This is what writing is: you throw a lot of stupid stuff at a wall, then see what sticks. And you never really understand it enough to do it like that again, and, meanwhile, people say it means this and that, and for reasons you can’t figure out, the story lasts, even though it was just something you thought might make someone smile:
http://www.vulture.com/2017/10/david-s-pumpkins-oral-history.html
As for where I think the humor in this is? The effort to intellectua…
I know, I know: this ever really HAPPENED? Apparently so. This isn’t some Mandela Effect thing, and we’re nowhere near April. Not sure how I never knew about this, but glad I do know. And, yeah, the song here’s maybe a little guitar-shy, but still, the video’s nothing but fun:
I found it in this excellent little write-up:
http://horrorfreaknews.com/banned-twisted-sisteralice-cooper-video-1985-featured-zombie-fx-tom-savini/21955…
This is a key sub-thing in a novel I just wrote:
The Venus of Brassempouy is one of the earliest representations of the human face. It was sculpted in mammoth ivory about 25,000 years ago in southwest France. Since its discovery in 1894, there has been much debate about the sex and whether he/she is hooded or braided #IceAgeArt pic.twitter.com/OkrVRbZm1k
— The Ice Age (@Jamie_Woodward_) November 19, 2017
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This is probably only funny if you grew up watching Perfect Strangers—”Perfect Stranger Things” feels like a Jeopardy! question to a mashup answer—but never mind all that. What matters here? This costume. I wonder how that face petals opens like that? Animatronic? Air? I mean, the spindly fingers are useless, but so what. And I dig the platform shoes/feet. I want to be this for Halloween, please:
. . . but, while the video/player will sort of embed, the permissio…
I might heretically add a tenth level for the semicolon clueless. But, yes, I’d be adding it from the eighth circle, I suppose. Which is a fitting fate for me, and one I’m asking for every day, pretty much.
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I dream of a word processor that throws a little a WPM gauge up in the right corner, so I can keep a close eye for when I’m backing off the throttle more than I should. Way back, when instant-messaging first came around? I used to write chat scripts to talk to different hardly-remote people, and we’d testrun it, use the chat to IM, all that. What I found out pretty quick with that was that I never cared for the content of our back and forth. What mattered to me was winning the …
Not that industrial rock (if that’s that term) album that turned up a while back, but a different arrangement (not sure about that word either) of a song I really thought I knew. It’s like that slowed-down “Born in the USA”—you hear the song all over again for the first time. Pretty excellent. And? Back when Waylon died, this was when we all still had answering machines with actual little micro-cassettes in them. Mine that day was stuffed full, everyb…
I forget who says it, but a while back someone was talking about how the good singers and musicians and actors, they can always do pitch-perfect impressions of their contemporaries. Maybe comedians too? Bet so. Actors, of course. Anyway, just stumbling upon this, from the year I was born. Merle, man, he so had everybody down. Like, dangerously good. And then it rolls into the usual star-studded medley, which makes me smile and smile and smile . . .
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is the NYT bestselling author of 30 or so books, +350 stories, some comic books, and all this stuff here. He lives in Boulder, Colorado, and has a few broken-down old trucks, one PhD, and way too many boots. More