Category: Livejournal

“What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done there is nothing new under the sun”

You know who said that? One of the guys who wrote the friggin’ Bible. Old Testament.

Next time some asshole says this piece of shit used-up cliche at you, send them this way: cloned monkeys, mice cured of Rett Syndrome, enzymes that convert any blood type to O, and (believe it or not) transparent aluminum.

(Took him 21 years to figure it out, Scotty.)

The Top 10 Scientific Discoveries of 2007.

And the most amazing thing? Not one of them came from prayer.

courtesy of Matt!, provided for the entertainment of evilzug, oizys and all my otaku friends.

I played World of Warcraft for the first time yesterday.

I made an ork warrior. I picked out his color, his hair. His muskles. Then, I gave him a name.

BASHTHRAKA.

Bashthraka wandered through the countryside, looking for little pig things. 

AND BASHTHRAKA KILLED THEM!!!

Then, Bashthraka wandered through the countryside, looking for little jumpy, dancy green things.

AND BASHTHRAKA KILLED THEM!!!

Then, Bashthraka learned how to scream very loud, although he already knew how to scream very loud, and if stupid humans think Basththraka needs to be taught how to do something he already knows how to do, then humans are dumb.

AND BASHTHRAKA WILL KILL THEM!!!

And Bashthraka then went to the human castle where he needed to kill knights and sailors. 

AND BASHTHRAKA KILLED THEM!!!

Then the stupid game told Bashthraka he was sixth level–as if Bashthraka didn’t already know he was sixth level!!!

SO BASHTHRAKA KILLED THE GAME!!!

(Thanks to

mnight

 for letting me use her account and get my Bashthraka on.)

I do not like Tim Burton’s movies.
I don’t like musicals. 
I especially do not like Sondheim’s musicals. (Ask me one day to show you why.)

But I did like Johnny Depp and Helen Bonham Carter is thirteen different kinds of The Hawt. And the little boy they got has a voice like an angel. I’ve always liked the plot of Sweeny Todd, but the songs make my skin ache.

Still, I saw it with good company and enjoyed the things I enjoy for the reasons I enjoy them.

Tonight: Masons are the Good Guys Movie or The West Wing: The Reagan Years.

I didn’t want to say this, but since some of you have been so completely duped, I guess I have to.

When you received coal in your stockings, it wasn’t Santa. No.

It was Jesus, sneaking into your house, robbing you of your rightful presents, and leaving behind little coals. Why? As a symbol of the FIRE that will burn you for all eternity should you continue to worship this Enemy God.

Or, it could be Loki. Hard to say. Those Promethean Gods all look alike to me.

Happy Santa Day! 

Now, before I get started, a caveat.

I have many friends who revere a Dying and Rising God, and I want them to know that I respect their right to worship their God in their own way. I truly do. As many know, I’m a die-hard Libertarian. I love the First Amendment. If I could die to protect it for the next 100 years, I’d do so with a grin on my face. Honestly. The more the First Amendment can protect all of us, the happier I am, and that includes your right to believe whatever it is you choose to believe.

But for a little while now, I’ve heard a lot of talk about a “War on Xmas.” And, to be honest with you–because friends must be honest with each other–I’m a little sick of it.

I mean, honestly, your “War on Xmas” has to come to an end. You’ve been fighting it for 2,000 years, and while you’ve had many, many victories, the tide is now turning. It’s time to admit defeat. Your War on Xmas is now just attrition. 

Seriously. I’ve seen your propaganda. I’ve read it. I’m not convinced. And the rest of us all know who this holiday belongs to. We know who it is really all about.

I’m talking about Santa Claus.

You’ve been trying to usurp this holiday for nearly 2,000 years now. For many centuries before that, this holiday belonged to some Dying and Rising God. Before yours, it was another. You took it for your own and held on to it for a loooong stretch. But, I’m honestly sorry to tell you that the holiday doesn’t belong to you anymore.

It belongs to Kris Kringle.

It’s his now. And, between you and me, I’m glad. 

You see, my buddy Kris, he don’t give me none of the guilt your Sun God gives me. He doesn’t threaten me with eternal damnation. Doesn’t try to bribe me with an eternal reward (virgins, wings and harps, or whatever else He’s got going on), doesn’t give me rules about what I can eat, who I can sleep with, what shows I can watch. Nope. He gives me a simple rule. 

“Be nice to each other.”

And you know, that whole thing about him giving out coal? Propaganda. I’ve never met anyone who’s gotten coal in their stocking. Sorry, just doesn’t hapen.

My buddy Kris, he’s my new favorite Dying and Rising God. Goes to sleep all summer, wakes up when the Autumn hits, and he spends all Autumn and Winter making presents. Not just for me, but for kids who really need them. 

Santa loves all of us. Not just the ones who believe in him. All of us. Black, white, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, atheist, whatever. He doesn’t care. Santa loves us all. And he’s got something in that bag for everybody.

Not just the ones who believe in him. Everybody.

So, my friends, let’s just get this “War” thing over with. You’re embarassing yourselves. You really are. 

This December 25th, come on over to my house. I’ve got a fireplace. I’ve got that pagan tree you’ve never been able to get rid of. I’ve got milk and I’ve got cookies. We’ll stay up as late as we can and see if we can get a peek at him. Of course, he’s too clever for that. And when we wake up in the morning, there will be gifts for everybody.

For everybody.

Ho ho ho.

The man is Richard Stark (also sometimes known as Donald E. Westlake) and his newest Parker novel, Ask the Parrot took me all of two days to finish. It had been a long time since I was able to burn through a book like that, but if anybody can push me, it’s Stark.

The novel is only 240+ pages. It follows on Stark’s previous novel, Nobody Runs Forever, which left us faithful readers with a cliff-hanger. The arch-criminal Parker running up a steep, wet, muddy hill with dogs on his heels. The robbery in NRF went bad–worse than most of Parker’s heists–and he had to make a run for it. No gun, no car, no usable ID and only $4,000 in his pocket. Dogs on his heels. So what happens? He runs into a man with a gun. A gun and a rot in his guts for revenge.

What the man sees in Parker is a chance to get that revenge. Laid off from his job at the horse track for doing the right thing, the little cowardly man has been planning the perfect robbery for four years. All he lacked was the courage to pull it off.

But now, he has Parker. A professional thief who can make it all work. Of course, those of us familiar with the Parker novels know that nothing ever goes as planned. Parker knows this. The little man does not. But he’ll learn.

As with most Parker novels, NRF is divided into four chapters–emulating the classic “four act play” model. Act 1 sets up the drama, setting up the job Parker will be working for the rest of the book. Act 2 is the job itself, where everything goes wrong–usually because one of Parker’s accomplices gets too smart for his own good. Act 3 is never told from Parker’s point of view, but focuses on the secondary characters of the book, giving the reader a look at the inside thoughts of those who surround the main character. Then, Act 4 has Parker return, ready to fix all that went wrong in Act 3. This is the classic Parker model, and Westlake has used it to build some of the best criminal noir novels on the shelf. But Westlake has been playing with it a bit in his most recent novels, fiddling with an alchemical mixture that already produces gold. And in doing so, he’s written some of the best Parker novels of his career.

And Parker himself is still the same brutal bastard he always is. No honor among thieves. Just a practical man who understands the bloody business he’s in. At one point, when forced to pull a gun, he’d rather tie up his victim and leave them be. When asked why, he replies simply, “Because killing makes the law work harder.”

Not because he puts any value on human life or because killing is any kind of moral issue. It’s a practical issue. It makes his job harder. That’s Parker. A man I’d never want to meet, but damn, if it ain’t fun to watch him work.