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I nerd out about horror movies

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Anonymous Coworker

on April 10, 2008 @ 9:53 am

in Mrs. ACW, awesome, horror, i am so fucking awesome, movies, nerd stuff and people are idiots

. 7 Comments

Every year Mrs. ACW rents us up some movies from Netflix, and not just the same old tired pablum that YOU suckers are used to watching (seriously, everything you like is stupid, unless I’m something that you like, and then that one thing is awesome, but it’s not enough to redeem your otherwise terrible taste), but the After Dark Horrorfest.

Now, some people aren’t into horror, so they employ other tactics to select movies that would make other people squirm and to provide themselves an ample amount of self-loathing. Us? We choose horror.

You may have heard me mention previously some of the movies we own: Barn of the Blood Llama (bad), Cannibal! The Musical (hilarious), or Dead Alive (awesome movie from when Peter Jackson was a horror director). But don’t get me wrong. I love some of these movies, but they are TERRIBLE. Just completely unwatchable. Blitheringly, mind-meltingly, horrid.

So I hope you understand when I say the movies for the After Dark Horrorfest are even worse.

The 2006 selections featured some real stinkers*, so unwatchable that Mrs. ACW and I chose to watch some of the movies in fast-forward rather than spend the time to see it at regular speed.

So far the 2007 Horrorfest has been about the same. The first movie we watched, Lake Dead, was just kind of stupid, but not quite bad enough that we watched it in fast-forward. They seemed like they were doing a cheap rip-off of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and House of 1000 Corpses. It was the same old, tired, played out theme of sexy 20-somethings going into the country and being killed by a family of inbred yokels for some reason.

The second movie, Tooth and Nail, was actually not too bad, but it could have been saved by not being a blatant mash-up of 28 Days Later and Firefly. Also, Rider Strong AKA Shawn Hunter from Boy Meets World, was in it. Also, all the “good” characters were named after cars, and the “bad” characters named after dogs. Now that I think about it, it was actually really ham-handed and kind of stupid.

Last night we got about 30 minutes into Mulberry Street, and the movie just couldn’t make up it’s mind about whether or not it ever wanted to get started, so we popped the ol’ DVD player into fast-forward. It reached the point where Mrs. ACW was reading Harry Potter and I was watching the screen flick by while narrating, “Okay, now there’s a rat. And the one guy’s upset. I think the rat bit him. Now he’s a rat. Now he’s trying to bite people. Oh, and the girlfriend just got bit. Now the daughter is on a bike. She’s biking home. Nothing’s happening. Nothing’s happening. There’s a rat. Nothing’s happening,” and so on. It finally reached the point where even in fast-forward the movie was still taking way too long to get to the end, so I started looking around to find something else in the living room that might be interesting to look at.

The thing that gets me is, these movies are advertised as “the content of these films are considered too graphic, too disturbing, and too shocking for general audiences,” when actually I think the problem is that the movies are either too stupid or too boring, which is really saying something considering how much money the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie made.

That said, I’ve got a real crap-factory at home right now in the form of SS Hell Camp. I wasn’t even aware of the genre of Naziploitation before I got this movie from Netflix, but apparently it’s just all around horrible. According to Wikipedia, it’s still banned in the UK! I have a bad feeling that once I begin to explore this super-niche sub-genre, I won’t be able to scrub its contents out of my brain. I’ll let you know how it is.

*Dark Ride, Unrest, and Wicked Little Things redeemed only by their special effects, Penny Dreadful being the stand out best, and The Gravedancers and The Hamiltons being unwatchably bad. I wasn’t even really interested in watching them in fast-forward.

My guilty pleasure song

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on March 28, 2008 @ 9:39 am

in movies, music, nerd stuff and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs

. 25 Comments

You could mock me. I would certainly mock you.

You could scoff and tell me all the reasons why this song sucks.

Or, you could grow a pair and post your guilty pleasure song in the comments. But I really doubt anyone has a more embarrassing song than this.

Unless it’s this:

Negative bonus points if you’re married and didn’t explicitly ban this song at your wedding.

This not-a-meme-but-just-a-neat-idea borrowed from Stephanie.

Then, as tears of bubbling pitch stream down my face, my dark work will begin.

Published

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on February 6, 2008 @ 11:46 am

in Mrs. ACW, bitches, devil cat, meta blogging, movies, ocd, suhmuhmuh bitch, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs and work

. 6 Comments

I’ve been evicted from my office today. We have a ton of people interviewing for some new positions, and we ran out of conference rooms, empty offices, and lobby spaces, so I’m sharing an office with my boss for the time being. I’m not exactly sure where I’ll be throughout the day, but I don’t think I have to explain that typing on a shared laptop in an office shared with your boss does not exactly provide the same level of anonymity as typing at one’s own desk with the monitor facing away from the door to the office.

Despite these setbacks, I’ve composed this entry in Word and when I have a second will copy and paste it to the intertubes.

I have a feeling that posts for Wednesday are going to become “movie review” type posts because Mrs. ACW leaves for class at about 6:15pm and doesn’t get home until about 10pm. That usually gives me time to watch about two movies. Three if they’re all short, and if I’m efficient with channel flipping and dvd swapping.

Last night I tried to watch 3 movies, but the first movie was so boring I couldn’t help but stop watching it. And if you read last week about my OCD around movies you’ll know that this means the movie must be really really really really boring and/or bad. This week I tried to watch “The Return” featuring Sarah Michelle Gellar, but after about 30 minutes when nothing had happened, I just turned it off in favor of my Netflixed dvd of The Avengers. And let me tell you something- the Avengers sucked. I’m not sure whose idea it was to have two people with British accents banter back and forth and occaisionally swap relatively not unfunny puns, punctuating the dialogue every thirty minutes or so with a stingy dose of action, but that person should be dragged through a swimming pool of peanut butter and thrown to grizzly bears.

Lucky for me Cinemax was showing A History of Violence, so I was able to watch SOMETHING that was good. So good, in fact, that when Mrs. ACW walked in the door during the last 5 minutes of the movie, the douchebag Sherlock decided to scamper out the front door and hide under the neighbor’s porch. Thanks a lot, fucker! So instead of lounging on the couch and watching the conclusion to an exciting movie, I was shoulder deep in 200 years of leaf detritus trying to get a hold of the walking shit factory.

I made it back inside just in time to see the credits rolling! Argh! You have no idea how crazy this makes someone like me. I can’t function. It’s like someone switched the prescription on my glasses without telling me, and I just have to deal with it. Add to that the fact that I don’t even have my own computer to work on today, and thus can’t search the internets for the final scene, and you’ll realize that I’m starting to mentally unravel at the seams.

Don’t be surprised if posts for the rest of this week amount to nothing more than, “Teddy bear want my bear teddy bear bear blanket where’s my bear blanket teaddy bear blanket bear teddy bear picnic tea party teddy bear picnic bear blanket satan bear blanket teddy satan bear ba’al teddy Beelzebub satan satan Lucifer bear hail satan satan sacrifice human sacrifice hail satan kill eat souls rend this world in twain and banish all souls to eternal torment and strife when a black icy wave of abysmal darkness envelops this plane of existence and expels all but hatred from the hearts of men teddy bear.”

You might be tempted to watch it now. Don’t.

Published

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on January 30, 2008 @ 10:39 am

in movies, ocd, potty humor, sex and suhmuhmuh bitch

. 17 Comments

I’m not sure how many people know how much I love movies. If I’m flipping through the channels looking for something to watch and I see the stars spinning up over the Paramount logo, or the TriStar pegasus running towards the camera, or the Universal globe, or the MGM lion, that’s it, I’m done for. Whatever the movie is, for good or for bad, I’m watching it. Even if I all I catch is the opening credits with the theme music starting, I may as well be shackled to the chair.

For example, I once won free tickets to the over-long and under-entertaining Four Feathers (I realize the recently departed Mr. Ledger was in it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t suck balls)*. Free tickets. FREE. And 7 hours into the first half of the movie when my friends wanted to leave, I was like, “No, let’s stay. I’m sure it will get better.” And two days later, it did get better when it ended. They must have shot that movie for 37 years for as long as it felt like it was. IMDB says it was only 130 minutes, but I’m pretty sure when I left I was collecting Social Security benefits.

A further example: Dr. T. and the Women. Dr. T and the Women is by far, bar none, the worst movie ever made. And I mean “worst” in every possible way. Everything about it was a horrible eye-sodomizing punch in the brain. The acting, the directing, the story, the music, the free merchandise distributed with the movie. Again, I got free tickets to see this movie, and even when I wanted to firebomb the whole theater before the opening credits were over, I still sat through the whole thing. They were giving out movie t-shirts before the movie, and once the movie was done I stood up, tore the tshirt they gave me into pieces, threw it on the floor, and stormed out of the theater. I hated every minute of that movie. I’ve never been so angry and unhappy in my life. I would gladly relive the horrible three month emasculation that was the breakup with my high-school girlfriend rather than ever watch that movie again.

Many people don’t believe me when I tell them how bad it is. Well, let me try to get you to where I am at this point. Imagine your least favorite movie. Whatever it is, Biodome, Chicago, Blair Witch, whatever, just picture watching it. Now, staple your genitals to a car battery, put your legs in a tree shredder, submerge your head in a bucket of shit, cover your left arm in leeches, and pay a sadist to peel the skin off your right arm. Imagining that? Good. That’s how the first 10 minutes of Dr. T and the Women feels. And I sat through the whole damn thing. I’ve blogged about my hatred of this movie before, if you’re interested, but I feel I must move on.

This is a transitional sentence!

I think there are two reasons why I’m so drawn to movies now. Part of it definitely has to do with the fact that I’m OCD and once I start something, I have trouble thinking clearly until I finish it. The other reason is that as a kid my parents never really took us to the movies. It was sort of a once yearly thing. I think they saw them as a big waste of money. I’m kind of inclined to agree with them, but still, my Netflix queue is 495 movies long, and it would be longer if Netflix allowed me to add any more than 500 movies. Case in point, I have the move “Medicine Man” in my queue which I’m pretty sure was roundly ignored by the entire planet, and yet, since I saw a commercial for it when I was 12, I still want to see it.

So what’s the point of all this? A pathetic attempt at self defense for the oncoming suggestions that I’m metro… because last night I watched The Lake House. Alone. I was flipping through the channels to see if there was anything I could watch before putting on Fast Food Nation, and I came across the Lake House just as the credits were rolling. Not knowing what it was, and OCD kicking in high-style, it took me about 20 minutes to realize I was watching dreck, but by then it was too late.

Lucky for me two of the themes of the movie are architecture and temporal relativity, otherwise I may have been bored out of my mind, and also luckily for me, this movie was really bad, which made it easy to laugh at. The cinematography was ham-handed and hackish at best, culminating in it’s crappiness on a wobbly zoom of Keanu in a reflection of a window and then holds there until he eventually sneezes. If it sounds stupid and confusing and dumb, you’re right, it is. But still, I watched it from beginning to end. From one tortured monologue to the next. Seriously, at points I was expecting the director to trot out holding a sign that says, “Here comes another tired and worn out cliche from chick flicks! Prepare yourself for the banality!” A little counter in the corner counting the cliches would have surely exploded within the first half hour. The movie was really that terrible.

I know some of you out there will want to argue with me. “But ACW, you have to admit, it was a sweet movie.” or “It was a good story, even if it was kind of stupid.” or maybe even, “Hey, my names Sandra Bullock and I was in that and I didn’t think it was that bad. At least, the cash wasn’t. Ch-ching! Ha ha, suckers!”

You are all wrong. The movie was terrible, and every DVD should be broken into a million pieces and stabbed into Richard Gere’s face lest he make another Dr. T and the Women. God how I hate that movie. I guess the fart and necrophilia jokes can wait until tomorrow.

*I think this counts as a “dick” joke.

This is where the title goes

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on January 24, 2008 @ 9:45 am

in Mrs. ACW, POS Tercel, bitches, movies, people are idiots, potty humor, suhmuhmuh bitch, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs and work

. 12 Comments

So, man, have I been a terrible blog owner lately. First there’s nothing to write about, then I go away for a week and a half, then I come back and again have shit all to write about. I can’t say exactly where I went, or what I did, but I did learn some new magic tricks and mind-reading games, as well as a few new drinking games. Because it’s always handy to trick someone into buying you a drink, and then playing a game that gets you so drunk you’re soiling your diapers less than an hour later. What? You don’t wear diapers? Oh. Well, neither do I. Moving on.

A buddy of mine has entered a short story in the Amazon.com short story competition. Because I’m a lazy bastard, I will use nearly the exact text he used when he told me to read it and write a nice review. “I’ve been selected as a semifinalist in Amazon.com novel competition, and I’m looking to shore up support for my book by getting anyone and everyone in the world to write reviews and post ratings for my book. In order to do this, obviously, I have to tell you where it is. It’s here.” So wander over and take a look at what’s he’s got going on, and be sure to give it a good review. Also, feel free to buy me something off my wishlist while you’re over there. Because I’m awesome.

Let’s see… what else is going on. I have a pretty big announcement for next week, so feel free to stop by on Monday to see what that’s all about. I’m not trying to be some hit-whoring blog-tease, it’s just that I haven’t written the post for the announcement yet. I can’t post something I haven’t written yet, jerks. Calm the crap down. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, the internet will go on.

Speaking of the internet, I haven’t yet had a chance to reacquaint myself with it since I’ve been gone outside of occasional dalliances into the ether in response to an email query. I’m completely and utterly behind news-wise. I have no idea what’s been going on in the primaries, or with the economy, or anything. The only news item I’ve heard recently was that Heath Ledger died, which sucks, because he always seemed to be one of those Hollywood types who wasn’t constantly stuffing his nose full of coke, shaving his head, and flashing his junk at the media. I think we’ve lost someone who could have been a fantastic lifetime actor, and that sucks. Proving there is no god, Richard Gere continues to live. Also, I have a flat tire. Woo hoo to spending money on shit I wasn’t anticipating!

The Missus and I were supposed to get tattoos for Holiday presents (the war on Xmas doesn’t end with the season, now does it?) for each other, and I’m struggling with ideas. I sort of had all my tattoo ideas laid out in my head, and when the guy at the shop advised me on why he thought one of my tattoo placement ideas wasn’t a good idea, it kind of sent my whole tattoo plan into flux. At the same time, I’ve been brimming with new ideas that I can’t get because I have a personal rule about waiting one year before getting an idea tattooed on myself. Also, please don’t suggest any ideas, because I don’t get stuff done that isn’t my own idea, and you might ruin a potential future idea I have. There’s nothing worse than seeing or hearing about a tattoo that I had only begun to formulate mentally.

I think aside from that stuff I don’t really have much going on right now, but you know I’ll let you know as soon as I see something bizarre/stupid/weird/funny. In the meantime, I will continue to sort through the ninety-hojillion emails I have left, and keep meeting with people. (This is, I think, my newest pet peeve. Almost worse than those that continually email me after having gotten my vacation message are people who schedule meetings back to back the day I get back to work. Don’t they realize I have better things to do then listen to them drone on about the decisions they reached in meeting when I wasn’t there?)

More likely a tarp, though. Fewer leaks.

Published

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on January 14, 2008 @ 8:07 am

in Glen Burnie, Mrs. ACW, food, movies, nog and potty humor

. 10 Comments

What can be said about Stirring’s eggnog that hasn’t already been said about getting hit in the face with a warm sack of diarrhea?

Actually, that’s a bad analogy. Stirring’s eggnog is like being told that you’re going to get the super-awesomest puppy that ever existed, when you instead end up with a dog that sexually assaults you.

Some back story: Mrs. ACW and I were doing some food shopping over the holidays and we opted to shop in a county with a higher-than-average tax bracket. The produce tends to be fresher, and the selection tends to be greater, and none of the cashiers are surly teenagers who lack the ability to add. The downside to all this is that the other shoppers have huge superiority complexes, entitlement issues, and feel that the world is owed to them, so they’ll frequently crash their carts into yours, fall down, and call triple A. Before you know what’s happening, you’ve been summoned to court to serve as a witness against yourself. Also, because these places tend to be whiter than a whitebread and mayonnaise sandwich, the “International Foods” aisle is typically Italian fare like spaghetti and pasta sauce. Occasionally you might find an old dusty box of taco shells that people keep buying to impress their house cleaner, and then returning the tacos after they fire the house cleaner. I imagine that most people in that area have owned those tacos for a day or two at least once. Suffice it to say, Mrs. ACW and I were not able to find the canned chipotle peppers on our list.

However, what they lack in diverse foods, they make up for in a new kind of eggnog. As we were wandering the aisles and gazing upon row after row of jarred peacock in truffle oil and ivory shavings, canned polar bear toes, and freeze-dried Irish babies, we came across the bottle of nog pictured above… and it cost $11. This makes it the most expensive nog purchase in my history of nogsumerism. Mrs. ACW looked at my joyful face, the price tag, and simply said, “That had better be some good fucking eggnog.” As you may have already surmised, it was not.

As soon as we got home I wanted to bust it open so I could try some, and since it was an eggnog cocktail concentrate, I would need to mix it with milk or liquor, sort of like the chai nog. So I mixed some up with some milk and took a sip… and it was weird. It tasted like the milk had gone bad or something. There was this weird biscotti-like taste to the nog. So I dumped in some bourbon… but that taste was still there. I dumped in even more bourbon and even more milk, but the horrible taste couldn’t be squelched. Mind you, the original recipe calls for 2 parts nog to 1 part milk OR liquor, and I was at about 4 parts milk AND bourbon to 1 part nog. It was like a party in my mouth and everybody had the trots.

For YOU people I went back and tried the filthy shit again before writing this post, and I was finally able to put my finger on what the taste was: licorice. It was like drinking eggnog through a straw made of black licorice. It’s absolutely repulsive, and I’m not sure what makes it taste that way, but when you can add so much booze and milk and the licorice flavor still comes through… well, I’d say we have a problem.

Then again, I also hate that shitty pre-liquored nog that you can buy, and I know lots of people who love it, so it might just be me in this case. Either way, I’ll never drink it again, and maybe it’ll save you about 11 bucks. And having to learn what it’s like to be hit in the face with a sack of warm diarrhea.

Until next year, thus ends the nog diaries. Like Sex in the City, but with less lactose intolerance.

My POS Tercel

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on January 4, 2008 @ 10:02 am

in POS Tercel and movies

. 20 Comments

As you may know, my car is a complete and extraordinary piece of crap. It’s much more interesting to list the features that it doesn’t have than what it does have, so I’ll just do that for you here:

Power windows
Power mirrors (in fact, the mirrors that came standard weren’t adjustable from the inside of the car, and you instead had to roll down the window and adjust the mirror itself. This was great fun in the winter.)
Cruise control
Power seats
Variable intermittent windshield wiper speeds (I have two speeds: “on” and “on fast”)
Low Fuel warning light (if it actually exists, it’s never come on)
Interior gas tank release
Interior trunk release
Tachometer
Tripometer (resettable odometer for trips and such)
Floor mats
Clock
CD or Cassette player (The car was sold to me with a radio. Just a radio. It had been Frankensteined into the dashboard. A CD player was the first thing I installed.)
Speakers (Yes, the car came with a radio, and no speakers. We had to cut upholstery out of the doors to install the front speakers, and when we moved to the trunk to install the rear speakers we found solid metal where a speaker-mount should have been. So I have no rear speakers.)

All of this, of course, goes without saying that I don’t have a sunroof, alloy wheels, leather interior, or any luxury like that. A car with those features is the Shangri-La of automobiles that exists only in my imagination. I know the best I’ll ever attain is a car that has cruise control and, dare I hope, it’s own speakers.

The point of this belabored introduction is to not shock you when I explain that my speedometer doesn’t work in the winter. Well, it doesn’t completely not work, it’s just not very accurate in cold weather. For example, sometimes it stays stuck at five or ten miles per hour until I get up to about 30 or so. Or it’ll stay stuck at 30 or 40 when my speed has decreased to well below that. The most amusing is when I’ve come to a complete stop and the needle on the speedometer is only just then beginning to slowly drift from whatever speed I was previously traveling to the zero. If the traffic light is short enough, sometimes it never even reaches zero.

But all of that only happens while the car is still getting warmed up. Once the car gets warmed up a bit the sticking stops and the needle on the speedometer behaves just as it should… almost. The problem once the car is warmed up is that the speedometer starts making a horrible grinding noise between 10 and 60 miles per hour, so almost the totality of my commute. Further, when I’m cruising along at an even speed, say, 60 miles per hour, the needle will woggle up to ten miles per hour in either direction. It’s like stepping on a scale and watching the numbers bounce back and forth before they eventually settle. The thing is, though, that the needle in my car never settles. It just keeps bobbling back and forth between 50 and 70, occasionally pulling itself even on 60 and shivering there like a strand of wheat in the wind for a moment so I have some idea about the rate of speed at which I’m traveling.

I talked to my mechanic about it a while ago and he told me he’d never experienced a problem quite like that before, and he imagined that it would cost me a few hundred bucks to dig around and find out what the problem is. I told him that it works well enough the way it is, and he said he figured I’d bring it back when it would need to be replaced, which would probably be cheaper.

The good news is that if a cop pulls me over in the winter I can honestly say that I have no idea about how fast I’m going, but the bad news is that a judge would probably spank me for driving an automobile with a defective speedometer. The other good thing is that my car is like it’s own Groundhog Day; once I know how fast I’m going, I also know spring is on the way. I didn’t mean the whole day repeating thing, but that might be cool too.

Oh, and just to be clear, my car wasn’t built in the 60’s, or the 70’s, or even the 80’s. It was built in 96. It’s only 12 years old, and it runs like a dream. A dream surround by a hulking shell of dilapidated shit.

Of nog and necrophilia

Published

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on December 19, 2007 @ 11:08 am

in food, horror, movies, necrophilia, nog, potty humor, sex, suhmuhmuh bitch, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs and zombies

. 22 Comments

There’s a theory that holds a bit of popularity on these here intertubes, and it’s called the Uncanny Valley. If you’re familiar with this concept, please feel free to skip ahead to the third paragraph. If you’re not, I encourage you to read on, because my point hinges on this concept.

The uncanny valley is an explanation of human reaction to human-like objects, primarily robots. Common sense suggests that as robots begin to look more human, the more receptive we should be to those robots, giving them a more positive response. For example, an industrial car-building robot has a few human traits like dexterity and hinged-joints, so we have only a slightly positive response to it. On the other hand, a fully human-looking robot like the T-101, T-1000, or T-X from the Terminator movies each elicit a very positive response because of their humanness (as long as they aren’t trying to kill you, or turning their hands into swords or guns). So, between those two points we should see a straight line, right? Not exactly. At a certain point the robot begins to look human, but does not look human enough so we reject the robot with a negative response, much the same way we reject zombies, corpses, and fake-looking artificial limbs. Here’s a graphical representation of the uncanny valley, as well as a lot more science talk, if you’re interested in that type of thing. If you’re still having trouble grasping the concept, here’s a real-life example:

Orville Redenbacher was a purveyor of popcorn, and also acted as the face for his company in the commercials, as can be seen in this ad. He died in 1995.

Recently an ad agency decided to resurrect Mr. Redenbacher to help sell more popcorn for the Orville Redenbacher company. The horrendous result can be seen here. Despite the CGI being pretty damn good, almost everyone who has ever seen this commercial has been repulsed by it, which is why the ad was pulled in most markets shortly after it began to air. The CGI Redenbacher, or Deadenbacher as he is referred to on Wikipedia, is located somewhere in the uncanny valley; a zombie-like approximation of a once-living icon, close enough to do the job of selling popcorn, but not close enough for people to keep that popcorn down for very long. This is the also case with powdered nog.

As you can see from the carton, the Aspen Mulling Company promises nothing more than “Egg Nog Mix” but their illustration suggests they’ve packaged something drinkable; a claim, I can assure you, that surpasses the vilest of lies, crafted by Satan’s lawyers in the deepest pits of flaming torment.

I’ve included the directions here to illustrate the sheer paucity of verifiable claims. “Let stand two minutes to thicken” into disgusting undrinkable clot. “For a special treat, pour egg nog over fresh fruit.” I agree, just don’t use this eggnog. “Smoothies: Add 3 teaspoons per serving into blender.” and what else? Milk? Eggs? Diarrhea? “Bundt Cake: Add 2 tablespoons to your favorite recipe.” if you want to ruin it and make people hate you forever.

See those little yellow-orange dots floating in the off-white mixture? Those are the parts of the mix that refused to integrate with the milk even after furious stirring. I could already tell that I was about to submit my innards to some horrible abuse, equivalent to internal punching from tonsils to tailpipe.

Uggh. The first sip tasted like off-brand sugar-free vanilla pudding got knocked up by soy-nog and their baby was this screaming, head-spinning, chunk-spewing, demon-infested horror. That orange line is one of the first accumulations of unmixable nog powder that would eventually ring my glass.

See that? It’s an empty nog glass; unmixable and probably undigestable nog powder clings to the bottom. For you people I drank this. For you. So you don’t wander into the store and think, “Hey maybe I should put some powder into some milk instead of putting powder up my nose for once,” take it home and DIE when you try to ingest something that was clearly invented for someone who loves nog as much as I do. For you people I drank the equivalent of the uncanny valley of eggnog. For you people I drank the metaphorical Deadenbacher. For you people I traveled to Hell’s gates, knocked on the door, and then yanked on the chain of the three-headed demon-dog that eats souls and salivates liquid-hot magma. And for you people I let that demon-dog hump my leg. I hope you’re happy.

Post-Halloween wrap-up

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Anonymous Coworker

on November 1, 2007 @ 10:50 am

in awesome, bitches, food, movies and sex

. 8 Comments

Shockingly, last night wasn’t that bad. Not ALL bad anyway. Parking on my brother’s street was kind of difficult, which is odd, because typically there’s a huge expanse of parking that any idiot could drive a limo into. In fact, most of his neighbors are SO desperately clinging to their cushy suburban lifestyle that they will YELL at you if you don’t leave an ENTIRE car length of empty space between your car and their car. As if parking 3 feet away from their bumper is the equivalent of welding their car into a metal box and burying it 20 feet underground. So last night was kind of crazy because families from all over bussed their kids in to sweep through the densely packed townhouses on an evening quest to give their children pancreatic shock and early onset diabetes.

And though many piglets lined up at the trough last night, I didn’t see any that were particularly plump, particularly greedy, or particularly rude. Though Mokie did inform me that one little plumpkin grabbed a pudgy handful of candy after his friends had modestly selected one piece each, and even after Mokie barked out an admonishment of “Aa!” typically reserved for disciplining his dog did the little porker drop most of the handful, stuffing what remained stuck to his sweaty hand into his bag before absconding.

Aside from the typical groups of kids that I saw last night, there are three I’d like to describe to you. The first group consisted of three teenagers; two in costume, one too “cool” or too embarrassed to dress up hung out on the sidewalk, douchetooth headset firmly implanted into his ear. Admittedly, the two that had dressed up were in good costumes. The young man was dressed in a toga (and not just a bedsheet) and the young woman was dressed in lederhosen and said “trick or treat,” or some variation thereof, in German, but as someone who doesn’t speak German, I have no idea if she was lying or not. They seemed to be dating, and I thought, “You could be having sex right now, but you’re out collecting candy. How sad.” Because generally, I think if you’re old enough for sex, you’re too old for trick or treating. So I made them say “trick or treat” in unison three times at increasing volumes until they said it sufficiently loudly enough. Then I gave them each one year-old tootsie roll that Mokie had been distributing to all the kids. It’s good to be the king.

The second group was depressing at best. Two more teens with a younger sibling (child?) in tow came to the door and when I opened it I realized they were both actively smoking. Each held a lit cigarette between index and middle fingers of the same hand that clutched at a greasy yellowed pillowcase that they were using to collect candy. In fairness, they said “trick or treat” and “please” and “thank you” and “Happy Halloween” and in general were the only group that didn’t have to be prodded to do so, but if you’re old enough to smoke, you’re too old to be trick or treating. They got year-old tootsie rolls as well, and seemingly happy, moved on.

The final group featured three boys who appeared to be about 9 or 10 years old. Two of them were dressed as Spiderman, or a skeleton, or Batman, or a ninja, or something else forgettable, but the other one was dressed as Leonidas from 300. I pointed to the two uninspiring candy-hobos and said, “You say ‘trick or treat’” and then pointed to the little Leonidas and said, “You say the line from the movie.”

“Trick or treat” came the response from the unimaginative piglets. “Really?” said Leonidas.

“Yes.”

He huffed and dropped his head, and I figured I had just hurt his feelings or pushed too far into his comfort zone when he looked up again and literally bellowed, “This is SPARTAAAA!” I cracked up, everybody inside cracked up, and his parents waiting on the sidewalk cracked up. I dropped a year-old tootsie roll into the bag of each whatever they were, and told the Spartan to wait. I ran back inside and grabbed the one full-sized candy bar that we had and dropped it into his bucket.

“Thanks!”

I was hoping for more kids to mess with, but the streets were getting sparse and the groups were fewer and further between. Five minutes later we ran out of candy, shut off the lights, and concluded another Halloween.

Samhain, bitches!

Published

Anonymous Coworker

on October 31, 2007 @ 9:30 am

in Mrs. ACW, awesome, beer, devil cat, house, movies and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs

. 22 Comments

Mrs. ACW and I did some pumpkin carving the other night, as is our yearly tradition, and I thought I’d share the jack-o-lanterns with you. Not because you care, but because I think they are awesome, and I don’t really give a crap what you think, so you can suck it.

Anyway, here’s the first one.

I guess this isn’t a true jack-o-lantern per se, because we didn’t really carve it, and because it’s got no candle in it, but it was fun to make anyway. They only issue was that the stupid people who designed this thing were under the impression that it would be positively simple to stab the pieces into the pumpkin. The soft, round-tipped pieces. It was like trying to carve a turkey with a tampon. So I had to break out the drill and pre-drill the holes for the Mr. Pumptato Head Pirate guy. You should also make notice of all the little bumps and warts on his face. I took special care to pick a pumpkin with “character” since I knew I wouldn’t actually be carving it. Next year I think I’m going to use a styrofoam pumpkin and glue the pieces in place so I can just get him down from the attic each year.

This was my favorite pumpkin this year. I carved Jack Skellington! The pumpkin is actually upside-down, because I thought that little lumpy part at the top really made a good forehead. I cut out the eyes with a knife, but to make the mouth I used a Dremel and sideways-cutting bit thinger. It was slow, delicate work, but I like the way it turned out.

This Frankenstein Monster was sketched out freehand and then carved with a regular old knife. I was going for a stylized stamp type look, but I did sort of copy the mouth from Bill Watterson.

Finally, Mrs. ACW carved an Homestar Runner pumpkin. Because we’re internet nerds. I think it turned out pretty good considering the top half is actually kind of detailed with the beanie and underbite profile.