Julio Saw Lightning
I don’t have all that much to talk about without beating a bitter, cynical, belligerent zombie horse. Yet I need a new post to wash the taste out of my soul. I’m coming up with nothing. I would even post a “fluff article” if I could think of one that wouldn’t annoy myself to death. It’s a rare case in which I want to post but I have nothing to say. Usually it’s the other way around: I have too much to say and don’t particularly relish posting.
I was thinking hard about this. What could I post that would be innocuous, amusing, and worth posting?
And then it hit me.
I have an idea. An experiment, really. If I post an older “fluff article,” I wonder how the comments generated will differ from those of the original edition. (The original generated an inexplicable, record-breaking 78 comments!)
Here we go… no cheating!
Saturday, August 25, 2007:
My Kingdom for a Duduk
Until I can actually convert my thoughts into .AIFF, I will not be satisfied with my music technology.
posted by the warrior bard at 11:13 AM
76 Comments:
I don't think God willed this.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 11:16:00 AM
The Matrix made me do it. Entropy supersedes order.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 11:17:00 AM
EXT. SIDEWALK - DAY
A horde of zombie horses takes to the streets, bearing down on an angry mob with literal axes to grind. The two forces clash in front of the vendor.
VENDOR
Son of a bitch.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 11:22:00 AM
I feel as though I just tossed a snowball off a mountaintop. Might as well sit back and enjoy the carnage.
Seriously, though, I need $50,000 to spend exclusively on hardware and software for my own studio. That would be so awesome. And I need a live duduk player.
"Oh, the pathos!"
The Captain might say that.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 11:24:00 AM
ZOMBIE HORSE LEADER:
You better ease up off my back before somethin' bad happen to you.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 11:25:00 AM
It would appear my boredom knows no bounds.
... to paraphrase Doc Holliday.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 11:30:00 AM
Well, see, there's your mistake. You just threw the snowball off the mountain, only for it to be dashed into icy bits on the rocks below.
I, however, rolled the snowball down the mountain, where it eventually picked up speed and mass, soon growing large enough that I invented the game Katamari Damacy.
Or I destroyed a city.
Or I didn't do any of that, and maybe I stayed home and played Katamari Damacy.
I don't own a Playstation.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 11:57:00 AM
"Do you listen to yourself when you talk?"
"I drift in and out."
Thursday, May 29, 2008 12:00:00 PM
"He really is in love with himself; I thought it was just a summer thing."
Thursday, May 29, 2008 12:15:00 PM
You know, this whole post reminds me of the time we ran in to that bounty hunter on Ord Mantell.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 2:44:00 PM
You know how you said don't go back to the original post? Well I couldn't help it. It's like the beginning of Cliffhanger when Stallone tells whatshername not to look down and she does. And then she dies.
That was a goddamned funny post.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 3:37:00 PM
You cheating bastard. Don't sway the vote. Just run with it.
Thursday, May 29, 2008 4:45:00 PM
I was gonna wait until somewhere around 30 to chime in, but then I thought...eh, fuck it. Here goes:
balls
Oh, and I sorta cheated too. I was tempted to post a fresh comment to the original one, but my fingers just couldn't push the keys! I always wondered how far that chick fell from the mountain top before Stallone couldn't see her anymore - you think he actually saw the splat?
Friday, May 30, 2008 1:25:00 AM
"You see that flash of light in the corner of your blog? That's this post's dissipation light. It just went into high gear."
Friday, May 30, 2008 10:23:00 AM
Damn it. The experiment is ruined.
When someone says "Don't look now, but..." EVERYONE at the table turns around to look at the exact same time.
What will happen now?
Friday, May 30, 2008 10:49:00 AM
Pubes.
Friday, May 30, 2008 10:49:00 AM
There's a bear shittin' everywhere!
Friday, May 30, 2008 11:02:00 AM
Fine, I’ll just synopsize the salient points of the original comment stream for My Kingdom for a Duduk:
About 50% of the Star Trek movies are good.
Everyone can poorly imitate William Shatner, even in text.
My blog demands too much upkeep.
The duduk is an awesome instrument.
By expressing frustration, one only contributes to it.
The Vendor debuts, inadvertently opening the door for the zombie horse to become a motif of the blog.
There. Now everyone knows. Ass.
Friday, May 30, 2008 11:08:00 AM
A Buddhist walks up to a hotdog vendor and says "Make me one with everything."
Friday, May 30, 2008 11:11:00 AM
*rimshot*
Friday, May 30, 2008 11:12:00 AM
Maybe I shouldn't have told you not to look. Maybe I should have just posted the exact post with the same title and no introduction. Too late.
Friday, May 30, 2008 11:17:00 AM
Somewhere, in an alternate universe, that's exactly what happened.
Friday, May 30, 2008 11:23:00 AM
Well, I finally caved and got a stupid ID so I could comment. Are you happy now, you bastard?
I just wanted to say that you’re insane. You know that, right? Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but… Jesus Christ you need help.
Friday, May 30, 2008 1:48:00 PM
And another poor soul is claimed by the blog.
Mmyyyy God... there's no stopping it... this terrible, unstoppable force cannot be stopped!
Friday, May 30, 2008 1:56:00 PM
"I think you're gonna need a bigger blog."
Friday, May 30, 2008 2:18:00 PM
Yeah, I complain about how not enough people show themselves to contribute to the comments yet complain about the direction, but maybe it's unwieldy enough as it is.
"Now nobody was the center of Fight Club except the two men fighting. The leader walked around in the crowd, out in the darkness."
Friday, May 30, 2008 2:26:00 PM
This just in from the Department of Redundancy Department:
there's no stopping it... this terrible, unstoppable force cannot be stopped!
I think for dialogue that bad you owe George Lucas a royalty.
Friday, May 30, 2008 2:41:00 PM
"Uh-oh, he's using the Chewbacca Defense!"
Friday, May 30, 2008 3:19:00 PM
"Here, look at the monkey. Look at the silly monkey!"
Friday, May 30, 2008 3:52:00 PM
(juror's head explodes)
Friday, May 30, 2008 6:00:00 PM
"Your Honor, ladies and gentleman of the audience, I don't think it's fair to call my clients frauds. Sure, the blackout was a big problem for everybody. I was trapped in an elevator for two hours and I had to make the whole time. But I don't blame them. Because one time, I turned into a dog and they helped me. Thank you."
Friday, May 30, 2008 6:04:00 PM
Great work Lewis, that was short...but pointless.
Friday, May 30, 2008 8:40:00 PM
Excuse me, Timmay sir...Yoda said something about Zombie Horses. I was wondering...what are Zombie Horses?
Friday, May 30, 2008 8:42:00 PM
EXT. CITY SIDEWALK - DAY
The sidewalks are thick with pedestrians, largely unaware of a stern looking man, late 50s, weaving through the early afternoon throngs like a gazelle through underbrush.
The well quaffed gentleman, certainly a senator or baron of industry, is followed by a nebbish fellow, a good head shorter and several pounds lighter. A lackey. He struggles to keep up, obviously not versed in the traffic patterns of post-lunch foot travel in the city.
Eventually the younger catches up to his superior, slightly winded.
LACKEY
Sir... the board called again. They’re very insistent. They need an answer regarding the Langstrom account by two o’clock... today.
SIR
Meat in a cup.
The lackey stops in his tracks. Puzzlement. He realizes his boss has continued on without him, and jogs to catch up, narrowly missing a woman pushing a stroller.
LACKEY
But, sir. The Langstrom account is Riley and Hughes largest. Responsible for over 63% of the firm’s income. Surely you don’t intend--
SIR
Meat in a cup.
LACKEY
What?
SIR
Meat. In a cup.
LACKEY
I’m--
SIR
Steaming meat.
LACKEY
I’m... afraid that I don’t understand sir.
Lackey motions to a clipboard in his hand, and offers a pen to the senior gentleman.
LACKEY (CONT’D)
Now, if you’ll just sign this and initial here and...
The older man waves off the proffered pen, and motions down the sidewalk.
LACKEY (CONT’D)
... here.
The CAMERA PANS a sees a nondescript white truck, the kind an ice-cream man might use.
SIR
Johnson--
LACKEY
It’s Nelson, sir.
SIR
Johnson, when I was a young lad, not much older than yourself, I was already a vice-president of a bank.
He turns to look at the younger man. Just staring blankly at him. Several moments of awkward silence follow.
LACKEY
I--
SIR
A big bank.
(sigh)
How old are you, Yakamoto?
LACKEY
I'm... twenty-two, sir...
SIR
I was a vice-president at the sweet tender age of thirty-three. So that makes you crap.
LACKEY
How does that--
SIR
Because I ate Meat in a Cup.
LACKEY
Umm--
SIR
Everyday for thirty-three years. Do you know long that is, Smith?
LACKEY
Uhhhhh...
SIR
Hmmm?
LACKEY
Thirty... tw--
SIR
In horse years?
LACKEY
(beat)
Horse?
SIR
Yes, horses. Equine domesticus are like mayflies, Gustafson. They live for twenty four hours. Or less. Depending on humidity.
(sighs)
You didn’t know that, did you son?
(squints)
Berkley?
LACKEY
Har... Harvard.
SIR
Damn shame. If only you had gone to an Ivy. Or ITT Technical Institute. Hell of a football team.
(chuckles)
Of course, the French call it soccer.
The executive turns abruptly and begins to stroll towards the white van.
As they approach, we can hear the muffled whinnies of horses. The van rocks a bit. A handful of people wait patiently in line to be served. Our duo joins them.
SIR (CONT’D)
Anyhow... MacNichol, was it?
LACKEY
It’s John-- no! It’s Nelson. Sir.
SIR
John Nelson, eh? Hmmm... Nope. Too Irish. But that will have to wait ‘til later. Anyhow, my father and I used to come down here every afternoon for a steaming cup of Meat in a Cup. Good God, that seems like it was so long ago.
(breathes in the air)
Ahhh. Back when all this was apple trees and vomitariums. Great big tall ones, as mighty as an oak.
Lackey simply stares at his boss, somewhat slack jawed. The older man simply stares blankly back at him.
A horse whinnies in the background.
The last fellow ahead of them in line pays for his sundry and turns to reveal an small Styrofoam cup. He cradles it, and exits frame, apparently quite satisfied.
LACKEY
Is this some sort of test?
SIR
Which one: the ninjas that have been trailing you, or the gauntlet of terror the typing pool is setting up back in your office?
LACKEY
What?
SIR
Nothing.
The executive realizes that they’re up next in line.
LACKEY
What? Wait, no--
The senior grabs his lackey by the shoulders, and jambs the youth ahead of him.
LACKEY (CONT’D)
The reason I asked is that this one time I was dated-raped by a starship, and I--
He shoots a glance upwards, and locks gaze with the thoroughly unimpressed eyes of THE VENDOR. The boy falls silent.
Another horse whinny.
SIR
Go ahead and order, Harrison.
VENDOR
What’ll be?
The sound of a large animal being clubbed to death. The van rocks for a moment. A mighty thud. Then stillness.
LACKEY
Ummmmmmm...
Lackey glances towards the menu. It says only:
“Meat in a Cup - $1.00 Steaming - .25 cents Extra”
LACKEY (CONT’D)
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
VENDOR
Can I make a suggestion? How about the--
LACKEY
Meat... in a Cup?
VENDOR
Good boy. You must be the employee of the year.
The vendor takes a cup off a rack of endless Styrofoam cups and turns to a shiny chrome machine, that looks very much like a soft serve ice cream dispenser.
SIR
(genuine laugh)
Don’t encourage him.
VENDOR
I’m not. That’s sarcasm.
More ruckus in the back of the vendor’s van. He finishes filling the small cup. The sounds of whinnies and furious beatings fills the area around the van like an brutal aural chaos.
LACKEY
(smiling)
So, uh, what’s the meat? In the cup?
The vendor freezes, the cup of meat just centimeters from the counter surface.
Silence.
The smile fades from the senior executive's face.
Looks of sadness and disappointment wash across the handful of patrons standing patiently in line behind our duo.
VENDOR
(narrows eyes0
What’s wrong with you?
LACKEY
What? I just--
VENDOR
(spiteful, mocking)
I just.
(normal)
You just took a big steaming cup of shit on everybody’s day. That’s what.
The patrons start reluctantly dispersing, heads hanging low.
SIR
(forlorn)
Calhoun... you’re... you’re fired. I’ll have the typing pool clean out your desk, ship the office supplies to your mother, and burn your personal effects.
(sighs)
Do you have a dog?
LACKEY
(sad)
No.
SIR
Well, we'll get you one.
(pause)
And then well have him burned too.
Looking broken and looking suddenly very, very weary, the old man walks out of frame.
LACKEY
But I--
SIR (O.C.)
But you nothing. You might as well have shouted out “Orange Cream Soda”.
Off-camera, men and women shriek and wail.
MAN (O.C.)
AHHHHHHHH! MY EYES! WHY LORD?! WHY?!
The vendor takes the cup of meat and throws it unceremoniously into a trash can behind counter. He starts closing up shop: wiping down the counter first, and then straightening the stocks of cups.
VENDOR
You know, if you had just tasted it, you would have known. The sweetness.
LACKEY
I didn’t kn--
VENDOR
You’re right. And you never will.
The young former-executive assistant stares at his shoes in silence.
VENDOR (CONT’D)
Maybe you’d be happier down at Mr. Chicken. It’s two blocks over on Hanover Street. They have crispy tenders, honey mustard sauce... and a guy... in a chicken suit.
LACKEY
A guy in a chicken suit?
VENDOR
I don’t want to see your face in my line again. Got it?
And with that, he slams the window shut.
As the until-recently-lackey walks slump-shouldered away, the vendor’s van fires up, and rumbles into the mid-afternoon sun.
There are no markings on the van. No flashy signs. No trashy advertisements. But some people just know where to go to get something good. And they go there over and over and over and over and over again.
Friday, May 30, 2008 8:47:00 PM
What... the hell... just happened?
Saturday, May 31, 2008 12:07:00 AM
Well, it’s nice to know I’m in good company with the captain here. But I’m with the pikey on this… the zombie horse needs to be addressed. How many zombie horses are there, anyway? I thought it was just the one, but then there’s a horde? Is that because the zombie horse was the head zombie, and time has elapsed for him to infect an entire population of zombie horses?
I’m guessing there’s some lost chapter of the Kobayashi Maru date-rape thriller in which the zombie horse appears. I would assume that the girl wakes up in an alley somewhere just as the Kobayashi Maru is carrying her up the steps to his shitty apartment. She gains control of her senses and motor skills, and a struggle ensues. The zombie horse sneaks up on them both from behind the dumpster and has his way with both of them. Am I close?
That begs the question… why would a zombie horse be a sex predator, too, and not just in it for the brains? Why not horse brains, anyway? And just how decayed is the zombie horse penis? I mean, does the plumbing work? I guess rigor mortis helps move things along, but what kind of sex predator would have a non-working penis?
Saturday, May 31, 2008 2:42:00 AM
Who are you people?
Saturday, May 31, 2008 8:59:00 AM
Juliosus, we are those who did not see lightning.
Saturday, May 31, 2008 9:50:00 AM
Page 62
You wake in an empty alley. You are being carried. You also note that you are now a girl.
"That's one hell of a date rape drug", you think to yourself.
The Kobayashi Maru looms over you, then effortlessly sweeps you up into her arms. In short order, she's carrying you up the fire escape of some shabby apartment building.
"The Kobayashi Maru's lair", you realize, "it all makes sense now. This is what Johansen was trying to warn me about."
Do you try to break free from the Kobayashi Maru's arms? Turn to page 96.
Or do you pretend that you're still drugged, in order to see the Kobayashi Maru's lair? Turn to page 542.
Saturday, May 31, 2008 9:56:00 AM
Page 542
Curiosity gets the best of you, and you let the Kobayashi Maru take you inside its lair. You relax your muscles, continuing the façade but ready to spring at any second.
The apartment isn’t nearly as shitty as it looked from outside. It’s a giant loft apartment (what did you expect from a starship?) filled with modern furniture and décor—the kind of simple yet sleek, elegant, and dignified look you’d expect Jason Statham’s apartment to look like. That’s right, Jason Statham again. Because he was featured in an article “The Action Hero’s Launch Pad,” because his house is just as sexy as he is. I’m not gay.
You wobble over to the couch and collapse, spread-eagle. The Kobayashi Maru walks over to the iPod surround sound system and puts on some smooth jazz and opens the mini bar strategically positioned beneath it. Because the Kobayashi Maru may be a date-rapist, but that doesn’t mean it can’t romance you in style once it has you where it wants you, baby.
Identical Sextuplet Croatian Circus Trapeze Artists burst into the room, flailing some of those neon green glow sticks stoners always have at college mixers. They are chanting “Row Row Row Your Boat” in Pig-Latin, and one of them knocks an off-white lamp onto the carpet, shattering it to reveal a Tonka truck made of human toenail clippings.
The Kobayashi Maru is suddenly arguing with them about how they will get their money by next week. The argument is becoming very heated, and one of the sextuplets pulls a knife on the Kobayashi Maru. The Kobayashi Maru, being Asian, reacts instantly and subdues the knife-wielding acrobat.
That’s when the Kool-Aid guy bursts into the room with a tommy gun.
You roll off the couch and use the coffee table for cover as you slip into the dining room. There is a stairs leading down, a hallway leading to the back, and a Mentos sitting on the table, thumping like a heartbeat.
If you take the stairs, turn to page 44.
If you take the hallway, turn to page 100.
If you take the Mentos, turn to page 8,913.
Saturday, May 31, 2008 10:41:00 AM
So much for the truth behind the zombie horse. I must be way off then. Maybe none of it makes sense.
Still, I’d rather be date-raped by the Kobayashi Maru than the Genesis missile. It would sure suck to have your rectal cavity reconfigured on a molecular level to support a thriving ecosystem. Not to mention it would wipe out all existing life there!
I knew a Nelson once, but he didn’t play Katamari Damacy. In fact, he wasn’t even a Star Trek fan. He mostly just destroyed cities. On the other hand, Nelson did have a horse penis… and it did sneak up on people. Maybe HE was the zombie horse?! Except his name wasn’t Nelson, it was Johnson.
Johnson.
heh heh…
Saturday, May 31, 2008 12:09:00 PM
Johnson. Like a penis.
Saturday, May 31, 2008 12:10:00 PM
And Johnson and Nelson are names the captain used!
THAT MAKES IT FUNNY! YAY!
Saturday, May 31, 2008 12:11:00 PM
Well I’m glad I could help pad your comments to beat the previous 78.
Saturday, May 31, 2008 12:12:00 PM
Dude. First of all, it’s the Captain. It’s capitalized. Because he’s THE captain. The Captain. Not the captain. Only the Captain may use the lower-cased captain.
Second, I don’t WANT padded comments! The purpose was not to exceed 78 comments, the purpose was to observe the nature of the blog. The nature seems to be that the comments chaotically generate themselves, regardless of the topic of the post. The comments just sort of exist, and they gravitate around a few basic principles. I’m trying to find out what those principles are. Like I said about entropy.
So far, I think the nature of the beast can be noted as:
1) Don’t try to force it. Quality is never contrived.
2) It’s male-dominated, therefore movie quotes and potty humor are supreme.
3) It’s musician-dominated, therefore spiteful arguments of taste will not only appear out of nowhere, but they will escalate quickly.
4) No matter what, very few things can actually rouse juliosus from his non-commenting, secluded, dark corner, where he smokes his pipe and observes all with a careful eye.
Men have wasted their entire lives, have gone completely mad, to discover the nature of the blog. Am I in danger of falling into this trap?
Saturday, May 31, 2008 12:27:00 PM
John Cage was a brilliant composer.
Saturday, May 31, 2008 7:30:00 PM
George Bush is a great president.
Saturday, May 31, 2008 11:41:00 PM
Great president, or greatest president?
I suppose one could define greatness on a sliding, backward scale
Sunday, June 01, 2008 10:18:00 AM
To paraphrase comedian Patton Oswalt in 2003 (regarding the impending election):
I don't think Bush wants to be President. I think he wants to be The Last President.
He still has a few months to get his shit together and accomplish that goal.
Fingers crossed.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 7:21:00 PM
Hmmm… interesting. Your intentions with that statement, warrior bard, are open to interpretation. Did you use it as a retort as a diversion, to start a fight? Did you say it with tongue in cheek, coyly suggesting that both statements are just plain wrong? Did you mean to say that you actually believe what you are saying but you know it is just as offensive to others as the Cage comment is to you? Or are you just trying to further prove your formula?
I can see some similarities between John Cage and George Dubya. They’re both controversial visionaries—that’s right, visionaries. Question is, what kind of weird “vision” are they seeing? Second, neither one gives a shit about what people think of them, they just continue to do their own thing and let history and the yuppie public decide for themselves. Furthermore, George Bush and John Cage were both part of the DC Justice League from 1976-1982. Also, “John Cage” is an anagram for “Geo Chanj.” Think about it. Goerge Bush is chanjing the earth. The music of John Cage is all an attempt to brainwash the public in preparation for the president’s secret terra-forming project.
Both figures have devout, infuckinsane followers who gleefully declare that they are the second coming of Christ.
Seriously, though, by decrying the fallacies of John Cage, you are playing right into the hands of his proponents. “Aha, see, he’s getting you to define what you think ‘music’ is. That’s all he’s about! Haha, we win! We’re smarter than thee!”
It’s like in South Park, when Stan’s dad goes to AA meetings. If you spend all your time trying to avoid something, it’s still controlling your life. Have a drink once in a while if that’s what you like, just know when to stop. Moderation.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 7:35:00 PM
Here’s an idea for a John Cage piece:
Four pianos in a row, in front of a big wall of plywood with posters of the Mona Lisa wallpapering it. Each of the four pianists drops trou and starts humping the shit out of the pianos. The conductor just screams quotes from Spartacus while hurling poop at the wall behind the pianos. Every time poop accidentally hits a pianist, a naked amputee crawls out from backstage and forms a pile in front of the pianos. At exactly seven minites and twenty-two seconds, the lights go down and the action stops… followed by a nuclear detonation.
How’s that? Is that music? Why or why not? Discuss.
We’ll take it from here, warrior bard. We’ll wake you up when it’s over. Just kick back in your cushy little realm of plausible deniability, because I ain’t got nothin’ to lose!
I think I found my niche.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 7:41:00 PM
I can’t believe I’m being challenged by a guy in a chicken suit. Is this where we engage in a Family Guy fight scene across the entire city?
Everyone finds their niche on this blog. That’s why I hate it. It’s now a full-blown exploration of insanity.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 10:42:00 PM
I’m just here to explore the dimensions of insanity that you are unable or unwilling to see for yourself.
I think you should spend an entire month making posts from the point of view of the Vendor. That would be awesome. Ah, but you won’t explore that dimension of insanity. See? You should think about it.
I wish you would use some of my ideas for blog posts. Your problem is that you have standards. You need to let go of that. I feel the conflict in you. Give yourself to the blog.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:06:00 PM
NO! No requests! Those have only backfired for me. Besides, all your ideas are too out-there, even for me. You might want to check out Julio’s blog.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:16:00 PM
Oh, I’ve been to Julio’s blog.
Maybe Julio and I have more in common than you think.
Maybe there we can all learn more about the art of crazy.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:19:00 PM
Page 8,913
You pick up the Mentos from the tabletop, listen to the thump-thump of its apparent heartbeat, and pop it in your mouth.
Soon, the fighting in the next room stops, and the windows begin to rattle. Wondering if it is an earthquake or if there is something massive approaching from a distance, you run outside. The Identical Sextuplet Croatian Trapeze Artists, the Kool-Aid guy, and the Kobayashi Maru join you, forgetting their quarrels.
You all run out into the street where a growing number of other residents and party-goers are standing, jaws agape, faces slack in wonderment, all eyes fixed on the western horizon where the sun is rapidly rising.
Rising. From the west.
The clouds are passing overhead at impossible velocities, and the moon is shining brightly as well, and twice as big as you’ve ever seen it. The moon begins to fracture, scattering across the sky, and by now the sun is nearly directly overhead, blinding your view of the shattering moon.
And then the earth beneath your feet is torn upward, ripped from the planet by such a terrible force that you are killed instantly.
You are dead. And so is everyone else. That’s what you get for eating an unwrapped Mentos that was just sitting on the kitchen table of a date rapist. And it was beating. What did you think was going to happen? Especially in a choose-your-own-adventure, where every other turn leads to inexplicable death. It sucks. Just go back to the previous page and make a different choice. That’s what everyone else does.
Loser.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:31:00 PM
No, Julio's not the crazy one. He really did see lightning, you know. He's not making it up. It happened.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:31:00 PM
The crazy one? Just one?
Which one of us is supposed to be the crazy one? Can we both be that removed from reality? Am I the drab one, or are you?
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:35:00 PM
Maybe Julio and I have more in common than you think…
Maybe Julio and I have more in common than you think…
Maybe Julio and I have more in common than you think…
It all makes sense now…
I had a nightmare about a man-sized chicken hijacking the bus and driving it off a cliff. I dreamed I tried to wrestle the steering wheel away from him, but I was too late. As everyone on the bus screamed in mortal terror, I looked into the eyes of the other white meat, and realized it wasn’t a real chicken. It was a guy in a suit.
A guy in a chicken suit.
Always appearing mysteriously, offering me tenders with honey mustard, and clucking every time I accepted. That’s how the dreams began… but a guy in a chicken suit would become gradually more sinister. People would ask if I knew him, and I would shrug and reply, “I don’t know… it’s just… a guy in a chicken suit.”
At first, he was friendly and harmless. Then the taunting began, and before I knew it he was hijacking buses like conversations and steering them in horrifying directions.
A guy in a chicken suit was taking over.
I awoke in a cold sweat. I threw off the comforter and fumbled around for the light. I went to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. I looked in the mirror and jumped—I whirled around, but there was no zombie horse there. It was just my imagination.
Then I noticed yellow feathers in the bathtub. No, not just the bathtub. There was a trail. A trail of feathers leading down the hall and back into my room.
Bewildered and frantic, I found my cell phone and called a guy in a chicken suit.
No answer.
From behind, a familiar voice startled me: “What are you doing in my room?”
I turned and found myself staring into those bizarre, black eyes. It was a guy in a chicken suit, and he was holding a bucket of crispy tenders.
“Your room?!” I asked. My head hurt.
And then all the clues came flooding back to me.
“I just wanted to say that you’re insane. You know that, right? Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but… *Jesus Christ* you need help.”
“I’m just here to explore the dimensions of insanity that you are unable or unwilling to see for yourself.”
“I wish you would use some of *my* ideas for blog posts. Your problem is that you have standards. You need to let go of that. I feel the conflict in you. Give yourself to the blog.”
“Maybe Julio and I have more in common than you think.”
“Which one of us is supposed to be the crazy one? Can we *both* be that removed from reality? Am I the drab one, or are you?”
Then I recalled a certain post on Julio’s blog… when I tried to push his buttons by padding the comments and inciting others to do the same so we could break 100. Julio used an alter-ego handle to participate while keeping himself at a safe distance. He did it just to mess with me. To mess with me.
To mess with me…
Mess with me…
“Am I the drab one, or are you?”
“Drab” is “bard” spelled backwards!
And then my own words echoed in my mind:
“It would appear my boredom knows no bounds.”
Swallowing with apprehension, I pulled off the mask of a guy in a chicken suit. The face underneath was… my own.
I am a guy in a chicken suit!
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:37:00 PM
Now, when you say "saw lightning" are you suggesting it literally or in a John-Travolta-Phenomenon kind of way it which it completely altered his state of being?
Just asking for clarity.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:37:00 PM
We are truly more bored than we realized, aren’t we?
Well done, warrior bard. Well done. You figured it out.
You were frustrated by the paradox of the blog: you wanted to amuse yourself as well as others, but you didn’t want to alienate your readership or garner negative attention from those whose senses of humor are not as expansive as your own. You were crippled by your own inhibitions, yet you wanted to see what the blog could do.
That’s where I came in. You created me out of necessity. I appeared when the blog reached its limit for the warrior bard’s insanity, to do what you could not do yourself: I showed you that the blog can be fun, if only you weren’t self-conscious and trying to keep everyone satisfied. I am the chaos within you, the natural inclination to follow wherever the wind takes you. I am your Dark Phoenix, your Gollum. And I have played my part.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:38:00 PM
So what happens next?
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:39:00 PM
I am Jack's inner monoblog.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:39:00 PM
What happens next?
I fade into the night, and you go back to blogging, but with a better attitude. At least don’t worry about having “too much” fun with it. The people who can’t keep up will tune out and come back when the post speaks to them. Like the Captain said, all those who read our blog will come back over and over and over and over again. Do what you want, because we’re more entertaining than we give ourselves credit sometimes.
That was the real experiment.
But you knew that, didn’t you.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:39:00 PM
Lesson learned. Thank you, chicken suit guy.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:40:00 PM
All right. Now, to return this costume to the rental agency.
God we’re bored.
Farewell.
----------------------------------------
Crossfade to:
EXT. PARKING LOT – DAWN
Dan (Kline Too) snarls, running in slow motion towards the camera.
It was night a second ago, but inconsistent editing requires a suspension of disbelief as the sun is now coming up.
The camera cuts to a distant, overhead shot of the entire parking lot as the light of dawn washes over hundreds of thoroughly-waxed designer sports cars and rabbit-lizard hybrids closing in around the British actors, Dan (Kline Too), Tim, Hilda, and Bob.
The camera swoops down to ground level far too fast to be a real camera shot—obviously CGI, breaking the fourth wall by zooming rapidly between cars and through windshields on approach to the point of clashing between the polar bear and Dan (Kline Too).
They punch each other, and the camera suddenly comes to a jarring halt as super-ultra-slow-motion depicts the ripples in the polar bear’s fur upon impact.
The camera swoops back up to a directly-overhead shot of the two being thrown back simultaneously.
Finally, the camera returns to a more sensible narrative. The polar bear gets up to its feet again, painfully. It snarls at Dan (Kline Too).
The polar bear’s abdomen bursts open, spraying viscera all over the cars and Dan (Kline Too) just as the others catch up with him.
Out of the polar bear’s stomach, Dan comes barreling out, to a rolling stop at Dan (Kline Too)’s feet. He gets up and wipes entrails off of him.
HILDA
Vat ze fokk?
DAN
What the fuck?
DAN (KLINE TOO)
What the fuck?
KEVIN KLINE
NOOO!! Not the polar bear!!
Hilda looks conflicted as she looks back and forth from one Dan to another. She holds up a gun in each hand, pointing at both Dans.
HILDA
I vant some answers!
TIM
Yeah, that would be nice.
BOB
(still an inch tall, but he is shrinking slowly to a half-inch)
Don’t… Hilda… don’t do it… you NEED to listen to me… right NOW… please, you’re losing ground. The progress is being undone…
DAN
I don’t know what the fuck is going on! I was busy storyboarding The Hollow, and I took a break to write an email declining to attend Tim’s Trilogy Day, and that’s the last thing I remember. Why the fuck was I in this polar bear’s stomach?!
HILDA
But… you vent vith ME to ze trilogy!
DAN (KLINE TOO)
Wait. That was me.
KEVIN KLINE
But you’re ME!
KLINE AS WELL
And me! Why would there be two Dans?
KEVIN KLINE
Why are there so many of US?
RICARDO MONTOBAN
Why the fuck not.
HILDA
No! Vat about ze trilogy? Dan didn’t go, so he vas replaced?! Vat possible purpose would zat serve!
DAN
Of course I wouldn’t go. The trilogy he planned was Superman III, Superman IV, and Getting Even With Dad II: Cruise Control. Why the hell would I want to watch those gawd-awful creations?
HILDA
(turns to Tim, furious)
ZAT vas ze third movie?! Vat is ze matter vith you?!
Hilda socks him in the face. Tim reels backwards, dazed. He puts a hand to his nose and looks at the blood on his fingers.
DAN
Wait a minute…
Dan peers closer to Tim’s bloody nose. There is a seam on his nosebridge. Dan pulls hard on Tim’s nose, and his face comes off to reveal:
A CHICKEN IN A GUY SUIT
Damn you. I was having fun.
DAN (KLINE TOO)
It was YOU?! What the fuck is going ON?! You mean to tell me that I am a doppelganger?!
KEVIN KLINE
Of who, Dan or me?
KLINE AS WELL
Wait a second, wait a second--
BOB
Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!
DAN
The chicken was behind it all? How the fuck does THAT work?!
A CHICKEN IN A GUY SUIT
Yes, it’s true. Everything since Dan’s abduction. It was total insanity, wasn’t it?.
(grins, self-satisfied)
While we’re here, does anybody want some chicken tenders?
DAN
I… am going… to kill you.
A Chicken In A Guy Suit opens his concessions case and hands out condiments. He holds up a bottle.
A CHICKEN IN A GUY SUIT
I also have beverages.
HILDA
Vat is zat?
Hilda looks closer to read the label.
HILDA
Orange cream soda?
Everyone but Hilda reacts: some gasp in horror, some clutch their chests, and almost all of them burst into tears, wailing uncontrollably. Dan (Kline Too) grabs one of Hilda’s guns and blows his own brains out. The rabbit lizards buck their goblin riders off and stampede.
HILDA
Vat? Vat did I say?!
BOB
No! NOOOO! You should have listened to me!
Bob shrinks down to an infinitesimally small point, followed by a terrible CRACK that echoes across the parking lot.
CUT TO:
EXT. OCEAN – MIDDAY
At an indeterminate point in the future, the Vendor and the Zombie Horse with Warwick Davis and a dead Patrick Stewart still inside stand at the port railing of a cruise ship.
VENDOR
Sure is a beautiful day.
WARWICK DAVIS
Yeah. It’s great to get away from the grind. Do you think we’ve seen the last of the British Actors Coalition? I’d like to think that my services will be needed in the future. We still haven’t achieved out objective.
VENDOR
I don’t want to talk about it.
CUT TO:
INT. RICARDO MONTOBAN’S HOME – LIVING ROOM
In a luxurious room with a full view of the island shore, Rocardo Montoban hands an orange cream soda to A Chicken In A Guy Suit, who is sitting in a recliner in front of the blank 100-inch screen.
RICARDO MONTOBAN
There you go, my friend.
Montoban then sits down with a relaxed sigh and reaches for the remote, sitting next to a bucket of crispy tenders and honey mustard.
A CHICKEN IN A GUY SUIT
Are we ready?
RICARDO MONTOBAN
I think so. Let’s get this movie started.
Ricardo Montoban pushes a button on the remote and the blinds close. He pushes another to turn on the TV and Live Free or Die Hard begins playing.
THE END.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:42:00 PM
Thanks for fucking up the pacing of the revelation.
Herr.
Sunday, June 01, 2008 11:47:00 PM
Fuck YOU...Fuck YOU...Fuck YOU...Fuck YOU...You're cool...Fuck you, I'm OUT!!!
Monday, June 02, 2008 2:28:00 AM
HOLY SHIT! I got #69 again - it's destiny I tell ya!
Monday, June 02, 2008 2:31:00 AM
I'm not sure where the confusion lies. I fucking saw a damn lightning bolt.
Or, perhaps there is more...
Monday, June 02, 2008 12:28:00 PM
CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.
Monoblog.
Hilarious.
Monday, June 02, 2008 1:29:00 PM
It's good to know my efforts were completely overlooked.
The definition of "underwhelmed."
Monday, June 02, 2008 1:58:00 PM
Fine, here you go:
Once upon a time, on a dark and stormy Friday night, several grad students went to El Zarape's for dinner and a whooooole buncha frozen Margaritas.
Four there were, four out of six office mates. One of the missing office mates was a total prick his whole life, and was therefore not invited to the office party. The other was busy performing in a symphony or something, and was unable to attend.
Through the course of the outing, more and more tequila was imbibed, and more voice mails were left to the Missing One, voice mails left from three different phones.
The four heroes would pass their phones around so that everyone would get a chance to ramble on each other's phones, adding untold layers of confusion to the mix: it mattered not whose phone it was, for all were heard from each.
Out the window of the booth, while Julio was speaking into the phone, he saw lightning. He said, mid-sentence, "I saw lightning." And later, in another message, I said, "Julio saw lightning." Each of us kept re-using that element in our drunken voice mails to our absent comrade.
By the time she got out of the concert and checked her voice mail, there were eighteen messages in all.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Julio saw lightning.
Monday, June 02, 2008 2:04:00 PM
Now you know.
Monday, June 02, 2008 2:04:00 PM
And knowing is half the battle!!
G.I. JOE!!!!!
Monday, June 02, 2008 2:04:00 PM
And now, just to be a dick, I am disabling comments at 77. We will not pass the previous record of 78. We will not even tie. Unless someone can slip in a comment in the time it takes me to log in and disable comments, the meter stands at 77.
I win.
Monday, June 02, 2008 2:05:00 PM
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