Return to the mushroom kingdom

In light of errand running, chauffeuring the lunatic offspring to/from pretend learning, & copious amounts of grass cutting both foreign & domestic, I felt it was a stroke of mad genius to counter heart attack-inducing footie* couch potatoing with a morning stroll through the fungus.

*funny how Chelsea wasn't so staid whilst certain players johnterryfranklampard mostly rotted on the bench (if only Bayer could finish). That said, fuck Chelsea.

One of the nineteenth century's most famous courtesans wuz here.

Someday I'll be a real boy photographer. This was orange.

The village of jack o' lanterns has a new mayor.

Chez Randal.

Ditto.

Pretty ugly

Thought about resurrecting a blast from my blogging childhood, those halcyon days of Slingin' Derek, but then the dominoes fell like so much MechaNineleven laser blasts: Koschi the Deathless tussling with Ivar the Boneless in Baba Yaga's House of Mirth swear I'm gonna write that up one day, some bit about a psychic cat talking to Layne in the Great Hereafter, all that offensive offensive line play & hesitate & fourth quarter precipice jumping I jumped off a precipice in escape, & I came to realize that my prevailing mood is multiple, surging lava not rooted in said gridiron grotesquerie but I can't quite dig out where, underpinning a wakeful giddiness, rare & oft debilitating; today, tussling, each face assaulting the other, leaving me pretty ugly but with a Dennehy-as-Gacy grin.

No accounting for taste

Serving finger food would swell library coffers.

Needless to say, I was a little despondent about the melt down, but then, in the midst of my preparations for hari kiri, it came to me. It is possible to synthesize excited bromide in an argon matrix.

Sorry. Hangover.

Spiderman earns shekels for shutterbugging, Turkish Superman pines for bisection, Wonder Woman alternates between nurse, intelligence operative, & sultry vamp (young Randal's Lynda Carter fantasy certainly counts). Even the radioactive, the interstellar, the televised have to eat & pay the Skinemax bill, which is why I don't comprehend the irrational, near-universal hate (I've got piles of anecdotes) for one of season six's -- cheesy third leg MOTW FX aside -- most chortle-inducing episodes, Buffy's own Office Space or Spinal Tap, forty minutes that's only increased its yay! rating in light of recent Towering Slab fuckery.

Let's recap: Giles' big check is only going to go so far eliminating rancid health care debt, & if the Watchers' Council paid anything like the library -- anyway, so what's a college dropout to do? Collect ass slaps (the tips) waiting tables or sling burgers with OCD management types that find clarity in the dumb. Gee, sounds just like the library, except we serve scowls books:

MANNY: Watch these two.
BUFFY: Are they gonna do something?
MANNY: They're solid. Follow their example and you won't go wrong. They're lifers.
BUFFY: Lifers?
MANNY: In it for life. Like me. You wanna get something out of this, Buffy? You'll do the same. You put the work in, and ten years from now, you'll be where I am.
BUFFY: Wow. They're all so -- identical.
MANNY: Yeah. They all start to look the same to me too.
BUFFY: Oh, no, not the employees, the, the chicken slices. 

'tis verily a truth that because the Peonage are not OCD management types, all the employees do not look the same, provided we discount OCD management types who do. Plus, unlike the Duchess & the Earl, they wouldn't look swell in a catsuit & a bowler, respectively. [ed. note: are we still The Avengers, or a de-gender hegemonizing* Harold & Kumar, minus the wheelbarrows full of weed?]

*curse ye, Iron Lady

Inside joke numéro un (deux, en fait), Pilgrim's Progress how do you know what that's about:

MANNY: Drive-through station's over there. High pressure job, you won't need to go in there. Over there's the grills, the fryers, the walk-in freezer. You don't need to go in there either!

Inside joke numéro deux (ménage à trois), comradeship leads to bunga-bunga, dogs & cats living together, mass hysteria, & a drag after all three:

BUFFY: Fill this? I didn't know there was gonna be drug testing on this job.
GARY: You're funny. You better stop that.
BUFFY: Why?
GARY: Productivity. One of Manny's watch-words. 'Levity is the time-thief that picks the pocket of the company.'

Oh, gentle reader, but we do sell a product, we sell the joy of learning just enough to successfully regurgitate what the hermetically-sealed symposia peg wants to hear in order to spackle over cracked self-esteem. Those of you teachers who strut with a righteous swank, & you know who you are, are of course exempt from these poison darts.

Zombificaiton Ritual, or, everything I learned about librarianship I learned via a series of cliche-infested success journals barfed out by plastic, pill-popping MBA hacks:

BUFFY: So, what's the secret ingredient?
PHILIP: It's a meat process.
BUFFY: Well, what does that mean?
PHILIP: It's a process, they do it to the meat.
BUFFY: But, what is it?
PHILIP: It's just the name of the process.
BUFFY: Oh. Yeah. 

One could say that, as a high-powered heroine, Buffy could simply purloin victuals from the local branch of the multinational food processing concern, but in addition to forsaking her sacred duty, such shrinkage would only lead to laying off those who could ill afford it by the bottom line- & ivory backscratcher-obsessed, & as honorable a task as dismantling global capitalism would be, bloodsucking vampires. Wait, I might need to rethink this.

In conclusion, it's only appropriate that [spoiler alert] the cherry-pie chomping wig lady's supervillainy was a paralyzing toxin, a stark reminder of the monotony inherent in a post-industrial workplace, insert additional ivory tower gobbledygook here if you want I don't care because my expectations for a fair deal have been dulled after years spent at this soul-crushing, above-minimum-wage-but-not-that-much-above hellhole.

Never look a gift bookdrop in the mouth

Oh, so many bound repositories of knowledge both useless & useless to check in, if only Calgon could take me away -- wait! what booke I must needs read!

I hate when the bodies in the cellar leave the light on.

Dear Diary, Edward is so dreamy, and he's a Baron!

Scraping the bottom of the barrel leaves scratchy.

You can't stop scoff, you can only hope to contain it.

Man, that stuff's worse than nineleven.

Playoffs? I just hope we can weather a snark-free morning!

In the 9/8th percentile of prestidigitarianism for the 5th consecutive year!

I'm grumpy, so piss off, but not until after you read the follow claptrap.

AFC East: Forget Foot Fetish Rex, especially since we all have at least one. Lost in The Outcoaching were fourteen sabermetrically-impressive wins whilst retooling, you tool. Ochocinco? Relax, yo. Don't sleep on Miami even though Murka's Second Worst Sports Town will. Zombie Lou's so flummoxed, they're killing him.

AFC North: Who do you think. As for the other annoying band of fucking loudmouths, Lee Evans won't overcome the loss of Kelly Gregg. Sure, we suck (the matchup blessing of the two worst divisions in football won't be heavenly enough), but not as bad as Mike Brown & The Cheapskates, playing all your favorites, now through January.

AFC South: As Manning goes, so go the Colts, I hope Indianapolis appreciates how they didn't have to watch Ty Detmer, Tim Couch, Doug Pederson, Kelly Holcomb, Jeff Garcia, Luke McCown, Trent Dilfer, Charlie Frye, Derek Anderson, Brady Quinn, Ken Dorsey, Bruce Gradkowski, Jake Delhomme, & Seneca Wallace for the last decade plus. Team Blackout is a mess & the Titans are going to run Chris Johnson into a coffin. Congratulations, Planet Hoo-ston, you win by the two greatest words in the English language.

AFC West: Dear San Diego, stop wasting your talent. Some of us don't have talent to waste. Hate, Randal. Chiefs? Regression to the mean. Raiders? They're mean, assuming Darren McFadden doesn't regress to the injury. Denver's not as much a mess as many messrs. think, which is why I longed for Saint Tim to be crowned because I could use a 17-week happy.

NFC East: Re: Philly. See Chuck D & a creaky O-line. No way Son of Archie, Jr. not-so-secret Santas twenty-five gifts again. Hakeem Nicks & Mario Manningham go nuclear but kill their their defensive backfield in the blast. Dallas is a chic pick. If they had cloned noted destroyer DeMarcus Ware, I'd be more chic than this cartoon monocle. Did you know DC has a professional football team?

NFC North: Small town Green Bay is real good. Oxidized town Matt Stafford is almost good (Suh is Duh). Berserker town Donovan McNabb fears the sky falling on the roof kaboom. Machine town Jay Cutler fears getting Turkey Jones'd.

NFC South: Shaun Rogers is almost as big as Drew Brees. Julio Jones ain't Randy Moss. Poor Bucs, a legit, exciting squad of young daredevils, & no one gives a shit. Poor Panthers. No, that's it.

NFC West: What a shit ass collection of septic tank effluvia. St. Louis has a QB, Arizona might, the others don't. Almost done, yay.

AFC playoff seeds: New England, The Fucking Steelers, San Diego, Houston, The Fucking Ravens, The Fucking Jets. One of these certainly won't.

NFC playoff seeds: Green Bay, New Orleans, Philadelphia, St. Louis, Atlanta, The Fucking Giants, Detroit, since the former just lost their nickel dime JFK 50-cent piece back to a torn ACL.

Super Bowl: Green Bay over New England. I guess.

My disappointing Browns: 6 wins, 1 broken Colt (no, ours), 1 arrest, 17 Greg Little dropsies.

A day in the life of a gentle hippie

ACT I
Gathering in the mushrooms.

 

ACT II
The village of jack o' lanterns.

ACT III
The fairy feller's master six-stroke divebomb & flyover.

ACT IV
Deep meditation & frisky composition,
i.e. verse, you're perilously close to becoming a basketball,
here, a death cap meal or embrace this destroying angel

[NOT PICTURED]

ACT V
The last notes of ink ring out in the rusty Jeep




in harmony with yon lovely song of Trees.

ACT VI
Euro 2012 qualifiers on the AV computation box.

Peace & long life.
Live long & prosper.

Ruts are ruttier than previously assumed

If not accepted, management reserves the right to imprison indefinitely.

Suggest smartly!

Night in the ruts

 



Good thing I can't afford coke.

If I could afford anything, it'd probably be an opiate. Do I look like I would enjoy being a human pinball BUY LOW SELL HIGH? The confluence of flesh, electric, & abstraction is a magnificently awful thing to behold when one's at the center, an inverse big bang where the only thing born is a debilitating stasis continually expanding whilst enveloping, pulling molecules apart whilst suffocating them.

What, too much melodrama?

Existential crises are cool, dood.

Various sources here, there, & everywhere legit bitching about legit things, 98% said better than I ever could on those days when I actually give a fuck because let's be honest, gentle readers, nothing is ever going to change but the form of the fuckery (dreamers &/or idealists are so cute); or folks with actual problems &/or observations beautifully articulated, & that leaves me with disturbingly unimportant garbage in the shape of cheap guffaws or coded personal shit that may indeed be important to me, personally, but that is also singularly unique to 357% of the population, male or female or Zeta Reticulan, between the ages of eighteen and ninety-six because virtually everyone else is a selfishly naive asshole, too, save like three of you & honestly, who the fuck could I even tell besides the black notebook. Consequences for truth? No thanks, bub. Thus, redundantly pointless redundancy or yawns spelled out using a variant form of almost English FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS YOU'RE NOT STARVING OR (THAT) BROKE

POST METAL DEVIL HORNS

later

CHUGGACHUGGACHUGGA

[insert bad verse]

What did I tell you. Redundant. But I repeat myself IT ALL SUCKS BECAUSE
IT'S ALL THE SAME CRIME
IN EVERY SINGLE LINE
EVERY SINGLE TIME

[insert power chords]

Oops LOOK SOUTH OF HEAVEN



Play it loud
or Satan will burn down
your fucking hovel.

Back next week, but only 'cause I'll be bored at work.

& now I'm in 13% less of a bad mood, woo, but don't YOU make me laugh or I'll punch you in the face THAT'S TOTALLY DIFFERENT

Hey, a penny.

Study abroad, or, sex & the single student

That ought to increase enrollment.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop

Each discarded post reads like a LiveJournal entry.
This is hard like xenotransplantation is easy.
Of every textbook, no, we don't carry copies. Debt, like rhyme, is patriotic.
First-year law student, microfilm is not Michael Myers. Courage. Shit.
Dear Randal, stop self-censoring. No.

Dear Randal, start self-immolation. Yes.
I am the eggman, fifty points for yolking Zombie Johnny.
This is getting tiresome. No, not this.
I'm not telling. Okay, just this once.
BERSERKER

Hardee har har. Dunce.