A half-baked story

Where does my mind come up with this shit.

I present, the Mad Baker of Calgary:

"I’m not much on story-telling but I wasn’t about to let some panty-waist creampuff writer turn mine into some heartfelt loaf of crap.  I am Pillsbry, the Mad Baker of Calgary.  I single-handedly took down an army of Debrite soldiers with a combination of hard-crusted determination, yeasty physical strength and salt to taste.  I’ll spare you the floury prose.  I’m a hero to artisans of baked goods the world over."

What's up, dog?

Get it? What's up, dog?

Yoga joke.  Because I'm such a fucking yoga freak now.  Not at all.

But I did yoga today and it prompted me to write a THIRD entry, because my life is boring.

I'll tell you something, this yoga stuff is interesting.  It's spread pretty far pretty fast.  It seems like they're using it for everything.  Learn to cook better through yoga! Dying of stab wounds? Try Yoga! Lost your faith? Yoga it out! Flesh-eating bacteria? You're gonna Yoga that shit up.

And I'm not big on fads, they tend to very quickly outgrow their usefulness.  See: Organic.  But making people step out and do some physical activity, get in touch with their bodies and not be afraid to relax for a few minutes...that I have to give props to.

I had a weird moment in yoga today where I had to cradle my leg close to my chest.  The feeling was not unlike being stuck in a small room with someone you don't know very well.  I was like "Hey, what's up, leg.  Nice...uh...weather here, right? Yeah, any plans for the holidays?"

I realize we don't get a chance to talk to our bodies often.  Just like we don't get the chance to talk to our cars or screwdrivers.  It's kind of a means to an end.  Our bodies are there to satisfy the brain's desires.  Get us from point A to point B, make us feel good about buying an expensive dinner because, hell, at least we got sex out of it.  In fact, some times it seems like we're at odds.  My body wants to sleep, but I really just want to go to this party.  My body is hungry, but, goddammit, you just ate an hour ago.

I think we need the time with our body.
Look at your hands.
See the scar, there
The one you got making a sandwich
But you told that girl last night was from a knife fight.
"Very small knives"
Look, your feet, there.
They're a little big
But mom always said big feet, big heart.
Or something like that.
Your nose, I mean, it's a little big
And it gets all red in the cold sometimes
But, it's nice where it is.  Kind of draws attention away from...you know, all the rest.
And your eyes.
They're a little bleary now
They have more baggage than your last girlfriend, ha ha ha ha
But they face forward mostly.
Never seem to stray far.
Your hair falls in waves, receding now,
The beach of your scalp starting to show.

Look at yourself sometime.
It's kind of surprising how much you miss.

My brain hamster

My brain is a lot like a hamster.  A hamster that really, really, really wants a wheel.

 

And...

A friend just suggested I come up with a slogan for her friend's business that finds local deals with GPS.  This is a terrible thing to ask me to do because it means for the rest of the day, I will be non-stop thinking of slogan ideas.  I will, at least for the next few hours, be only able to think phrases that could be contained within quotation marks.

"The Satellite that Saves"

"Globally Yours!"

"SAVING the world"

"DEALS FROM SPAAAAACE"

"Our deals are out of this world!"

"Savings from coast to coast"

"A WORLD of savings"

 For the rest of the day it's gonna be like:


Leaving Work: "TGI end of the day"
Yoga class: "Stretch the stress away!"
Eating ramen: "It's not just for college kids anymore!"
Watching porn: "It's only sin if you enjoy it!"

In conclusion, I hate my brain.

AT&T will charge you extra to read this

Mission Accomplished, Obama.  Mission Accomplished.

At least you have to give him credit for consistency.  Integrity, no.  But consistency, you betcha! Obama's FCC has officially given up the fight for net neutrality.  And he's done it in a way that even the REPUBLICANS are kinda surprised at.

For those of you who don't know what net neutrality is, it's kinda like this:

(Source)

In other words, making the internet like cable TV, where you pay for different packages that are arbitrarily (and probably maliciously) chosen by your ISP.  So, for example, say you like to use blogger to write inane articles about your short stories being rejected.  This is a diagram of what will happen to your wallet:

What? Would you prefer a pie chart?

But I'll be honest, this doesn't frighten me too much.  The FCC has been putting out for any corporation with a nice smile and a few suave lobbyists.  They've chased after one piracy entity after another.  Every time one gets knocked down, another pops back up.  If this whole thing goes through and ISPs start charging for access, I give it a week before someone has a work-around.

That's what I love about the internet.  It's gotten to the point that it's not really something that can be controlled.

The Submiticating

Oh yeah.  Guess which talented motherfucker just submitted yet another brilliant work of art to some unwitting literary magazine.  I'll give you a hint.  He writes blog posts no one reads.

...Not that narrows it down.


"Zilch Fabulous and Death" has officially exploded the offices of Apex Magazine.
(By the way, this is an awesome site for some free sci-fi publishing info: SFWA)

A snippet:

Zilch paced the pit wondering how its dankness would affect the acoustics of his victory speech.  It didn’t occur to him that something was wrong until a small herd of Beebles dropped into the pit.  They were doing their best to look furious, which made them even more adorable.  Zilch inquired as to whether they were going to escort him to the award ceremony.  They responded with the most vicious string of Beeblian curse words ever pronounced, which came out as a series of really endearing little squeaks.

Before Zilch could saw “Aw”, the ground began to shake.  And before Zilch could discern the cause, it descended on him like an avalanche.  An avalanche of Beebles, which felt much like an avalanche of pillows.  But eventually pillows pile up.  Zilch struggled as the Beebles snuggled him savagely.  Just as he managed to emerge from under them, another layer landed on him.  Zilch grasped and gasped, cried and pried, but it was no use.  The Beebles pushed what air remained from him and the last thing Zilch Fabulous saw was a pair of adorable eyes reveling in his demise.

 What drama! What suspense! What a load of shit!

Why rich people need all their money taken away from them

This:

 

(Taken from Huffington Post)

This is why all rich people need to have their money taken away from them.  Because they do dumb shit like this with it.  I'm not gonna get started on how ridiculous the Kardashians are as human beings, because that would be like shooting breast implants in a barrel.  But THIS.  THIS is their fucking CHRISTMAS Card.  What about this says holiday cheer? It's like Merry Christmas from the Adams Family.  THEY'RE NOT EVEN SMILING! Is their too much botox in their bloodstream for them to crack a GRIN?!


Whatever.  Of all the rich bastards, the Kardashians are nobodies.  Jamie Dimon, who lives in a weird alternate universe of crazy, after he and his banker cronies led the country into one of the worse financial crises in history: 

"My daughter came home from school one day and said, 'daddy, what's a financial crisis?' And without trying to be funny, I said, 'it's the type of thing that happens every five, ten, seven, years.' And she said: 'why is everybody so surprised?' So we shouldn't be surprised..." (source)

So yeah.  The Kardashians are nobodies.  Big breasted nobodies.  They're not even good at exploiting themselves.  Kim's sex tape is just a boatload of awkward.  It's so bad I think she pretty much redeemed Paris.

Anyway.  The fact is these people are paying so many millions to live their ridiculous, grotesque lives and it needs to stop.  Not their lives.  Just the way they live it.  Cut their annual income to some more normal level and use that money to create jobs and help the homeless/hungry, in other words, the people who aren't able to afford creepy Christmas photos.

I know the argument.  "But Big Poppa, what would drive people to innovate! If we have no chance of making some absurd amount of money and spend it on meaningless shit, why would we ever advance?!"

My answer is if you're innovating just to make more money, you're a fuck-up.  And you should probably step aside, because once the disadvantage people get their advantages, they're probably gonna be moving pretty fast.

People who should (at least) be locked up for December: John Boehner

I forgot to do this for November, so this better be EXTRA good.

Though, it probably won't be.  I come from humble background, after all, so the chances of me actually advancing to any position of importance is extremely low.

Of course, there's Larry Ellison, sixth richest person in the world who was born to an unwed couple who passed him off to family because they couldn't take care of him.

Or Sidney Weinberg, who started as a janitor's assistant and rose to become the CEO of Goldman-Sachs, where he revolutionized the company.

Now rather than take this to mean that any shmuck who wants to be successful just has to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, I'd like to take it to mean that every person has the potential to be the next CEO.  The next Einstein.  The doctor to cure AIDS, cancer.  The artist that inspires a generation.  All they need is education.

And what would be great is if the people coming from this kind of background appreciated that fact too.  Instead.  We get this guy:





 
  I can't help but cry thinking about how much money I can make.

John Boehner, Republican from this place, who rose from being one of twelve children and a janitor and having only one leg and half a brain to become Speaker of the House.  What a triumph.

People, and by people I mean the media, can't stop talking about the fact that he was a janitor.  Like the fact that he cleaned up shit for a few years makes him really in touch with the American people.

But honestly, I don't care how clean he's going to keep his desk.  I care how clean his record as a politician is.  And when it comes to dirty, this guy's been rolling in it.

In 2006, he went around handing out checks from tobacco companies to his buddies. 

Earlier this year, he complained to Jaime Dimon, CEO of JP Morgan, that he wasn't donating enough to the GOP.  And even after they had protected their interests for so long!  And he doesn't just talk shop with JP, no, no, some of his closest friends are lobbyists.  They even make excellent policy directors.

Don't worry, though, because of his humble background, he knows that friendships go both ways, unlike how he believes marriage should.  For his healthcare buddies, he opposed reform and vows to repeal it.  For the bankers, he urges them to stand up to Congress, they've been pushing those poor rich folks around too long! Not to mention he hands a nice little spot off to one of their lobbyists, as if it weren't clear enough he's ready to make the taxpayers bend over as far as they need to.

Speaker Boehner.  The fact that your parents couldn't work a condom doesn't impress me.  And the fact that you come from a poor background does the opposite.  You are crippling families exactly like the one you came from.  And you should be ashamed.

So.  For December.  Mr. John Boehner, I am of the opinion that you should, at the very least, be thrown in jail.

Let the rejecting BEGIN!

Just sent out the first query for my second novel, Xenotone.

I feel like Malefici (my first novel) has gotten rejected so many times it's like this gruff, crotchety old man and it's like "Oh, you young whippersnapper, you have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

And Xenotone's like "Whatever, old man, I totally know what I'm doing."

I think my rejection scorecard is like at 5.  I wanna go for a high score.  I wonder if there's a prize for having the most unsellable novel ever.  Just send envelopes full of cat shit to agents and ask them what they thought of my manuscript.

Fun times!

UPDATE:
Got my first rejection for Xenotone! It's not so bad if you pretend your work is the cocky kid you hated in high school.  Haha, suck it up, novel!  No one likes you!

This just in: Who the hell cares?

So apparently the Westboro Baptist Church is picketing Elizabeth Edward's funeral.  For those of you who don't know who Elizabeth Edwards was, she was the woman that a somewhat popular political figure cheated on.  Or, at least, that's all the media ever reported about her.

Now the Westboro...well, let's just call them the Morons...now the morons are protesting the funeral just like they protested at soldiers burials and...

You know what? Who the fuck cares?

The Morons are nobodies.  They're a bunch of inbred hicks who have no idea what they're talking about and just want attention because they've been abused all their lives that they can only quiet the idiot voices in their heads when someone's yelling at them.  And the Media is their best friend.

There's an interview I can't seem to find on a legitimate news channel with Shirley Phelps-Roper, the only person that seems capable of carrying any sort of conversation in that herd of moron, which follows the typical route any interview with a group of mentally challenged racists.

Interviewer: Question

Moron: Stupid response

Interviewer: Rational argument that makes the assumption that these people understand rational thought and therefore legitimizes their argument.

Moron: Stupid response

Interviewer: Scoring points by negating their response and yelling at them for being stupid, therefore looking like the crazy person

Moron: Stupid response

WHY ARE WE TALKING TO THESE PEOPLE?! They don't know what's going on in the world, I'm surprised they can drive cars, let alone WRITE LEGIBLY ON SIGNS.

The media has a bad case of the irrelevancies.  And they don't seem aware of the fact that by giving these people a forum, even if it's a forum that's going to make fun of everything they stand for, they are LEGITIMIZING these people's craziness.

Case in point: Glenn Beck.  He really only came into his stride when he started being a right-wing blathering idiot. (That article is a bit long, it chronicles the trials and travails of a drunken nobody.  But if you skim it, you get the idea that he slowly realized that the only way anyone would pay attention to him was if he acted the idiot he always was.)

Case in point: Westboro Church.  Their whole GOAL is to get attention.  They're not trying to convert anyone.  They just want people to look at them the way their parents never did.  And the media, by giving them any attention at all, only gives them victories, only endows their demented purpose with legitimacy.

The fact is, the media, by playing into this silly game these half-wits are playing, are agreeing with them.  The media is saying "yes, these are views people should know about".  It's not difficult to shoot these people down, they don't have any real knowledge, I'm almost certain they can't even read the signs they're holding up.  They don't NEED to be fought.  They need to be ignored.  Entirely.  Like the irrelevant historical subtext they are.

Fuck politics

It's literary time.

Just finished a really personal short story.  In essence, an attempt to see what the literary market will pay for small pieces of my soul.  Come and get it!

Of course, it's also heavily fictionalized.  Because my life is boring.

Snippet:

            I always remembered Anthony's room wrapped in this kind of dream-like haze so when they opened the door to remove the body, I didn't recognize it.  It used to be that you walked in and this thick kind of gray film stretched itself over your eyes and everything started to look like noir movies.  Blacks and whites in high contrast.  Muted emotions.  Hard-boiled characters.

 

            As they zipped the black-trash-bag over his head, I swear I saw that same smoke coming from him.  I swear I could see it leak out into the ambulance.  I knew that if I went into that bag with him, we would be carried off in that same haze.  Where nothing really mattered.  Where all that existed was our joints and our eyes floating detached from a world that wanted us detached from it.

 

            I met him at the end of high school.  This was during a period I like to call Jennifer.  The reason for this is because of a girl named Jennifer.  Not Jen.  Jennifer.  Idiots called themselves Jen.

 

            She was so bad she came with a warning.

 

            “Don't do it, man.” Bob mumbled between handfuls of curly fries.

 

            I watched her ass swivel itself across the cafeteria.

 

            “You let her in and you're gonna hate yourself.” Munch munch munch.  There was nothing more unconvincing than a fat kid giving you girl advice.

 

            “Whatever.”

 

            So I let her in.  And I hated myself.  Don't misunderstand, though, we never did more than kiss.

 

            She pulled away and with a smile I would have ended myself for said “Oh man, just wait till we start having sex.”

 

            I grinned stupidily and tried not to think what that would cost me.

What a crazy bunch of characters.  What kind hijinx will they get up to, you think?

In other news, I'm writing a lot of love poems.  Because that's cool.  I've thrown out the whole idea of writing stuff no one else has and decided to have a crack of writing the same cliched shit! Hooray!

Snippet:

This is my economy and

(grunt) I’m finished with this recession.

Your money’s no good here

Because I’m done inflating the dime-a-dozen

From now on it’s gold standard

Girls with assets in surplus

And…

Well, I’ll skip the bit about a stimulus package.

Hilarity ensues.

Till next time.

But does it explode?

Finally.  Here it is.  The war's over.  We've won.  Everyone can come home.

I swear, the military sometimes seems like it's run by a bunch of people who play too much Call of Duty.  There's all these new fangled guns coming out one after another like the only thing that's keeping us from immediate complete domination of the world is our troops' inability to shoot laser beams from their eyes.

COME ON.

Stuff like this.  Robot soldiers.  "They don't get hungry".  Yeah, because if only we had troops without real human needs, we'd be winners already.

And this, too.  Though the 10 year old boy in me still thinks it's kinda cool.  (The company calls itself metalstorm.  Because, you know, their weapons fire...like...storms of...uh...metal?)

Meanwhile we have people coming back home with a whole smorgasbord of metal and physical problems and the VAs are not equipped to handle all that demand.

Let's not even start on the issue that guns developed in the 1940s are still inflicting casualties on an army equipped with all the bells and whistles the DoD R&D can tack on.  I think the problem may not be with how long it takes for the bullets we fire to explode, but with the whole idea of putting people in front of or behind these weapons.

I swear, our soldiers are some gutsy motherfuckers.  They're putting themselves out on the field not knowing what new piece of technology's been sold to the enemy.

My thought? Upend the whole weapons manufacture industry in the US.  Turn it into an industry that researches ways to keep people alive rather than put them in the ground.  What a fucking concept.