Oh no, not this crap again.

I found this story via Wil Wheaton’s blog.  My reaction: For fuck’s sake, gut-feeling? Seems? Worry? Tell me about evidence, intelligence, and knowledge before you waste my time and attention with this shite.  Have you learned anything about the enemy?  Has ineptititude crippled our nation’s to succesfully wage war anywhere?  Did you learn nothing from the orange and yellow alerts that agitated us for essentially nothing?  There are worse things in the world than terrorist attacks.  Living in fear of them is one. 

I echo Wil’s sentiment, please don’t be afraid.

A couple of jokes

I seem to do whatever John Scalzi tells me to, mostly because he keeps stringing me along with promises of fame and fortune, 70 virgins, and whatnot.  Today is no exception.  The weekend assignment from By the Way is to share a joke.  Of course, I am me, and therefore do not follow directions explicitly (which may be what’s keeping me from fame and fortune, etc.).  I will share TWO jokes.

Category 1 – Short Form:

Q. What does a pig put on his sore muscles?

A. Oinkment!

Category 2 – Long Form:

In 1588, Malcolm Young was newly appointed First Mate aboard the British fighting ship, HMS Mary Rose, under Captain George Blaker-Smyth.  One day during a routine patrol,  they saw a Spanish ship on a direct course.  Knowing that was going to be a battle, the Captain ordered all hands to battle stations.  To Malcolm, he said "Go into my quarters and bring me my red shirt."  Malcolm, of course, complied, but later, when they were alone, he asked why the Captain asked for the red shirt.  "Well, you see son, it’s for the men.  Should we be boarded, I do not want the men to see if I’ve been wounded and lose heart."  That was one of the wisest and bravest things Malcolm had ever heard, and he gained a great deal of respect for the Captain after that.  Over the next several weeks, they encountered a few more Spanish ships, some of which resulted in close quarters battles.  In each encounter, the Captain wore his red shirt, and in each encounter, the British sailors prevailed.  One day, the watch called out: two spanish ships to port, one spanish ship to starboard, a one directly ahead.  The Captain turned to his First Mate and said, "Quickly, get my brown pants!"

And, what the heck, here’s some musician jokes, just ’cause I love ya:

1. Two musicians and a drummer are walking down the street…

2. How do you know when a drummer is knocking on your door?  He doesn’t know when to come in.

3. How does a female vocalist screw in a lightbulb?  She holds the lightbulb up and the world revolves around her.

4. What’s the difference between God and a Sound Engineer?  God doesn’t think that He’s a Sound Engineer.

5. How many Bass players does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  None, the Keyboardist can do it with her left hand.



I was off to such a good start.

My intent was to blog once a day for at least 30 days.


I was in a car accident yesterday.

I wrote a blog post with pictures and everything, then TypePad went down just as I was tried to publish it.

I lost the whole fucking thing.

So here’s a picture of my car.  I will write in more detail tomorrow.


Movin’ on up!

I sold a screenplay!  I can’t freakin’ believe it.  The terms are still being worked out, but it is at least six figures.  Woo hoo!

Who would have thought that a coming of age story about a Foul Mouthed, Dope Smoking Muskrat with Syphilis who runs for President would be my first sell?  My agent has advised me to start writing a follow-up, she thinks this could be the start of a franchise.

Of we go.

April Fools! (duh)


I can’t really think of anything to write about today, except that I have a three day weekend starting tomorrow.  However, I’ve been wondering, since I’ve been posting regularly for the last two weeks, "Is Anybody Reading This?"  My guess is probably not, but who knows?

So, if you are reading my little corner of the universe, please, leave a comment.  Just to say hi.



Is she a cylon? Cliffhangers are cool, except when you have to wait 9 months for the resolution.

This is almost as bad as waiting for the follow-up to Terry Brooks’ Armageddon’s Children.