From the category archives:

no one thinks this is funny but me

Victor:  One day I’m going to finish my robot tigers and we will rule the world.

me: It’d be easier if you just took over the world with real tigers.

Victor:  Robot tigers are scarier than real tigers.

me:  No.  Real tigers are scarier because they’re unpredictable.

Victor: My robot tigers have a random setting.

me: Like a shuffle function on an iPod?

Victor: Exactly.

me:  That is way scarier.

Victor: Plus they could beat you at chess.

me: Well, not me specifically.  I’m pretty damn good at chess.

Victor:  Not as good as a robot tiger.

me:  Live tigers are still scarier because they’re real and you know they hate you. With a robot tiger you understand they’re just doing their job when they kill you.

Victor: My robot tiger would be a cold, calculating killing machine – set on random – that also has an emotion chip and laughs at your pain.

me: That actually sounds scary as shit.

Victor:  I KNOW. I just gave myself a panic attack just thinking about it and I don’t even get panic attacks.

me:  Imagine the synthesized growl you could put on that thing.  And the synthesized laughter.

Victor:  ”HA. HA. HA.”  That’s a robot tiger laughing at your chess skills.  And also, you really aren’t good at chess.

me:  I am.  I’m so not good at it that I move wildly and unpredictably.  It makes me dangerously erratic.

Victor: My robot tiger has a random chess move ability generator.

me:  Well now we’re all fucked.

Victor: The future is going to be scary.  Maybe I should make robot pumas.

me: No.

Victor: Robot cougars?

me:  Mmm…no.

Victor: Robot Bobcats.

me: Robobcats?

Victor:  Don’t be ridiculous.  Robo-bobcats sounds much scarier.

me: I think just you’re starting to come up with excuses as to why you won’t build robot tigers.

Victor:  You might be right.  I won engineering awards from NASA when I was a teenager, for God’s sake.  You’d think I would have invented robot bobcats by now.

me:  I’m sure NASA is very disappointed in you.  You probably haven’t invented robotic minions yet because you don’t apply yourself.  And that’s why the robobcats will never see the light of day.

Victor: A million unborn robo-bobcats suddenly cried out in in pain.

me:  Like Alderaan.  You can almost hear them screaming: “YOU’RE SO LAZY.

Victor:  Fuck this.  I’m building my robot tigers.  THE ROBOT TIGERS ARE COMING.  And their slogan will be “THEY’RE GRRRREAT!”

me:  We’re gonna get sued.

Victor: Yeah, but we’ll bring the robo-bobcats to the trial and they’ll growl angrily.

me:  And Tony the Tiger would be like “I FEEL VERY INTIMIDATED” and our lawyers would be like “THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO BE HERE, TONY.  THIS CONCERNS THEM TOO.”

Victor:  And they’d growl, but with big smiles.  Which would be even scarier.

me:  And also less likely to get thrown out of court because who gets removed from court for smiling at the plaintiff?  ”This is their natural resting state, Tony the Tiger.  THEY’RE BEING ENCOURAGING.  IT’S THEIR HELPFUL GROWL.  YOU CAN TELL BECAUSE THEY’RE SMILING.”

Victor:  Holy shit.

me:  Yeah.

Victor:  There is no way we’re losing this case.

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Yesterday I went out to the nearby market because we live in rural Texas so we go to all the various country fairs and trade days because that’s what we have instead of a mall.  They are awesome and terrible and I never come home without part of an iron lung, or a 60 year old book about “why naked midgets are awesome”.  Yesterday at one stop I found 100′s of doll heads on spikes. It stretched on for a half-acre.  Also, the doll torsos and limbs were in various buckets around, so it was sort of like Build-a-Bear except that you end up with a misproportioned, evil doll that will probably eat your nose off while you sleep.

Even the demon on the right was having a panic attack:

It's creepy, but sometimes it's just nice to be reminded that there are people weirder than me in the world.

But it wasn’t *all* doll heads on spikes.

Because some were on chains.  

Also, this isn’t even half of the heads-on-spikes and none of them were marked for sale.  It was like some sort of Stephen King art installation had accidentally fallen into the center of a market.  There wasn’t a vendor there but no one shoplifted from him.  Probably because you don’t want to fuck with someone who sticks baby heads on spikes.  And because practically no one wants to steal baby heads on spikes.  Both of these things are true.

I did find several other treasures though from other vendors. I found a children’s book of illustrated corpses, complete with color pictures and when I insisted I needed to have it Victor and I both screamed, “IT’S THREE DOLLARS”.

For different reasons though, apparently.

Then I bought a taxidermied duckling (that died of natural causes) and Victor was all “What the fuck are you going to do with a taxidermied duck?” and I was all “What wouldn’t I do with a taxidermied duck?”  It’s like he’s never even met me.

Then I explained that ducks wearing hats were impossible to turn down and he said that the duck didn’t have a hat and I explained that Martin Van Buren’s hat was invisible, but that I’d already bought it and it was already waiting at home in the dollhouse for him.  That’s how ready I was for Martin Van Buren.  And also I explained that his name was Martin Van Buren.  Then Hailey started begging Victor for Duckie Van Buren and Victor explained that we weren’t going to spend $20 on a fragile ancient duckling I’d probably break immediately and Hailey pointed out that if he got broken “we could fix him with duck tape”.  Then I melted from the cuteness and promised her a (probably taxidermied) pony, and Victor looked at us worriedly and wondered when Hailey had joined my strange alliance.  Then I explained that I would make Martin Van Buren into a vampire hunter and then Victor said he’d buy him if I just stopped talking.  EVERYONE WINS.

Especially Martin Van Buren, who looks like a damn bad-ass in his top-hat, holding a bloody spike he just used to impale a nonsexy vampire.

Proof:

He has a bloody spike under his wing. And a very self-satisfied but shell-shocked look on his face. It's like he was MADE for Vampire-hunting.

The really weird thing is that I already owned everything necessary for this scene. The only thing I was missing was a duck that looks good in a hat.

I showed the scene to Victor and he sighed and agreed that it was very frightening but (he pointed out) not for the reasons I’d intended.

Wow.  This post was meant to make it up to you for being MIA so much but now I think I owe you an apology for making you look at Vampire-hunting ducks and baby heads on spikes.  BUT!  There is one very important part I can’t miss.  Because when we first drove up to the market I screamed “HOLY SHITSNACKS, IT’S A FLOCK OF BEYONCES”.  Because it was.  And Victor glared at me while I haggled for a smallish sort of giant metal chicken who desperately wanted a home and he accused me of having some sort of a metal chicken hoarding problem.  But then I pointed out that I was buying this apartment sized metal chicken for you.  Yes, you.  Because I love you.  But I can’t afford to buy chickens all of you so instead I’m randomly selecting one of you to actually win it.  Granted, your spouse might hate it, but you can point out that at least it’s not towels, which has always worked for me.

I took two pictures, but Ferris Mewler managed to squirrel his way into them so you’ll have to ignore him.  Or use him for scale.

"What? You're taking a picture? Don't mind me. I'll just stand back here in case someone needs me."

Ferris Mewler: "These are my paws, you guys." We've all seen your paws, Ferris Mewler.

Anyway, as a very large thank you for not deserting me while I’ve been busy with book stuff I will randomly select one of you from the comments below to win the mini-Beyonce.  All you have to do is tell me what you would name him if he was yours.

The names “Beyonce” and “Martin Van Buren” are spoken for.

Obviously.

UPDATED:  Holy crap, you guys.  That’s a lot of people wanting chicken.  Also, thank you so much for distracting me from the fact that tonight I’m spending tonight in a hospital so they can see if I’m having seizures in my sleep because apparently I don’t have enough shit wrong with me.  (If they let me have my phone I will -of course - be live-tweeting the whole thing.)  And in appreciation for offering up such twisted names (so brilliant that I’m tempted to adopt an orphanage just to have kids to name) that I’ve convinced my editor to send me a couple of advance copies of my book to give out as well.  The advance copies are soft-cover and have typos and the pictures are low resolution, but you’ll be able to read my book 2 months before it’s available.  Or you can use it to fix a wobbly table.  Either way, really.

PS.  Seriously.  Thank you.  You have no idea how much I needed the laugh today.  I’ll pick the winners this week.

UPDATED X 2:  Holy crap.  That’s a lot of people wanting chicken.  Winners announced over here.

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Victor trying to talk me down from an impending panic attack about me not knowing what the hell I’m doing in my life:

Victor:  Dude.  Just calm down and breathe.  Just…trust the process.

me:  But I don’t have a process.

Victor: Well, maybe not having a process is part of your process.

me: YOU’RE JUST SAYING A BUNCH OF RANDOM BULLSHIT THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE.

Victor:  No, I’m trying to make you calm down and stop freaking out.

me: No, you’re just trying to get me to shut up so you can watch TV.

Victor: Well, both actually.  And that’s my process.

Me: Well, it’s not working.

Victor:  Really?  So what exactly was it you were so worried about?

me: Um…FUCK.  I can’t remember because you distracted me with bullshit.

Victor:  Exactly.  Trust the process.

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You guys?  Guess what just arrived?

Holy crap, you guys. My name is on a book and I didn't even have to write it on with a sharpie.

These are the advanced, soft-cover, uncorrected, typo-riddled pre-copies but it doesn’t matter because they’re MY advanced, soft-cover,uncorrected, typo-riddled pre-copies.  And tonight I will curl up with my own book, complete with chapters entitled: “Jenkins, You Motherfucker,” “If You Need an Arm Condom It Might Be Time to Reevaluate Some of Your Life Choices,” Draw Me A Fucking Dog,” “And That’s Why Neil Patrick Harris Would Be the Most Successful Serial Killer Ever” and “It Wasn’t Even My Crack.”   The real book comes out in a couple of months and I just wanted to say thank you, because I couldn’t have done it without you.  Those aren’t just empty words.  I’m too dangerous for advertisers so most of the ads on this blog are from other bloggers who supported my need to write full-time.  Whenever I felt like I’d never finish this 10+ year journey to write my life story your comments kept me believing in myself.  When I was desperate for just the right word you were there on twitter to say “gumption” and “borborygmus” and “sump-pump”.  Getting the book quotes, finding an agent…every single part of this has its origins in social media.  This book was a group effort of so many of you who helped me finish it.  Which means that if you ever left a kind comment, or replied on twitter, or offered to let me read a chapter to you at 3am because I felt like a giant panicky loser then you wrote this book too.  Congratulations.  We’re authors, y’all.

(If you want to pre-order the book that you just wrote with me you can do that here.  It seems weird to pay for your own book, but I can assure you that I’ve pre ordered 5 copies myself at full price.  Mostly because I don’t know how to negotiate with publishers and I’m a terrible shoplifter.)

Also, I’m working on doing a little something special for everyone who has helped in some way, but it’s a bit overwhelming.  I’m in New York next week recording my audio-book {for the love of God, at least one person buy it} so maybe I’ll come up with the perfect thing there.  Something to say thank you, like a kick-ass bookmark.  Or something I can afford, like a handful of dirt.

But for now…let’s move on to this week’s wrap-up:

What you missed on Ill-Advised:

What you missed on the Houston Chronicle:

What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome

  • This week’s wrap-up sponsored by Joey Z’sMeatballs, which is a restaurant that doesn’t exist yet. But it will, if you help open it. Donate on Kickstarter to see it come to fruition. By the way, if this does come into existence I’ve been assured that there will be a Bloggess pizza sandwich WITH EDIBLE GLITTER ON IT.  FOR REAL. This must happen, you guys.

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Today when I look out onto my backyard, this is the glorious sight that greets me.

For real, y’all.

WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE.

PS. I have the best husband ever.

PPS. I just realized that the PS might imply that my husband bought me a TARDIS, but no, of course he didn’t. What he did was not freak out when a giant package arrived at our door and I said “Oh, that’s probably the TARDIS I ordered since the pharmacy wouldn’t give me one for my birthday.” I mentioned it was way cheaper than Beyonce the giant metal chicken and he paled a little and walked away before I could mention that we also need new towels. Then I went off and carried a cardboard TARDIS all over our property to take pictures of it and Victor yelled “YOU KIDS GET OFF MY PROPERTY” in his most cantakerous-old-man voice. When I was done I left the TARDIS in front of his office window and made really loud TARDIS noises. Victor was on a conference call and was very unimpressed, but you can’t deter the furiously happy, Victor. Unless, that is, you go back in time and make me not buy a cardboard TARDIS. You’d need a real TARDIS to do that though. Which would be awesome and I would trade in my cardboard TARDIS for it in a heartbeat. So no matter what, I win. Which is only right since this is my birthday present to me. Happy late birthday, me.

Enjoy your time.

PPPS. I got cactus in my foot getting this picture. It’s not a great one but there’s no way I’m not linking to it since I suffering through cactus-foot for it.

PPPPS. If you don’t watch Doctor Who this whole post is probably very confusing. You should skip it.

PPPPPS. Victor: “That PPPPS. would probably be a lot more helpful if you go back and put it at the top.”

me:  ”IF ONLY I HAD A TIME MACHINE.”

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