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Apr. 3rd, 2009
Did you know there was a World Pillow Fight Day and that it was tomorrow?
I didn't either until a few hours ago when a bearded madman came barreling into the Witch House enroute to a swank Midtown gallery opening. I held him at bay with the sharp end of my fork - freshly impaled with shredded spinach for extra damage - and told him to talk sense god-dammit I was trying to eat my dinner!
"It's true" he insisted and his mighty beard began to puff out to Dostoyevskian proportions around his neck, "... and furthermore my good man, I am proud to report that our fine city will be partaking in this international mass ritual of mock-combat!"
Before I could shriek in protest otherwise, he launched himself across the room in a blur, quickly hijacking my computer and pulling up window after window until...
"There!" he roared victoriously jabbing the screen insistently with a curiously soot-stained finger, "It even has its own facebook page!"
"Holy shit..." I shouted bolting upright out of my chair, sending salad and blueberry-green tea to splash against the nicotine stained walls before me, "... why are you still here! Good Devil, man... just what is it that you would have me do, that I might enjoy the remainder of my meager supper in peace?"
"Tell them, damn you, tell them all..."
"Wait, hol' up a second" I shrug helplessly, "Tell who 'damn you'?"
"Silence!" and from the bottom of his beard the heads of seven hissing ferrets emerged to bare their teeth at me. "Tell them all... of the coming battle tomorrow! Three o'clock! Freedom Park! Bring a pillow!"
"Uh... okay... anything else?"
"NO!" and the ferrets sank slowly back into the feral depths of his chin-safari, their eyes never wavering from mine the whole time. With that he bade me a 'good evening', doffed an imaginary hat in salute and left back down the stairs from which he came. I for my part promptly continued with my meal, that is what little of it I could scrape from the walls and table top and from my left chest pocket.
So, y'know... there's a pillow fight or something going on tomorrow. You in or what?
Also on the agenda and later in the day is attempting to attend this event:
It's being billed by the Creative Loafing as a free show and it sounds pretty kick-ass from where I'm sitting. I'll probably go and check it out before Vee gets off work tomorrow.
As an aside, just a little Terminus psychogeography trivia if you're interested -
( Read more... )
I didn't either until a few hours ago when a bearded madman came barreling into the Witch House enroute to a swank Midtown gallery opening. I held him at bay with the sharp end of my fork - freshly impaled with shredded spinach for extra damage - and told him to talk sense god-dammit I was trying to eat my dinner!
"It's true" he insisted and his mighty beard began to puff out to Dostoyevskian proportions around his neck, "... and furthermore my good man, I am proud to report that our fine city will be partaking in this international mass ritual of mock-combat!"
Before I could shriek in protest otherwise, he launched himself across the room in a blur, quickly hijacking my computer and pulling up window after window until...
"There!" he roared victoriously jabbing the screen insistently with a curiously soot-stained finger, "It even has its own facebook page!"
"Holy shit..." I shouted bolting upright out of my chair, sending salad and blueberry-green tea to splash against the nicotine stained walls before me, "... why are you still here! Good Devil, man... just what is it that you would have me do, that I might enjoy the remainder of my meager supper in peace?"
"Tell them, damn you, tell them all..."
"Wait, hol' up a second" I shrug helplessly, "Tell who 'damn you'?"
"Silence!" and from the bottom of his beard the heads of seven hissing ferrets emerged to bare their teeth at me. "Tell them all... of the coming battle tomorrow! Three o'clock! Freedom Park! Bring a pillow!"
"Uh... okay... anything else?"
"NO!" and the ferrets sank slowly back into the feral depths of his chin-safari, their eyes never wavering from mine the whole time. With that he bade me a 'good evening', doffed an imaginary hat in salute and left back down the stairs from which he came. I for my part promptly continued with my meal, that is what little of it I could scrape from the walls and table top and from my left chest pocket.
So, y'know... there's a pillow fight or something going on tomorrow. You in or what?
Also on the agenda and later in the day is attempting to attend this event:
It's being billed by the Creative Loafing as a free show and it sounds pretty kick-ass from where I'm sitting. I'll probably go and check it out before Vee gets off work tomorrow.
As an aside, just a little Terminus psychogeography trivia if you're interested -
( Read more... )
Bonus Round!
Apr. 3rd, 2009 11:45 pm
A quick pop culture rorschach test:
1-When you look at the above comic book cover you see...?
a)The timeless tale of man verus radioactive mutant unicorn of course!
b)The Silver Age of Comics at its finest.
c)A snapshot of the male subconscious wrestling with puberty.
d)...daddy!
e)________ (fill in the blank)
2- If you had to guess how did the Mighty Samson find himself having to battle a mutant unicorn in the first place?
3- How did the Mighty Samson lose his eye?
4- Would this make a killer tattoo or what?
5- What song comes to mind as a possible soundtrack to this story?
6- You're in a desert, walking along in the sand, when all of a sudden you look down... (it doesn't make any difference what desert, it's completely hypothetical)... you look down and see a tortoise. It's crawling toward you. You reach down and you flip the tortoise over on its back. The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, beating its legs trying to turn itself over, but it can't. Not without your help. But you're not helping. Why is that?
Okay that's it.
Thanks for your cooperation and we'll be back with your results sometime next week.