None of your damn business what my name is, you tell me what a one part aboriginal, one part East Indian, Half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop is doing in Newfoundland and I will tell you my name!” Said Archon.
“Never mind me, I asked you a question, for that, get in my squad car, I am taking you in!” the one part aboriginal, one part East Indian, Half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop said. “And you get in too buddy” he said to Harem. Harem got in, still a bit nervous from the moose incident.
“What about my girls” Harem asked. “What will they do out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“We don’t have room for them, are they hurt?” The cop asked.
“They are alright, are they safe here” Harem asked, concerned. “They will be fine, this is Newfoundland after all.” said the cop.
John didn’t notice a whole lot, as he was captivated with the beautiful Newfoundland scenery, and he was tapping his toes to some authentic Canadian Rock music from the iPod.
“You get in too” the cop yelled at John. The three of them and the one part aboriginal, one part East Indian, Half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop sped toward the station, all of them terrified that another Salt Water Moose would suddenly appear.
When they got to the station, they were greeted by a friendly staff Sargent. “What are you boys in for?” he asked. “We were running from a Salt Water moose, and all of a sudden a car hits him, a truck load of locals come over, take him in their truck and drive away, and your officer blames it all on us.” said Archon.
“Well, first let me inform you, there is no such thing as a Salt Water Moose. Whoever told you such a thing was pulling your leg.” The Sargent said. “Second of all, there is no law against moose hunting with your car, long as you don’t get yourself killed, so the officer had no right to charge you.” The cop apologized. “How about I make it up to you guys? My wife is cooking bbq for supper, if you would like to drop by.”
The three were starving from all the commotion, and they agreed. Harem said that he was hungry enough to eat a horse, and Archon said that he just needed a rest.
When they arrived at the cop’s house, they were greeted by the cop’s wife. “What in the fuck do we have here?” she asked. “Honey, what the fuck did you fucking bring home now?” Archon and the others looked on, terrified at the woman’s attitude. “Don’t mind KayJai, she’s a Mainlander from Ontario”, the cop said. “You gotta watch the Mainlanders, they are a hard crowd to figure out, and please excuse her language, she tends to cuss a lot, but she is a real sweetheart once you gets to know her.” he added.
“It’s a good thing you came today, the neighbors have company over from Ontario as well, and they went and bagged road kill for supper!” KayJai said. “We are all invited over for a feed of Moose. They were out for a drive to show their friend around the island when they happened along a few Mainlanders who had witnessed a moose accident. The neighbors said that they were hollering something about Salt Water Moose or something.” she added.
When they got to the neighbor’s house, a very relieved Benzeknees met them at the gate. “My God, they found a moose on the highway and now they have it on the barbeque cooking it for supper…and we are all invited. What a kind crowd of people, it smells delicious!”
“Holy Fuck!, What a fucking horrible supper. Do they have any fucking thing else? I am fucking starved, but I am not eating fucking moose that was killed on the fucking highway,” KayJai said.
The owner of the house, SightsnBytes came out to see what was going on. “Guys, if you don’t want moose, we can order takeout, just everyone get along please.”
With that, everyone sat and had a wonderful supper, followed by a fire in the backyard firepit, lots of beer (not pine beer though) and authentic Newfoundland music blasting through the speakers in the yard.
*** Thanks to my good friend Ted from Sightsnbytes for this latest take on Hellis in Bloggerland. ***
THE ADVENTURES OF HELLIS IN BLOGGERLAND
Judging from the actors, your movie is a rom-com-buddy cop movie, with Edward Hotspur as the alien no one understands. Hilarity ensues as Edward, separated from the mother ship, is lost and adrift in dark foreboding Canadia. Kayjai, president of Canadia, takes pity on him and drives him (in a fast car, and apparently very few clothes) southeast to the wilds of New England, where for some reason, his gadgets are telling him to go.
Trask Avenue, a member of Canadia’s equivalent of the CIA (the dreaded MSF – Moose Syrup Fanatics), follows in hot pursuit. At the border, bored Border Guard, El Guapo, decides to leave his job and accompany the two star-crossed travellers on their journey. At one point, he distracts Trask from his pursuit while Kayjai and Hotspur escape. He is last seen (until the finale) telling a confused Trask (who has just arrested him) “Hey, if you can’t beat em, confuse em!”
Our story continues through the wilds of Nebraska and Ohio. They stop off at an empty diner, run by BestBathroomBooks for some food. He dispenses wit and wisdom along with hot coffee and huevos rancheros. They continue on their drive, stopping at an Ohio crossing to let the freight train pass. A badass in a mustang pulls up, none other than GingerSnaap. Hotspur reminds her of the frog who done her wrong (no, really, an actual frog) all those years ago, and there is a spectacular heart stopping chase through the cornfields (are there cornfields in Ohio?) of Ohio.
Kayjai and Hotspur manage to escape, heading east toward the dawning of a new day. They are exhausted and pull over to rest. While sleeping, Kayjai is visited by Sandylikeabeach, who sums up what has already happened, and hints about what may happen next – but she does it all in one long sentence that even includes her trademarked asides. And it’s all in Charo’s voice!!! (Seriously, this is my favorite scene of the movie!)
As they come out of the wilds and into the bigger cities, Trask Avenue is closing in. But Hotspur uses his magic to convince unbelievably sexy companions Sparklebumps and Megan that he is the good guy. They use their not inconsiderable wiles to slow down Trask while Kayjai and Hotspur escape.
Finally, closing in on the snow filled bus lots of New England, the two stop at the tire yard, and ask a shirtless, sweaty HR Nightmare (wearing a green shoulder mounted bikini thong)(because that’s how he rolls) where they can find the magic moose of Massachusetts – which is the only thing that can save Hotspur now.
(Sorry – earths environment is slowly killing Hotspur. What? I’m sitting at my desk writing this thing, cut me some slack. We good? Ok, moving on.)
HR points down a snow filled trail. Kayjai slowly eases the car down the path. We see Trask (in his gov’t issue Crown Victoria) speeding toward them. In the back seat, El Guapo rises, swinging a ski pole at the back of Trasks head. Trask yanks the wheel and Guapo flies out of the car, landing on a plank and, with a “WOOHOO” snowboards into the distance.
But while Trask was distracted, a blue Charger comes rocketing along the road. “SHINY!!!” bellows GingerSnaap, as she races along, bumping mercilessly into Trask in an attempt to drive him off the road. BestBathroomBooks, in the car with her, calmly calls out reasons to Trask why he should surrender. Trask grits his teeth and continues pounding down the road.
Into a clearing.
Where Sparklebumps, Sandylikeabeach and Megan all dance gracefully on an empty patch of land.
A bright light suddenly engulfs the beautiful ladies as Kayjai and Hotspur glide to a halt, Trask pulling up behind them. Arms spread, Hotspur steps into the circle of light, as Trask raises his gun. Sparklebumps flashes him to distract him, but surprisingly, that only works for a moment. Hotspur turns, and in the language of his people, yells “Unicorn! Palindrome lyric poem! Innuendo!”
Trasks weapon flies from his hand, and bewildered, he, with everyone else, watch the circle of bright light condense into a pinpoint beam of rainbow as Hotspur floats gently up to the mothership.
Kayjai strolls over to Trask. “For fucks sake.” she says.
Trask raises an eyebrow.
Apologies to everyone slandered in this, and if you’ve made it this far, next round is on me. Really, you earned it.
*Good Afternoon, uh…is there such a thing as a time reference like “afternoon” in your reality?
Why wouldn’t there be? I’m just like you, missy. Minus the white beard. But don’t worry. It’s nothing a little electrolysis can’t help you with. (Bursts out laughing and slaps his knee). Man, I slay me! See what I did there?
I took the white beard reference and applied it to you! Since this is a print interview, people will think you have a white beard! Haha!
*Yes, I got it. Hilarious.
I know, right? I missed my calling, but relatively speaking stand-up comedy is a new thing. What would I have done before what you people call the 20th century? Wear a jester’s hat? No way. I have my pride. Plus, have you ever seen a comedian with such impressive biceps?
What? You want me to flex?
*No, thanks. Do time references like “afternoon” exist in your reality?
Oh, that. No offense, sweetie, but that’s dumb question. I mean I’m sitting here with you, aren’t I? In the afternoon. I would think the answer is obvious.
*It’s not afternoon everywhere.
Hey, don’t get all smart-ass and technical. Although I am everywhere I can’t be everywhere. I have to be somewhere, even if I am everywhere. So wherever I am, which doesn’t mean everywhere, is where I am. And when I am there, like I am here, I follow the clock like everyone else. By the way, do you know why clocks die?
Because their time is up! Haha! Get it? You see when people die other people say their time was up. So when you apply that to clocks it takes on a whole new double meaning!
*That begs for your thoughts on how we measure time.
You mean how I taught you to measure time. The truth is you people need structure and organization. Have you looked in your closets? So I gave it to you. However, to be fair, precision rocks my world. Without some sort of time structure your life would be chaotic, but mine would be completely different. I wouldn’t be a celebrity, for one. I’d only be that guy with the amazing bod and killer sense of humor. No one would call me Father Time which would be tragic since my given name is Vivien. Hey, wanna see my pecs?
*Since you’ve been around forever you must have witnessed some amazing moments in history. Can you tell us which event was your favorite?
Been around forever? Is that some sort of age crack?
*Of course not. All I’m saying is you are a man of experience.
That’s true. I am. I get a little sensitive when people start talking about age because it is saddled with all these pre-conceived notions. So what if I have a few trillion miles under my belt? I’m still sharper than a Ginsu knife. Not only that, I have quads to die for.
*I’m sure you do. Now back to your favorite moment in history. When was it?
Right now, baby. (winks)
*Which event did history get wrong?
It would be easier to answer which event history got right.
*Okay, which event did history get right?
What? Do I look like some sort of history expert? (Doubles over in laughter.) Sucker! You fell right into that one! Am I killing it or what? Dane Cook couldn’t touch me on his best day! Haha!
*Is there a special lady friend in your life?
Look at me. What do you think? This magic doesn’t just happen. It takes hard work and let me tell you, the ladies appreciate it. One peek at my lats will convince you.
*I’m flattered, but let’s keep this professional.
Oh I’ll keep it professional alright, sugar.
*I have no idea what that means. Do you have any inside information on the Mayans and their world-end predictions?
They were a fun-loving group, the Mayans. Did a bit too much peyote, which is never a good thing. I’ll tell you this much though. Even when the world ends, time will continue. Which means – cha-ching! – I have nothing to worry about.
*What is the one thing most people get wrong about you?
That I’m a “father”. I’m not. I challenge anyone to produce a paternity test that says otherwise. And if they do show me a test it better be multiple choice. Haha!
This bit of Father’s Day diversion brought to you by the mad genius of John at Trask Avenue. For more holiday fun read Iconic Interviews- some of the best bloggers around the ‘sphere coming together for a good cause and a lot of laughs. Pick up a copy today.
When I first chose to review HAREM MASTER I was concerned I’d find nothing more than a glorified Penthouse Forum article. Yes, it does involve a middle-aged man who is “entertained” by a self-appointed harem of females ranging from employees to contemporaries to nymphets. And yes, it is at times raunchy and raw and sexually charged. But R.B. Hatch’s development of the narrator, a man simply known as “John,” is well written and highly entertaining.
As a reader I found myself simultaneously repulsed by and sympathetic toward John’s actions that form the relationship between him and his “harem.” In “John” Hatch has created an “everyman” whose wit, intelligence and sense of mystery utterly charm the women around him into willingly becoming his objects of desire. It’s Hatch’s ability to endear John to the reader that helps to create a world that is not only plausible, but downright believable.
More than just erotica, HAREM MASTER is a plot-driven novel that delves into the mind and motives of its protagonist and speaks with a voice that will please its readers.
Hold on to your garters people, today is another spicy contribution to the F*cked Up Fairy Tales project from the never bland blogger better known as VanillaMom. I decided to post her spin on the classic THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF on a Sunday, because just reading it will send you to confession. Lock the doors and draw the blinds as I bring you THREE GRUFF SISTERS AND THE TROLL.
The day dawned sunny and bright. After a solid week of too much to do, the Gruff sisters decided it was time to head up to the meadows. All three girls were looking forward to a day of leisure, soaking up the sun, weaving garlands of flowers for their hair, gathering berries, chasing butterflies. Whatever they chose to do, they would. It was a day for fun and relaxation. Back at home, there would always be chores – the sort of things that never, ever were “done”. They had decided last night that they all needed a little break. Besides, the littlest sister, Andi, pointed out, they’d have berries for breakfast for the rest of the week.
Pacing around the parlor, Andi was full of impatience and a goodly amount of impudence. After watching her sisters fuss over their clothing for far too long, she decided to venture off on her own. Eventually they would catch up to her. She didn’t exactly leave stealthily, though she did close the door very quietly on the sound of her sisters voices. Which corset, indeed! She, clad in a simple cotton skirt and blouse, almost skipped for joy as she left their home behind, and climbed the narrow road heading up to the rolling foothills. She enjoyed the breeze full of verdant scents. Closing her eyes for a moment, and tipping her head up for the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, she smiled for the first time in days. Sweet, this taste of freedom!
Singing a naughty little tune under her breath, she came to the heavy-timbered bridge. Here she paused nervously. There had been rumors that a troll had taken up residence under the bridge. Looking up and down the long riverbed, the silver ribbon of the river was low, sparkling in the sunshine on its path down the mountains. It was entirely reasonable that there could be a troll down there, hiding just out of view in the shadow of the bridge. She’d heard other things about trolls, too. Things that made her nervously excited.
Her heart thumping hard in her chest, the littlest Gruff sister decided to run, run, fast as she could, across the wooden trestle. It was really more of a skip, however, with an occasional pause to peer down at the river below. Of the rumored troll there was no sign, much to her disappointment.
Yet, before she reached the end of the bride, a large, hairy, and incredibly fearful-looking troll leapt in front of her, blocking her way.
“Who dares to cross my bridge?” He shouted at her, his voice a ferocious growl. A waft of fetid air came from his mouth and she shivered and turned her head away.
“Tis only me, Sir Troll, the littlest Gruff sister. I am on my way to yonder meadow to pick daisies…” pausing, she reached into her pocket. “Breath mint?” She handed him a wad of honied mint. “I made it myself. And really, Sir, you very much need it.”
He, waving a meaty hand in the air, paused to stare at the wee lass standing before him, offering a treat. Perplexed, he snatched it up, tossing it into his mouth. He frowned down at her, while attempting to gobble it quickly. Once it hit his mouth, however, it melted into a sticky goo, taking him several minutes of chewing and mouthing the thing to get it down. All the time, the little wench stood, head tilted, watching him with a small smile on her face.
“You…should be SCARED of Troll,” he growled at her.
“Oh, that’s much better. Your breath I mean. And I’m very scared.” She smiled up at him innocently and batted her lashes.
“As I was saying, Sir Troll, I’m headed up to yon meadow to gather yummy tasting blackberries, which I will gladly share with you on my return, kind Sir.” She finished speaking, then moved, gently brushing her breasts against his arm, as if trying to edge past him.
He grabbed her arm, stopping her. With his other hand, he pulled apart the lower part of his pants. An engorged cock burst free, startling the poor girl. She stared at him, at it, aghast, waving her hand in front of her face.
“NO BERRIES! This is the only thing you’ll be tasting today,” he said, shaking her a bit.
“I’m afraid that part of you is just as…aromatic as your breath was, Sir Troll. I can see that you’re not much for bathing, are you? And yet, there’s that lovely stream just below. Why, I imagine that if you ran down there quickly, washed that impressive…I mean…frightening…part of you carefully, and rushed back, I wouldn’t even have time to finish crossing the bridge before you returned, and had your wicked way with me.”
Once more she tilted her head at him, aimed that innocent smile at him. He frowned, took a step back, then bolted for the side of the bridge. From underneath came the sound of crashing underbrush, the furious splashing, a faint curse as cold water came in contact with warm flesh. In moments, it seemed, he was back.
He strode to her, grasping her hair, and pulled her to her knees. In moments the large purple head brushed her against her closed mouth. Yet, at that first touch of his cock, her lips parted. As he jutted his hips forward, he sank deeply into the wet, succulent heat of her mouth.
She gagged, a bit. He moaned as she tried to keep her breakfast in her belly. As he moved, sawing his giant shaft into and out of her mouth, she found a rhythm to breathing and relaxing her throat. After all, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a cock this huge thrust into her mouth! She felt an answering thud to her racing heart between her thighs. She had dreamt of such wicked things, ever since she had accidentally spied the Widow Morris licking the cock of her stableman as if it were a delightful length of taffy. She had often remembered that scene, wondering at the taste and texture of a man’s shaft, while touching her own folds. And now, it was happening to her!
Her lips were stretched wide, her eyes were squeezed shut, as he continued pumping in and out of her mouth. She tried to suck it back each time he withdrew, and curled her tongue around it each time the massive length slid deeply into her throat. She could feel him quiver, and hear his gasps. If her lips hadn’t been stretched so, she would have smiled. At long last, and far too soon, he grunted, and a hot, salty fluid filled her mouth. She’d never tasted such a thing before, and there was so much of it! It was like over-salted cream, she thought, runnels of the stuff leaking out the corners of her lips, as she licked and suckled the softening length of him.
With a pop, he pulled out, and tucked his rod away.
“Go,” he ordered roughly, and without hesitation, the littlest Gruff girl rose on shaking knees and ran the rest of the way across the bridge and up and up until she reached the meadow, where she fell back into the soft cushioning grasses, and slipped her fingers between her legs, licking her lips for one more taste of the Troll, until she shivered and quaked her way to the most incredible release she’d ever had.
Fiona looked around the house. It quickly became apparent that Andi had taken off on her own again. With a sigh, she looked at the dishes in the sink. They kept piling up, like magic. Evil magic, she mused, frowning at them. She could use the time while she waited for their eldest sister to finish her preparations (though for goodness sake they were only going to the meadow, not a grand ball!) by attacking the pile in the sink. She really should, she mused, as she eyed the back door with longing.
With a burst of energy, she strode across the kitchen and out the door before she could interrupt their leisure day. Somehow, it never felt like she got that break. There was always something that needed attention. Laundry or mucking the stable, gathering eggs, or patching their garments- always there was a longer list of things to be attended to then there were hours in the day. Yet, she knew that the dishes would still be there when they returned this evening. She hoped, wished, dreamed, that someday she’d find a handsome prince, who would have a fine castle and hundreds of servants to do all the dishes.
She smiled at her folly, as there were no princes anywhere around here, just magical creatures. Really, she would even settle for one of the fae. How lovely it would be to have someone to help around the house. Even better, to have someone to snuggle with in her lonely bed. She kept a tattered book hidden under her feather bed, with exotic pictures of men and women entwined together. She’d studied them all, especially the page with a certain tantalizing picture of woman’s ankles, up and over the man’s shoulders, his penis poised at the entrance hidden between her thighs. His arms were bulging with muscles, as were his thighs. His erect shaft rose from a thatch of thick hair. She had spent many a long evening tracing it with her fingertips.
She wanted to see one. She mouthed the words as she walked. Penis. Cock. She shivered at the naughtiness of saying it aloud. She ached to touch one. Yearned to feel it press into her, to fill her belly with its firm length. There were many stories she had spun about that, as she touched herself in the deep dark night. Many nights she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out as her mystery lover brought her to the peak, as her body wept copious amounts of love juice.
The sun shone brightly as she moved up the pathway, lost in thought. She often wondered if her sisters ever thought about men in the way she did. She was constantly dreaming of them and their hard bodies. Her slow steps eventually brought her to the heavy wooden bridge. She kept walking, her feet moving automatically, her mind tangled in images of her deepest longing.
“Who dares to cross my bridge?”
With a shriek, she took a step back, catching one foot on the other, falling. She landed on her backside, legs sprawled, head spinning. It was a troll. He was tall, with a thick beard and hair like a dark halo around his head. He was impressively ugly, yet he smelled like Andi’s mouth mints.
Wasn’t that curious?
All the warning tales about sightings of a troll at the Meadow Bridge ran through her head. She’d discounted them as foolish stories meant to scare people-after all, there hadn’t been a troll on this side of the mountains in decades! Yet here she was, and there, most definitely, stood a troll.
He seemed enormously tall; then again, she was laying on her back and looking up at him. His scowl was ferocious. Or perhaps it was a smile? His teeth and mouth were huge, and as he approached her, looming over her where she lay, she wondered if this nasty beast would eat her! She wished she’d paid more attention to how to be rid of one.
“You were crossing my bridge. You must pay a toll.”
“I…I haven’t any coin with me. I was just on my way to the meadow. I can give you berries on my return, Mister Troll. Would that be a fair toll?”
“Berries? Berries? What is it with you girls and berries?” The troll shook his head, setting his scraggled hair to dancing. Fiona lay looking up at him, thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so fearsome if his clothing fit better and was clean. She was very handy with a needle.
“You aren’t all that terrible looking, Mr. Troll. Why, with a proper haircut, you’d be passing handsome!”
Fiona wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by that little pearl of wisdom as it popped from her mind to her lips.
“Troll is NOT handsome,” He growled, hands on his hips. He glared down at her, yet she sensed a longing in him. Being a troll under a bridge must be a lonely thing, after all.
“Troll will take his toll. NO more talk of berries.”
In seconds, his pants were tugged aside and the most amazing penis popped out. Being of a somewhat analytical nature, Fiona looked at it intently, comparing it to the pictures she’d seen in her book. It was a lot bigger. ‘One might even term it massive,’ she thought in awe..It had thick veins, and a swollen purple head. Two heavy, meaty balls hung below it, each as big as her fist!
He stepped between her sprawled open ankles, then dropped to his knees. She swore she felt the bridge tremble under her. His hands grasped the hem of her skirt and it suddenly dawned on her exactly what sort of toll he was going to take from her.
Excitement mixed with fear. It was, she could see, so much larger than the wooden cock she kept with that book under her bed. She wondered for a moment if such a huge thing could even fit inside her own, much smaller body.
“Mr. Troll?” she bit her lip. It wasn’t everyday that fantasy came to life and she didn’t want to blow this opportunity.
“I-.” She paused again. How did one address the issue of “fitting” with a troll?
He looked at her, brows furrowed. “What you want, girl?”
“Well, Mr. Troll, your….cock,” and she blushed profusely to say that word aloud to him. “it seems very large. I wonder if it will….fit?” Her voice trailed off. The head of his cock dripped a pearly bead of fluid. She licked her lips, watching as a second drop gathered, then fell in slow motion to the ground between their legs.
He laughed, the sound like metal scraping against metal. It was not a pretty sound.
“My cock is biggest Troll cock in these mountains.” He gestured expansively.
‘Likely the only troll cock in these mountains,’ thought Fiona, though she held her tongue.
He grasped the base of his cock, shaking it at her, making another thick droplet fall to the ground.
“I make it fit.”
Suiting words to actions, he leaned forward, pressing his enormous penis against her cleft. He slid it up and down her slit, making her arch and moan when he hit the sensitive place at the top. He pressed forward. She spread her legs wider.
“Please?” she whimpered, then taking the initiative from him, lifted her hips until the head of his cock was virtually sucked into her tight channel.
Her eyes nearly rolled up in her head; it was like nothing she’d imagined. She rose higher, taking him deeper. His cock stretched her, making her ache in a delightful way. She opened one eye, staring up at the troll. He was staring down at where their bodies were joined. She could see confusion on his face.
“Well?” she growled up at him. “Get on with raping me, will you?”
He blinked, obviously unused to being ordered around in this fashion. He started to sit back on his haunches to think about this, but she wrapped her legs around his thick torso.
“Now…” she snarled at him, “rape me now!”
Tightening her legs, she impaled herself deeper on his thickness. Nature took over at that point, and he pressed the rest of the way into her. As he pulled back, she tightened her ankles, trying to hold him in; she felt so delightfully full!
He moved to lay atop her, and she moaned. Oh the delight of being pinned helplessly in this way. He bit her nipple, making her arch against his mouth. In moments she was screaming, coming hard, her pussy clenching and massaging the length of him. He fucked, she came again. He fucked, and fucked and fucked. After a long, long while, he stiffened.
She was in somewhat of a stupor, having had orgasm after orgasm, yet his fingers found her clit, his mouth all but inhaling her breast, as his cock grew impossibly thicker, and began to pulse. She came with a roar, her fingers twining into his hair, pushing his head onto her breast, back arching, legs tightening, pulling him as deep as possible inside of her.
He was coming. Pressed hard against her insides, with no room to spare, every ounce of his juice filled her. Her back arched, her body taking more, as much more as she could get. Never before had she felt this wanton. Never before had she ever imagined that one of the pages of her hidden Matings book would come to life. Never before had she felt so good. It was the stuff of fantasy, come to life.
She lay, flaccid, as he rolled away.
“Wait,” she whispered, her hand outstretched in longing. But he had already vanished below the bridge. At long last, she rose, her body glowing, and walked onward to the meadow, with their juices tracing down her thighs.
Sue tugged once more on the laces of her corset. She did like them tight, and damnit, her sisters had likely already left, as she’d called to them twice and gotten no response. Doing herself up the best way she could, she adjusted her leather pants, straightened her boots, and gathered up her implements. Her sisters were definitely of the “girlish” variety; she herself was made of sterner stuff.
It wasn’t that she was cruel to them, but they needed tasks to help keep them happy. A long time ago Sue had noted that most people fell into two distinct catagories- those that like the doing for others, and those that liked receiving such doings. Her sisters were the former while she was very much the latter.
She liked going to the mountain meadow well enough, but she would be hunting game for dinner. The younger two would braid flowers or some such frittery, while she would get on with the business of supplying them with meat.
As if they could live on daisies, she snorted to herself. Taking up her hunting sack, she slung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road.
At the bridge she paused. The locals had spoken, just last week when she was in town, of the possible presence of a troll. While she’d seen nothing of the kind herself, she left naught to chance. Unslinging her whip and club, she walked steadily across the bridge, taking note of a puddle in the center. Bending, she pressed a finger into it. Warm. Sniffing it, she frowned.
In the middle of the bridge where her sisters had been? Now, wasn’t that passing strange? She rose to her feet, weapons at the ready, but nothing untoward occurred, and she continued on to the hills. She found one sister picking berries near the trailhead.
“Hie, Fiona!” She called. Fiona’s head popped up, startled. She turned away from her sister, just a bit, enough to make her curious.
“What ails you?”
“Nothing. Just …picking berries.”
“Fiona, I can tell you are…what the hell is that?” Sue pointed at the stain on the front of her sister’s dress. It was dark with the drying spittle of the troll.
Her sister cast her eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.
“I …I couldn’t stop it. Truth? I…I didn’t want to. He was so big, Sue. His arms were like logs, his legs like marble. And oooh how huge his cock, Susan! Merciful goddess, his cock was a work of art!”
She paused, hand to her breast, remembering. She smiled, smitten.
“He needed a haircut, a shave, and some tailoring, but he was so ruggedly handsome.”
Sue looked at her sister in disbelief. What the hell had she been drinking up here? Last years mead?
A trilling call and rippling grasses presaged their younger sisters arrival. Her hands were full of daisy crowns, and she plunged into the scene with happy cheer.
She moved to pass out the crowns, but caught onto the tension.
“What…what..?” she asked, confused.
“I think our sister has fucked a troll.” Sue spoke flatly, hands on hips.
“I didn’t mean to, and it was just my mouth…” Andi’s eyes fell to her feet. Looking up, she saw the disbelief on both sisters faces.
“Wait…he got you, too?” squeaked Fiona.
After a few minutes of cacophony, of catcalling ”you slut, you whore” Sue had had enough. The volume and shrillness rose until she dropped her hands on her hips and whistled as if to dogs.
Both girls stopped, clapping hands over their ears. She had a fearsome whistle!
“Enough. It appears that we have a resident troll, who fucked you,” and she pointed at Fiona, “and used your mouth,” she continued, speaking to Andi. They nodded, still mutinous.
“And I didn’t see him at all, so he was likely totally fatigued by having both you juicy pieces in such a short time. Very well, I’ll just see to that. Give me an hour before you return.”
Both girls nodded somberly.
“Sue?” Fiona asked, her voice a bit sad. “Please…don’t hurt him too much. I…I kind of liked what he did. A lot.”
“A lot, but kind of? Silly girl. Pleasured by a stinky troll? There are better ways…”
“Like there’s anything hung like that in town,” muttered Andi under her breath.
Sue shook her head, torn between bewilderment and annoyance. She pointed to each of her sisters, her tone brooking no argument.
A chorus of “yes Ma’am”‘s followed her as she left the meadow at a near trot.
She came to the bridge in short order, her long strides and impressive annoyance eating up the miles.
“Yo, Troll!” She shouted.
In a few moments, he clambered up the bank, looking more than a bit exhausted.
“What you doin’ on my bridge,” he tried to thunder, but really, it had been a long, long time since he’d had an orgasm, let alone two in an hour. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.
She took a step forward.
He took a step back.
She backed him across the bridge, step by step. Once his contact with the water and bridge was broken, as he stood on the road, his power was broken.
In moments, Sue had looped her whip around his neck, collared him, and led him back to the house. He trudged along behind her, thinking fondle of napping. In the backyard was the old trough where they watered their mare.
“Get those clothes off. Hard to say which smells more…you or those rags. Get in there and wash.”
He grumbled. She pointed, first with her finger, then with her short crop. She swatted his backside as he reluctantly clambered into the water.
Striding into the house, she found one of the bars of lavender soap that her sister made, and tossed that at him. Before he could bite it, she stopped him.
“NO! Wash yourself–every INCH of yourself–you stinking creature.”
It took a while, and many buckets of water, until Sue was satisfied that he was de-stunk enough to enter the house. His clothing stayed in the trough, he could come out later and wash them.
She walked around him as he stood in the kitchen. Her sisters were right. A bath, and later, some grooming, and he would be more than passing presentable. Stopping in front of him, she looked at the giant cock between his hairy legs. Interesting. She smiled. Directing him to her room, she bid him to sit on the floor and to not move.
In moments she was back, with a strange ring in her hands.
“This used to be part of our mares tack. I’m going to put it on your cock. . . because it is my cock now, understand?”
He was slow to answer. As punishment, she swatted his upper legs, catching the hanging cock, making him yelp. He may have been big, but he still felt pain.
“Yes. Your cock.” He answered a bit reluctantly at first, then continued hopefully, ”I like your cock. Troll want to put your cock in your cockhole.”
“Later, perhaps,” she purred at him. She slid the silver ring over his balls, then slipped his flaccid cock through. He frowned, moved a bit. She grabbed his testicles, squeezing firmly.
“Enough wiggling. Be a good boy and stay still.”
His hairy brows beetled down, his expression confused. He watched her cross the room, tugging down her man-pants. He’d never seen a girl wear pants like that before. Yet she had all the right girl parts.
“Come here and taste me. I’ve always wanted someone to lick me. You have a big tongue. I want you to use it on me. Lick me good and I might let you fuck my sister again.”
The troll went to work, having never tasted pussy before, he found it delightful, his mouth and lips working to devour every drop of fluid, stroking over her button, making her writhe and moan and leak more honey onto his tongue. He pressed his tongue into her cockhole, and found it to be hot, and clenching on him. Fucking her with his tongue was delightful for both of them.
She had never ever felt the like! To have an enormous tongue lapping and stabbing into her nether regions? Amazing.
“My ass…you must lick me there, too…my crack, my hole..all of it.”
Being a troll of small brains, he wasn’t worried about that. He’d eaten worse, actually. His tongue slid up her back cleft as readily as the front, then pierced into her ass with abandon.He actually smacked his lips between slurpy suctioning of her ass and cockhole!
Finally she pushed him away. She was light-headed from so many orgasms. She heard her sisters come in, the sound of their nervous whisperings.
“Fiona! Andi! Come in here!”
She stood, bare-bottomed, the troll laying at her feet.
The two girls stopped, amazed at the sight.
“I believe we found the answer to our needs…our pet troll will help with all our chores, won’t you, Troll?”
He nodded, though he wasn’t altogether sure what a ‘chore’ was. He wondered if it tasted like the snack he had just enjoyed. He smacked his lips.
Sue looked to her sisters. “And we shall take turns with him, so that everyone gets to enjoy our new pet. Agreed?”
They nodded assent eagerly.
“Your tea, Madam.”
His accent was perfect, thought Sue. It hadn’t taken too many beatings to whip him into shape. His suit and tie fit impeccably, he was well-groomed, and he only tended to slobber after the guests had been served high tea. She’d allowed that-as long as he was in the kitchen or stables, and out of his livery. A troll, after all, is still very much a troll under the fine clothing.
She also didn’t mind the gruntings and foul language when he was occupied with one of her sisters, and certainly enjoyed his controlled attentions herself.
Yes, the Gruff sisters, had done well in civilizing their new pet. And although he would sometimes frown and stomp around the house, all it took was a raised eyebrow, and the suggestive tapping of her crop against her boot to end any thought of stomping away.
No, he was their troll now, and he was never found under the bridge again.
Oh it’s so good to be here, or anywhere for that matter. And thank you for celebrating Earth Day. It’s a small step towards saving my beautiful creation. So many people are so fucking oblivious to what is happening to this magnificent planet it boggles the mind, so thank you for the opportunity to shed a bit of light.
It’s been an unusually warm winter here in the United States. What do you attribute that to?
Well, I certainly had nothing to do with it despite what Zeus may have told you. He tried to tell me I was just having a primordial hot flash, but he’s almost as stupid about these things as most of the people on the planet. You people need to get your heads out of your collective asses and get a fucking clue. Do you think that over a century of burning coal and gas while at the same time cutting down my beautiful trees on a massive scale is having no effect on the atmosphere? If you don’t get your act together soon, the Earth is going to resemble Venus.
The world’s population is about to reach seven billion people. How has this affected Earth as you see it?
It’s making it damn hard for me to see the Earth. You know, almost all of the world’s problems can be attributed to one thing – too many people. When birth control was invented I thought you’d at least have the good sense to use it. But noooo. And now, people are a planetary problem. At least most of you seem to congregate in the same areas so there are still a few pristine places where you can experience this beautiful planet in all its glory.
You have quite the following among the New Age Hippie crowd. Which do you prefer as worshipers; the Hippies or the Greeks?
Ahhh, the Greeks – the wine, the debauchery, the bacchanalia – I love me a good bacchanalia. But then the Hippies, and not just the new age Hippies, but the old age ones, too, are all about peace and love and sex and getting high and hugging trees and the music. Yes, I think the music tips the scale in their favor.
I’ve done some research and discovered that you have over twenty children. Which one is your favorite?
I think it was way more than twenty but I lost count of the little bastards long ago. I know most mothers don’t refer to their offspring as little bastards but I never married any of their fathers, so they were all technically bastards. Now I’m not going to give you the standard mommy lie of ‘I don’t have a favorite, I love them all the same,’ because that is such a crock of shit. Of course, every mother has a favorite, it’s just that some mothers are better at hiding it than others. I simply adored Phoebe but Aergia was a huge disappointment.
Which God was the best in the sack?
Ahhh, I had some wild times with Uranus. There was nothing that guy wouldn’t do. And I mean NOTHING. It was SO hot! But he got a little mean in his old age so I got the kids to kill him. Pontus was so much fun, too. We would do some role playing, the pirate scenario was my favorite – always a hoot. Zeus had a huge ego, but sadly his manly parts weren’t so big.
How does it feel to be the original MILF?
Fucking fantastic! Though I prefer GILF or Goddess I’d Like to Fuck. There is fucking power in being so fuckable. Every woman deserves to feel like this. I think that’s what all those poser Wicca chicks are trying to achieve by invoking my name and dancing naked under the full moon.
What does Earth’s future hold for mankind?
I think you have that question backwards. It’s more a case of what does mankind’s future hold for the Earth. If you stay on your current path, the Earth is doomed. Earth is the only fucking planet you have. It is a glorious planet full of beauty and wonder. It can feed you and sustain you. All she asks in return is that you take care of her and nurture her. So get a fucking clue. Recycle, reuse, embrace sustainable farming, find viable sustainable energy, clean up the place. Tread lightly on the Earth and every now and then hug a tree.
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TODAY IS THE BIRTHDAY OF MY MOST FAVORITE ACTOR OF ALL TIME….TIM CURRY!!!!
I remember the first time I saw Tim Curry on the big screen. It was in a now defunct movie theater in Windsor, Connecticut with my best friend (yes, Quinn I’m talking about you) who dragged me kicking and screaming to see the movie ANNIE. I remember everyone HATING the character of Rooster but I was absolutely smitten. I loved his voice, the way he moved, his eyes, EVERYTHING about him.
It was just a few years later that I was dragged to another movie theater (yes, Quinn this was you again) in nothing but my bra and panties to see Tim Curry in the ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW. Let me digress for a moment here…
Have you ever had an experience as a kid that forever changed your life? That molded and shaped how you saw the world and yourself in it for years to come? Yes, that was what Tim Curry’s FRANK-N-FURTER character did for me. Since then I’ve made a point to either see or hear everything he’s ever done in his career (even Pennywise the clown. That’s how deep my love goes).
Now, I’m not one to go all gushy when meeting celebrities (my life spent as a somewhat groupie kept my Starstruck meter in check) but if I were to meet Tim Curry in the flesh I’d fucking cum in colors, I shit you not (suck on that sentence, Freshly Pressed). So here’s to you, Tim Curry, for another glorious year with you in it!
HE: “Hello Loki. Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to speak with me and my readers.”
HE: “Uh, that’s it? ‘Hi?’”
LOKI: “Well, I’ve got a lot on my plate. You do realize what day this is, right? Nice fucking time management there, Chickie.”
HE: *looking at the calendar* “Well, since it’s April Fool’s Day I am going to assume you are joking.”
LOKI: “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”
HE: “I am guessing that April Fool’s Day is the busiest day of the year for you.”
LOKI: “No, that’d be Valentine’s Day. People say a lot of shit they don’t mean which makes for a lot of lies to distribute. Especially to the men folk.”
HE: “That’s just sad.”
LOKI: “I’ll tell you what’s sad, having a God like Odin as your step-father. Growing up I never did anything right.”
HE: “On that note, tell us about your childhood.”
LOKI: “What’s there to tell? I was always in trouble since my dickhead brother Thor is a cock-blocking douchebag. I got him back good by convincing Odin that his perfect son wasn’t worthy of living in Asgard so he kicked him out. Now I got the big bedroom.”
HE: “Holy crap! How did you manage that?”
LOKI: “Let’s just say I hid some of our Mother’s more “intimate apparel” in his sock drawer. You do the math.”
HE: “It seems pranking and lying started at an early age. Have any of your lies ever backfired on you?”
LOKI: *laughs maniacally* “No, but the truth sure has.”
HE: “Alright, you’ve GOT to elaborate on that.”
LOKI: “Well, my mouth gets me into trouble, you see. One Thanksgiving I got ripped on Jager and told my whole family off, including my two ex-wives. Every word I spoke was the truth, but it didn’t change the fact I had to transform into a fish and hide in a river to get away from them. Shoulda just stuck to lying.”
HE: “You are known world wide for your practical jokes and pranks. Which prank do you consider your masterpiece?”
LOKI: “Pranks change with the times. I had a blast fucking with the Druids by stacking a bunch of rocks for no reason and then there were those IT virgins who blew their wads worrying about Y2K. That one was a double bonus because it also got the Military’s panties in a bunch sweating random nuclear missile launches. But I’d have to say that the best has yet to come.”
HE: “Come on, give us a hint.”
LOKI: “Uh…I’ll just say to keep a watch out for December 21, 2012.”
HE: “Are all the pranks you do so grand or do you work on a more personal level with the public?”
LOKI: “At times I like to dabble in the everyday, like when one sock goes missing or when you ‘accidently’ hit Reply All on that email where you trash your boss. But remember, I still have to make a living. Right now I am the major shareholder in Pfizer, a pharmaceutical company that manufactures a little, blue pill.”
HE: “Are there any pranks you regret?”
LOKI: “Non-Alcoholic beer and Star Trek. Never thought anyone would take that shit seriously.”
HE: “What is the one thing you would like the world to know about Loki?”
LOKI: “That I am everywhere. I am a shape shifter, after all. That woman you meet in the bar that is too good to be true? She probably is. Just sayin’.”
Return April 7th for our exclusive interview with The Easter Bunny!!!
Determined to get an interview with this elusive holiday icon, I cornered him in his underground den and discovered something I’d not expected. I open today’s interview with the question that should have been asked ages ago:
HE: Say…you aren’t really a bunny, are you?
EB: Well Maybe it is time to come clean, if you wanna call me a Bunny go ahead but being a Bunny is not very useful when you deliver eggs is it! I am a Wallaby, you see, I can put all the eggs in my pouch and then I don’t have to go back and forth with my basket. I am all about convenience, you know what I mean.
HE: What made you decide to color and hide eggs?
EB: Shots. In my College years (I did not do much studying) my friends and I enjoyed colorful shots. So I now pick colors by having a shot, coloring an egg, different coloured shot, and different colored eggs. The hiding part is a long story about my friend and his … well it’s a long story.
HE: How do you feel about children eating chocolate likenesses of you?
EB: As we have just been through, I am not a Bunny, never will be because it will never be practical! So the Kiddywinks can eat as many chocolate bunnies as they please.
HE: How do you feel about sharing a holiday with Jesus?
EB: My mum once told me that story, I did not really understand it, and I mean it’s a bit gloomy for a Holiday all about the Kids, you know? Plus to me, chocolate crosses would be awful to make and color, all that blood and gore is for Halloween, not my holiday.
HE: Is there more than one Easter Bunny?
HE: Did you want to be an Easter Bunny when you were a kid…uh, a joey?
EB: No, as I have said I went to College, I just didn’t do well, this was my fall back, I wanted to be a Football Mascot but I do not think there is much call for a Wallaby, maybe if I was a Dolphin or A Ram! I mean have you ever heard of a Wallaby before today?! Do you even know what I look like?!
HE: What do you do when you aren’t hiding eggs?
EB: Nothing, I drink, I try and think of new ideas for next year but with 5 joeys at home and one on the way, thinking does not happen a lot.
Thank you, Easter Bun–Wallaby, for this timely and insightful interview. Return April 22nd as we celebrate Earth Day with none other that Gaia herself!
Hello Everyone, it’s me, Hellis, live and in person. Well, in spirit. I’ve been away from our little corner of this virtual Utopia we call Blogworld because I’ve been spending time with the new love of my life. Yes, people I am in love, and have decided to use Edward Hotspur’s ROMANTIC MONDAY post as an opportunity to introduce him to my world.
The latest object of my affection is a man like no other; he is fun-loving, free-spirited and young at heart. His childlike innocence attracted me immediately and before I knew it I was hooked. Today I’d like to introduce you to the man who captured my heart and is sure to steal yours. Without further ado I give you…Randy Pan.
Now, before some of you start sending emails to a certain tall, SciFi-loving Cowboy let me explain. Randy isn’t your ordinary, everyday Pan-fan. He’s living his dream everyday in a way that shames me as a writer. It took me a year to work up the testicular fortitude to query agents with my GOA novel while this guy was laying it all out there for the world to see. There was no fear of judgment or harassment on his part. He exposed his life and his soul in an act of bravery that humbles me. And while I will admit that it is taking every bit of self-control to not mock the living shit out of this guy; I have decided a better use of my time would be to honor him here.
So here’s to you, Randy Pan. May your tights not chafe, may your loafers be light, and may every jock who beat you down in high school scratch himself to death because of a raging, unchecked venereal disease.
In honor of Presidents’ Day I took a trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota for an interview with Mount Rushmore Presidents Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln for a feature I’m calling “Inaugural SPaM.” While I hoped to get a glimpse into four of the greatest minds of history, what I actually got was…well, I’ll let you read for yourself.
H.E.: WHAT DO YOU THINK IS THE MOST SIGNIFICANT CHANGE IN POLITICS SINCE THE FOUNDATION OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA?
WASHINGTON: “Well I’d have to say that the principles of–”
JEFFERSON: “Why do you always have to answer first? Maybe one of us wants to say something insightful for a change.”
LINCOLN: “Now, now Thomas. George was merely stating–”
JEFFERSON: “Stuff it, Beardy. No one cares what you think.”
ROOSEVELT: “Whoa, hold your horses there, Jeffy.”
JEFFERSON: “I told you not to call me Jeffy!”
ROOSEVELT: “Alright, alright now just settle down. Go on and let Washington here answer and then you can speak your mind, Jeff-uh…son.”
WASHINGTON: “No, no. I’d like to hear what he has to say. Please Thomas, continue. Enlighten us with your timely opinion.”
JEFFERSON: “Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I bet you’d just loooove for me to say something so you can take all the credit. You thought I didn’t hear what you said to Franklin in the library, did you? Need someone to draft the Declaration of Independence? Sure, give it to Jefferson. He’ll write anything. I’ve yet to see a royalty check on that by the way.”
WASHINGTON: “We’ve been over this. We thought you understood that it was for the greater good.”
JEFFERSON: “The greater good of what?”
LINCOLN: “The good of the country, Thomas.”
JEFFERSON: “Easy for you to say. You and Baldy here get your birthdays’ remembered. What do Teddy and I get? Bupkiss, that’s what.”
WASHINGTON: “Not THAT again.”
ROOSEVELT: “Now, now; he’s got a point, George.”
JEFFERSON: “Damn straight I’ve got a point. Look at that crowd of people down there. They’re here because it’s Presidents’ Day. PRES-I-DENTS’ DAY. MY birthday is in April. Where’s the greater good in that?”
LINCOLN: “When to celebrate Presidents’ Day was not a decision made by George or I. We can hardly be held accountable for-”
JEFFERSON: “Figures you’d side with Washington. I think you secretly love him.”
WASHINGTON: “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
JEFFERSON: “Oh yeah? Then why does he stare at you all the time?”
LINCOLN: “I don’t know what you’re taking about.”
WASHINGTON: “I think you’ve gone off topic, here.”
JEFFERSON: Here’s a topic for you, George old boy. Of the four of us which one participated in the framing of the Constitution? Huh? What’s that? Oh right, it was ME. I find it highly ironic that I helped draft laws affording freedoms to include celebrating holidays and yet no one recognizes my birthday.”
WASHINGTON: “What the hell’s your problem, Jefferson? You don’t hear Roosevelt complaining.”
ROOSEVELT: “Well now, like I said before, ole Jeff here’s got a point. I’d like to see all our days honored, quite frankly. I know I wouldn’t mind seeing a few female citizens admiring us from below in tank tops come April. Am I right, Abe?”
JEFFERSON: “What are you asking HIM for?”
LINCOLN: “What’s THAT supposed to mean?”
JEFFERSON: “Oh I think you know what that means.”
LINCOLN: “I’ll have you know that I was married for–”
JEFFERSON: “Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen your wife.”
JEFFERSON: “And can you say HAG?”
H.E.: ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! THAT’S ENOUGH! I’LL SKIP TO MY LAST QUESTION WHICH IS THIS: WHAT DO EACH OF YOU THINK OF THE IDEA OF PRESIDENT OBAMA BEING ADDED TO YOUR SCULPTURE?
IN UNISON: “No comment.”
As Valentine’s Day approaches I thought it only appropriate to interview the most wanted man, uh…boy in the world. I’m talking about the one, the only….CUPID.
CUPID – Pleasure to be here. Despite this being my busy time of year, I can always find time for you H.E., you helped my blog become what it is today and for that my heart is ever at your service…..You know, if you wanted I could set you up with somebody? I still feel bad about your last relationship. In my defense though, you were the one who fucked that up. Cupid’s arrow is rarely wrong and sometimes you got to give a little to get a little if you know what I mean….
***** So tell the readers, what is the hardest part being the God of Desire?
CUPID – The hardest part? My cock.
* silence *
Nah, I’m just fucking with you. Nothing like a little dirty humor to lighten the mood. Seriously though, the hardest part has got to be humanity. Fifty years ago this would not have been my answer, I mean, fifty years ago people knew how to make a commitment to one another. Now everyone is so needy and expects so much from the person they are with, no one knows how to stay in anything longer than a few years. Its sad really. I blame the hippie generation for this. All that free love fucked up real love for the rest of you. Well, that and women’s lib. Give me the days where I just shot a guy with love and never had to worry about what the woman wanted, because if she didn’t go with the guy I shot then he would just take her. It sounds bad but god-damn it made my job easier.
***** What’s with the bow and arrow?
CUPID – Are you serious? They’re fucking magic, that’s what! It brings forth love and happiness and shit to all that the arrows pierce….Whats with the….Look, if you find a magic shotgun for sale then I’ll buy it, but since there is no such thing, I’ll stick to my bow and arrow thank you very much..
***** How does love in the twenty-first century differ from say, the Renaissance period?
CUPID – Two words, E- Harmony. Them and all those other find love web sites that have popped up since the internet began. Back in the good ole days you didn’t have to fill out a twenty questions exam to get shacked up with somebody, you trusted my arrow to make the right connection. Now though, since these computer cupids have shown up, love is down, STDs are up and the murder rate in Juarez, Mexico has skyrocketed.
That last one has nothing to do with what we are talking about, I just got done reading a book about Juarez and that crap just keeps slipping out, sorry. You get my…..shit….what was my point…….Oh yeah, the Renaissance! It was different.
***** Have you ever missed an intended target?
CUPID – (long pause) On the record, no. Off the record, fuck yeah.
Look, it’s not easy, this job I mean. Its a ton of pressure for one God,you people are so fucking needy, especially you women. From now on, why not just say what it is you’re really looking for in a guy. First off, sense of humor is not that fucking important to you, so stop saying it first. It would make my job and your connection to your true love so much easier to make.That being said, I’ve fucked up here and there throughout time….Do I regret doing it? No, I rack it up to learning experiences…….I do feel bad about Whitney Houston though, I never should have introduced her to Bobby. That was my bad and for that I apologize.
Otherwise, mistakes or no mistakes, once that arrow hits you it’s no longer my problem. Love can happen anywhere, but I can only do so much, it’s up to you to make it work. Here’s an example, that teacher that slept with her student a few years back. You remember, right? She slept with him, got pregnant, got busted, got fired, got jail time, had the baby, got out of jail and then, got back together with him. That’s dedication people. It’s also a tale of love through the toughest of obstacles. What she did was wrong, there’s no doubt about it, I messed that one up, but in the end the love prevailed. All you humans see are the bad things in the people that I hook you up with, somehow you stop seeing the good after being with someone awhile. I never understood this, because the second you break it off, suddenly all you remember are the good qualities, the things that were always there but you would look past. Everyone fights, everyone has issues, it’s up to you to work past them and make it last. Not me.
***** Mythology tells us you inherited this job from your mother, Venus. Tell me, how did it feel growing up with the original MILF as your mom?
CUPID- My mother only talked to me when she wanted something from me. She is a vain, manipulative, alcoholic and I hated growing up with her as a mom. Did you ever see the movie Mommy Dearest? Imagine that but in God form, that’s how my childhood was. I’ve got so many issues because of her I had to cancel my subscription. We haven’t seen each other in years.
***** The identity of your father has never been made public, although Mars has been a popular suspect throughout history. How true are the rumors that you are scheduled to appear on an episode of THE MAURY POVICH SHOW with the intent to confront him with a paternity test?
CUPID- What? Where did you hear that? Of course it’s not true! There’s no need. I found out years ago who my real father was and it certainly wasn’t Mars. No, no, my father lives in Florida, his name is Dale Gibbons and he’s a retired nightclub owner from Miami. Cool guy actually.
***** Was it difficult growing up as an obese child with obvious bladder control problems?
CUPID – All those paintings and sculptures were taken when I was going through a growth stage of my life. Look at me now! Fit, tan and with 12 pack abs. Do I look anything like those pictures? No. I worked hard to get past those looks. Jenny Craig helped of course, but it was mostly me and my dedication to get fit that did it.
And as far as the bladder control goes, I don’t know where that got started. I never wore a diaper, I always went in the nude back then. Censorship is a bitch. Some people can’t handle the male nude form so you got to cover it up, that’s where the diaper comes in.
***** Fill us in on your unfortunate accident where you accidentally shot yourself and fell in love with Psyche?
CUPID – You’re getting these questions from Wikipedia, right? See, that’s why you don’t trust a user controlled reference site, they get it all wrong usually. Okay, you want the real story between me and Psyche? Here goes…
My mom comes to me one day complaining about this chick, saying she’s taking all her worshipers and shit. So mom asks me to go over to this girls place and make her fall in love with the most vile thing I could think of. High as a kite and pissed off because I was in the middle of a game when I was summoned, Saints Row 3 I think, we get all the games before humans do, its one of the perks of being a God, I grabbed my bow and arrows and flew over to her house.
As I’m sneaking into her room I’m trying my best to be extra quiet, but you know how when you’re trying to be quiet every sound is amplified, like, a thousand times? Well that’s what was happening in that room. Every step seemed to cascade through the whole house, and me being high certainly didn’t help.
Finally I get real close to her and start to pull out an arrow, as I’m doing this, her little Min Pin comes running up, yapping the whole way. It scared the shit out of me and I dropped the arrow. I hated that dog. Twinkles was his name. Can you believe that? The dog was totally gay too, he used to try and hump one of the guards dogs, a big German Shepard named KrissKross, it was hilarious.
Anyway, I dropped my arrow and it scraped her foot. Not me like Wikipedia would have you believe, but hers. She wakes up, bing, bang, boom, she sees me, falls in love and hasn’t left me alone since.
In the beginning it was cool. I would sneak over for some late night tail and scurry off again, but after a while it started to get a little stale. I think she saw how I was feeling and figured that the only way to keep me around was to get pregnant. When I found out I was pissed! I totally wasn’t ready to be a dad, I’m still not but it is what it is. In the end we are all responsible for our actions and so I had a kid with her. If you’re looking for morals that’s about as good as it gets. Wrap that shit unless you want a world of shit. Either that or stick to stickin’ the back door, if you get my drift.
***** So, is the God of Desire dating anyone at the moment?
CUPID – Jen Aniston. Six months now. It’s nice I guess.
RETURN MONDAY FOR A PRESIDENT’S DAY SPaM AND MY INTERVIEW WITH A MYSTERY GUEST!!!
Like every good middle child, Junior was beyond not happy when he found out that I wrote a post about his brother, Prince Charming and not him. Not wanting to tempt fate with another phone call from his school as a result of his attention seeking behavior, I promised Junior I’d write a post about him today. Yeah, easier said than done.
First, he insisted there be pictures because as he puts it he’s, “dead sexy.” The problem is I can never keep the boy in clothes (he’d be naked 24/7 if I let him), so pictures of him are hard to come by. I decided to include these pictures from when he was nine years-old as they do a great job of summing up the first half of Junior’s personality, which is an all encompassing love of music.
Now, onto the second half. It would take all day to list every consequence of his thrill seeking, sometimes oppositional, always comedic personality. So I think the best way to sum up Junior’s second half is to list every creature that has ever bitten, pinched, snapped or stung him (I left off obvious ones like black flies or mosquitos).
Wasps, yellow jackets, hornets, etc.
Scorpions (small Florida scorpions, not the big evil ones)
Fire ants (fell into a pile of them. It was awful).
Grub (I think. He was digging in the dirt and pulled this small, white circular thing off his finger. It bled like crazy).
Gila Monster (needed shots for this one)
Non-venomous snakes (not sure what kind. It was a friend’s pet)
Baby snapping turtle
Crayfish (crawdads, mudbugs, etc).
Shark (not a great white but a Florida sand shark. It left a small, dog sized/shark mouth shaped bite on his foot. He hates that the scar faded).
Horseshoe crab (stepped on its barbed tail).
Sea Gull (tried to rescue it and it snapped).
Barracuda (caught it fishing, stuck his finger in its mouth on a dare).
* If you ask him he’ll tell you that this was the one that hurt the most. Miraculously lifeguards identified it as a Portuguese Man-O-War and not a jellyfish, because first aid differs greatly between the two.
Luckily he’s never been bitten by simple things like bats, chipmunks or squirrels since a bite from one of them requires rabies shots. I’m sure there’s more, but this is all I can think of at the moment. He’s also been impaled on bicycle handlebars, but reckless teenage injuries are a post for another day.
Yes, you are correct, it is my birthday. I know this to be true because I follow Edward Hotspur’s blog and El Guapo’s blog and Ginger’s blog and Sandy’s blog (as well as kind email wishes from Trask Avenue, LeClown, and many a sweet comment from my good friends John E. and PMAO). All better blogs than mine, because quite honestly I completely forgot it was my birthday until I read them. Wait…more to the truth I forgot again that it was my birthday since my kick-arse British friend Megan wished me a Happy Birthday the night before (suck it, HR and Elias. She beat you to it).
It’s been through these good people that I’ve made even more friends today, and perhaps have even sold a book or two. That being said, I am not sure mere words can describe what all your birthday wishes mean to me. Without knowing me personally, you may not understand what a Dickensian upbringing I had, and how kind words and well wishes I never received as a child mean the world to me now. You have all become my family, and I am grateful for each and every one of you. Thank you for sharing my day.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned somewhere in previous posts that I’m a New Englander, but unless you’re from here you can’t really comprehend the significance of that statement. New Englanders wear their citizenship like a badge of honor, defining ourselves not by our individual states but by our geographical region, much the same way someone from Scotland or Ireland would define themselves by their family, or clan.
So to help all of you southern, inland and west coasters out there understand the Clan New England, I’m going to break it down with a metaphorical example. Imagine a Thanksgiving day dinner table, and at one end you have:
This is grandpa. He doesn’t do or say much, and he’s been around so long you almost forget he’s there. Oh, and he doesn’t have teeth. Next to him is:
This is the oldest son, the one who went off all gung-ho to Vietnam and came back disillusioned and pissed. He rides a Harley and defends his right to not pay taxes. He’ll school you on the history of any firearm known to man, whether you ask him to or not. When he’s not at Laconia for bike week he’s at a Knights of Columbus meeting. He earns his money either by being a trucker, mechanic or working construction. And his wife is Asian. Always. Next to him is:
No one gets under New Hampshire’s tough leather skin quite like Vermont. Part hippie poser, part Phish fan, all organic NPR listening Vermont. He’s college educated, usually earning a degree in either history or philosophy, which makes him an expert on EVERYTHING. He’ll chastise you for driving anything other than a Prius and is forever preaching the evils of pop culture. The only reason he owns a television is to watch PBS, and he’s married to a girl from:
The oldest daughter of a respectable family, make no mistake she is Vassar bound. When she’s not out shopping for argyle socks she’s sticking a finger down her throat or sneaking out to heavy metal concerts to bang tattooed pretty boys on motorcycles. I’m guessing. Next to her is:
He’s the red-headed step child; New England’s own version of Oliver from the Brady Bunch. Our own personal small ball of “why?” And that leads us to the twins. I say twins because this next state is geographically bipolar. Divided by the city of Worcester (pronounced WOOS-tuh), their personalities are as oppositional as any two children could ever be. And that state is:
The child west of Worcester is the girl twin. She’s well-adjusted and lacking in any definable accent. She knows what she wants and that is to GET THE HELL OUT OF NEW ENGLAND. The twin east of Worcester is the boy twin, the one who calls you at 2 a.m. to come bail him out of jail because he:
A. Gave a Yankees fan a beat down.
B. Defended his position that Manhattan clam chowder is, by definition, not a chowder.
C. Beat someone who said something disparaging about Aerosmith or Godsmack or Denis Leary.
He’s the guy who doesn’t actually live anywhere; he just floats from couch to couch to couch. He borrows your car without your permission, drinks all your beer and steals your stuff. And even though you know he’s going to sleep with your girlfriend you let him in your house anyway because he’s just so damned awesome.
Just like any family we fight and spat amongst ourselves, but heaven help the punk who steps to one of us, because then he steps to all of us. Whitey Bulger wouldn’t be Whitey Bulger if he were from the midwest. Well, maybe Kansas. That place is like the friggin’ Twilight Zone. So the next time you cross the border into New England, roll down your windows and listen carefully; you just might hear our siren song:
Is there someone out there?
Can anybody read this?
It’s me, Hellis, texting from deep inside a crawlspace under a house somewhere in Ohio. I don’t know how long I’ve been here or even how I got here. All I know for sure is that Edward Hotspur is not who or what you think he is. He’s something else entirely; something…evil.
My battery is dying and I am growing weaker by the moment so I have decided to use my last blog post to tell the tale of what happened to me, hoping others might avoid the same cruel fate.
It all started a year ago when I asked Edward Hotspur what his attraction to rainbow pissing unicorns was. I mean, there were pics of them all over his blog, so surely they had meaning to him, right? Yeah, well, my curiosity was my first mistake.
He answered innocently enough, stating that this was merely an expression of his quirky sense of humor. I told him I found the pictures humorous as well, and thus began our friendship. It wasn’t long before we were trading emails of pics we’d find on the net, each one more absurd than the one that came before.
Then came that fateful day when EH would invite me to his home to see his collection of Rainbow Pissing Unicorn figurines. I knew Ohio was far away, but come on people, how could I resist? I mean, who has a collection of Rainbow Pissing Unicorns? Am I right?
Once in Ohio he showed me around his “lair” decorated from floor to ceiling with Rainbow Pissing Unicorn figurines, all hand-crafted from what he described as “bone” china. After viewing his collection he offered me tea which I drank willingly. Soon I felt light-headed and queasy, and the world began to spin in one giant, rainbow swirl. The next thing I knew I woke up here, in a crawlspace, with only a view of his lair through a tiny gap in the floorboards above my head.
Wait…I hear him coming. I can just make out him setting a giant pot of water to boil. Damn, he’s moved out of sight…I can still hear him though…singing to himself as he…he…sharpens something….
CLICK BELOW TO SAVE ME OR…
CLICK TO START FROM THE BEGINNING…
Words can not express the sincere appreciation that I have for Landon Swank and Harmony Swank for taking time out of their busy schedules to come surprise Libby. What a pleasure it was to meet you both.
On Saturday, December 29th Libby had the most amazing experience…Make-A-Wish granted her wish to meet Master Illusionist Landon Swank and his beautiful wif…e Harmony!
For just about two hours my baby girl focused on her new friends and the fun she was having learning some tricks and showing her talents too…fighting cancer was the furthest thing from her mind. It was great to see her smile and giggle and laugh. You both brought so much joy to Libby’s life and for that I will be forever grateful…bless you both.
Anyone who knows Libby knows that she loves card tricks, and anything magic so when she saw Landon perform his audition on the 2011 season of America’s Got Talent she instantly became a fan. Landon finished 5th place; higher than any magician has every placed in the show! She followed the entire season and was thrilled that he made it to the top five but very sad that he did not win.As noted in Landon’s bio, he is referred to by the magic industries insiders as, “Magic’s breath of fresh air”, Swank gives a performance that appeals to the masses. He offers a thrilling journey into the unknown, the unexpected and the unexplainable as it can only be described as The Magic of Landon Swank.
Thank you again “kids” for sharing in our day.
Faith, Trust and Pixie Dust…
FOLLOW LIBBY’S BRAVE JOURNEY AT www.wristsaroundtheworld.com
Today we feature the last of the Santa Spam series that documented the final days before Santa’s arrest for prostitution, money laundering and drug trafficking. Tomorrow begins our Countdown to Christmas featuring interviews with his childhood friends and present associates. Prepare yourselves for a shocking inside view of the man behind the beard. I bring you…
SANTA SPAM – PART THREE
Imagine you and I in my car driving down a dark, desert highway on one of our spontaneous adventures. I sing Oh! Darling in a gravelly voice just to make you laugh. I take off my shoes and then stretch across the seat, swinging my feet up into your lap. You play with my toes, tickling me. You tell me it’s my turn to laugh.
I lay my head against the window and look up at the stars, asking you questions I know you will answer.You speak eloquently about the stars and the sky, and although I am listening I am very aware of the wonder that is you.
Sleep overtaking me, I grab your jacket and throw it over top of me like a blanket. I snuggle my nose into its collar, breathing in your scent as I drift off to sleep. You steal glances at me while you drive, loving me in silence.