WARNING

Possible side effects may include:

• Sleeplessness.
• Genital purpling.
• Red, swollen ear-holes.
• Unexpected, explosive, mind-melting diarrhea.
• Vomiting things you know for a fact that you never ate.
• Your bones slowly turning into caramel.
• Believing that you are a reincarnated Egyptian god.
• Terminally itchy leg-pits.
• Believing in mermaids.
• Bowel movements that smell like corn dogs and Mountain Dew.
• Cotton candy teeth.
• Feeling like there is a little person living inside of you who can only scream horrible things like all of the time as loud as he can.
• Lady Gaga-itis.
• Inability to call people by their real names, insisting instead to call them by the names of characters from the show Taxi.
• Farts from Hell.

If your erection lasts for more than 4 days, please consult your physician, guru or witch doctor. Also, you are probably dead.

Last-Minute Treat

Okay, so I had this mix sot of almost finished for a while and figured I missed my window. But then I changed my mind. Boo!

Did I scare you that time? No? Well, here's your Halloween treat anyway, Halloweenie:


And yeah, that's Count Cool Rider on the cover. I keep it real. Download it here.

You can always download these blood-curdling compilations as well:


Ping-O-Ween and Spooky Scary.

Have a great Halloween. And also ...

BOO!

(Did I scare you that time?)

Haiku Friday - Funeral Face

I came across a
Long funeral procession.
Should I be stopping?

Halloweenhead

Halloween is a week away. which means that ghosts, monsters and devils will come around, looking for free candy. Dang socialists. Anyway, I made a mix in honor of All Hallows Eve.



Features songs from Gnarls Barkley, of Montreal, the Ramones, Suicide, the Misfits, and others. It's some ghoulish business. Download it here. Happy haunting, kiddies.

Conan the Brainbarian

So John posted a link to an article about creativity which says, basically, that it's all about routine. That the trick to doing it (whatever "it" is) is just, y'know, actually doing it. So I'm just going to do this blog thing. I'm not going to over-think it or whine if it's not coming and just do it. I'm going to try and be as regular as Metamucil, whether each post is killer or not, because I owe it to the Internet. I owe it to you. I owe it to America.

Ray Bradbury, in his excellent book on writing Zen In the Art Of Writing, talks about his secret to creativity (which is very similar to what Graham Greene is quoted as saying in the linked essay and also similar to the advice given by Chris yesterday): If you want to be a good writer (or blogger or designer or painter or accountant or alligator wrestler), do it and do it Every. Single. Day.

That's it. That's the secret.

Bradbury mentions that the stuff he writes daily is sometimes not very good, but the good stuff comes because of the continual "practicing", for lack of a better word, of the art. Because whatever muscle you're working when you work on whatever it is you're working on (hooray for convoluted sentences!) is being continually flexed, exercised, strengthened.

So yeah, let's get mind-buff. Operation: Shut Up And Just Do It You Crybaby! is in full effect. Who's with me? Let's rock some mamma-jammin' skulls:



Thanks to all of your for your support. You guys rock like heavy metal played by killer zombie aliens from the flaming planet Rawck which orbits the dying star Rowl in a universe full of mythical beasts with unpronounceable names. Forever & ever.

Abraham, Zombies & John

John Kendall is a man of action. While the rest if us are sitting around, thinking to ourselves, "Man, I should really print out that D.I.Y. Abe Dylan/I posted and take some awesome/hilarious pictures," John Kendall is out there doing it. Because that's the kind of man he is. Here's John's D.I.Y. Abe getting attacked by zombies:



Excellent. Has anybody else done one of these yet? I'm doing one this weekend for sure.

Also, I just swatted at a fly that landed on my monitor and I think I killed it, but I don't see a corpse, so I'm unable to determine it's vital status. Should I presume the little fella dead, or do I wait a few days before notifying the authorities/making funeral arrangements? I have no idea what the protocol is here.

Oh, never mind. A fly just buzzed past me. Looked like the same one. Segmented eyes. Sucker face. Vaguely poo-y smell. I guess I've got some killin' to do tonight.

Deaf, Dumb and Blind Pinball Kid

I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I managed to forget just how much I love the Flaming Lips. I realize that this is unacceptable. I was severely chagrined when I stumbled on this footage of them rehearsing some Who songs for an upcoming celebration. Oh man, they are the bestest. If you haven't seen them live, then you are not alive. You are dead. Like a zombie. Or Dracula. Or Chewbacca after that moon got dropped on him in that one Star Wars book.




Via You Ain't No Picasso.

When I Drive Past the Stop N' Shop With My Radio On, I Am Like A Roadrunner

Holy. Crap. Guess who I just bought tickets to go see on March 10th at the Grog Shop?

I assure you that this is a very big deal. It's sort of like seeing, I dunno, Elvis. Only cooler. And not dead, of course. Though that might be pretty awesome/hilarious: a Zombie Elvis concert? He shakes his hips and like, pieces start falling off and stuff? Funny! Would you go to a Zombie Elvis concert? I think I would. Heck, I know I would. And I don't even like Elvis.

The only way this could be cooler would be if David Byrne were playing with him. Or if it were a Modern Lovers show circa 1972.

But I will take what I can get.

Nuggets From My Mind Box

I have a big old monster of a post in the works, so I'll just leave you with some little tidbits in the meantime:

* If you want your three-year-old to sleep like a rock, make her Christmas carol at an old folks home. Those places are like saunas with slightly less gross naked old people.

* I am terrified of old folks homes. And snakes.

* Being a Mormon myself, I find this whole Mitt Romney thing to be a little surreal. It's sort of like walking into a room and overhearing people talking candidly about you. Some of what they say is right on, some of it is totally weird and some is downright false and you're left thinking, "is that what people really think of me?" Makes you feel a little self conscious.

* Patti's post made me want some Red Vines real bad.

* If you're ever stuck trying to think of something funny to say, find a way to use the words "elven cloak" in a sentence. Guaranteed laughs or your money back. This also works with the word "crack."

* I want to eat little chocolate donuts every day of my life.

* When in doubt, kick it in the nards as hard as you can. Works for me.

* What's the point of poodles?

* Of all of the ways you can die, I think the worst would be to be eaten alive by naked mole rats. Or by naked old people.

* I think John Shaft could easily kick Chuck Norris' behind, any day.

* This is the cutest thing I have ever seen since that time I saw a kitten with butterfly wings and a halo riding a unicorn through a land of rainbows and cherubs.

And finally...

* There's no such thing as too much gravy.

Until next time, cats & kittens.

No Woman, No Cry

When I die, I request that my headstone read thusly:

Also, can you book Grand Funk Railroad to play "We're An American Band" as they lower the casket? That would be boss. If you could get the actual living members of Grand Funk, that'd be preferable, but I'd settle for a cover band. I mean, I can't really complain if it's not the actual "American Band," can I?

Thank you, and will see you on the other side. I will save you a seat if it's not too crowded. I will be wearing a green velvet suit and matching pants.

Fake tombstone courtesy of this link.

MeTube

If I had a television show, it would be about a guy. With a smart-aleck sidekick. They solve mysteries. And fight Martians. And dinosaurs. Maybe zombies. They also play saxophone. And they breakdance when they solve a mystery. And they also drive a talking car. From the future.

Also, there are werewolves. And a leggy blonde girl who is also smart.

My show would be called the Impossible Adventures of Mister Awesome and His Friend and would star Bill Murray as the guy and younger Bill Murray as the sidekick. Bob Denver would star as the voice of the car. The music would be provided by Miami Sound Machine.

Fortunately, such a show could never exist. Because it would shred the very fabric of reality with its amazingness were it to ever air.

I Need To Finish Book Seven So That I Can Start Book Seven (or) A Book Report

We bought Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at Target yesterday afternoon (sorry folks, but the only midnight release I ever attended was for Pearl Jam's Vs. album way back in prehistoric times. Hooray for grunge!). I'm excited to read it, but I feel no real compulsion to tear through it. I'd rather savor it, because let's be honest, I most likely won't be reading them again anytime soon and once it's over, it's over. They're great books and all, but... well, it's time to say "goodbye." At least until Sadie's ready to read them.

I will say this, though: I am deathly afraid that I will wait for a little while to read it and some poo-poo head will spoil it. So I guess I do have a weird compulsion to finish it.

Dang it.

At least I'm not a total bad sport and just reading the last four pages in the store like some old fart yesterday. Yeesh. Some people...

Anyway, I can't really start it because I am still working through book seven of the Dark Tower saga, which is no small feat. The thing is like... over an inch and three-quarters thick. And this is the little mass market paperback version. If you can lift the hardcover, then you are the rightful heir to King Arthur's throne and some crazy lady will come out of the water and give you a sword and you can usher in a new age for Avalon. The unsold copies were used as bricks. On the pyramids. My copy is 1045 pages long. I'm on page 459, so... almost halfway?

So far it's a bloody, profane epic, full of, well, everything a blue-blooded American boy would like: gunslingers, robots, werespiders, time travel, stacked dimensions, tough characters, high stakes and blood blood blood. It's the very grown-up cousin to the Harry Potter series, both of whom look to old Grandpa Tolkien, though King's books moreso. It's not a large leap from Aragon/Strider to Roland Deschain, Sauron to the Red King. Heck, this book even has a sad little misshapen being following the fellowship as they quest deep into the heart of evil. Sound familiar, my preciousss?

But where the Lord of the Rings saga always showed war as a horrific, terrible thing, the Dark Tower books wallow in the violence. It's like Peter Jackson lost the job of adapting Tolkien's masterpiece to Sam Peckinpah's reanimated corpse. And it works, for the most part.

It's in no way perfect, but King's love for these characters, this story as well as story and characters in general (the whole thing is a treatise on creativity, in the end, and links all of his work together as one cohesive universe), oozes off of every page. It's like King made a list of everything he's ever loved about fiction and found a glorious pulp story to hang it all on. It's not for everyone (it's a pretty solid "R," make no mistake), heck, I'm not even sure it's for me, but it's a significant work and, in the end, I think I'll be glad I worked through it. If only to have read a book where the plot from Seven Samurai is reworked with cowboys and robots. Yeah. You read that right.

In other news, I can't believe I just posted a huge book report on my blog. [sigh] I am such a nerd.

Uncle Sam Here...

Reminding you to vote for your favorite in the Battle of the UnBands. The posts to comment on is here. So far the Pink Barbarians have two, count 'em two, votes and Hamburger Helper has one. The voting booths close on Monday, so get in there and let your voice be heard! (Wow, this has been quite the political week for me hasn't it?)