Well basically Otherworld is a place for me to get back at people and characters I’m currently loathing. Quite simply it’s a neighborhood in my Sims2 game that houses sims representing people I’d like to assault, maim, or kill but don’t feel like going to jail to do so and characters who as they only live in people’s imaginations I can’t assault, maim, or kill even if I did feel like going to jail to do so.

The Population of Otherworld.

Well, Otherworld is more or less a fluid place, there aren’t too many people (for the sake of brevity, I will say people meaning both people and characters.) I have on my constant loathe list. A few people, however, have permanent residence there.

Bors De Ganis from The Chronicles of Albion: My loathing of Bors goes back to the first time I “met” him as he’s portrayed in Merlin’s Isle, a trilogy by the same author as the Chronicles. I didn’t particularly love him before that, he’s rarely portrayed as a wonderful guy, but Morgaine definitely tipped the scales into the “I really, really, really hate him.” And since the start of Albion, he has snowballed seriously.

The funny part about Bors? In a reactionary story I wrote (basically I wanted to see if I could write a character I loathed sympathetically.) I turned out a Bors that I adored. I found I could understand him to some degree. I sorta miss him. (Before you start, Morgaine, he’s already dead, even if I wanted to go back to B&Y.)

Brother Tuck from the Chronicles of Albion: Tuck is exactly the sort of priest that I stopped being Catholic because of. He’s a dick and he thinks because he’s a man of god (or in this case Wright) he’s always right. (heh, see what I did there?) He’s not. And it will be a sad, sad day when Father Hugh passes into the great here-after and Albion is stuck with Tuck-the-fuck!

Tiberius Hanover from St. Maxwell (No link cause I haven’t gotten St. Max on the net yet.): Tibby is the King in my Royal Kingdom challenge. He is a rapist, a pedophile, an adulterer, a skirt-chaser and a sadist of sorts. (Not the chain little girls to the wall and whip them sort, but the sort who very much enjoys his sexual partners being scared of him and unable to fight back because of his position in the kingdom, etc.) He routinely deflowers women and leaves them with child and out to dry.

Lady Winter: Lady Winter is the avatar of the Overgoddess Chipmunk (AKA Andavri.) She’s the one who gets to walk into the game and kick ass. Given that a lot of the people who will float in and out of Otherworld are misogynistic (and all three other permanent residents definitely are misogynistic) I think it does them good to be beat bloody by a woman in stiletto heels.

Otherworld and Numb

Otherworld is not taking up permanent residence here on Numb. The posts will be moved to a separate blog when I’m finished designing the theme for it and get that done. But Morgaine wanted to be able to share the pics that are coming in this post with the readers on her blog, and there’s no way that I’m getting that done tonight before bed. But because Numb is here and mostly dead at the moment, I’ll be putting Otherworld here on Numb for a post or two.

Chipmunk: The Goddess

I have had the nickname Chipmunk since junior high, my voice irl is naturally very high and I’ve been told I sound like one of the Chipmunks (of Alvin, etc. fame). So naturally when I need to think of a handle for my out of character roles, I thought of Chipmunk. Chipmunk is basically narrator and out of character interjection in both Otherworld and St. Max.

</end explanation>

Camp Happy Camp: Let’s meet the Campers

Good Morning, Campers! Welcome to Camp Happy Camp where the only person who’s happy that you’re all here is me.

This is Bors. Bors is an asshat. His head is permanently lodged in his rectum, and because of that, he has been sentenced sent here to Otherworld and the camp. We’re very glad to see you here, Bors.

This is Brother Tuck, Brother Tuck also is here because his head and his digestive tract meet on a frequent basis. I’m sure you’ll be very “happy” here, Brother Tuck.

And our last camper, Tiberius Hanover, but we call him Tibby, cause we’re all friends here. (And because I can spell Tibby when tired or in an hurry while Tiberius requires thought.) The warmest of welcomes to you as well, Tibby.

First thing on our agenda here at Camp Happy Camp is…

Makeovers!

So I’ll send you all up to your cabin bedrooms to change into your camp uniforms and then we’ll see what we can do about that hair, shall we? And no grumbling, campers, grumbling means you’re not happy, and everyone is happy at Camp Happy Camp! (Or at least I am and you don’t matter.)

Gee Bors, you don’t look impressed. I’m not either, we can do better, I know it.

Now, now, Tuck, you don’t look that bad. I mean sure I wouldn’t want hair crazy-glued to my scalp either, but beauty is pain.

Wonderful, Tibby, that’s a much better attitude than I’ve been getting. Not that you couldn’t use a tad more help as well, but because you’re being such a good sport and I’m not quite as mad at you right now as the others, I’ll go easy on you.

Has anyone ever told you, Bors, you look very much like Freddy Mercury? I love your hair, and the purple eyeshadow really brings out your eyes!

See, Tuck, you look great. Well, depending on how you define great, but you look even better than I imagined. I’m very impressed.

Ah, that’s my Tibby. Don’t look so glum, I think you look fabulous, if anyone in the world was meant to sport a faux hawk, Cheetah print, and tight pants it was you, my love.

Bors: If there were any justice in this world…

Chipmunk: There is justice in this world, you ended up in this world because your own worlds haven’t yet brought you to justice.

Bors: Know your place, woman!

Chipmunk: I know my place, it’s as goddess to you, you live and die at my pleasure and you might remember that.

Tuck: Maybe we could talk to the judge, get early release.

Chipmunk: I think being in Albion spoiled you, see, in Albion the gods rarely-if ever-interfere. Here in Otherworld, it’s just you, me, and eternity. Haven’t you always wanted to get closer to God, Tuck?

(I think they’re scared.)

As I think Bors needs to work on his inner peace, I’ve put him to work on tending the sand garden. Doesn’t he look peaceful. Hey Bors, you missed a spot!

Bors: *nothing repeatable*

I love the sound of swearing in the morning, don’t you?

In the immortal words of Scooby Doo, “Ruh-roh!”

Tuck: Hey, Tibby, Look, it’s Elvis in the bark of that log.

Tibby: Where?

Tibby: Hey, no fair, lemme stand up before you throw more water balloons at me.

Chipmunk: All’s fair in love and war.

Tuck: This is war. Do I wanna know where love is?

Chipmunk: Why from me to you, of course! (And a few other places along the way.)

Bors: What did you say?!

Chipmunk: Nothin’!

Oooh, wracked him. That looks like it hurt.

Rule # 3: All campers must dress for dinner, even if it’s just Tuck’s really crappy spaghetti.

As with all men, they must brag and tell each other how great of kissers they are. Can’t wait for them to start talking whoohoo.

And that brings to a close our first day at Camp Happy Camp.

Good night, Tibby.

Good night, Tuck.

Good night, Bors.

AWWW, he looks so cute when he’s asleep and his mouth isn’t moving. And so peaceful. Sleep well, Bors, you have no idea what tomorrow will bring, dear boy.

But I do have a few things to talk about. Like for instance the fact that my mother keeps sending me political jokes. Unfortunately she gets her political jokes from her father and her friend Ryan who both have political views on the other side of mine. I mean I am not the biggest fan of Obama. (Sorry, but I’m not.) But I’m not a fan of those kinds of jokes no matter who they’re about. Mostly cause I don’t find them funny.

It doesn’t matter, Obama, Dubya, Clinton, Kennedy, Lincoln, Adams, that guy who died in the bath tub. It’s not that I think that presidents are sacred and should be above being made fun of. It’s just most of the jokes that I have heard about presidents are whiny. Especially those written by their detractors.

Take for instance this one I got from my mom the other day, someone actually bastardized Green Eggs and Ham to be anti-Obama. Sure, why don’t we just whine about the president and his liberal-socialist-commie agenda not to mention ruining Green Eggs and Ham for people, rather than, you know, working to change things. So you don’t like Obama’s politics, do something.

But the thing I think irritates me most is this: Obama probably wouldn’t have gotten elected if it hadn’t been for George W. Bush. And Bush probably wouldn’t have gotten elected if not for Bill Clinton, Clinton for Bush, Bush for Reagan, Reagan for Carter and so on and so on and so on. And even Washington wouldn’t have been elected if not for King George, so really, politics are very reactionary.

I’m not convinced that the country would be any better if John McCain had been elected and until you can prove to me with cold hard facts that it would, I would just as soon not hear about it… Bitch that may make me.

I think the last time the US had a good political climate we’d just descended into an ice age, everything with moderate intelligence had fucking died and everything else was just scrambling to keep their fuzzy asses alive. Deal with it!

Now, on the one hand this is me and my view on the world, which I am the first to admit is as small minded and bias as anyone else. But at least I admit it.

Maybe, though, I should cut my grandfather some slack after all the man has a terminal disease. He’s gonna die and if whining about Obama gets him through the day, then maybe he should whine, I’m sure that watching everything I had worked for and wanted for my country go down the drain because of what I view as bad policies by the current administration and I was unlikely to survive to see it get better, I’d be grumpy too.

You, however, will never convince me that there isn’t a better way. Really, lay off green eggs and ham…

Was reading an article on Yahoo today about this town in Mississippi that canceled prom because a young woman wanted to come to prom dressed how she wanted to dress and with whom she wanted to come with.

That doesn’t sound so bad, does it? I imagine that most of you who went to prom wanted the same thing. The ability to go to prom with who you wanted and dressed how you wanted to dress.

Oh, ho! But there in lies the rub, this girl is an evil, gay agendaed lesbian! She wants to ruin the morals of everyone around her!

If you agree with the above statement I have one for you from me: Fuck you! Fuck you in the asshole with a big rubber dick then break it off and beat yourself with the rest of it. Of course if you’re so fucking anal as to agree with that… your asshole is probably clenched so tight it’d take the jaws of life to pry the damn thing open.

My god, when will these people learn. How does a girl going to a dance with another girl hurt you? How the fuck does it cause you harm? What is it the haunting fear that someone somewhere might be happy for two seconds because obviously your own life is so miserable you have to escape it by going and ruining everyone else’s!

If you don’t like the idea of girls sleeping with girls then don’t sleep with a girl who sleeps with girls! If you don’t like the idea of guys sleeping with guys, don’t sleep with one of those either! But to tell these people that they have no right to be themselves, that’s wrong!

If I remember my bible correctly it says judge not lest you be judged. By the measure to which you judge others, you too will be judged. And didn’t Jesus, big #1 in your books, say “He without sin shall cast the first stone.”?

Why is it that these people won’t live by the rules that they say are the most important? If the bible is really your go to place for how you should live your life. Why is it that treating others how you want to be treated, not judging people, and loving your neighbor like yourself fall by the wayside, so that people can chase after an agenda that doesn’t follow those things. And the worst part of all of that is: They use that good book, (which how I, personally feel about the Catholic church and a lot of Christian organizations, I feel that it is a good book. Be it the word of God or just the word of some really wise men.) they use that good book as “proof” to further their own agendas.

You wanna know something subversive? It says once: Man shall not lie with man as with woman. It has variations on: love thy neighbor as thyself permeated through the entire book. If the bible really is God’s word, which do you think is more important? Something he said once, or something he made sure to say over and over and over again?

And I went to a prom where homosexuals weren’t allowed to come together, the prom committee, many of whom went to my grandparents’ church, refused to sell tickets to the few people who were openly homosexual in our high school. One of those couples was a pair of dear friends of mine, Nate and Troy. So Sabrina and I bought tickets and Nate went with me and Troy went with Sabby.

And every dance they danced together (cause Nate danced all night and I don’t dance.) was like a finger in the eye of all of those self-righteous pricks.

I will leave you with a thought I read in a political cartoon:

Why are minorities singled out for “special rights”?

… Because they’re singled out for special wrongs…

NOBODY CARES!

Of course I immediately wonder what the hell I did to piss him off. But it turns out that it wasn’t me at all. Apparently there’s a Dateline special on the whole Tiger Woods debacle and he was yelling at the TV that nobody cares. And given my own private poll, 100% agree with that. Nobody cares. (Granted my poll was rather exclusive, considering it was me and Kellie and Juleah, but it’s a poll and I stand by my numbers damn it. Of my friends who are at home on Friday night with nothing better to do than talk to me, which I think reflects a good chunk of the population: Nobody cares!

Really the only place I care much about celebs is on Go Fug, which is like the best celebrity fashion blog ever, the Fug girls are HILARIOUS and there is not better place for your daily dose of celeb nips, sartorial missteps, and heavy sarcasm. If Tiger Woods isn’t wearing a fur stole and a pink tutu while dancing to Miley Cyrus, I couldn’t care less what he’s doing. And as when I see him he’s usually wearing a boring white polo and khakis or slacks, he wouldn’t be much fun to see on Go Fug anyway.

But really, who CARES about who–or for that matter WHAT–Tiger Woods is sleeping with. As Kellie pointed out, he’s a sports star, why do his morals even MATTER? Does sleeping with his wife directly influence his ability to sink difficult puts? Does extra side nookie take yards off a drive? Does molesting underage goats (disclaimer: I have not even heard rumors that Tiger Woods sleeps with goats, of an age or not, this is solely here for the point of effect1)  cause him to slice or hook?

Why does it matter who he’s sleeping with, and where, and when, and for how many jelly beans?! (I dibs the sour apple ones! And the Cold Stone Creamery ones if the beans in question are from Jelly Belly.)

I’m not sleeping with him! I have no intention of sleeping with him. So give me one good reason why I should give a rat’s ass WHO he’s sleeping with or why?

I figure the only people that information is important to is the people who are sleeping with him. As we’ve just established that ain’t me. And even if I were bound and determined to sleep with Tiger Woods (which the closest I’m likely to  ever come is falling asleep with the TV on while the PGA tour is on some other station than the one I’m watching.) I would only start to care about who he’s shagging when it’s very likely I’m next.

His morals do not matter. Sure, he’s yet another squeaky clean celeb (doubly so a squeaky clean BLACK celebrity) who has fallen victim to the the excesses of fame. Which is sad, because I think the world needs more celebs who don’t have sex tapes or mistresses or rape charges or beat up their girlfriends.

But do I think this whole thing is so NOT newsworthy. When Andy Warhol said that in the future everyone would have 15 minutes of fame I don’t think he meant by fucking someone. Go forth, do good things, and if fame comes, okay, great. Don’t go earning yourself a name on your back–or god forbid on a bondage machine–with some guy who earned his celebrity the hard way.

The only thing I think that is the slightest bit amusing about this whole Tiger Woods thing is the mental image, if Mr. Woods were sleeping with goats is the mental image of some newscaster in a pen with goats trying to interview the friends and family of the goat in question:

“And you, sir–er–ma’am you’ve known the goat for how long? Larry, is that a boy goat or a girl goat? Hey! Don’t chew on my microphone! Oh god, what did I just step in? Does my expense account cover getting goat smell out of my suit?! LARRY, get me outta here!”

And on that note, I shall leave you.

1. I do not want to end up on 60 Minutes as someone with inside information on Tiger’s steamy affair with a nubile young goat.

I’m actually really pretty good at the game, I manage to get through the entire game not only before they got pissed at me and left, but with 5 service stars for every character on every level in the game. So like I said: Good mood!

I was grousing to Kellie about how ninjas suck! They can order anything on the menu, everyone else is stuck with the options for that time of day. (eg. If it’s dinner, then the dude or the punk can only order dinner items. Not so with ninjas, they can order breakfast sandwiches and burgers from lunch.) It’s really irritating trying to get B-Rock badly, who has only 2 patience bars, so he gets pissed REALLY quickly, a bowl for his tomato soup and having to fight my way through 3 pancakes, 2 eggs, all the fixings for a chicken sandwich for a ninja who isn’t even on my screen yet.

And you only have one surface to set things down on, so it’s not like you can put together Mr. Ninja’s lunch and just toss it at him when he shows up.

But you really can’t blame clowns for that. Although I’d like to try. I like blaming clowns.

Anyway, I was telling Kellie about how ninjas are annoying, and then I said that clowns are irritating in game too, Clowns order the strangest things. Here’s a list of my favorites

• Bacon with a side of butter
• Lettuce sandwiches (a burger bun and lettuce) and empty fry containers with mustard and ranch dressing in them
• Steak with gravy and whipped cream
• Powdered sugar jelly donuts with melted American singles on top
• Salad with ketchup

And when I’ve complained about this either to my brother (which is actually fairly infrequent) or when he can hear me (much more frequent) Michael tells me these things are not that bad with just a few small changes of most of these could really not be that bad. If you used something like ricotta or marscapone cheese rather than American it’d actually be good on a jelly donut.

Also, you use cream in a lot of pan sauces for steak, like there’s a really simple one that’s just peppercorns, cream and brandy.

Ketchup, as Michael reminds me, is a major ingredient in Russian Dressing, Catalina, and other salad dressings. >_<’

I still maintain that I don’t want a big old dollop of cool whip on my ribeye. Nor do I think that straight up, ketchup is very good on lettuce.  To me, it’s a little like saying you made a pumpkin pie by dumping a can of cooked pumpkin into a pie shell.

When I try to explain this to him, which of course, is a futile endeavor, he tell me that all ketchup is is tomato puree, water, vinegar, sugar and onion powder. And tomatoes are fine on salad. And ketchup is no thicker than ranch dressing. So what’s wrong with ketchup on salad? It’s too sweet, cloying and thick. Sweet dressings like Catalina and honey mustard are usually a lot thinner in consistancy. And tomatoes as in raw tomatoes like you put on a salad are not as sweet as ketchup and the consistency is a lot different.

As I told Kellie, I have never heard of or ever seen someone, when lacking tomatoes for a salad go to the cupboard and haul out a can of tomato paste and cut off a few slices. I have never seen someone pour tomato sauce over a salad or tomato juice either. You never see someone just put a ladle full of marinara sauce over a salad. Tomatoes and herbs are both good on salad, right?

Kellie said I had a good point. Michael is incapable of recognizing that I can have such things. Good points I mean. Here’s the big difference. When I disagree with Michael, I say that we have different opinions. When Michael disagrees with me, he says I’m wrong.

Also pulled out of my brother’s repertoire of “Ways [I am] wrong” this week. I don’t like James Bond. I’m sorry I don’t find Bond that interesting. He’s a “super-spy” which kind of smacks of Mary-Suism right there. And I know, I know, Mary-Sues don’t have faults or complicated back stories or enemies. (Bullshit, that’s not all of what makes a Mary-Sue, being able to do anything and everything, always being in the right place to save the day–and sometimes the girl, though in Bond’s case I will grant not always there, having obvious personality faults ie. misogynism, and yet still being able to get the girls who call you on that into your bed. All very symptomatic of Mary-Suism)

And he said that for all that James Bond is a skirt chaser, he’s fallen in love twice. Neither time he was able to save the girl and she died, but he did fall in love. So fluffing what?! Bella Swan fell in love too, and she’s a Mary-Sue under almost anyone’s definition.

I like Walt Disney movies. Disney, according to Michael su~ucks. They can take a good (I dispute that with him, I find Hamlet pretentious and depressing) play like Hamlet, bastardize it by ripping out all the good parts, replace all the macabre humor with fart jokes,  give it a happy ending and still live with themselves. And the crowning achievement in Disney’s suckatude is Mickey Mouse.

Mickey Mouse is a wimp, he’s a wuss, he just stands under the crapper and gets shit on. Bugs Bunny doesn’t take shit from anybody.

I don’t much care for Paint Your Wagon. Sue me. But Michael thinks I’m ridculous and have no taste. How can I like campy musicals like Disney fluff and not like Paint Your Wagon.

Oh, and I think that Men Who Stare At Goats is WRONG. It’s growing on Michael. I think this proves it is akin to toxic mold and ought to be avoided. (More on that tomorrow, I’m running out of time)

I AM NOT ALWAYS WRONG, BROTHER! If you want to see someone who is always wrong, find a mirror and take a long look, hopefully it won’t crack under the strain of reflecting your hideousness.

Oh, he also is under the deluded impression that he’s cute–and I’m not. What’s he talking about, I’m fucking adorable. *twists knuckle in dimple*

The production of bovines thus ensues.

So guy 1 pulls out a sword and sets about to maim guy 2.

Guy 1: I’m not exactly sure where your spleen is, so do me a favor and cry out when I stab it
Girl: Stop it. We’re dating. What’s the big deal?
Guy 1:You’re the one who felt there was a need to hide it from me.
Girl: Why can’t you be happy for me?
Guy 1: He’s my nemesis! It’s like Yoda banging the Emperor
Luke Skywalker: This is some sick shit
Yoda: Just happened, it did
Emperor Palpatine: And now, young Skywalker, you will take off your pants.

This comes complete with Yoda in bondage gear.

As Michael says the consensus of his IRC was: It’s something you can’t unsee. You’ll really really want to unsee it, but you can’t unsee it.

This got me thinking, and like for Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, thinking is a dangerous pastime. But it got me thinking about this story I read, I don’t really know how it got me thinking about it, but it did. Anyway, it was a ficlet about a guy and his dad. Sort of a pre-slash.* **

*Slash being homosexual fanfiction. It comes from the way a romantic relationship is denoted in fanfiction Draco/Harry. Pre-slash being something that leads up to the romantic/porn part depending on what you’re reading.

**Slash = BEST THING EVER! I am addicted to it like it’s crack.

This particular piece was only about 400 words, and nothing actually happens in it, but it definitely gives you the feel that something would have happened and/or will happen later. And it got me curious as to what actually would have happened.

Now I know, BELIEVE ME! I KNOW! You’re sitting there going “How in the name of all that’s holy did you a) get from the comic to this and b) get frickin’ disturbed enough to want to know what happens in a story between a guy and his DAD!”

To both parts of this I have only one answer: I do not know.

I mean it’s like you know how if you think about your dad and mom having sex, unless you’re rather warped, your brain sorta fizzles out? You can objectively know that your ‘rents did it. But I know I can’t picture it in any more depth than that. I don’t really want to think about anyone else I know’s parents having sex either. But for some reason, it doesn’t bother me so much as long as it’s fiction.

The same sort of thing with incest. In real life, it’s disgusting and nothing I want to think about, but in a well-written story, it can be… interesting? Or at least in a well-written story, it’s not an immediate deal breaker. (Also not a deal breaker in VC Andrews–which are NOT well-written stories but addictive in the way soap operas are for people who watch TV.)

… It sort of makes me want to use the concept as a… meme. Not that I want to write a continuation of Blue’s story, but sort of use her story as a leaping off point for something of my own. It’s a good thing Kellie’s not around as I’m thinking of this. When she finds out I’m likely to die. Even after six and a half years of friendship, she still has some hang-ups. Qualms. Morals? There are definitely places she won’t go, even for a good story.

Oh well, if she kills me, I charge you with the task of putting this on my tombstone: I blame Luke!

Can you think of one? I can’t. All of the comedians I can think of who are funny are not politically correct. I mean that’s part, I think, of being a comedian, blurring the politically correct line. Tapdancing on all of the “rules” about what we can and can’t say.

George Carlin, HILARIOUS MAN. Politically correct? NOT ON YOUR FUCKING LIFE! I was reading this blog post, which I am not going to justify actually linking to cause the guy came across as a self-righteous prick, anyway he was talking about how Jeff Dunham isn’t funny. I disagree, because I’ve seen several of Jeff Dunham’s comedy specials and the man is funny. But that’s not why the guy comes across as such a dick. My mother has never seen Jeff Dunham and she thought that the guy in the article was taking himself WAY TOO SERIOUSLY.

He does state up-front that ventriloquism is not his thing. Which is okay, I mean there are forms of comedy that aren’t my thing. Fuck, I hate clowns and I’m not too into slapstick. But he gets so self-righteous about the fact that Jeff Dunham’s puppets are “ignorant”. Tell me does this not sound like a man who’s patting himself on the back for being so culturally aware?

“All of whom become unwilling vessels for Dunham’s mind-bogglingly surface, joyless dissections of race, class and cultural relations.”

I mean even if that was all I read I’d think the guy was a dick. Here’s the thing, dude: You can’t go through life without pissing a few people off. I think half the problems we have in the world stem from the fact that we have so wrapped ourselves up in the mummifying tape of political correctness and being inoffensive that we don’t even say things when we should. Sometimes what you DON’T say speaks far louder than what you do.

Now, I realize that I am a little bit full of shit here. Here in my little corner of the net I say whatever it is I want to and my opinion is the one that really counts. So on this guy’s blog he, too, is king. It’s his opinion and like assholes everyone has one of those. But meh, I think this guy’s asshole is clenched a little too tight around his windpipe.

ensuring that we have another pop-cultural dummy to articulate our barely concealed prejudices besides this guy.

Yeah, um, well, first see above, and second, it sounds like you’re just as prejudiced as you’re accusing Mr. Dunham of being. Having the ability to laugh at yourself is a really nice trait, it makes life soo much easier. Like Carlin, (I’m not saying Jeff Dunham is Carlin’s caliber but…) what can make Jeff Dunham funny is the fact that he insults EVERYONE. He uses prejudices for a laugh. But the dirty little secret that’s more an elephant in the room is that we all have prejudices. And not addressing that does not make said prejudices go away.

The analogy that comes to mind is the old cartoon gag where the cartoon character is trying to hide someone else and so he puts a lampshade on his head? Still there, still obviously whomever was being hidden, just now he’s got a frickin’ lampshade on his head.

Let’s take a case in point from Jeff Dunham’s montage of characters: Bubba J

Bubba J is a stereotypical redneck who lives in a trailer with his overweight, toothless wife. He likes beer and Nascar. He’s not too bright. Now if you tone down the over-the-topness of the character, peel away the caricature. I know this guy. I went to high school with a WHOLE class full of that guy.

*sigh* The characters in Jeff Dunham’s routine are not supposed to be realistic, dumbass. They’re caricatures. And before you look at Sweet Daddy Dee and says Oh! My! Gawd! He is soo prejudiced against black people, try unclenching, pulling your head out, and realizing that, like Carlin said: Anything is funny. All you have to do is have something way out of proportion to the rest of the joke.

To finish this rant I would like to add just one thing, I’m stealing this concept from a Penn & Teller’s: Bullshit (the one on profanity). We need to defend those very words and ideas that offend our political values, our social values, our religious values because it’s the only way that people truly have freedom of speech. If we cater to the majority and silence our criticism, our art, our music, our literature, our comedy we have allowed our freedom to be caged.

Well behaved women, as the quote goes, rarely make history.

The guy who wrote the article totally has a right to his opinion and I have the right to navigate away from the blog. Jeff Dunham has a right to his comedy and the guy who wrote the article has the right to turn off his TV… and go fuck himself

Perfectly normal understandable problem. Except EVERY time I try to write something anymore I get stuck part way through. But that’s not what’s unfair. No, no ma’am. What’s unfair is I want to throw off the whole writing gig and become a mime. I’d do almost as much good as a mime as I would, say, as a writer. Considering I’ve not written much other than a few thousand words in two months when I usually put in more than that during a week.

Kellie tells me that when I have an idea, I’ll be able to write. Yeah, sure if I have enough of a mind left to write after all this downtime. I like writing, I find it relaxing, when I’m not writing on something then I’m usually going out of my frickin’ skull!

“But mimes are annoying.” So my dear friend tells me. I’m annoying. But apparently mimes are off the scale annoying. They’re a twenty on a one to ten scale. When I called her on that–that it’s not fair that she can hate mimes and I can’t hate clowns, she countered with she doesn’t “hate” mimes, she merely finds them “extremely annoying”. Sounds close enough to hate for me to generalize.

So I asked her what am I supposed to do with my life if I’m not writing and I’m not allowed to become a mime? Write a Yaoi Doujinshi on Scooby Doo? Because of course what the world needs now is not love, it’s pictures of cartoon characters doing things their creators never intended them to do.

You know what she said?

“Maybe”

See, not fair!

“There is no us. If you get caught, it’s all on you.” Nic said.

“So what do you think?” Nic asked, looking up from the diagram of their science project that he has just spread on the library table.

“Hmmm?” Max murmured, not even looking up from the book he’s currently engrossed in. A little too engrossed, Max doesn’t read a lot and stuffy old books like the one he’s got propped up in front of him are more Nic’s domain than Max’s.

“The diagram, what do you think?”

“Huh, uh, yeah, yeah. It’s cool.”

“I might buy that if you had actually looked at it.” Nic said falling back in his chair.

“Uh, okay.” Nic, feeling more than a little irritated at his best friend who would share the grade even if Nic did all the work, leaned across the table and grabbed the spine of the book, pulling it down. It hit the top of the table with a dull thump, exposing what he had really been looking at. A glossy magazine cover with two women in lingerie on it. Nic clapped a hand over his mouth before he could gasp. He bit his lip before taking his hand away.

“Max, what are you doing?”

“Knock it off, you’re gonna get us caught!” Max hissed back, pulling the book back into place over the magazine cover.

“Us?” It was hard to yelp and whisper at the same time, but Nic thought that he managed, somehow.

“Huh?”

“There is no us. If you get caught, it’s all on you.” Nic said.

“Oh, stop being such a crumpet sucker, Nic.”

“Crumpet sucker?”

“I saw it in a cartoon.” Somehow Nic didn’t want to know.

“Can you put that thing away.”

“Could you be any more of a prude?” Max asked.

“It’s the library, there are times and places for… that—Library, Monday afternoon, when Mrs. Kitteredge is on duty is not one of them.”

“Dude.” Max folds the magazine into the book and looks at him a serious expression crossing his face and settling in like a stray cat that knew it didn’t belong there. “You need to relax, you’re going to have an ulcer by the time you’re twenty if you keep this up.”

“Oh, relax, be more like you, bring—dirty magazines—into the library?” Nic asked. “Where did you get it anyway?”

“Barry.” Barry, Max’s older brother, a boneheaded Neanderthal who was slightly more dense than an unfired brick, with only half the personality of said brick. He would kill Max if he knew that his brother had been in his stash of magazines. Their heads both snapped up as giggling approached. Through the stacks came Callie Downs, Rosanna Kirkland, Sabrina Carpenter and Rhea McKnight. All bright, pretty girls, with sparkling eyes and toothpaste ad smiles, popular, that meant that people like Max and Nic were far under their notice unless they had some sort of prank planned. So when Rhea’s attention fell on them, both he and Max scrambled out their seats, stuffing their things into their bookbags.

“Nic, Nic, wait up.” Max asked as Nic hurried toward the check-out desk.

“What?” Nic asked, slowing down for Max to catch up.

“I can’t go home like this, my mother’ll notice.” Nic had no idea what Max was talking about until he noticed how Max was twitching his thumb at the waistband of his khakis. Oh, god.

Maybe it’s just they’re creepy looking and they are slapstick and silly, but in a vaugely sinister way. I mean okay, the Keystone Kops and the Three Stooges were slapstick–but when you looked at Larry, Curly, Moe & Shemp you saw their faces, you didn’t see the mask, the illusion. I mean would it be “funny” if the guys in the circus beating each other up and shoving pies in each other’s faces were dressed up like Richard Nixon and George W. Bush?

Okay, well, it would, vaguely, but what about dressed up as famous sufferagettes or Nobel Peace Prize winners?

Also, let me repeat that clowns are just creepy with their multi-colored puffy hair and their white face and their bulbous noses. Plus, I think they’re all secretly hiding claws behind those kid gloves, and teeth like Jaws from James Bond, and they’re like one scary big footed step away from tearing your heart from your chest and making a balloon animal with it!

Okay, so maybe not quite that bad. But still *shudders*

Now, my dear friend Kellie on the other hand thinks clowns are just silly and no one should be afraid of clowns. And just because one clown is evil or half a dozen clowns are evil this doesn’t mean that ALL clowns are evil (she’s wrong of course, but I think that Kellie is used to being wrong.) She does however think that all alligators are evil. They’re scary, with big teeth and big jaws and lots of pounds of bite force, and they jump up out of the water and attack things.

According to Kellie, you cannot trust anything that has that many big teeth on such prominent display.

Now, alligators have a place in the world. They keep swamps from becoming overrun with rodents and the like that would destroy the swampland. What place in the world is there for a clown? We’d have less villains? Less balloon animals?

I don’t know that we’ll ever see eye to eye on the subject. I can’t convince her that alligators have their place… And there’s no way to convince me  that clowns are anything other than unnatural. I’m not one for conspiracy theories, except about rappers penii… and clowns.

But you know, the debates about alligators vs. clowns? More fun than a clown car on fire! (Foamy luv)