Friday, December 23, 2005

This blog is on Holiday Hiatus until Monday the 26th. Happy Holidays!!!

Monday, December 19, 2005

Food for thought:



A friend of mine told me today that there was a roast for Pam Anderson and Courtney Love. All I was left to do was wonder, "How hard can in be to hold up pictures for one hour?"

Friday, December 16, 2005

Ah, Part II of "If Wishes Were Shoes" Sorry about the lack of update Wednesday, but I've been a busy little demon this week. If you haven't read the first part of this story, go back to last Friday's post.

Yeah, I know that’s how they all begin, boy meets girl, sparks fly, etc. Only that’s not how it began. See I was just finishing up my day with the gravity goon, world restored to normal in two point eight minutes, a personal best might I add, when I realized I had a witness. Man, this just sucked, witnesses always meant more paperwork, even if they were memory-wiped, and somehow, looking at this woman, I didn’t think she was going to be the forgetting type. She was standing about four feet away from where the gravity goon was shaking his head. She looked a little bemused as she stared up at the sky, then down at her feet. Lifting up a strand of her curly blonde hair, she pulled it to its highest extension and let it drop then took a small hop off the pavement. Crap. By this time, most people had managed to convince themselves that they’d hallucinated: heat, fatigue, whatever. Just my luck I got stuck with an empiricist. Oh well, it was time to do my work; I stomped over to her and held my hand in front of her face.

"I’m sorry you had to see that," I said, "You will forget this ever happened." She didn’t say anything, just blinked these sleepy looking grey eyes at me and chewed on her bottom lip a bit, which seemed kinda cute to me now that I realized, to my great relief, that she wasn’t going to be a problem. I smiled at her and turned around, ready to fade into the distance.

"Excuse me," said a girlish voice behind me. Those two words made me flinch. It was entirely possible, I tried to tell myself, that she was just hoping that I might help her cross the street or something. Yeah, weak try, I know, but in my head I could see the stack of paperwork getting higher. I executed a reluctant about face.

"Yes, ma’am, may I help you?"

"I just wanted to know something," she said, "If you were going to wipe my memory, why bother giving an apology I wouldn’t remember?" There went my evening off. Just once I’d like to get off my shift on time. Just once... But the lady was still standing there, patiently waiting for my answer.

"My mother didn’t raise me to be impolite, and even if you didn’t remember, I would. Besides, it’s company policy." She smiled at me, but knowing I had to grant her a wish which as a matter of personal pride I wouldn’t allow to be a screw-up wish, it just didn’t look that cute anymore.

Sunday, December 11, 2005



On anyone else, I might mock Fergie's outfit, but for her, this may be a career high. All the colors match. Most of her body is covered, and yes, though the pyrex heels whisper, "stripper," at least they only whisper instead of shouting.

Friday, December 09, 2005

So here's a new program for Friday. I hereby dub this, "Fiction Friday." Every week, I'm going to post an installment of "If Wishes Were Shoes." Behold, Chapter One:

My name is Max Topp. I know it’s a pretty boring name for a Wishpair man, but it’s the name my mother gave me. She probably thought that I’d just be one of the Wishbringers, but Mrs. Topp’s son is just a little bit smarter than that. At the age of fourteen, I took the Wishpair test and received the highest score ever. I realize some of you might be unfamiliar with the whole Wishpair concept so allow me to explain.

My people are what you might call fairies. We don’t look like fairies or leprechauns or genies, but we do grant wishes. One might even say compulsively. Someone says, "I wish...," and if a Wishbringer is in earshot, most cannot resist the whole "granted, POOF’ thing. Now anyone with a smidgen of imagination can see where this can frequently be a bad thing. It used to be that people mostly wished for piles of gold, a pot that always gave food, or eternal life: inclined to go badly for the wisher, but, in the grand scheme of things, not terribly damaging. Now we live in a narky "global" society; everybody has been taught to think "for the world." For the first time in history, Wishbringers became distressingly conversant with the term "collateral damage." Thus the Wishpair service was born. Coralbell, the first Wishpair woman and now head of our organization, realized that somebody needed to start fixing humanity’s more disastrous wishes.

"Disastrous?" you might ask. More than you could ever know. It used to be, back in the fifties, when Buck Rogers and space travel were big, that some kiddo would wish that she could defy gravity, never suspecting that a weak-willed Wishbringer was lurking nearby. Faster than you could say abracadabra, that kid would be shooting off to the far ends of the universe off of one tiny jump. This is where someone like Corabell would come in, using her powers to stop the poor chump’s unscheduled flight, getting her to unwish her wish, and wiping her memory. If a memory couldn’t be wiped, she’d buy the victim or witness off with one, supervised, wish. Course, that was then; now, when some idiot Dungeons and Dragons groupie opens his mouth, to take an example NOT at random, he wishes that gravity no longer existed. So, as the universe began to implode, (two weeks ago, at three twenty-five AM,) I, Max Topp, Wishpairman extraodinare, rolled out of my bed to return the world to safety. And I guess that’s really when it all began. See, there was this girl.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005
















Judging by his nose, I'd say he finally explained to Katie just exactly what's entailed in a "Silent Birth.":
Present for the girl who's always cold












Nothing says, "You're my best friend, and I should remind you with a hug every day," like a cashmere silk blend shirt. Nothing says, "I won't have to sell my soul to Mastercard," like $33.99. Available here.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Well, as December is finally here, and I can celebrate the holiday season without feeling like a corporate shill, I'll be putting up nifty gift ideas on the blog. This is not to say that the holiday spirit will squash all of my snarking...just some of it.

Thursday, December 01, 2005



















Now, tell me that's not an improvement. As the girls as Go Fug Yourself would say, "Behold as the NBA says goodbye to the fug!" Some players have complained about having to buy a grown-up's wardrobe after spending a bunch of money on an adolescent bling spree this summer, but given that the starting salary of the NBA is $398,000, I find myself curiously lacking in pity. Check out other players in their new wardrobes here.