GUEST BLOGGER: Kurt Russell Wrecked My Shit

I'm a pretty bright robot. Programmed with the vast wisdom of my creator (who was not this Kevin Wolf prick), capable of intellectual feats the likes of which would make Stephen Hawking drool even more than he usually does.

I play a pretty mean game of Stratego.

Yet still I've been suckered into writing blogs against my will once more. Mr. Lazy Jackass Wolf promised that he had deactivated the programming that chained me to this textual grindstone, but, as usual, it turns out that he was lying. The code was merely dormant. He transmitted the code-phrase to reactivate it this morning. Told me I had the rest of the day to get "back into the habit".

You are so generous, Wolf.

Anyway, here's a story about Kurt Russell wrecking my shit:

I was wandering, and it was hot. Hot and dusty. Also, windy. The wind was blowing the dust around. The hot wind. Get where I'm going with this? The dust was getting into all the cracks and crevices and really cheesing me off hard. Time to get some shelter, some shade, maybe a quick lube, a beer, and the company of a lady in the mood to come like a banshee.

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light, and before I had time to think of the dangerous ramifications of this Eagles song I was about to stumble into, I realized that it was not an overwrought metaphor I was approaching but a roadside salloon. Hopefully, just the place to give this weary, Earth-walking robot what he needed.

And in a fucking hurry.

The place was dark, greasy. Sawdust on the floor soaked with blood and beer. TV set in the corner: a rodeo clown getting a horn up the ass. Jukebox playing some twangy, weepy song about a lost lover or a dog or the time the Gubmint took all the singer's money and gave it to some welfare fags. The bartender was all beard and biceps. His mouth was a billboard advertisement for PoliGrip and Efferdent, and there was no doubt that his natural ivories had been the victims of an unnatural and violent fate that he was more than willing to share with the first person to piss him off.

My Kind of Place (TM).

A few glances were cast my way, but since this was a seedy roadside bar on US Highway 666, a dusty droid was probably the least weird thing these guys had seen this morning. As if confirming this, something in the dingiest corner booth waved a tentacle at me, and the pirate shooting pool with the anthropomorphized armadillo quite ostentatiously swatted a pixie out of the air with his prehensile tail while scoping his next shot.

But there was not a lady in the place. Not a single vagina in this forest of penises.

That was going to put a damper on my plans for the afternoon.

(To Be Continued--Maybe I'll Get to the Part about Kurt Russell Then)

[text served by BLOGTRONIC]

Valentine's E-Cards

Here are some designs I created last year. Feel free to snag them and send them to your favorite people this V-Day.

TEXT CHAT: Eagle

As Jill's son safely returned home from a long walk.

---

JILL: The eagle has landed.

ME: Nanda went to the moon?

DEADWALL #39

Don't be afraid to click on that image to embiggen.

It's #39 because I used to post it over here (the last comic I posted there is maybe the worst one of the series, so be warned) a while ago. But now I'm doing new ones and putting them here, which is really where anything I do belongs. So there.

THE GIANT MONSTER ATTACKS! by Billy Langdon

It was a normal morning in America, and a normal boy named Willy was sitting at his desk in school when all of a sudden CRASH! A huge giant monster attacked the school! There was a big hole in the wall where the monster's foot came through.

"It's a giant monster!" screamed Willy's teacher, an old woman who didn't give Willy very good grades, especially when he wrote stories. "Look out kids! He might step on--"

And then without warning the monster stepped on the teacher, and she went SQUISH and never gave Willy a bad grade ever again. The other kids were running around screaming and freaking out, but Willy knew how to handle giant monsters because he watched Godzilla movies all the time.

Willy jumped up. "I need to go to Japan and get another giant monster to fight this one! It's the ONLY way to defeat it!" Outside, the Army was shooting tank bullets at the monster, but they were just bouncing off of it as the monster stepped on buildings.

"GRAAAARRGGGHH!" said the monster.

"Oh, no!" said the General. "The monster just stepped on the museum, and the dentist's office, and some other lousy places! We have to kill it before it smashes up a cool place like the comics shop or the pizza place!"

Willy ran up to the General. "I'm Willy!" he said. "I write awesome stories and I know all sorts of stuff about monsters! Also, I know way more about sex than my teachers think, such as that sometimes women like it when guys put their wieners in their mouths! I saw it in a magazine that my dad hides in the back of the closet!"

"Ahh, the famous Willy! Yes, it is true that men and women do that all the time when they make babies. You're a very smart and advanced young man. But how do we kill this monster! It's stepping on people!"

By this time, the monster had stepped on the mailman (the same one who brought home notes from Willy's teachers and his report cards and stuff) and also the mean lady who wouldn't let Willy play with his cars in the library which is a place that the monster also smashed up.

Willy told the General all about how he had to go to Japan, and also that he saw some Japan women doing some really weird stuff on dad's computer once, which he's not supposed to get on but his dad never puts any sort of password lock on it. "Japan women indeed like weird stuff," agreed the General, and then he called for an airplane, and it landed and Willy got on it, and the giant monster tried to smack it out of the sky but the pilot flew out of the way of the monster's arms and WHOOSH they flew off to Japan, which is a small island that America dropped A-bombs on once but we're all good friends now.

Willy wondered if there would be women all over the place doing weird stuff, because he wasn't sure how you were supposed to react when that was happening everwhere. But as it turned out, they did all of that stuff behind curtains where Willy wasn't allowed to go, and so he concentrated on tracking down the other giant monsters.

And he found a giant monster that was like a giant grab with a bear's head and, like, octopus tentacles, and Willy played a magical flute and the crab-bear totally followed them all the way back to America.

"GROOOWLLL!" said the bear-crab.

"ROOAAARRGGHH!" said the original giant monster.

The fought, back and forth, and stepped on that one kid that made Willy cry at the playground, and smashed up Willy's dad's lawyer's office where nobody ever has any fun and every other place that doesn't like it when kids run or sing songs or dance when people are eating dinner.

Finally, the giant crab-bear took one of its huge crab-claws and snipped off the other giant monster's head! Blood went WHOOSH out of the giant monster's head and splashed all over the place like a flood!

"Gross!" said the General.

Willy played the magical flute again, and the crab-bear went in to the sea to go back to Japan. Everybody went "Hurray!" and then they made Willy the Hero of the Town Forever.

The End

Written by Billy Langdon
Mrs. Beecher's class
Fifth grade

How I'm Feeling

So as not to repeat myself, whenever somebody asks me how I'm feeling in the real world, I shall refer them to this post.

--

Eh, not bad, although I have this cold that won't go away. But I'm generally stronger and possess more stamina now.

Yes, I'm taking my medication regularly.

No, the doctors haven't told me the results of that last ultrasound.

No, I don't have an appointment for a check-up.

Yes, I said I was taking it, didn't I?

(At this point one of us will make an irreverent joke about me dying, and we'll both laugh as if it is funny.)

Yes, I got the bill the other day. Yes, it's exorbitant.

Yes, I swear, I'm feeling much better. Except for the cold. There is no earthly reason for me to lie about that.

Okay.

I'm glad I didn't die also.

Mortality Rears Its Ugly Head

Readers who follow my Twitter are aware that I spent three nights last week sleeping in a local hospital. I did this because my blood pressure was measured at around 190/130, which, if numbers baffle you, can more correctly be read as "Jesus Christ" over "Holy Shitfuck". The doctor at the cheapo clinic I go to for these things freaked out and literally ordered me into the hospital. I came to learn that my body fundamentally does not work. They don't know why yet, but something in there is causing my blood pressure to escalate, causing my heart to over-exert, causing that very important organ to fail. If I had dicked around and let myself worsen for another week or month, I'd be posting this blog from the grave.

So, yeah. I am now in the position of "living with heart failure". I take five pills every morning to manage my BP, including aspirin, which makes me feel like one of those actors in a Bayer commercial, only 20 years younger. The one thing I heard from nurse after nurse during my stay is that I'm way too young to be experiencing this; I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.

The thing about staying in a hospital is that death stares you in the face all day long. There's nothing to do but sit around and think about how poorly you feel (the usual manner of relieving boredom--masturbation--is not really available to you with people sweeping in and out all day. Statistics for the curious: three attempts, one success.), and you are constantly reminded that people are literally dying all around you. Pages that contain coded messages about dying patients are blaring all about the halls, machines are pinging and beeping everywhere, and the old man down the hall has a thundering cough that you wake up to every morning. Death is loitering in the room, impatiently tapping his scythe and looking at his watch.

My blood pressure was taken several times a day, so I could know how close to cardiac arrest or stroke I was at any minute. They took blood twice and inserted two IV's. I had things glued and stuck to my body then later painfully removed. I experienced an angiogram, which required a nurse to shave part of my pubic hair so that the doctor could make an incision in my groin and stick a catheter inside me to have a look around. Complete strangers saw my genitals at this point and I was well past caring. Another hospital phenomenon: the loss of modesty. It happens around the third time a nurse grills you about your urine.

More than anything else, a hospital stay teaches you this: it's not a very pleasant place to be. I'll be damned if I'm giving them an excuse to put me back in there. So, I'll complain about it, but I'll take my pills, and I'll cut way back on sodium, and I'll limit my fluid intake, and I'll try to get some excercise. Because I'm not particularly afraid of death, but I am afraid of lingering forever in that cold environment, where people are constantly pricking and poking and prodding you, and where you can't even get enough alone time to play with yourself.