Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Since it's been a month or so...

The conquest of the Skeletorian Empire went swimmingly, had a few problems in Kansas, but I think we have an understanding now.

Mostly, this post is to let you know that I am actively working on a webpage outlining my various exploits on "the continent". And I'll throw up a link here when it's ready.

Good day, and good luck.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Some Random Nonsense

I feel like I'm bursting with a message that the world may finally be ready for. But I don't know what it is. Perhaps the citizens of earth desperately need to know exactly how it is that I make plastic mobiles that so eerily capture the struggle between good and evil than characterizes what it is to belong to the race of man. Perhaps I absolutely must share the details of my intense daily dental routine. But really, what you want to know (or not, most likely not), is how I obtained my subhuman powers.

One fine summer day, sky bright and thunder rolling while rain sleeted down and a dry wind rushed across the dusty plains as I hiked through the desolate rainforest fighting through rapacious crowds all the while, I witnessed a nuclear eruption as boiling acid was thrown into my eyes and I landed my spaceship from an alien world while being bitten by a radioactive vampire.

Prior to discovering my powers I was a social outcast, since I was captain of the high school football team and also the unquestioned leader of a gang of reclusive nerds.

My best friend, a man I had never met destined to become my archenemy, as had been written in the stars since he was born to my parents (being my twin brother and all), trapped me in a chamber made of rocks from my homeworld and hung me from the ceiling by silver chains so that I wouldn't be able to turn into a wolf, or draw incredible strength from the earth.

I learned to assume a false identity, using a cunning disguise of wearing my watch on a different hand and wearing colored contacts, so that I would be able to blend into society, and my secret girlfriend who didn't know we were dating wouldn't be harmed by giant space ninjas.

And now you know my secret superhero origin that I've just made up. Vote below for more installments. Or suggest something else, Hollywood's out of ideas, and so am I.

FYI - don't expect a post for probably 3 weeks or so, I'm going to be traveling the world in search of the holy grail.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Hail Caesar Skeletorus!

So perhaps it has been a burning question in the depths of your soul for the last week or so as to how exactly I did plan to conquer the Skeletorian Empire in slightly less than two weeks (maybe slightly more, I could do Kansas on my way home). Well I'm here to tell you that the answer is slinkies and a Kevin Costner disguise (naturally).

The logical place to begin my invasion would most certainly be Rome itself, and a most famous location in said town is the Colosseum, which is full of - you guessed it - stairs. So if I were to get say, several hundred thousand slinkies, and place buttons in a giant circle around the floor of the Colosseum attached to large explosive devices throughout the entirety of the former Roman Empire, all I would have to do to rain unearthly fire down on the unbelievers* would be to encourage the slinkies to do what they do best. Go down stairs! Not alone, not even in pairs, but in an unruly slinking mob!


The aftermath would quite likely be an apocalypse localized to parts of Europe, Africa, and Asia. And in a post-apocalyptic world, everyone knows that Kevin Costner is, without question, the most powerful man ever to deliver old mail and drink his own urine. By cleverly utilizing my Kevin Costner disguise, I would be crowned emperor almost unilaterally by the survivors, probably within days. If I can find a horse and grow webbed toes.

Stay tuned either for a detailed description on how I will take over the so-called "Sunflower State" on my way home, or plans for teaching a donkey how to rollerskate. Or something else entirely.

* By unbelievers, I mean that they don't subscribe to my personal religion. Technically, everyone is therefore an unbeliever (and incidentally, infidel), on account of I haven't really come up with the specifics of the religion yet, and really no one knows about it. Not even me.

Friday, June 30, 2006

World Domination: Do I Have an Unhealthy Obsession?

So I'm flying to Italy in 21 days, 10 hours, 58 minutes and oh, 26 seconds or so (not that I'm keeping track or anything). This has got me to thinking about what I will do when I get there, and I've realized that I'm about to have a heretofore unavailable opportunity: one-upping my enemies. Not all my various enemies, but a specific family of enemies. That's right, the Caesars. When it comes to world domination, all anyone ever mentions is the friggin Caesars-

"Oh, Julius brought together the largest army the world had seen since Alexander and conquered more than half the known world!"

"Augustus united a divided Rome and transformed the Republic to the Empire, installing himself at it's first emperor and establishing the Pax Romana!"

Blah, blah, blah. Republics, Empires, sounds like a bad sci-fi space movie series from the seventies and eighties. The Romans under Caesars may have conquered the modern countries of Italy, Greece, Spain, France, Portugal, England, parts of Germany, northern Africa, most of the southern part of Eastern Europe, and a sizable chunk of the Middle East, but I intend to do them one better in the two weeks that I will be traveling through Italy and Greece. I will conquer all previous Roman territories, and additionally, Kansas (why Kansas, I don't know, I just harbor an abiding dislike for a state that is, literally, flatter than a pancake). In this way I will have outdone mine ancient enemies by 82,277 square miles (and a whole lot of fountains). See what they write in the history books about that, jerks.

Old, Weak, and Tiny Roman Empire

New, Awesome, and Friggin Huge Skeletorian Empire

Perhaps you're wondering how I intend to accomplish this mighty task? Well, I still have roughly 21 days, 10 hours, 42 minutes, and 37 seconds before I leave. So expect another post detailing my devious brilliance. Or not, if I think of something else. But possibly. Definitely maybe it might certainly be possible.

NOTE: I am aware that some statements in this blog may be historically inaccurate. However, unlike you, I don't care.

Friday, June 23, 2006

It's been like a year, so here's something to ponder

I went to eat breakfast this morning, and I happened to read the box top on my corn flakes. It stated the following:

"If it doesn't say Kellogg's on the box, it's not Kellogg's in the box."

Needless to say, I was floored by this deeply profound advertising campaign. Why say things like, "Kellogg's is fun" or "Kellogg's is delicious", statements that, while encouraging me to try this fun, delicious cereal, are inherently subjective. Instead, Kellogg's has chosen to go the route of making a bold, obvious statement, in the hopes that I choose my cereal based on the whether or not the manufacturer is willing to be boldly obvious with me (let's hope I don't choose my cereal based on how intelligent of an advertising campaign the brand might have). Of course, the Ford motor company might have difficulty making a statement as bold and obvious as Kellogg's:

"If it doesn't say Ford on the car, there might not be a Yamaha engine in the car. Or there might be. But if it doesn't say Ford, there's at least probably not a Ford engine in the car. Because let's be serious for a minute here, who would put a Ford motor in their car if anything else were an option?"

And that's sort of a long statement for an advertising campaign. Especially in a society with as short an attention span as - hey, are you even still reading this? Fine, then I'm not writing it anymore either.

Look forward to another post, hopefully in less than a year. Maybe even a week.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

my dog broke my computer, so i'm writing a short one from work

So Joe and I took Jammer to Vegas last weekend. Outside the normal gambling and general debauchery, there were a couple of instances that I feel the need to inform the internet of.

At Mandalay Bay we were witness to an older man hitting on a reasonably attractive young woman, likely less than half his age. In and of itself, this is not an unusual occurrence. The man was perhaps in his mid-forties, shiny bald on top with, shall we say, an expansive waistline; a jolly girth if you will. In the normal course of things, a man might slide closer to a woman he is courting, provoking more intimate conversation. Unfortunately for Fatty Baldman, his beer gut got in the way. Perhaps he thought it in some way seductive brushing his swollen belly against her midriff, but I assure you that from the sidelines, it was simply side-splittingly hilarious.

An extremely inebriated fellow who claimed to have been in some branch of armed service approached us in a swayingly drunken fashion. He proceeded to show us an (apparently) expensive pinky ring that he received for his distinguished performance. Aside from my being more than mildly skeptical that the Air Force has ever handed out pinky rings for any reason at all, I have fond hopes that our freedom and security do not depend on folk such as this man. Though he was spitting on himself and mightily slurring his words, I believe he said something to the effect that we should get ourselves such rings, and then bet them on various gambling pursuits (as witnesses have attested he had attempted at the craps table). He accompanied this by leaning forward several times, thrusting his gem encrusted pinky at our faces, waggling his finger, and expounding his point with a resounding, "Bam!".

As we were walking to Denny's for some fine Vegas-breakfast-at-dawn-after-gambling-all-night-long, we passed a bearded, unkempt gentleman who smelled faintly of garbage, and much more overpoweringly of fortified wine and cheap liquor. He asked us a fairly straightforward question, though it did come out as mostly a drunken growl, "You guys like the Mirage?" (The Mirage is a casino that we were presently directly across the street from, home to homo-erotic white tigers, and even more homo-erotic Germans.)

Since my natural response to any inquiries by drunken strangers is either, "No, thanks" or "I don't speak English", I went with a "No, thanks, we're all right."

He naturally replied with an, "Ah, whatever, the Mirage fuckin sucks anyway." He trailed off his sentence with yet another liquor infested snarl and proceeded to continue his ambling stumble on to his destination (which I can only assume was a job interview for an executive position in a high powered investment banking firm).

That's all for now, stay tuned for a rousing review of Deaf Midgets on Ice: The Musical.

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Where Has Skeletor Been? Part I

Perhaps you're wondering why I've not posted anything to this site in quite some time. Perhaps you'd like to know the truth. I know you better than that, you foolish wonderer. You'd much rather have a series of vaguely entertaining lies. So it begins:

On or about the beginning of January (the year of our Lord two thousand and five), whilst adding some journalistic polish to my most recent textual artistry, I was waylaid by a gang of interstellar vacuum cleaner salesmen with four arms, three heads, six mouths, and really quite frightfully awful teeth (braces, whitestrips, and a thousand hours of oral surgery would have only scratched the very surface, to say nothing of the terrifying halitosis). They were looking for a dentist, having seen one in a television program, and while they knew that I probably wasn't a dentist (or even close), the final episode of "Friends" was about to air on their home planet and they wanted to get back in time to find out if the goofy looking guy with the shiny hair ever got together with the attractive redhead.

So there I was, trapped in a tube filled with gelatinous, oxygenated goo doomed to watch a thousand, thousand hours of terrible alien soap operas* unless I could learn how to perform complex dentistry while inventing powerful anesthetics for some tri-headed salesfolk, or gouge out my own eyes with a 3x5 index card. Naturally I chose the latter option, subsequently bursting into the most annoying song I could think of, of which I only knew approximately five words and they were probably wrong, at the top of my lungs. But I did sing it over and over again until the vacuum people of Orthodon 17 ejected me into deep space (but not before presenting me with a half a dozen vacuum bags and a replacement hose).

How will I get out of this one, you might ask? Will I return to the internet with all my ocular senses at 100% efficiency? Will my next post contain as many run-on sentences?

* Picture earth-type soap operas, but with three earth-type soap opera actors stapled together and beaten with shovels until their sum total acting ability approaches that of a small gray and green speckled rock doing its very best impression of Britney Spears.