Friday, December 30, 2011

Sometimes I feel like this year punched me in the face

Settle down, homie.

I'm sure I deserved it, but writer's block, here, in comments, on paper that none shall ever see, still? Is this because I lifted my pen from work, I lift all my pens from work, they're quite nice & not runny like my mucus-infused schnoz, though this Lepidoptera-flush stomack is the real scalawag, no, 'tis not due this time to the artes magicae of that, that's not my fault, that, some things are beyond control's skeletal grasp.

No, I don't use pens to comment, would only ruin this first world widescreen, I know that's tired, you gadget whores. I'm tired. Of a lot. Check that dramatic break, & I didn't even go to screenwriter camp.

See you soon, probably, for another 365 days of the same old crap, because what the hell else am I gonna do waiting for the lazy apocalypse to stop being lazy?

Monday, December 26, 2011

What did you get for Christmas, Charlie Brown?

A week off

for yelling at the screen


& most importantly, meditating on serious stuff (seriously) with St. Drogo.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Jelly-of-the-month club, or, Christmas bonus post

The last Peonage darkthroning of the year. Sniff.

Eat, eat, you're nothing but skin & bones.

I hope the latter isn't in reference to the former.


The discerning bunga-bunga enthusiast's treat.

Wonder why they've closed up shop.



'tis beautiful when the Chinese & Italian mafias come together.

Down with ageism.

Hwsig's not here, man.

Chortle, chuckle, wheez.

Misery. Does that make us company?

Seatbelt-related deaths are on the increase.

I try, every day.

Double rubble,

the Browns do fumble,

bigwig progress,

trees are in trouble.

A Very Peonage Christmas

Merry Baby Jesus/Mithras/Giftmas/Sol Invictus/Saturnalia/Yule/Eggnog slash Lemmy's Birthday Bash Hangover from the only ornament we found on this tree.

Now, get out.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Through rain, because there's no sleet or snow

Blue skies, wispy clouds, birdies, & 63°.
On December 21st.
In Clevelandia.

Now that's more like it but where's the damn snow?

Even trees get arthritis.

Jones Day?

Police Memorial Way?

Credit cards?

Voting? The Boz?

Chortle, guffaw, wheez. [ed. note: in the interest of disclosure, said grade school humor cannot this time be pinned upon the lapel of the Duchess]

Cliffs 'em all.

Had a smarmy comment, but the killbots threatened to turn us over to Homeland Security, which, if you'll recall, isn't too far down the road.

Why the hell not?

Why the hell not.

Reflective powers.

Since the dawn of time, obligatory Simpsons allusion.

Beautiful generic downtown Clevelandia WITHOUT SNOW.

Fly, my pretties, fly.

Devlin better not try & take my vino.

Baby triffids.

Is it safe? Is it safe? It's safe, it's very safe.

A lotta bit corporate, a little bit rock &/or roll.

Rocker &/or roller-er.

Not very good, I checked. Color me gobstopped, everlastingly.

Damn you, foot.

Damn you, Duchess's foot.

Woodland fauna, come join us in giving rain the finger.
Snow you sometime? Magic 8-ball says try again later.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Never look a gift book drop in the mouth, episode 37

We have a song here at the Towering Slab that reminds me of your courage and pluck. It's called, uh, "Courage and Pluck." Goes a little like this:

♪ O, courage and pluck, courage and pluck ♫

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Keeping up with the Krampuses, or, Someone Is Thinking of the Children, A Sequel In One-Half Act

Miss Prunella Vulgaris, The Duchess of Hammer-on-Dulcimer, esteemed member of the Peonage
Juan, The Earl of Valdez, less esteemed member of the Peonage
Good King Wenceslas, Duke, not King, of Bohemia 
Krampus, legendary dread purloiner of joy & stuff various & valuable not that your playwright still humble is saying that joy isn't valuable only that it's fleeting & you shouldn't get too attached 
Michael Buffer, egomaniacal microphone
The Infant of Prague, Our Lord and Savior
The Christmas Goat, Swedish Wicker Man knockoff
Kid Darkthrone, not-very-noted local misanthrope
Children, children
Bear, bait, & lovable ursine scamp  

Non-library, interior, daytime perhaps but it's difficult to tell because all the heads are wreathed with wreaths of despair & slithering lights of black, don't think because it's the most wonderful time of the year that everyone's getting baked which they are but it's a pastry of horror not anything special for GOOD KING WENCESLAS, DUCHESS and EARL to choke on whilst thinking about the CHILDREN won't someone please think about the CHILDREN someone still is so shut up already.


EARL: Mellow out, man.

DUCHESS: Yes, cheer up, good buddy, we'll get the children back.

EARL: Though it *is* nice to not hear them whine about watching TV.

DUCHESS: Settle down. Verily, we must storm our brains with ideas.

EARL: I suggest getting blotto.

Inconsolable, GOOD KING WENCESLAS cries.

EARL: And a box of Kleenex.

DUCHESS: Eureka!

EARL: The town?


EARL: The country?

DUCHESS: A mission of Burma!

EARL: The band?

DUKE, NOT KING (crying): Shut up!

DUCHESS: Verily, we shalt return!

Verily, DUCHESS and EARL exit, journeying offstage to Burma, winning rare spices through rigged games of Three-card Monte, these rare spices used to purchase pigeon's blood rubies, which in turn are used to purchase a Craigslist ad sure to fool KRAMPUS, check out that literary symmetry & please ignore the fact that Craigslist is currently free, it wasn't in the 1890s, you remember learning about the Great Bandwith Shortage in school of course you do.

DUCHESS: "Central European folkloress & "doll" collector seeks legendary monster for a good time sale, maybe more. Making port at Gdansk Bay, Tuesday, Fjord Cruise Lines, meet on board, dining room."

EARL: The bastard's too clever to fall for that.

DUCHESS: Not even the glad-handing Williams Gladstone and McKinley love babies as much as, the bastard, as you so eloquently put it. He'll answer the ad.

EARL (pointing): What about him?

DUCHESS: For once, you had a good idea.

Even more verily, DUCHESS, EARL, and a quite blotto & thus manageable GOOD KING WENCESLAS journey offstage out of Bohemia and into the frying pan of Gdansk, full of cutthroats, ne'er-do-wells and scalawags, and that's just the town government. Using his credentials as a beloved figure in all Polandia, GOOD KING WENCESLAS shakes his red nose and commandeers the dining room on Fjord Cruise Lines' love boat.

DUCHESS: Now we wait.

EARL: Now we eat.

DUCHESS: Typical male.

EARL: Says the woman who suggested a wres --

KRAMPUS enters with cliched gusto. KID DARKTHRONE follows him.

KRAMPUS (strutting in place with confidence): Where is my Central European folkloress and doll collector? I wish to make a deal wink nudge! Hench-kid, see that there is no funny business but mine!


MICHAEL BUFFER: Let's get ready to --

DUCHESS: Stop right there, Buffer. We spent all our rubies and can't afford the stiff penalties for trademark infringement, you lawsuit-happy bastard.

EARL: How eloquent.

KRAMPUS: Quiet! No delivery of children? If it's fisticuffs you want instead, it's fisticuffs you get!

DUCHESS: Oh, we've a delivery -- a special delivery of pain!

KRAMPUS and KID DARKTHRONE step into the space on the floor where a bunch of tables and chairs used to be but is now a makeshift ring. THE INFANT OF PRAGUE and THE CHRISTMAS GOAT enter and if you thought the clanging cacophony was dissonantly cacophonous last time out, you're right, but still, four titans of the turnbuckle, four eight fists of fjordish fury, blood from hidden razors and mock blindness, maybe a wrench or two, that's a lotta cacophony but lo, behold THE CHRISTMAS GOAT pinned by KRAMPUS and about to succumb until one last, desperate tap brings THE INFANT OF PRAGUE somersaulting over the imaginary rope whereby he flings a dreidel on the ground, its orbital spinning of circularity hypnotizing KRAMPUS long enough to himself be pinned.

DUCHESS: Turn over the children, Krampus.

EARL: Unless you've already eaten them.

KID DARKTHRONE (incredulous): Eaten?

DUCHESS: He wasn't taking them to Kiddie Park.

KID DARKTHRONE exits, returning with CHILDREN.

KID DARKTHRONE: Helping Krampus out was a pretty douchebag move, I know that now.

CHILDREN: Can we watch TV?

EARL: And knowing is half the battle.

BEAR enters.

BEAR: *growl*

KRAMPUS exits, pursued by BEAR.