Corona | Coming Attractions

Or Adam could give it to you.

There's that, but I didn't want to be the one responsible for the onslaught of penis pictures he sends your phone.

I didn't think camera phones came with zoom lenses?

Wakk, and indeed, wakka!

You know, I think Adam has perfect blackmail power over Kah.

"Do what I want, or Jakester gets the phone number!" :)

omicron wrote:

You know, I think Adam has perfect blackmail power over Kah."Do what I want, or Jakester gets the phone number!" :)

.....brilliant!!

If I know Kah (and let's be honest, I don't. Not even a little) then I imagine she might get a kick out of the levels of pure, horn-related torture that she could subject young Jakey too should he ever get her phone number.

I, for one, would go buy shares in Kleenex.

I'd let her.

So would I mate, so would I !

Me too, since you mentioned it.

This is now probably deeply disturbing for the poor girl.

I bet she finds it a turn on.

Yeah, 'cos nothing get's a girl all worked up like a bunch of people she has never met talking about her in the 3rd person on the internet!

I get an erection every time I read Kah's sig.

You get an erection just walking to the refridgerator!

Jakester gets an erection simply by existing.

In my head, I'm hearing Amy Pond say "Heel, boy," and it.is.SEXY!

Kevin Costner in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves would say "HeelBoy", and if you responded angrily he would say "AndSoItBegins".

The Swollen Goi... wrote:

I'm so far removed from the bar pick-up culture that you just sort of blew my mind with that phone bit, kah.

I go to bars a lot, but with the intention of getting drunk, or at least buzzed. Not laid. No disappointments so far!

I'm just not that guy. I think I like alcohol more than carnalificationism.

The Swollen Goi... wrote:

The thought of someone doing that never even crossed my mind.

Trust No One.

I am still thinking about US bars full of desperate and needy women. Kind of like some sort of easy scoring Nirvana.
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I really, really, really, really need to find new purpose in my life, don't I?

Well, you're anti-religious, hate politics, don't want a ltr or kids...

...maybe join the Army?

That, or write a book, like I used to pretend to do.

I'm co-writing a television series. It's the best thing that was never on television.

I can't wait to not see it!

Maybe you can adapt my non-existent(or barely existent) for the silver screen!

Or better yet, do it without my consent, so I can sue you later and grab more cash than the adaptation would have been worth to me in the first place!

The Swollen Goi... wrote:

I haven't really taken advantage of "Random." This is our page to write whatever we want, right? Well, I am going to do that. That I am going to do. I will think a thing, and I will write that thing. I will not proof what I have read. Are you ready? Let's go.Here's what I think about "Random": it's a too-long thread where there is no meaningful discussion because it has no center. I do not mean to say that threads must have a center. Some don't. Some do, but digression makes it so that they seem not to. But that's neither here nor here. That's the thatliest of thats, if ever there were a that to that. That's the he and the she of it. Any living people ate little plants, and lived peachily around lighted places; also, among peasants, all liked pleasing Anna Livia Plurabelle (actually, "loved" preferably, although less passed).I think I may only write until I am tired of writing. Turns out that is already the case. I continue to write, though, it seems. Ah, well. That is what I do. To each his own. The devil's own. The devil zone. Who's afraid of the big fat devil? I am not. I am not. I don't have to sell my soul. He's already in me. I wanna be a Door. I wish it were the sixties. I wish I could be happy. I wish, I wish, I wish that something would happen.In case you were wondering whether or not I am genuinely excited about the prospect of visiting the office of World Events, I can tell you that I am genuinely excited about it. It's exciting. I have to make the call, first. Have to have something specific out of the way, first. After then, though, I will call. Fingers crossed. The Germans say "thumbs pressed." This is stupid. It helps to highlight just how stupid "fingers crossed" is. Thank you, German language, for helping me to realize how dumb the English language can be.You know what I ought to be doing? Sleeping. I don't do that. They say I bound to crack up. Maybe I am. Maybe I have. Maybe I have not. Happy to have. Not to have not. Big business is very wise. I'm crossing over into enterprise. (Like Bakula.) Speaking of "have," I will tell you what I have. I have Guylian Belgian seashell chocolates. I eat them like candy. Ha ha. They *are* candy. They are also delightful. Delicious. Delectable, even. Deleted, too. Went through the whole box.(Speaking of Bakula, there's an episode of Quantum Leap where he leaps back into his high school self. He tries to convince his younger sister, at one point, that he has done this, but she refuses to believe him. He tries to tell her that he has seen the future, and that their older brother will die in Vietnam. She treats it like a game. She starts asking him about her future, and he starts telling her about it. She laughs--even at the bad stuff. Then he starts to play John Lennon's "Imagine," which has yet to be released. The trueness of the song stirs her emotionally, and she remarks that she has never heard it before. He tells her that this is because it has yet to be written. It has that quality of beauty that John Lennon songs often have. It moves her so that it scares the shit out of her. It's the perfect complement to her brother's assertion that he has insight into the future. It freaks her the fuck out. It's a powerful scene. I believe it is from the third season.)I would love to tell you all about my somewhat secret project, but it must remain somewhat secret. That said, it is a beast of a thing. It is a true thing of wonder. It may be the best creative project to which I have ever attached myself. It has comedy, it has drama, it has science fiction, it has horror. What will come of it? Nothing, likely. I'd consider this a cock tease if I thought for a second any one of you might have any interest in it. It is for this reason I do not consider it a cock tease. I consider it what it is, which is me telling you that I have been up not only to something creative, but to something creative of which I am proud.Speaking of the above project, I want to give a male character the surname "Furtz." I had a first name for Mr. Furtz, but I have forgotten it. You know who might know what the first name was? atrejub. Since I cannot remember the first name (which first name I thought was perfect), I suppose I should come up with another one. Mervin? Lou? Percy? Phil? Ashley? Johnny? Castor? What do you folks think? Bah! I wish I could remember the name I gave Mr. Furtz. Help me, atrejub. You're my only hope.Some day, I will do write up a review of Empire Strikes Back. It occurs to me that I write without passion. I was reading the Ebert piece in Esquire, and I thought to myself, "I can't write like that." Now, don't mistake my meaning. I can write. I write like a mother fucker. I can write a kind of writing only I can write. My niche is carved. I always wanted that, and now I have it. Sherwood Anderson had that. I took a lot from ol' Sherwood. But I'm straying from the pebbled path. I wanted to make a point about the Ebert piece. It does something I tend not to do when I write: it makes appeals to sentiment. I do not believe I can do that. Whenever I allow sentiment to creep into my writing, it is rarely in earnest. I began to ask myself what I could write sentimentally about. I came up with a pitifully small handful of things. Empire Strikes Back, the Muppets, my memories of dead friends of mine. A few others. Empire Strikes Back came to mind first. I feel a strong connection to it. My first memory is of seeing it in the theater. My conscious life began with the blinding white of Hoth. It lit up the whole room. It is a good first memory. It was during the '82 summer re-release. This puts me at roughly two-and-a-half. I used to think it was during the summer of '81, but I don't think Empire was re-released during the summer of '81. Some day, though, I will write my long review. I think I will start with the beginning of the movie and work my way to the end. I will allow myself to meander. If a scene brings me to another place, I will go to that other place and record the experience. "My Life and Thoughts as I Work Through Another Viewing of Empire Strikes Back."Empire Strikes Back is something worth getting passionate about. It makes me wonder if kids have that today. Will thirty-year-old men who watched The Philosopher's/Sorcerer's Stone speak as enthusiastically about it once they're grown as people my age speak about Empire Strikes Back? Time will probably tell. Unless it doesn't. I may not be around for it.I am currently distracted by a chat with someone in Facebook. Don't think I won't continue to write whatever I feel like writing in here, because I will continue to write whatever I feel like writing in here.You know what happens to people in my hometown? They get fat. Every single fucking one of them. At least those who stay in the area. Of course, my hometown is in rural Alabama. Rural Alabama is fatter than anywhere else in the world--save rural Mississippi. Fat, Man. I'm talking huge. You have two options regarding weight after high school in rural Alabama: get fat or become a meth head. I pity the fool who's read this far. I pity the fool who's written this far. Pitty, pitty, pitty. A pity for your thoughts. If those thoughts be pithy, prithee keep them to yourself. Prithee, prithee please.I thought of an idea for a show. It would be good. I'd call it Perfectly Happy People to Whom Nothing Bad Ever Happens. Each episode would involve a new cast, setting, and characters. (Like Playhouse 90, or any of the various anthology series that aired on television in the fifties and sixties; we don't really have those types of shows, these days. It's a shame.) There would be no conflict whatsoever, and it would not be done ironically. There might be an occasional hint of conflict, but it would never not work itself out. "Honey, did we pay the light bill? Because it was due yesterday."

"I think so. Let me call the electric company.... Hello. Yes. Linden Lightworks? Yes. I'm a client of yours--account number 134226--calling to ask if you received payment for the most recent bill. What's that? Two weeks ago? Thank you."

"Did we pay it, Dear?"

"We sure did, thank goodness."That's the kind of hint of conflict I'd go for. It would be a radical step in a direction shows haven't really been taken. (Though I'm sure we can all think of a show or two we consider very boring, there is at least some attempt made by the show's makers to add tension to the show and make it not boring. People don't just set out make boring shows. Even so, it happens. Ed Wood and Coleman Francis didn't set out to make awful shit. At least, I don't think they did.) Here's what would draw in viewers, though: I would promise "four or five" episodes per season would end in brutal murder. Audiences would tune in to see if each night was one of the nights. And the last episode of each season would have four brutal murders behind it. The big question on everybody's mind would be, "Will there be one more brutal murder this season? Surely, there will." Sometimes there would be.You know what? This post reads like one of my similarly long, similarly rambling e-mails. *sigh*I'd like to be asleep right now. I do not feel sleepy. Maybe I will read. Maybe I will look over some sections in the "Battle Book" for TSR's Marvel Super Heroes RPG. I could try to draw, but it would only hurt my elbow. I went to the Macaroni Grill, recently, and drew something on the paper table covering. The waiter asked my permission to keep it. It was nothing special. It was the kind of thing I can draw whenever I feel like drawing something--as long as I feel like drawing something on one of those occasions when my elbow isn't screaming at me. Those occasions grow more and more distant from one another. I would love to be able to draw through the pain. The elbow locks up sometimes, and I lose prehensility in the hands. I've tried to train my right hand to write and draw, but it feels awkward. It feels like I'm lying to myself. It feels the way something felt when I was a child, and I knew I was doing something wrong. Back then, though, I would be spanked for doing something wrong. And I was spanked a lot. Seriously. A lot. You see that, I bet, and think a lot must not really be that much. But it was. Three times a week, on average. I kept a record of it one year. More than 120 times. Beat that. (The "that" here is my ass, which was. And regularly. And how. A lot of getting beaten, and not a lot of getting sleep. My youth was characterized thus.) All right. That's all for now. I don't know if there is a post length limit, but I don't want to risk exceeding it.Were I a betting man, I'd bet I had yet to exceed it. I'm sure I have room for a little more. Why not leave you lot with a poem, then? I can write poems. Most of them are not very good. I am no poet. I am just a man. Let's make the poem monosyllabic. That will make it a little more challenging. All right. Second star to the right. Poem:There was a bear

I could not love--

Though I knew

He'd love

Me to.He'd say.He'd say the things

One says to those

One loves

To say such

Things to.To me he'd say

Such things.He'd say,

"I don't care

If you love me

As long as

You love me."He'd say,

"One does not

Have to die

To die."Dumb things.

Things he meant,

But that meant

No thing.I could not love

Such a bear.Such a bear

Needs not to be

Loved

To love so.Such a bear

Should know

As much.* * *There. There is a bear poem.Is that bear someone, you ask? No. That bear is no one. I mean that. No, I do not mean that bear is no one you know. Similarly, I do not mean that bear is *a* no one. I mean there is no bear. There is no bear there. There, there.I hope you did not enjoy reading it as much as I did not enjoy writing it.

That was fun. I ought to do it again, some time.

Salma Hayek is fun. I ought to do that, sometime.