| May. 12th, 2008 02:29 pm Happy Big Family Weekend (past) Lots of family this weekend.
Yesterday was Mudders Day, of course. I hope you were nice to any and all Mothers you might have. Provided they didn’t beat you with wire hangers as a kid or the like.
Even then you should at least send them a card or a picture of you cross-dressing and flagellating yourself in a self-made dungeon. Let them know the profound effect they had: not only on your life, but the lives of the innumerable skinless women buried in shallow graves by the railyard.
Specifically: Happy momma’s day to my sisters, mi madre and of course, my lovely wife who let me infect her with a couple of children.
Among other things, I got my wife the gift of not being on the computer all damn day, which is why this post comes belated. Her gain is your loss internets.
Anyway, to celebrate, here’s a picture of some lesbian eating ice cream next to my kids:
Back off ladies. She's mine.
Secondly, Happy Birthday to my baby-girl who turned all of one year’s old yesterday. We can finally stop worrying about crib death! Yay!
Hard to believe she went from this:
Awwwwwwwwwww.
To this:
Ewwwwwwwwwww.
In just one year.
She’s all walky and starting to talky and all kinds of other developments which more or less tell us she’s peaked as a human being.
I mean, let’s face it, the minute she left her original vision as a bundle of cuteness who stays where you put her and coos when she poops… well, I don’t want to say “jumped the shark” so much as “lost her sheen”.
Still, it turns out the police frown on child abandonment and all that, so we’re stuck with her at least until the stake out ends. Which our “neighbors” indicate won’t be soon.
Oh well, happy happiness to all, and to all a good night and all that rot.
I hope you got over the hangover faster than this one did:
“You look how I feel.”
Unrelated Postscript: You know you’re writing too much when: You interrupt your dream to criticize the story development.
Last night I was having a remarkably stock nightmare about a group of twenty-somethings trapped in a luxury cabin by some psycho-redneck with a blow-gun loaded with a variety of poison darts (not all of them deadly apparently). Luckily, the twenty-somethings made a truncated 911 call before the deranged bushman cut their phone line.
As it stood it was slightly predictable, albeit scary. I mean, shit, a crazy-eyed dude kept showing up at windows with a goddamn blowgun shooting darts into people and disappearing with a rustle of foliage. The nonsense of it only made it scarier really. How do you reason with that dude?
Thanks to police procedure, a car was dispatched to investigate the hang-up. The cruiser brings us: girl-cop, grizzled-vet-cop, and fresh-faced-wet-behind-the-ears rookie-cop (FFWBTER-cop).
The cops enter the cabin without incident and interview the post-grad turks about what’s going on. They hastily explain they’ve been picked off one by one, poisoned or paralyzed by some Charlie Manson wannabe.
Girl-cop continues to take statements, while grizzled-vet-cop goes to check out the lower level where the garage was (I knew this ‘cause my brain supplied me with that kind of prerequisite dream knowledge) and FFWBTER-cop goes back the way they came to secure the perimeter.
FFWBTER-cop sees the deranged goon-face of our antagonist at the window above the washer and dryer* and darts come *fwip*ing in. FFWBTER-cop is young, dumb and full of cum, but spry enough to leap away down the stairs. Lady-cop rushes to help him and trains her gun up the steps while the twenty-somethings return to their regularly scheduled freaking out.
Now I’m actually in the vantage of FFWBTER-cop as he/we tell everyone we just saw the stalker but to our shared horror we realize one of the darts got us… and it’s lethal. I’m not sure how we knew it was lethal—I think production figured we’d fill that in during post. Anyway, FFWBTER-cop starts screaming and freaking out faced with our demise and enough time to contemplate it.
Amid a scream that echoed into my waked mind, however, the dream came to a screaching halt as if a dream elf with an old-school bullhorn shouted “Cut! Cut!”. I immediately reflected: as harsh and disturbing as that played out, it wasn’t the right thing to do.
Story-wise Grizzled-vet-cop should be the next to go, b/c that proves the stakes are high, and robs the audience of the likeliest candidate to match the antagonist in a physical joust.
I can’t say I disagree with my decision, but now I don’t know how it ends, who makes it out alive or how much one of those suckers costs for the weekend.
It really was a nice rental… short the crazy stalker killer: a garage, washer/dryer, mountainside view, nice and remote but with responsive police… I’m just saying.
Manson Cat iz n ur butches, blowin ur darts!!!
Opine    |
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