Wish You All Were Here

Of Course, I'm Fine On My Own

You Glorious Bastard

OK, so here's how the internet works, apparently.

Comic book/novel/TV writer extrordinare, Warren Ellis pointed me to screenwriter/comidian/hellacious blogger John Rogers who in turn pointed me to blogger/quick draw artist/crazy fucker/my new hero Latigo Flint.

Now those two other guys Ellis and Rogers. They're stand up guys. Ellis has been doing comics for years. Hell, he's one of the many reasons I fell in love with writing and one of about three or four reasons I fell in love with comics. Buy his shit! That's an order.

Rogers wrote some on Cosby which is cool. He also wrote on the movies CATWOMAN and THE CORE. I'll leave that last sentence hanging for others to comment on. I will however say that his blog (along with Ellis' site) is one of the few spots on the web I absolutley will not fail to visit every day. The man is smart and funny and he's making no apologies for it.

Latigo Flint...cripes. What do you say about Latigo Flint? He writes a blog. I think most of his readers think his blog is fiction. I however, have worked in a mental hospital. As a result, I know how many truely insane people are out there. This guy may be for real. But whether he's the real deal or not...I hope I grow up to be just like him.

I are a blog er, asshole.

Shit.

Look at me. Haven't posted in about a week and now I've got two or three posts in me(depending on how many more drinks I have tonight).

I love a good victimless crime. Especially when said victims of said victimless crime are, themselves, said criminals simply by virtue of being victimized by said victimless crime.

Case in point; you know that old stereotype about Chinese restaurants serving cat passed off as some other kind of meat? Right. Well, here's the exact opposite of that stereotype. A restaurant in China, which advertised illegal tiger meat, has apparently been feeding people donkey this whole time.

Good. Fuck'em. Tigers are pretty. People are stupid. Personally, I'd much rather eat people than tiger. Fuck people. HOORAY, TIGER!

Oh, and the donkey meat was soaked in tiger piss for flavor. And the tigers had herpes(I hope). So, again, fuck you tiger eatin' motherfuckers.

This story found via the great and magical Warren Ellis.

Pesky Ninjas

At the coffee shop. I swear, one day I will masturbate, laughing as I watch this place burn to the ground with everyone inside. Such is my hatred for it.

There's no smoking in here. Fuckers. FUCKERS, I SAY!

It's a coffee shop. COFFEE, people. It's half the equation. Drinking coffee by itself without having a cigarette is like humming "Shave and a haircut" and then just stopping. It's wrong to do that to people and Jesus is watching you do it you sons of rat-fucked whores! You know who you are!

They even have a little sign up out side that says I can't smoke within twenty feet of the entrance. That used to be funny back when there was an ashtray right next to the door, but now that ashtray is gone and that sign is pointing at me and laughing.

I still smoke well within twenty feet of the entrance, but now the coffee shop whores have found another way to combat my rugged individuality. No, they aren't politely asking me to move a little further up the street. They wouldn't dare. The coffee whores all see the steely glint in my eye and know in their pansy-fied guts that any such imposition placed upon me, no matter how nicely put, would only get them told to fuck themselves. So they've done something underhanded.

They've hired ninjas. Evil, pesky, CIA trained, anti-freedom ninjas are now working the whole of 9th street in two and three man teams disguised as mild mannered bums and scavenger smokers.

The first one to approach me was obviously crap. He'd disguised himself as a 15-year-old girl in a Warrant T-shirt and tried to flirt with me a bit when he asked to bum a cigarette off me. But I'd seen him coming a mile off. I knew his game. I'd seen it before. Trick the unwary smoker into giving a minor a cigarette, give the signal and watch as the SWAT team rushes in their machine guns and Fuck-You sticks and carts the poor bastard off to federal prison leaving his unsmoked Maralboros on the sidewalk like an abortion for the doggies to piss on. I have too many friends rotting in prison because of that dirty trick to fall for it myself. Besides, I paid for this cancer and I'll be damned if I'm sharing. Skillfully, I deflected the ninja with a simple, "Sorry, I left the rest of my cigarettes inside." The little ninja girlboy sauntered off, head hung in shame at his/her failure. Surely he/she would be put to death by the evil pesky ninja overlords.

The second was master of his trade. He struck thirty seconds after the first when I had just lit up and had made a call on my cell phone. While the phone was still ringing he repelled down the side of the building, landed next to me in a Spiderman crouch and got up so close I could smell the whiskey and infant on his breath. He didn't ask me to give him a cigarette, but rather if he could buy one of my cigarettes. The person I was calling picked up on their end around the same time I put forward a weak left-my-smokes-inside defense so I had to dance between telling them to hold and fending off the ninja. The ninja skirted my defense by telling me he'd be happy to buy the cigarette I was smoking at that very moment. I gestured that I was on the phone. "C'mon, man, gimme a damn cigarette!" Normally I would have dispatched him subtly by throwing him head first through the coffee shop's plate glass window before the lit cigarette ignited his whiskey breath resulting in a catastrophic explosion, but I was on the damn phone. All I could do was surrender my sweet, sweet coffin nail into his greasy fingers and try not to sob as he walked off chuckling. Bastard didn't even give me the fifty cents he'd offered.

But I wasn't to be out done by a bunch of coffee whores and their sneaky, hired, fun killing ninjas. I immediately went back into the coffee shop, got another smoke and went right back out.

The third ninja in the team was on me before I could even light up. This one was doing a fairly decent impersonation of a crackhead and was simply ruthless in his approach. His tactic was begging. Like a five year old at the store asking you to buy him a toy. How can you say no to those pathetic little eyes? What are you made of stone? Of course, I couldn't tell him I'd left my smokes inside. That just wouldn't cut it here. This guy was desperate. He'd have probably asked if he could go inside and get one himself. So I told him that the cigarette I held in my hands was in fact my last cigarette. Blunder! The third ninja kept up the begging routine even then. "Are you sure that's your last one, mister?" Fuck me, these people are good.

Ninja #3 is still out there to. He's chasing off other smokers by scavenging them. Every once in a while he'll glance at me. He knows I still have cigarettes. He knows it's been two hours since I've had nicotine and that if I don't light up soon I will surely die. He's just waiting for me to go back out there so he can say, "I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOUR LAST ONE, YOU BASTARD!"

He'll never stop. None of them will. Not the ninjas, not the coffee whores, not the liberals who banned smoking in California and New York and not the religious conservatives who send people to hell for enjoying themselves.

They're all out there.

Waiting.

For me.

And there's no ashtrays in here. I hate this place so much.

I wonder what Warren Ellis would do.

Remember that part on Scanners when that guy's head exploded?

This is what I look like when I'm about to go to work. Or when I'm at work. Or when I'm just waking up. Or when I'm in a bad mood. Or a good mood. Or any time I'm awake. Or when a brick wall is about to fall on me. Or when I'm head butting a photographer.

But I'm really a nice guy.

Really.

Lines for use in future conversation

"Hello, boys and girls. I am Cookie Monster. I like to eat cookies...And your soul."

"I don't know what your mother told you, but not every guy is going to dance like a trained monkey just because you put 'like a man' at the end of a sentence."

"I'm Spartacus!"

"Hey, boss. Next time do us a favor and take the broomstick out of your ass before you ride it to work. `Kay? Thanks."

"Wow, Brittany Spears! You were great! Leave the money on the table before you go."

"This is my therapist. His name is Professor Thingie McDiddlethorpe. He helps me make sense of things. Yes. I realize he is a sledgehammer."

To Be Continued