Archive for October, 2008
It is never a good idea to blog welling with emotion. Because if you feel sad/depressed/suicidal the entry ends up being whiny. If you are love-stricken the entry reads really loony. Or if you’re feeling histrionic your blog entry ends up just like that, histrionic. This blog entry is quite an emotional entry, but luckily for you it does not evoke any of the above feelings. Because right now, what I’m feeling is RAGE. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!!!! As in AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH!!!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN YOU! As in DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN YOU TO HELLLLLL!!!! As in DIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!
There.
Now that it’s out of the way, let me segue to the upcoming storyline that will run in the Green Lantern monthly comics, aptly called, THE RAGE OF THE RED LANTERNS. Early this year we saw the end of the spectacular Sinestro Corps War, wherein the villainous Sinestro has created his own corps, with each member wearing a yellow ring. The yellow rings, of course, operate on fear, in the same way that the green rings operate on overcoming fear. Apparently, then, there is also a corps that wear red lanterns, in particular, the Red Lanterns!!! And appropriately, their powers are fueled by RAGE. Unlike the green and yellow lanters, the Red Lanterns cannot form constructs with their rings. And they are so full of seething, explosive, destructive rage that rage literally spews out from their orifices in the form of a vomit-like something. One of the Red Lanterns is called Atroticus, and he is a total monster. He may not be able to form hard light constructs with his ring, but his head is constructed in such a way that it can clamp an enemy’s head and tear such head from its body. Now that’s RAGE. Ya hear that, BowAndArrow? That’s rage! RAAAAAAAAAAAGE!
October 30th, 2008
The most fun thing about using the new defibrillator is not the fact that the damn machine actually speaks in a weird automated voice (”CHECK… PATIENT!!!”), but that when you start getting the paddles all the people around get involved in a competitive race as to who can scream “CLEAR!!!” first. One intern has said clear four times (clear! clear!! CLEAR!!! CLEAAAAAR!!!!!), oblivious that everyone was ten meters away from the bed already. You get to say clear all you want, as long as you clean the jelly on the chest afterwards. The best defibrillating scene in pop culture is when Scully is assaulted by Leonard Betts in an ambulance. Trying to fight him off Scully charges the paddles and shocks poor Leonard Betts… on the head!!!
October 25th, 2008
I was walking in agony along Robinson’s around two weekends ago with severe abdominal pain, and I was thinking, of course, of cancer. How any one of these things inside can be gestating and eating some other organs and throwing all sorts of necrotic factors everywhere. Of course it later turned out I had diarrhea, but the point is my stomach ached even more when I discovered in sheer joypanic… The Collecticon 2008 happening in Robinson’s activity area. I rushed down the escalators and made siksik myself (not really in the mood to think of a proper verb) against the pale basement dwellers who were clutching action figures. Boxes and boxes of loose action figures were on the floor, so i joined the fray and bent down and rummaged through old batmen and unknown robots and hasbro marvel legends nobody wanted, tummyache and all. Finally found one which I was really looking for, something which I’ve lost all hope in ever finding: the DC Direct bearded shirtless hook-handed Aquaman action figure, the Grant Morrison Era! Now he can stand side by side the Terry Dodson version of Wonder Woman and the Curt Swan Superman!
And last week, another new haul. Have you ever wondered what would have happened if Superman’s rocket landed in Ukraine instead of in Kansas? Not really? Well. Mark Millar wrote a 3-part prestige form series entitled Red Son, with that very premise. In the story Superman did indeed grow up to be a superhero, but with the Communist scythe on his chest instead of the classic S. He later became president when Stalin died. A box set featuring action figures based on this series was released, and I finally got myself to get it after a long spiritual crisis and intensive counseling that involved Mar Lim and Therese Lladoc. Included in the box set are the Russian versions of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, and the Bizarro Superman who is the US version in the story. Wonder Woman had a starry skirt on instead of a panty, and Batman was some sort of bolshevik with galoshes. It also included the 1st issue of the prestige Elseworlds novel. And since you’re curious, yes, Wonder Woman does indeed have a red panty beneath the skirt. All skirted female DC Direct figures have panties.
And just this morning, passed by Kramer’s, a nice little action figure nook hidden in Goldcrest in Glorietta. Couldn’t resist the recently released Poison Ivy and Two Face in the Secret Files: Batman’s Rogue’s Gallery action figure series. And the comic book guy Joseph included a free little Dynamite comic book featuring the work of Alex Ross.
Obviously, this elongated prose nobody should care about is a form of therapy, to en-guilt (ok I just invented this word) myself out of any further spending. Because really, I might get a nosebleed tomorrow which will turn out to be nasopharyngeal cancer. But all them superheroes in the tall glass casing look so fun, as if they will fly out anytime and burst out of the glass door!!! Joypanic!
October 25th, 2008
Ever since friendster made this new updated blog spammers have been posting really incomprehensible comments on the entries. Yes, cymbalta and sluramurb, I’m referring to you (along with telfanib, sumatipan, and bleener). An advertisement of some product would have been acceptable, but the comments are just syntax(es?) that are totally beyond comprehension. The most number of spam comments none of which I’ve approved are posted on the entries Autoerotic Asphyxiation and Chancre. The sexual title must have piqued their interest and the words must be some secret invitation to an orgy in Ortigas. To prove that sexual content does indeed invite pointless attention, I will now fill this particular entry with….
fuck. sex. cunt. sex,sex,sex. fuck. fuck. boobs. huge boobs. enormous boobs. fuckfuckfuck. cunnilungus. sex. sex. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. smegma. chancre. boobs. chancre. vagina. cunt. fuck. suck. cunt. cock. sore nipples. fuck that owl. bestiality.
Let the comments begin.
October 24th, 2008
I usually have a running commentary of an unknown male voice running in my head specially when I’m alone, the contents of which I later inflict on the few people who get to read this blog. But lately there have been no thoughts, just… air. This could indicate that I’m on risperidone, which I’m not, but it is just jarring when there is no one talking to me in my head, no one reminding me of the most pointless occurences in college seven years ago with which to embarrass someone, and no one laughing an evil laugh. At least the voice I can listen to, but what am I supposed to do with air swirling around in my head? Or maybe it’s not just plain air, maybe it’s smoke. Or methane. Mmmmm.
October 10th, 2008
I went home the other day and what should I discover but a new internet cafe that flashed its name in big bold letters with bright lights, and what should it be called but Smegma.net. I stared at it twice and choked on the cheese sandwich I was eating, because really, why the heck would you call an internet cafe Smegma.net? You can call a new goldilock’s cheese pastry Smegma, you can call a smegma fetish porn magazine Smegma, or the new Shakey’s triple cheesy pizza Smegma, but why the heck would you call an internet cafe Smegma?! It’s just pointless, like calling a new softdrink Plywood or Anal Verge or something. Although I did consider naming my (future) kids from concepts and constructs, such as Threshold, Superfluous, or Disembowelment.
On a totally different note, the sneaky industrial-military complex must have kept track of blogs that no one comments on, and decided to post comments on blog entries that are infinitely remotely related to the topic. It wasn’t so bad that I got a fluoxetine Prozac comment ad on an entry about fluoxetine, but why the heck would metronidazole Flagyl post a comment on my entry about autoerotic asphyxiation? And on the entry Chancre, about my having syphillis, 24 spam comments! I dared not view what they were about.
October 6th, 2008
I was arranging my computer files when I discovered in glee/annoyance a folder filled with unfinished/unused story ideas. One such story was a love story I tried to write in 2001, with the premise of a guy being genuinely, totally in love with a tree, as in the one with leaves. This is supposed to be true love and not merely some paraphilia, but of course I could never get past the first paragraph. Because really, how can their love manifest? Do they go on dinners? Do they tell each other how their days went? Do they get a shared bank account? Is this, after all, an unrequited, unfair love? I texted a friend about this 7 years ago, and he suggested that I can go directly to the sex scene. As far as I can remember his message read like this: “He gropes the tree, rubs himself with mud, then jerks off beside the tree. He then goes on to fuck it.” And into the unused stories folder it went.
Another story was about God finally revealing himself unequivocally, explicitly to the world, telling all of us what to do and what to believe in to end all this religious conflict nonsense and give us a direct answer about everything once and for all in simple, defined terms. I got into a genuine spiritual crisis after the first page and a half and I dumped it into the folder. Okay I didn’t really get into a genuine spiritual crisis, but I did get weird, infected boils all over reminiscent of Miriam, sister of Moses.
Oddly enough all this exhumation for dead stories can be linked to my present requirement to write some sort of script for the upcoming physician’s night. I don’t know why they think I should write it, what with the limiting theme and all. The theme, of course, is books to movies. Everyone has different suggestions from disney princesses to james bond and stuff, when we all very well know what we should do: the Bible. Particularly, Sodom and Gomorrha. If they let me the fifteen minute show will include fourteen minutes of decadent Sodom and Gomorrha frolicking scenes, with one minute of Lot’s wife turning into salt. The very effort of covering a batchmate with rock salts and glue should win us big prizes.
October 3rd, 2008
