Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
Yesterday my grandfather lost his more than two-year battle against cancer. I knew he'd been going downhill dramatically when I'd talked to my mother a few days prior. Mel & I were out when the message came in. In a shaky voice, all my mom said was "You need to call me as soon as you get this." When I heard that, I knew he was gone.

The arrangements are still being made, and I don't know which day the funeral's going to be on. Regardless I have never been so grateful that I've got 2 staffers who can easily cover my shift(s) at a moment's notice.

Labels: Don Layng

posted by Phillip at 7:51 AM

 


With the coming of snow also comes my enjoyment of those somewhat anti-Christmas Christmas movies. Right now I'm ignoring the blustery white stuff outside in favour of Batman Returns. (For those of you just tuning in to this little bit of nowhere, Michell Pfeiffer snapped.)

However, I am pleased to note that, despite all overkill attempts by Zellers and The Bay to state that Christmas has fallen upon us like a festively-dressed Serengetti lion, our mall has no Santa, no decorations and no Christmas muzzak. (Scuttlebutt has it that the guys who head up the Maintenance department absolutely refuse to put any decorations up until the week following Remembrance Day, and that is the case, good for them.)

Sadly that will change soon enough, but I'm savouring the lull for now.

In other news...there's not a lot of other news to mention, aside from the fact that I really need to knuckle down on cleaning the apartment. I've been slacking on that to the point where the mishmashed piles of brick-a-brac are starting to acquire their own intelligence. So, off to un-bricking the brac!


Today's Lesson: no two scents could be so diabolically diverse than having a child stand before you at the counter smelling of candycane peppermint, and farts.

Labels: snow is a four-letter word

posted by Phillip at 11:00 AM

 


You know, just when I think that nothing seriously strange ever happens in this town, suddenly I encounter this bizarre little article:


St. Marys street drenched in chicken blood

November 07, 2008 By Melinda Dalton
WEB EDITION
RECORD STAFF

ST. MARYS—The main drag looked like a scene from a horror flick last night after a leaky truck spilled 4.5 metric tonnes of chicken blood down Queen Street. The tanker truck, headed from Schneider’s poultry plant in St. Marys to Kitchener, was headed west down Queens Street at about 11:30 p.m. when a valve broke off.

“We got the call first from a citizen who said there was a liquid on the road,” said Const. Glen Childerly of the Perth County Ontario Provincial Police. “When we went there, we discovered it was blood. . . . There was blood everywhere and in spots it was three inches thick.

The blood trail spanned more than five kilometers through the centre of town. The driver of the truck didn’t realize his load had leaked until he got to Highway 7, police said. The Ministry of the Environment was called in along with a hazardous material team to help with the clean up. Crews worked throughout the night to sop up the slippery blood and industrial sweepers were brought to give the street a scrub.

“It’s very smelly there this morning,” Childerly said. “We’ve never seen anything like this.”

By 9 a.m., the slick blood had already caused one minor collision. The road was closed overnight, but was re-opened to traffic this morning.

The link for the article is here:
http://news.therecord.com/News/BreakingNews/article/440717


I can only imagine what that sort of damage would do to any poor bugger who has an unfinished hardwood floor.

"Hey, Bob! What's with the weird stain on the floor? You kill somebody?"

"Nah. That's just the chicken blood from last week."

"...I was joking, Bob."

Labels: does home insurance cover Act of Gizzards?

posted by Phillip at 7:56 AM

 


Just in case you happened to miss it, there was an election in the US yesterday. Mel & I stayed up with a few friends to watch it, and partake in what should have been 2 hours of politically satirical fun with Stewart & Colbert. Alas, we only got to see the first half on CTV before the station yanked things back to their "regularly scheduled" Canadian content-filled shows.

Dammit.

Though I was at least able to be entertained by the happy squeak Mel unleashed when she found out Connecticut had voted for Obama.

As for today...well, perhaps now's not a good time to talk about today. Especially since it begins about 2 days ago. At the time, Mel was playing the part of the good driver and taking in her car for its regular oil & transmission fluid change. All goes well!

...until Monday, when Mel noticed something was definitely leaking from the front of the car. Naturally, no good came of this. After a night of stressing, she spent all of Tuesday running between two or three different garages (including the one who did the initial fluid changes) in an attempt to figure out what the leak was, if there even was one. Turns out, the garage doing the initial change had managed to spill a decent amount of transmission fluid inside the car, and what looked like a leak was the excess fluid falling victim to gravity. The garage was more than amicable to hose out the car and wash away all the fluid. And all was well!

...until, two hours later, as Mel swung by the mall to pick me up. Upon leaving the mall, the car began to do worrisome things, most notably stalling whenever we went from sitting idle at a light to accelerating. Then the "service engine" light went on. Not good. That's not a good sign to have lighting up on the dashboard.

Mel spent most of the US election night stressing not about the elections outcome, but about the car, since there was a chance that this could be something that might ultimately contribute to the car's demise. Three hours of sleep later, we woke up early on my day off & went over to the local Midas garage (who have proven themselves a number of times in the past). Despite having to wait a few hours since they were short-staffed and already backlogged at 8am (a frightening thought unto itself), we were given the good/rage-inducing news.

As it turned out, we get to thank the previous garage for this one. When they spray-cleaned the front of the car, they managed to loosen up a few things that shouldn't be loose, and as an added bonus the spray packed other bits o' dirt further up into the air hoses, completely mucking up the air flow into the engine. It took Midas about a half hour to clear everything out. They didn't charge us a cent.

And finally now, all was well.

...except for the fact that, as Mel takes a much deserved de-stressing nap on the couch, I am now reading the acclaimed SF author Michael Chrichton died today.

I'd almost be inclined to exclaim, "How much more suck could be crammed into today?!" but it's not even 4pm. So let's not invite further disaster today, shall we?

Labels: today's theme: a car full of pain

posted by Phillip at 11:28 AM

 


The store across from our new location in the mall sells, among other things, posters. Lots and lots of posters. They're good for being reminded what movies are coming out soon, since the front of their store will always be plastered with relevant paraphenelia at least a month or two before the movie premieres. There's just one problem.

This is the face now staring at me from across the mall corridor:





Yep, now I have this pale, brooding "I'm trying not to look like David Boreanez!" pouty-lipped vampire staring at me throughout my entire shift. (I'll speak little about the rather infamous book series on which this movie is based, beyond stating that I did try reading it but gave up after 120 pages when I died of boredom as the story decided to focus on "I hate him but he's so mysterious so maybe I like him" ponderings and lots of apparently meaningful stares, instead of a plot.)

So where was I?

Oh yes. Edward.

With the Twilight movie still a month or so away, I was at one point lamenting how I'd have that ridiculous face watching my every move for way too many days. But then I realized something. All I have to do is picture this:




As this:




...and suddenly, every time I see that Twilight poster, I can't help but smile to myself. (This is Edward's 'Blue Steel.')

Labels: edward the sparkly vampire IS Derek Zoolander

posted by Phillip at 8:45 AM

 


Outside, there is heavy, wet snow falling down upon the grass.

Mel argues that no such thing is occurring, since the curtains are drawn and if she can't see it, then obviously it does not exist in her plane of reality.

In other Mel-related news, in the last day or so her Email was hacked and handed over to an apparently Beijing-based spammer who sent me (and many others) a message endorsing random electronics. I must admit that the spam itself disappointed me, since I was hoping for something more along the lines of Engrish sentences or ridiculous porn themes. You know, a spam with an opener like, "Hello! My your penis are looking wonderfull today!"

As for Mel's email, it has been reclaimed, so fear not.


.

Labels: "hello your penis are looking wonderfull today"

posted by Phillip at 9:04 PM

 
Upon the vast, sprawling virtual world that is the Internet, there is a blog that has no name. It has no recent updates. The only signs that it was once a live and active website are the decaying entries of old, spiraling-into-unfunny anecdotal memories. But the good anecdotes have long abandoned this place, and now the bad things have crawled in to claim it as their home. Somewhere amidst the dust-covered and cobweb-ridden series of tubes that make up this little bit of nowhere, an evil stirs. An evil sniffles. And an evil begins to cough, hacking rudely until it coughs up something that causes this evil to exclaim, "Oh good God, that's disgusting! Now I'm going to be suffering the aftertaste for the next hour!"

This can only mean one terrible thing. It's...




Yes indeed, when we last left this insipid--er, intrepid (and woefully behind on his blog) adventurer, it was probably still the month of September, the weather was still moderately warm and the odds are pretty good the sun was not making it a habit of having already set by the time I got off work. For better and seriously for worse, there are a multitude of reasons for this, all of which shall get their due credit in what I like to call: the rambling recap of doom!!!onesises!!1!

Flash back to roughly 3 weeks ago (as opposed to just plain flashing the general public, which these days tends to levy a hefty fine and possibly jail time for indecent exposure...even if the picnic table was consenting at the time), where our store was on the edge of moving to its new location. For those of you just joining the story in progress, and for those of you who've probably forgotten the story altogether consider it's been about 3 weeks since an update, our mall is going through changes.

Cha-Cha-Changes.

An old, giant and hard-to-find loading bay & parking area is being taken out and replaced by a new annex that will feature a swanky expanded foodcourt, connecting corridor and about 40 new stores for the mall. This is all good. The mall admittedly could use this. However, in order to create this new spot, a number of currently existing slots in the mall had to be taken out (humanely, of course). The section where our store was located happened to be one of those spots. In fact, our row of about 3-4 stores all ended up playing musical chairs inside the mall, so as to make way for an H&M store and two (as of yet unidentified) sit-down restaurants.

At the start of September, the mall had cleared out a spot for us on the other end of the mall. They informed us we had until the Tuesday after Thanksgiving to move all our stuff out of the old location. (Though opening at the new location was up to our discretion, of course.) I informed our District manager about this deadline. Twice. I informed Head Office through Emails about this deadline. Twice. My District Manager informed Head Office through phone calls and Emails about this deadline. Four to five times.

Two weeks before we had absolutely be out of our old spot, Head Office suddenly got up off its ass and decided to send someone to look at the new location to see what needed to be demolished & replaced. Way to go, Head Office. I applaud your getting on top of things. Sure, you could have had this ball rolling two full weeks ago, but you were so incompetent--I mean, utterly confident in your skills that you instead wasted two weeks.

For those of you who missed the sarcasm, that was sarcasm in the above paragraph. Sadly, sarcasm was all I could really muster at this point; all the rage was sucked right out of me because of how mind-bogglingly busy we were.

Tom the kick-ass maintenance guy worked his own ass off in order to get our store ready for us in time...and believe me, what he had to start with didn't look pretty. The predecessors to this spot tried to make the store resemble a grotto: everything covering the walls & ceiling was either a dull non-reflective metal, or a dark & light-absorbing colour. On the brightest summer afternoon, that place made you feel like it was midnight in winter. And so Tom worked his magic, swearing profusely at Head Office all the way. (It's reasons like this that I love Tom. Oh, the stories of inept upper-management brainfarts he's shared with us....)

Meanwhile, I spent perhaps far too much time in the presence of my District Manager, who pretty much camped out with us those last two weeks we had left at our (old) store. You see, the new location we now have has a few issues. Notably the size. While the store itself is tall, we've lost easily a good 4-6 feet in width and perhaps even more in depth. And our stockroom has been reduced to...well, a pair of shelves.

So yes. Lots o' crap needed to get transferred out of our store and unceremoniously deposited on other poor, unsuspecting stores. (I pity store #631 out in Hamilton somewhere. The amount of boxes we sent them probably made the manager break down into tears, or just break down.) This required me spending my shifts working like a madman to keep everything going, as I was the go-to guy for taking all the piles of "transfer to this store" crap, generating the transfer sheets and then boxing them all up.

My back aches from simply reflecting on the sad truth that we transferred out easily 70 boxes of random, heavy things.

But there was a reprieve, and it came over the Thanksgiving weekend. Through half-miracle, half me threatening to kill and eat anyone who said they couldn't work that Sunday, Mel & I had the Sunday/Monday off. We spent it out of town celebrating our 5th anniversary.

Yep. We've now been officially husband and wife for five years now, and by some miracle I haven't given Mel a reason to kill me yet. I'm just as astounded as you are, since some of the silly-assed stunts I've pulled should have incurred some level of injury, either on my part or courtesy of Mel as punishment for me being so stupid as to try said silly-assed stunts.

We stayed at a great hotel, venturing out sporadically for some shopping excursions. Most of the time we just lounged in our pleasantly spacious suite and watched the Food Network. (Speaking of, the Food Network is, at this moment, probably the only reason we'd ever decide to get cable.) This was partially due to the small and fuzzy puppy brought along for the trip. Having done the Con hotels twice now, Shady's used to hotel rooms. This time she just sulked whenever we left, and refused to leave our side whenever we returned.

The other reason we didn't run around too much was the simple fact that we were so damned tired from working on the store move. I'd been pushing myself with the transfers. And, from those of you who've seen Mel's last LJ entry, Mel had the displeasure of contending with her last days at the "thick as a whale omelette" Stratford store. She didn't really get much of a break after her last day there, since she jumped right into helping us out.

And there was much rejoicing. (Yay.)

We did, however, take full advantage of the room service and complimentary hors d'oeuvre buffet being offered by the hotel. Mmmmm...brie cheese.

Our anniversary trip was fun and relaxing...which means it was that much worse to come back on Tuesday, our final day at the old spot. Our District Manager had already stated we'd be closed Tuesday, and that was good; if she'd wanted us to stay open, I'd have probably been forced to distract her with a move ticket or three. And we only had 4-5 idiots walk up to the obviously closed front door (where it was easy to see we had less than half of anything left inside) and ask us if we were open.

Smegheads....

To our credit, we cleared out the old store by 6pm. We nabbed a number of pictures, both as we dismantled everything and after the space was emptied out. However, we need to get them off Mel's memory card and downloaded onto the computer, so those will be forthcoming. But fear not! Here are some pics to keep you satiated until then!







So where were we? Ah, yes: as of 6pm, the old store was empty. And as of 6pm, the new store looked like it had been rocked by an earthquake. Mel & I stayed for another two hours, helping to clean up the mess enough to make accessible walkways between the bunks. As a result, I missed my local voting polls by 15 friggin' minutes. Dammit. (Mel, not being an official citizen just yet, still cannot vote here. Extra dammit.)

Wednesday rolls around. We manage to drag our tired, sorry asses to the new store...only after parking near the old store and walking first to the old store, only to stare at its empty doors and ask, "Why the hell are we over here?"

Our District Manager wanted us to open as early as possible on Wednesday, which is a great idea provided you don't exist on this plane of reality. The new store still looking like hell was only part of the problem. There were added bonuses too. First off, we needed our phone line transferred from the old place to our new one; otherwise we'd only be able to do cash transactions. And second, the locks needed to be changed on our front doors.

Now for those unaware, our store door is one of those giant, metal folding doors. It resembles a monstrous folding fan in how you push it closed and pull it open. Both ends have locking mechanisms that force metal poles into holes into the ground/ceiling, anchoring it in place. We needed new locks for a couple of valid reasons.

The mall administration openly advised us to change the locks, since the three keys they had been given by the former tenants at their close did not mean that there had always been three keys for that store. There was a good chance (and thusly a high security risk) that someone still had a key that could give someone access to our store. The other reason was more petty, but just as valid. The old trio of keys had the ominous words "DO NOT DUPLICATE" engraved on them. This translates to: if we wanted any more keys, we'd have to go to the manufacturer to get spares. That is problematic, since I have 5 staffers and we all close/open the store on our own at any given time. Were we to keep the three old keys, I've have one, my other full-timer would have one, and the last key would be handed around amongst my 3 part-timers like a Nerf football. (Just without the fun squishiness.)

Anyhoo, about mid-morning, the locksmith comes to change the locks on our front door. He immediately wonders what the hell the previous tenants had been up to, since it was painfully obvious they'd fucked the locks up fantastically. (One lock was missing its rear cylinder, and the other's cylinder was busted completely.) An hour passed and the locksmith proclaimed his job done. He handed us 5 keys, all of which could be copied later if needed. Our DM thanked him and he left.

Now, Mel & I were busy working on other things at the time, so we'd had no contact with the locksmith when he left. Our DM turned to us a short time later and declared that we could now open the store and just do cash transactions. I agreed, but first I wanted to test the doors out and make certain they would lock & unlock properly.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is why you test things out beforehand.

I locked the left side of the door. Everything was fine. I then tried to unlock the left side of the door. They didn't unlock. The key was being turned around inside the cylinder, but it wasn't hitting any of the mechanisms needed to release the locks.

Oops.

I immediately told the DM about this, and we decided to try the right side too. Perhaps it was just one side that was twitchy. As we stood outside the store, the following conversation ensued:


DM: "Um...if this doesn't work, won't Mel be locked inside the store?"

Me: "Oh, she'll be fine. She can just eat my lunch while she's trapped inside."

Mel: [completely oblivious to what's about to happen to her] "Listening to the radio, la la la..."


The left side of the door was locked. And guess what? It didn't unlock! Our locksmith had gone and frigged everything up! Now you have to take into account what else makes this a comedy of errors: by this point, the Bell guy hasn't arrived to change the lines over, so we have no working phone in our store. Plus, our DM's cell phone died the day before, so she can only notify the locksmith either via mall payphone, or by using the mall admin office's phones. (Mall admin graciously let us use theirs.)

But what about Mel, you ask? What was she to do while we'd locked her inside a store that had no emergency exit in back? Oh, she was just fine. And not because I had my much inside with her.

You see, sometimes things just happen to work out in unusual ways. Remember how I'd said that the door locks had been fustigated by the previous tenants. Well, the left side had been damaged to the point that only one of the two poles could be moved. The top part of the door could be locked in place, but it was physically impossible to lock the lower part. Which means, if you pull on the door and are as ridiculously skinny as I am, you can actually slip through the open space and get inside.

So I did.

Fortunately, there was a mechanism that could unlock & split the main doors into two separate sides. This could only be done from the inside, but at least we were able to still give ourselves easy access in and out of the store. Mel hadn't even realized I'd trapped her inside by the time I rescued her. I still got a punch in the shoulder for being so cavalier about it.

An hour later, the locksmith arrived and fixed the doors he'd technically already fixed. This time, we both tested the doors out before he left again. Finally, our DM declared our new store open.

But where oh where was the Bell guy? you know, the guy who was supposed to arrive by 11am that morning? Well, he arrived at about 4pm and proceeded to do all of the following things: spend 2 hours trying to locate our phone line, nearly kill himself falling off a ladder while trying to poke his head through our ceiling tiles, and actually kill the phone & Net connections to two neighboring stores. (Now that's talent!)

For the most part, this brings the whirlwind portion of this bit o' nowhere to a close. The last week and a half has been spent tidying and organizing the store. Unfortunately for me, I pushed myself to the point of total exhaustion and for my efforts got flattened on my ass by a nasty cold. It started out in my throat, then tried to explode my sinuses like something out of a Die Hard movie. I've gone through a bottle and a half of Buckley's Complete Cold Medicine (and rediscovered my gag reflex in the process) in the meantime, and only now does the virus seem to be bending to my will.

Well, there it is.

You've been wondering what life's been like for the last month, and for me, it's been best described as: "AAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUU--ooh, anniversary!--UUUUUUGGGGHHH!!!"

But all of that has passed and things should be quieting down. They'd better. If not, I'm afraid I'm going to have to start smashing things. But before we go, I'd like to leave you with Today's Lesson: wearing a Battle Royale shirt can be hazardous to your health, especially if you wander into a store, an employee sees it and they immediately start to wax ecstatic about the series, and attempt to fondle your shirt and spend the next few minutes talking about their BR fanfics and their attempt to write a BR screenplay for North America, at least until they discovered there's already one in the works. Needless to say, I smiled politely and nodded, and slowly backed out of the doorway.

Labels: 5 years of love laughter and no pants, i can has Buckleys, moving store voodoo

posted by Phillip at 8:16 AM

 


Break out that high-end bottle of champagne you've been saving and crank up Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" (though you might want to skip ahead to about 9 minutes in, right where things get all rousing Hollywood traileresque). Heck, while you're at it, throw in the Handel's "Hallelujah" chorus and we're set.

Yes indeed, today is the very last day Mel ever has to step foot into the eighth level of hell--er, the Stratford store on a work-related basis. Once 4pm rolls around, she will be free to stroll away, whistling a pleasant tune to herself as she plots vicious revenge against the store that has been slowly driving her mad since August.

Right now bets are being taken as to how long the store lasts before it implodes under its combination of teenage dramallama/incompetence, or whenever God decides to smite it out of compassion for the human race. We'll just have to see.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have Neil Gaiman's "Graveyard Book" to read. (Which cleverly disguised its existence in the bookstore for a week by pretending to be a young adult-oriented piece of fiction, thus never appearing on the New Releases display with everything else. Cunning book though it may be, I was on to it after the 6th day...)

Labels: is this the end of luggage Shakespeare?, oh happy days

posted by Phillip at 4:42 AM

 


Sometimes, you find something on the Intertubes that is so ridiculous in all the wrong ways, it can only inspire you to add your own (ideally not-as-wrong) contribution to the silliness. I don't think I've actually posted anything resembling an actual, full-blown, "hokey smoke watch me pull a story out of my hat" tale on this little bit of nowhere before, but hey, there's a first for everything. And all things considered, this really isn't something I'm aiming to publish one day.

(But if I do, I'm entrusting someone to shout "Oh John Ringo No!" before shooting me as a public service. Please?)

A quick note beforehand: if you don't read Fandom Wank regularly, you'll probably want to read the overview that precedes the story. It gives context. And tentacles.

Otherwise you can just skip ahead and revel in...the Hot Wet Planet!!!




***
***








From:
seiberwing wrote in fandom_wank,
@ 2008-09-15 09:56:00


Entry tags: porn, rp, tentacle pr0n

Subject Heading: Dude, at least be honest about it.



Arisama is looking for writers to help him with his new roleplaying forum "Hot Wet Planet", and takes his description over to rpg.net.


The setting takes as it's starting point, ideas from a blend of "John Carter on Mars", Thrud the Barbarian's adventures in Lemuria, Robert E Howard's original Conan the Cimmerian's Hyborean World, Edgar Rice Burrough's "Pelucidar", and similar pulp adventures in Heroci Fantasy, but based a lot on the concept of a Venus-the-Jungle-Planet sort of 1950s B-grade Sci-Fi movies as if re-imagined by a bunch of perverted tentacle-monster loving Japanese ero-manga (Hentai) fans & comic book artists.

....

Please keep in mind, it's for mature/adult members, you need to be over 16 to join. It's a fantasy/SF roleplaying setting with strongly erotic elements, although the focus is on the roleplaying & adventures.

If you're only interesting in playing, the game isn't open yet, but we would like to have players ready to start together (as part of whatever group they'll be with) when the game opens up (we're planning for November, just 2 months away). As an example, the starship crew should start together as a group within the same week, so that they have a chance to play out and develop their characters for awhile before arriving on the Hot Wet Planet. There's also the native cultures - one which is rather close to typical fantasy/medieval (but with erotic twists), another which are tribal jungle savages (the game's barbarians), and a third group which are descendants from Earth colonists (whose culture has been changed dramatically by the world's strange magical & erotic energies).

A few members find this a bit worrisome, for obvious reasons. Arisama takes huge offense to this and replies vehemently that they are interrogating the text from the wrong perspective and that anyone criticizing it for being a touch sleazy is a prude. Obviously, stats such as the following are hardly pornographic.

Attr = Attractiveness, beauty, appearance. For female characters, Attr adds to Def when they are attacked with harmful intentions (such as somebody trying to kill them or injure them), but subtracts from Def when they are attacked with lustful intentions (anything from somebody grabbing a quick feel & grope, sexually molesting them as they pass by, to grabbing them with the intention of engaging in any kind of sex act).

HWPE = Hot Wet Planet Effect, which is an overall level of the Hot Wet Planet's mysterious energy influence upon the character. The higher the HWPE, also the higher the character's libido & constant sexual arousal (more than exponentially increased for each level up), but also HWPE can add to Psi for "danger-sense", and makes it less likely that the character will be attacked for the purpose of becoming a meal. On the negative side, a higher HWPE makes it more difficult to resist the Hot Wet Planet's mental & emotional effects. A higher HWPE for the guys makes them more aggressive, domineering, sexist towards the girls, more likely to fight each other, etc... A higher HWPE for the girls makes them more submissive, more shy & easily embarrassed, a lot hornier & wetter (all the time), less able to cover themselves, and overwhelms their willpower to force them to flirt & sexually expose themselves - even when they don't want to, nor intend to - and magnifies pleasurable sensations.

In addition, some unidentifiable element of the environment is changing the survivors, eroticising them, making the females constantly horny yet more shy at the same time, more youthful, more like a guy's wet-dream fantasy, and removing all their body hair from their neck to their toes. The guys get bigger dicks, muscles, a penchant for crude violence, and that sort of thing, as if the planet was turning the men into barbarian warriors.

In the background, unknown at least at first to the Offworlder survivors, the planet's higher lifeforms have a simple mass-mind that is using it's powerful psionics to mentally influence and sometimes dominate the humans in lecherous ways, having it's strongest effect on the females (who gain the benefit of being occasionally protected, & subtly forewarned about real dangers); many of the younger (or younger appearing) women discover they are incapable of wearing underwear, or any kind of pants, or even anything more covering than an indecently short tunic or mini-dress...and the effect is becoming stronger with the passing of time.

Then there are the Tentacle Monsters to contend with....the size of a small car or as large as a house, in many shapes and forms, but always having phallic tentacles and a sexual obsession with humanoid females.

But Arisama goes on and on, slinging out the insults while claiming personal attacks. Darren Mac Lennen sums the situation up perfectly (and receives some sort of awesome points for this right here):




Later, Arisama points out that it isn't ready yet, so everyone should stop complaining about it being poorly written. Bolding his:


Did I mention that the site isn't ready yet? Yes I did. You can stop right there. The editing is still ongoing. It will always be ongoing. That's how editing usually works. I edit everyone else's writing on the site too. There's a lot to edit. That it's not yet finished isn't surprising, after all I did mention that it's not yet finished. We're not planning on opening until November. Your comment is totally unfair and unwarranted. It's really no more than a personal attack.


Apparently editing after he puts it up on the intertubes is the way things really should be done, despite the fact that a) everyone else thinks this is a bad idea and b) the site itself is already up, shoddy as it looks.


The whole thing seems to be degenerating into lulz for everyone but the flailing Arisama, but at this point that's about all that can be done.

UPDATE: In a far from unexpected move, Arisama compliments rpg.net for increasing his site's google ranking. However, a quick Google search determines that it is actually the rpg.net thread that is in the topmost rankings under "Hot Wet Planet"--with this post coming in fifth. Huzzah.


Actual link can be found here:

http://www.journalfen.net/community/fandom_wank/1178951.html#cutid1







From “Fandom Wank” poster: anonyrat

I was too busy watching the constant low-level edition wars (tm) over in d20 Open to notice this! Man, I have to keep tabs on the other forums.

I’m kind of tempted to join the RP and role-play a scene where my character keeps failing to put on underwear. Over and over and over again.

Because really, what the hell could possibly cause you to be UNABLE to wear panties? Electromagnetic crotch polarization?


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From “Fandom Wank” poster: fishies

>removing all their body hair from their neck to their toes.

I want to create a female character with a giant handlebar mustache now. All men shall swoon at the sight of her mighty ‘stache!


***

From “Fandom Wank” poster: tehrin

I officially hate this wank for making me apply Earth Logic to Tentacle Monsters

Then there are the Tentacle Monsters to contend with...the size of a small car or as large as a house, in many shapes and forms, but always having phallic tentacles and a sexual obsession with humanoid females.

Questions:
1) What shapes would tentacles be if they weren’t phallic-shaped? I’m guessing normal and jellyfish-like, but that’s real world logic which doesn’t apply to his tentacle porn fetish kink. Which leads too...

2) Given the information presented; that all the tentacle monsters on this planet have phallic-shaped tentacles and they have a sexual obsession with humanoid females, there are obviously male tentacle monsters. Would female tentacle monsters even exist on this planet? If they do, we are to assume their phallic-like (emphasis on phallic) appendages are strap-ons and that they are all lesbians because of all tentacle monsters in this world have an obsession with humanoid females.

3)Would male tentacle monsters even be interested in female tentacle monsters? The author stresses the lust for humanoid females as an obsession, so I am concluding that they probably would not. Therefore, where do baby tentacle monsters come from?

Ergo, I must conclude that bisexual and heterosexual female or male tentacle monsters do not exist, male tentacle monsters do not have an interest in possible female tentacle monsters. So, therefore the species has to be a hybrid species, in order to exist in this fantasy world, and thus the product of tentacle monster/humanoid relations.

WAT THE FLIPPITY FUCK?!?









A silly-assed ficlet by: His lordship Chaos

Based on the obviously-not-porn SciFi RPG “Hot Wet Planet” created by: Asisama.
And wanked by: Fandom Wank
Special distinction, love and credit due: Darren Mac Lennen, anonyrat, fishes & tehrin.

With an adoring shout-out to Glempf of “Ghastly’s Ghastly Comic.”


On the Hot Wet Planet, many strange things abounded. Many hot, strange things. Hot, wet and strange things. But not pornographic things, oh most certainly not. That was an easy mistake for an amateur to make if they cast their untrained eyes into the wild jungles of this unusual planet. Certainly there were many scantily clad females parading about in an oversexed manner. And, granted, all the men were no longer forced to hide their penis inferiority complexes by buying shiny sports cars. Oh yes, and there were more nipples on display than you’d find in a baby bottle manufacturing plant.

But there was nothing pornographic about any of this.

Not even the rampant sex was pornographic.

Again, it might be difficult for a casual observer to grasp this concept, but naturally that is because a casual observer is making the glaring mistake of using Earth logic. But these hot and wet and strange things aren’t happening on Earth, are they? No, Sir, this is the Hot Wet Planet! And where there is Hot Wet Planet-on-Planet action, so too must Hot Wet Planet Logic be used!

Today’s story begins in the depths of the hot wet jungles, where a group of alien tentacle monsters had gathered together for an important--nay, momentous task. They had gathered to bear witness to hot lesbian sex. And as everyone in the Internet meme communities should know by now, by “sex” we mean “tea.” (Which was both hot and wet, but definitely not pornographic…and why are you suddenly looking so disappointed?)

The tea in question was being enjoyed amidst a rousing game of poker. Indeed, on the Hot Wet Planet, tea and poker had evolved amongst the tentacle monsters into a part of their national identity. The four of them sat around the sizeable poker table, their long, undulating tendrils carefully grasping their small, ceramic cups of tea and saucers.

“Now then,” said one of the tentacle monsters whose helpful nametag identified himself as Hello, My Name Is Murfle-Flurgen. He paused to set down his teacup and then used another tentacle to adjust his eye monocle. “I must kindly disagree with you, Sir. I refuse to believe that fate, as you so describe, has dictated that events happen apriori, thus negating any opportunity for free will or even random chance. This can only bring me to the inevitable conclusion that you must be trying to deal me all the bad cards!”

The tentacle monster sitting across from him, clad in his dealer’s hat and a swanky black necktie, harrumphed and waved a dismissive tentacle at the claim. “On the contrary, you do me disrespect by claiming that fate is nothing more than playing the most favourable of odds,” said the dealer, who was known by the others as Blurfmep. “Besides it’s your own damned fault for trying to bluff with a pair of two’s.”

“And I would have won too,” stated Murfle-Flurgen, “had it not been for those meddling hairless mammals. I swear my entire flagellum involuntarily went out of its way to smack them on the hindquarters as they ran on by.”

“Most peculiar,” agreed Blurfmep. “I still have yet to understand just how it is our flagellum are irresistibly attracted to their flesh.”

“Oh, hadn’t you guessed?” the third tentacle monster remarked. His name was Akhrumnar (from the lower Wet side, for those of you not following this story with the helpful HWP Coles Notes), and he wore a commemorative ‘Cthulhu For President’ button. “It’s the carbon base in their bodies. Our own cellular physiology is magnetically attracted to it.”

“Well, there you have it,” said Murfle-Flurgen. “This certainly explains why I had to chain my appendages down to stop them from involuntarily spanking that mammal-girl.”

The fourth and final tentacle monster, who went by the name of Brad, was significantly smaller when compared to the others, despite his large glaring eyestalk and twitching flagellum. He sat hunched over his chair, scrutinizing the five cards being held aloft by a tendril. He let out a rumbling that sounded like, “Ph’ugha iia shubnigurath.”

Akhrumnar’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Now what exactly was that supposed to be?”

“Some rather disparaging remarks about your mother,” said Murfle-Flurgen. “And he wants one card.”

Blurfmep passed Brad a card. “How exactly can you understand that anyways?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised at what strange, irrational things I am intimate with,” said Murfle-Flurgen.

“Try me.”

“When no one is looking, you like slingshotting the underwear left behind by all those hairless mammal-girls, just to see how far they’ll go.”

Blurfmep tilted all of his eyestocks to one side. “And what does that have to do with strange, irrational things?”

“Nothing. I just felt like pointing it out.”

“I’ll have you know I was testing the underwear in an effort to better comprehend by the mammal-girls find it so difficult to keep them on. My associate's current theory involves electromagnetic crotch polarization. Alas, so far none of our studies have been conclusive.”

“You also hit me in the murbleflaps with one this morning,” Akhrumnar said.

“Did I? Oh, terribly sorry.”

“Think nothing of it. Now who’s round is this?”

Blurfmep tossed down two cards, and took another two from the deck for himself. “Bad enough those hairless mammals go gallivanting about like that, leaving their litter everywhere, but did you see the scandalous sign they posted up in my surfboard shop yesterday? Apparently, some of them have an anal-surfboard fetish.”

The other tentacle monsters gasped and murmured amongst themselves.

Brad stiffened, quite possibly insulted by the thoroughly scandalous topic, and warbled out, “Ph’ugha! Ia R’lyeh! Ftagn!”

“Now that,” remarked Murfle-Flurgen, “was definitely a disparaging remark about your mother.”

“Why, I must confess astonishment at your claim, Sir!” Blurfmep exclaimed, throwing his cards facedown onto the poker table. “Our very asexual physiology negates any such issue of gender. My progenitor simply divided into six smaller versions, of which I was but one.”

“True,” said Akhrumnar, “but that cannot escape the fact that the person writing this is referring to us all by gender-specific pronouns and possessives.”

Murfle-Flurgen immediately thwacked him upside the back of the murbleflaps for being an idiot and pointing out such a glaring hole in the plot.

“Well, it’s true,” Akhrumnar persisted. “And besides, our mistaken interest in the mammal-girls only is leading to what I fear are some misconstrued theories about our species as a whole. I’ve heard talk amongst some of the mammals that apparently, if we are gender specific, male tentacle monsters do not have an interest in possibly female tentacle monsters. Thusly, by their reasoning our species has to be a hybrid courtesy of tentacle/mammal relations.”

All the tentacle monsters groaned and tried to wave aside the horrid mental images.

“Heaven help us if the male-type mammals think this,” said Murfle-Flurgen. “They’ll copulate with anything that moves provided they think it’s related to their species.”

The quartet paused as one of their tentacled associates glorped past them, desperately trying to free himself from a dozen or so muscular and surprisingly well-oiled men as they attempted to pleasure themselves on his various limbs.

“A little help here!” the hapless monster shouted at them.

“N’gah-Kthun,” sighed Brad, shaking his numerous eyestalks.

The other three tentacle monsters mumbled in agreement and resumed their rousing game of poker. And for a short time they were able to carry on in peace, enjoying their tea/hot lesbian sex between rounds of cards and debating whether or not, if there were such a thing as female tentacle monsters, would their phallic-like appendages actually be strap-ons? (And if so, would they have remote controlled vibrating functions and blinking lights?)

Unfortunately, since this story did not get more than 5 reviews since being posted on FF.Net, we’ll have to skip right over that part and cut to the big finish!

The trouble began when Akhrumnar looked up from his full house of aces and fives. He scowled at what he saw and discreetly nudged Murfle-Flurgen. “Hey, that hairless mammal-girl is back again.”

The tentacle monsters straightened up and glanced over their chairs. Standing directly behind Murfle-Flurgen was one of the human females they had regularly seen around their villa in recent days. Naturally this could only end in disaster, if last night’s “private junior college tentacle monsters’ locker room” incident was any indication of what would happen whenever she appeared.




The most peculiar aspect about her was that the only hair she sported on her naked body was found above her neckline. She clasped her hands in front of her chest, deliberately pushing her bosom out towards Murfle-Flurgen. She smiled shyly at him and in a not so coy voice asked, “Can I have a spanking?”

Needless to say, Murfle-Flurgen was terrible affronted. “What?” he exclaimed. “No, most certainly not! Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

The girl batted her eyes and struck a coy, sexy pose. “Please?”

“No.”

“Just a little slap on the bottom?”

“No!!” Murfle-Flurgen shouted, nearly flinging his cards into the air.

“I like her,” Akhrumnar said aside to Brad.

Brad stared at him in bewilderment. “Ftagn?”

“What?” Akhrumnar said. “I have a thing for handlebar moustaches, that’s all. And she’s sporting a rather fetching one.”

Murfle-Flurgen simply rolled his eyestalks and moved his chair to ensure his back was directly in front of the mammal-girl. “Might we please continue with our game?” he said to the others, and picked up his teacup. “Just ignore her and she’ll wander off to find something else to fellatiate.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” asked Blurfmep.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

Blurfmep gestured with one of his tentacles. “Because she’s molesting your chair.”

At the risk of stating the obvious, Murfle-Flurgen promptly freaked, spitting out his mouthful of tea mid-sip. So shocked and appalled was he that his monocle popped right off his eyestalk, bounced across the table and right into the bowl of spinach dip. Brad immediately scooped the monocle out of the dip and ate it. (Don’t ask.)

All this did nothing to stop the young lass from continuing to violate their furniture. Murfle-Flurgen’s chair rattled so impressively that he was forced to turn around and address her directly: “Dammit, mammal, this chair is antique! Stop rubbing your disturbingly hairless crotch all over it!”

The girl looked at him with an optimistic smile. “I’ll stop if you agree to spank me.”

“What is it with you creatures and getting smacked on your posteriors?” Murfle-Flurgen exclaimed. “Is it a defect hard-wired into your genetic code? Can we not be left in peace for a single day without being propositioned for a game of grab-ass?”

“I told you, blame our biology’s innate magnetism,” said Akhrumnar.

Murfle-Flurgen glared at him with a random eyestalk. “You’re not helping.”

“So,” ventured the human female. “Maybe I’ll get a spanking?”

Murfle-Flurgen grumbled in deep irritation and tried to resist from taking his tentacles, wrapping them around her neck and throttling her. “Maybe,” he said, a forced smile on his face, “if you scamper off and leave me alone for a while.”

The girl peered over at his poker hand. “Will you do it after you beat everyone with your royal flush?”

All the other tentacle monsters groaned in exasperation and threw down their cards. “Fold!” they chorused.

Murfle-Flurgen grumbled as he stared down at the card table, muttering some rather choice words that can’t exactly be repeated here in English or Tentacleese. (And by no means should that word cause you to immediately think of John Cleese as a tentacle monster.) Very slowly, one of Murfle-Flurgen’s eyestalks swiveled back to the girl.

She grinned at him. “Now can I have my spanking? I earned it, right?”

“I loathe your species,” Murfle-Flurgen told her.













His lordship Chaos would like to once again thank:


Arisama, for ensuring that no porn ever transpired on the Hot Wet Planet. (For your tireless efforts, we salute you!)

Fandom Wank, for giving us all equal parts win, LOL and brain bleach: http://www.journalfen.net/community/fandom_wank/

Seiberwing, for bringing the Hot Wet Planet to the Hot Wank Planet.

Darren Mac Lennen, for what could quite possibly be the funniest analogy ever conceived, involving surfboards or otherwise.

Anonyrat, for advancing the field of Theoretical Research of Electromagnetic Crotch Polarization.

Fishes, for giving us some much-needed handlebar moustache love.

Tehrin, for daring to translate Hot Wet Planet logic into Earth logic and not having an exploded brain to show for it.

Uncle Ghastly & Glempf, for proving that tentacle monsters are people too. Check out Ghastly’s Ghastly comic at: www.ghastlycomic.com



--His lordship Chaos. (September 30, 2008)

Labels: Vive le Hot Wet Planet

posted by Phillip at 12:30 AM

 

Our District Manager and our handy/cynical maintenance guy Tom arrived at the store today. After taking one look at the new location, the best description of their facial expressions I can give you would be: Oh dear God!!! (And not in a Sunday worship service sort of way, either.)

The crux of it remains thus: our Head Office, being the cunning strategists that they are, decided to wait until 2 weeks before we must be out of our store to start planning how to renovate our temporary location. Of course, the magical upper management world in which they live does not exactly interact well with the laws of...well...reality.

You see, in order for our temp spot to be ready, the leftover bits from the previous owners need to be removed. And there's a lot of those, notably the half-circle of metal covering a good portion of one wall. Plus, we'll need to add in our own features: a cash desk, shelves, slat walls and more shelves. No matter how spectacular Tom's skills are, accomplishing all this in less than two weeks is...

...well, I have a better chance of all of you bowing down and sincerely proclaiming how sexy my ass is. That's how bad the odds are.

At the very least, my DM is starting to kick at the Head Office tires to get something thrown into motion. But she is rather frazzled over the fact that Head Office knew about this whole situation months ago, and has already had 2 weeks to start the revamping, if they so felt inclined.

And I can't exactly say this deal saddens or surprises me. After all, for the last three years I've seen how our Head Office handles the temporary winter kiosks (which is to say: badly). Soon enough we'll see if Tom devolves into "TOM SMASH!" mode and destroys Head Office for their sheer smegheadery, since he is the one who has to literally clean up after their procrastination.

I'll keep this little bit of nowhere updated as the incompetence and aggravation rolls in.

But in the meantime, there is meatloaf that must be consumed....

Labels: did he just make a joke about how unsexy his ass is?, the store move of doom

posted by Phillip at 5:00 PM

 


In the first full weekend I've had off since late July (ah, back to school, how you love to abuse me and my position), Mel & I have been partying it up in Brantford to help celebrate Gabe's birthday. Most notably, last night (Saturday) saw the party being held in the nearby camping/trailer grounds, complete with party guests, streamers, balloons, cake (not a lie, to flog the good ol' meme, but it was very tender and moist) and more delicious burgers & sausages than you can shake a pair of tongs at.

Now if you ask anyone else who was there, it was probably harder to tell who was the bigger kid in the group: Gabe and his 3 other guests, or me. We spent a good part of the evening creating art with Mr PotatoHeads (I had a 4-armed monstosity with a giant mouth filled with scary-looking teeth), creating more art by attempting to wear the Mr PotatoHead accessories, building giant Duplo towers and then smashing them apart, and running amok with not only balloons, but the collapsible tent-houses Kevin brought along.

Though it did devolve to a point where I wore the tent-house and chased all the kids around the campground for a half-hour. And as all encounters between a group of kinds and myself inevitably go, it ended with me being dogpiled. I myself had a blast, but damn, my thighs now despise me for all the piggybacking, squatting and hopping around. Any flexibility is gone, and a mighty protest erupts from my legs whenever I try to stand up.

All in all, a great party.

Aaaaand, as an added bonus, we had this converstion in the van as we returned home. Inside were Kevin, Dana, Mel, myself, Kevin's mom and Keanna (Gabe's 4 year-old partymate). Now Keanna is very whip-smart for her age when it comes to wit. So it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise as it did to hear...

Kevin: [to Dana] "Oh, did you remember our digital camera."

Dana: "I gave it to Phil."

Me: "Not to worry, it's here inside my coat pocket. I've been keeping it warm next to the radiance of my awesomeness. Would you like it back?"

Keanna: [without even pausing] "No, you can keep it."


Ladies and gentlemen, I just got burned by a 4 year-old. I think that's a new record/standard for me, and I have to say, I am rather impressed. (I had been setting the burn up for Dana or Mel, but to hear Keanna beat them to the punch...wow, I have a new apprentice to train. After all, six years ago Mel could barely get any sort of retort in no matter how brilliant an opening I left for her, and now she's nailing them even before I realize I've left the opening.)


Now if you'll excuse me, I'm starting to get horribly addicted to the music & lyrics for Repo: The Genetic Opera (helped in no small part to Anthony Stewart Head playing the eponymous character.) Between this and TV Tropes, my soul doesn't stand much of a chance. (Well, whatever part of it's left at least.)

Labels: Gabe's 4th birthday, no sexybaka--denied, wherein horrible overuses of parentheses ensue

posted by Phillip at 10:29 AM

 





For those of you who have no idea why this should be so funny and relevant for this little bit of nowhere, may I present a (literally) blast from the past. Scroll down the page to the bottom and prepare yourself for...

http://karaoke_vicious.blogspot.com/2003/12/whee-hah-that-one-blowed-up-real-good.html

Labels: lids on blenders and the lack thereofs

posted by Phillip at 8:11 PM

 


It's Monday night, and due to the hype of the ads, Mel & I are morbidly watching CSI: Miami to see if someone finally managed to succeed in giving thousands of people what they would love to see: someone killing David Caruso.

(Spoiler warning: he's still in the opening credits.)

But if one were to attempt to kill the character Horatio Caine, I think we have been given the means by this episode in the form of a dramatic pan shot revealing that Caine's trademark Dramatic Acting Sunglasses have a bullet hole through them. You see, this is why Caine is indestructible in the series: he is in fact immortal, and his power source/mortal weakness is in his sunglasses. You destroy his sunglasses first, and only then can you destroy Caine.

It's a twisted reversal of "Save the Cheerleader, Save the World" from Heroes. Or "The cheerleader saves the world (repeatedly)" from Buffy.

Now if you'll excuse me, TV Tropes demands that I feed it the last couple of pieces of my soul. Mmmmm...soul....

Labels: Shoot the glasses shoot the Caine

posted by Phillip at 7:32 PM

 

I regret to inform you that I cannot spend very much time with you, as my soul is currently being devoured by tvtropes.org



P.S. To Saturday: I would be most grateful if you could refrain from having people stabbed in my apartment's parking lot while I am out at work. Actually, if you could just refrain from having this sort of thing happen in my complex, period, it would be much appreciated.

Labels: Damn you Sean Gaffney damn you

posted by Phillip at 8:22 PM

 


Why, you ask? Well, to answer I give you four little words: Jim Henson Smithsonian Exhibit.

http://www.sites.si.edu/henson/


If this somehow makes it to Toronto's ROM, I'll be there on opening day with Kevin as we kill & eat our way to the front of the line.

Labels: Jim Henson Smithsonian Exhibit

posted by Phillip at 4:52 PM

 


It's the Labour Day Monday, which naturally means two things. First and foremost, it's a day off for Mel & myself, wherein we need not worry about the store(s) calling us for some silly-assed emergency or question. And point the second: the Back To School hell week is finally over. As of tomorrow, the little rugrats will be shoved into a mulitude of perkily-decorated classrooms, as opposed to having them running through our store and tearing it to shreds.

I'll leave the slightly misanthropic rantings elsewhere, since you've all heard them before (and, depending on your own vocational experiences, probably have your own similar rants). Suffice to say, this week saw a non-stop, steady stream of families tearing apart our displays. And of course, Saturday and Sunday were perhaps the worst, as our store teemed from open to close with families who realized that, hey! School starts Tuesday!

But all that is over now. There will still be a number of crowds who will descend on us over the next week, but they'll be concentrated in the evenings. (And more importantly, when I'm not around.) I am rather looking forward to a month of considerably less stress and running around the store.

Mel is too, since next week is her last week at the 6th Ring of Hell (also known as the Stratford store). With a manager and full-timer now hired for that location, most of this upcoming week will see her stepping back and letting them take charge, while she more serves as a consultant for any questions/problems they have.

So good-bye to hordes of backpacks that have overtaken our stockroom. Fare thee well, overflowing bunks of lunch boxes. And kiss my slightly misanthropic ranting ass, families demanding to know why we don't have anything they want this far into the BTS season.

Hmm...and in retrospect, so much for the "I won't rant about this" comment earlier. Oh well.


In other news, about a week ago, as the Olympics were wrapping up, I noticed on a number of Net news sites that the list of Top 5 Hot Topics included "underage gymnasts." Now if i hadn't heard about that particular controversy, I'd be incredibly worried. (Hell, I still am.)

"No, really, your Honour, those pictures on my computer were just research on the '08 Olympics! Honestly!"


Now if you'll excuse me, there's an afternoon I have to lounge through, and a box of cookies who are luring me into the kitchen with their siren's song...

Labels: apparently 'perkily' is recognzied as a valid word despite sounding very silly, BTS hell week 08

posted by Phillip at 11:29 AM

 



There are many things in life that are filled with 'win': friends, chocolate cake, the Dark Knight movie and being able to have pants-optional days in your own apartment. The Stratford store, however, is not one of those things. It has no win. It is void of win. I'd almost be inclined to think it has win in negative integers, making it the anti-win. Which is to say, the store possesses an abundance of fail.

There's not one impressive reason that makes me say this, just a lot of them.

After viewing the store for myself earlier this week, I've concluded that it's just as well the former manager was cacked, if not for the singular fact that a blind, deluded otter could have run the place better. The part-timers had an abundance of training, but only if, by 'an abundance of' training' you're thinking 'just enough to ensure the store doesn't burn itself down.'

Things I've taken for granted that my own employees know, such as doing a simple coin run to the bank, the Stratford part-timers were confustigated by. Regrettably, it also doesn't help that the part-timers don't seem to be particularly bright and require a little bit of repeated commands & rubbing of the grey matter before their brains get warmed up. (And since Mel is the one attempting to train/re-train them, she is finding this part particularly vexing.)

But perhaps I'm being too critical. Sure, the rest of the staff might not have been trained very well, but surely the former manager was skilled in other venues. Certainly the weekly managerial paperwork was completed to near perfection!

No? Hmm...how about satisfactorily completed paperwork?

No? How about completed paperwork?

Um...well, there was paperwork. An unsorted, unorganized and not even checked over pile of it.

Okay, so sure the employees were poorly trained and the paperwork was an unmitigated disaster, but surely--yes, surely!--this was only because all of the former manager's zeal and energy was directed at making the store itself appear the paragon of neatness and aesthetic charm. Aha haaaaa...if only.

Here especially is where I believe the blind, deluded otter would have shone had it been put in charge instead. Mel's first reaction upon seeing the physical appearance of the Stratford store was to fight the urge to turn around and walk away. Sadly, this is not an embellishment. My own reaction was to stare at it in bemused horror and mutter "Whaaa?"

The "temporary replacement" crew has spent this entire week just attempting to play clean-up, and they're still not finished. I contributed to the effort by revamping their luggage. Now herein is my argument for hiring the otter: their luggage was scattered everywhere. And by scattered, I mean they had none of the same styles grouped together. This isn't just for the prettiness of it, but for the practicality of actually being able to find something a customer is specifically asking for.

For example, one particular style had pieces in 5 different places scattered across the entire store. A task that I had guessed would take only an hour ended up taking just over 2 hours, since Mel & I had to take everything down, group like pieces together to see how much of any given style they had, and then put it all up in a pretty fashion.

My best guess is that, as stock comes in each day, the manager just tossed it around in the nearest available spot, regardless of where it actually should go. And this looks like it's been going on for easily the last few months.

And sadly, there's more of this to be sure. Much more, and it's all leaving a rather frazzled Mel curled up on the couch as we're watching a library rental of Sweeney Todd. I figure it's best of both worlds: Mel can enjoy the music, and I can enjoy the arterial spray.

So for now I'll leave it at that, and rant another day.

In the meantime, here's Today's Lesson: midnight is a most inopportune time for the doorknob of your apartment's front door to fall off.

Labels: if there was an armpit of hell I think we've found it (and it sells luggage)

posted by Phillip at 5:42 PM

 


The next two weeks are about to turn more interesting than usual. Normally, they're crazy-hectic due to the Back To School season, and normally I've got Mel floating around the store on a part-time basis (Head Office-approved, of course) to help with the customers. Well, suddenly Mel will no longer be at my store for the remainder of the BTS season.

She'll be in the Stratford store.

It's necessary to stay mum on the subject, but suffice to say there was a slight case of "the fan, and shit hitting it" over there, and our District Manager asked/pleaded with Mel to step in on a temp basis and help run things there while they replaced half the staff. (This takes the award for "Worst Possible Time To Happen.") I myself would have preferred to do this, leaving Mel to work my shifts at a store she's familiar with and co-workers she knows & enjoys working with, but it's that lack of an extra car...and a driver's license.

So for the moment, Mel gets to traverse to Stratford while replacements are hired and trained. And sadly, she's not even going to know her schedule until Monday, once everyone can take stock of who's left and when they're available, and how fast other staffers are found. This is no doubt going to fubar any plans we have for days off from here until the Labour Day Weekend.

Grrr. Argh.

Labels: Back to Stratford--er, school

posted by Phillip at 9:13 AM

 

Labels: please don't ask about the unsightly stain on the carpet, rolling 34" coffins

posted by Phillip at 8:01 AM

 

According to Ain't It Cool News here http://www.aintitcool.com/node/37601 MTV has decided that, because obviously the original was neither good enough nor influential enough on pop culture, a remake of The Rocky Horror Picture Show is in order.

If you need me, I'll be over in the corner, decrying Hollywood's latent need to "reimagine" everything (and apparent inability to come up with anything original anymore) and putting on my unconventional conventioneer outfit. As far as I'm concerned, there is only one Frank-N-Furter, and Tim Curry be thy name. (Though Anthony Stewart Head in the UK broadway version is a close second.)

Labels: Dammit Janet they're remaking our movie

posted by Phillip at 4:40 AM

 


...that someone, somewhere, is watching The Dark Knight, and it's not you? Needless to say, I have seen the movie and geeked mightily. Although seeing the Watchmen trailer before it almost gave me equal geekage. So now that makes Alan Moore graphic-novels-into-movies for League, From Hell, V For Vendetta and Watchmen. I wonder how long it'll take for Lost Girls to get made into a movie?

(If you haven't found the joke yet, Wikipedia for the win!)

So here we are, me with my pithy rantings and you rolling your eyes since these pithy rantings are all you get for a few weeks' worth of nothing. Many things have happened in the last while, though most of them could be filed under "trivial."

At work, the words "Back To School" have already flooded our stores. I can't help but feel rather peculiar about this, since it doesn't even feel like it's mid-to-late July. Meh, guess I've just been distracted. The last 4-5 days have been spent flipping our store around so the purses are in the back, the backpacks are in the front, and I'm still left in the middle to curse Head Office for giving us too many damned lunch boxes. (The total count has now swollen to 8 luggage-size boxes crammed with assorted lunch boxes.)

At the apartment, I've alternated between watching the first season of X-Files (and marveling at how the grim paranoia from the earlier seasons I enjoyed ended up descending into tongue-in-cheek by the end), as well as dabbling in some attempts to write (currently working on an epitaph-inside-a-fic for Dejana), and walking outside in the rain with Mel and some friends because we "were simply in the mood."

Helpful hint: don't wear baggy shorts and leap into a deep puddle with both feet together. The water has a disturbing tendency to shoot right up into places I'd rather not mention here.

In the kitchen, I recently attempted to make Belgian waffles. Emphasis on 'attempted.' Whatever the final result was, while it was palatable, I think I may have violated some laws of baking. (And somewhere, Jason and Roupen are groaning.) At least it didn't try to eat me after crawling out of the waffle iron. On the other hand, my milkshake skills have vastly improved! Note the inherent lack of milkshake on the cabinets and ceilings this time around.

And in the bedroom...

...oh get yer minds outta the gutter! We have purchase a new bed, that's all. A bigger, happier queen-sized bed. A queen bed that somehow our little shih-tzu can overtake at night and hog all the space. How Shady can do this I'll never know. Anyhoo, the whole buying process ended up taking about 6 months: we bought the frame first, and spend a longer time finding not only a good mattress we both enjoyed, but also one at a good deal. It's not like we had to rush, since our full-size bed still worked just fine. But damn, those Bad Boys sales guys are pushy....

(And fear not. Our full-size is now enjoying a second chance with one of our friends, who graciously offered to pay for the bed.)


Other than that, there's little else for this bit o' nowhere. So here we shall leave you with Today's Lesson: if the clouds look evil and black outside, don't try walking your dog...the ensuing torrential downpour that almost blows your dog across the street is not something I rank high on my Fun List.

Labels: back to school begins, beds are for sleeping not squeaking

posted by Phillip at 5:03 PM

 


Here I finally update this little bit of nowhere, and I am aghast to discover that I have nothing pertinent to say. No new acquisitions to greedily tout over my head (as behind me, my ailing wallet kicks my ass for being a moron) beyond a manga or two, no death-defying stunts to recount or life-altering moments to reveal to you all.

Even as far as work goes, all I can lament is Head Office's apparent indecisiveness on picking a look for the store. Every week we seem to get some new, annoying changeover that requires me to scuttle around in an apparently vain attempt to appease them.

On the plus side, two stories that have been hassling me the past month look to be finally tiring of their petty rebellion and are starting to shape up. Which is good, since in one story I require my entire cast to get eaten (or at least mauled), and in the other I need to make not-so-subtle references to the end of the world.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must be off. Worlds to end, casts to devour and new queen-sized mattresses to examine and/or purchase. Hmm...I wonder if my priorities need a slight reordering.

Oh well.

Labels: nonsensical blog is filled with nonsense

posted by Phillip at 9:09 AM

 


Today is certainly shaping up to be a "best of times, worst of times" day. Of the former, Mel & I are here celebrating Kevin & Dana's anniversary. And there are ribs. Glorious, glorious ribs. Of the latter, the results of my grandfather's medical tests came back, and we get to take our pick of the bad news or the worse news.

So here I am, discovering how much I'm enjoying the new Coldplay single, Violet Hill, and wondering how much of this bit o' nowhere should be emotional breakdown or upbeat quirkiness. Generally speaking, I prefer the blog to be of the upbeat and quirky variety; not that I don't mind you all worrying on my behalf, because on the contrary I'm grateful to have good friends who do that. (It attests to how much you really, really love me despite all the horrid fic titles & ideas I help bring to infernal life.)

On the other foot, I'm always leery of veering off keeping the little bit of nowhere "real" and flying the proverbial car off the angsty emo cliff...whereupon, in traditional fashion, it crashes at the base, and it starts to rain, and the lone survive crawls out despite a hundred and three broken bones, pulling their dead boy/girlfriend behind them, and just as the car explodes in the background to provide a breath-taking in-the-rain visual, our broken hero(ine) sobs to the heavens over the corpse of their boyfriend/girlfriend/beloved pet goat.

(See how I casually tossed in that quirky addition at the end there? Damn, I'm good.)

Now comes the more important question: in that last big paragraph, how many cliches did I just inadvertently name, and how many shows/movies have we all seen that featured a scene like this?

In other news, apparently surprising Mel by sending her flowers while she's still in CT gets me called names. (Probably because her family didn't let her live it down and teased her a fair bit as a result.) But now she has returned, and yea, there was much snogging, and verily thou didn'st need to knowest that.

...and it appears there are ribs to be had shortly. Glorious, glorious ribs. If in the meanwhile you wish to send well-wishes, feel free to send them to Gary especially. I know he'd appreciate the support. (It'll probably be easier too, anyway, since you can comment in his LJ via your own LJ account. Vive le me still not bending to LJ!)

Labels: captain obvious

posted by Phillip at 1:13 PM

 

It was inevitable, I suppose. Despite having seen this coming for a bit now, it's still managed to utterly blindside me. There were differences Mel & I couldn't reconcile, and so now she's down in Connecticut with her family...

...to attend her youngest sister's graduation.




So yes, Mel's currently away in CT for her sister's grad. I myself would have enjoyed being down there along with her, but sadly there's this issue with me needing to work in order to have money to pay rent. And food. And gas (though that's reaching ridiculous heights/lows as it is).

She's been gone for three days now, and won't be back up to yonder north until next Monday. Which means I'm being left to my own devices for just over a week.

And no, the operative word is not "panic."

I have, as a matter of fact, survived on my own as a bachelor before. I can certainly handle things on my own. I mean, it's not like this is the first time I accidentally blew up a toaster. And those scorch marks come right out of the ceiling with a little bit of bleach and elbow grease.

But in all seriousness, it is a little peculiar to suddenly have the place to myself. Oh, there are the pets, of course, and somehow Shady has managed to hog both pillows on the bed. And I have entertained myself between bouts of writing and hardlining Dexter s.2 and the Venture Brothers.

However...after nearly 5 years of being together, to have the place to myself for this duration has left me feeling quite out of sorts. Mel & I still try & talk online for a bit, but I do miss her. On Sunday, I invited a friend over so I wouldn't feel lonely. Yesterday I fell asleep snuggling her pillow. Today I've taken to sobbing over chocolates and watching our wedding video repeatedly.

I'm quite optimistic about tomorrow!

Labels: this is what happens when I'm left to my own devices for a week

posted by Phillip at 8:50 PM

 



...you gave us so many amazing, iconic creatures. Though you've passed on the creativity, imagination and passion you put into all your masterpieces will live on.

Rest in peace, Stan Winston.

Labels: Stan Winston

posted by Phillip at 5:11 PM

 

I could entirely be wrong on this, but I think the bank near the mall could use a little handiwork done on its main door. There's nothing wrong with the handles, or the glass, or even the speed at which it swings open and closed. However, methinks the door doth protest too much as it moves.

You know those old toys shaped like round metal cans, and when you flipped them over they made a mechanical "moo!" sound? Imagine this tin toy being creamed mid-Moo! by a 350-pound linebacker and you'll have a pretty good idea of the sound this door made as it swung closed.

In the meanwhile, I'm working on a pitch for a new Harry Potter-based sitcom: Harry Loves Voldie!


[Cue Harry skipping into the kitchen, a heart-shaped letter in his hands!]

Harry: ^-^ "Heya, Voldie!"

Voldemort: [wearing a pink frilly apron as be prepares dinner] "Hi, Harry."

Harry: ""This just came in the mail for you."

Voldemort: "A valentine? Wow, I've never gotten any of those before."

[Voldemorts opens the valentine.]

Voldemort: "'Dear Voldie, you're ugly and you smell like turnips.' HAAAAARRRRRYYY!!!!"

Labels: Harry Loves Voldie, yet another pointless blog you've gotten me into

posted by Phillip at 8:30 AM

 




The day before the day before the Con went about as well as can be expected. I spent most of it working, and the parts of it I didn’t spend at the store were filled with frantic half-assed attempts to pack before I fell asleep in the suitcase.

I almost made it.



Having pulled off a miracle, all my bags were pack despite me not about to be leaving on a jetplane and not knowing if I’d be back again. I still had to work my shift that day, with money for rent & food being good and happy and all that, but it was about as laid-back as one can imagine. With few boxes of stock to open and even fewer customers to tend to (it was that quiet), I spent most of the day itching to leave.

Mel picked me up after my shift, and from there we loaded up the car and headed over to Kevin & Dana’s. Mattresses were inflated, food stashes were consolidated and questions over whether we’d see any Crossplayers were had. (Answer: at least 5 that we know of.)



I don’t know how we pulled it off, but all four of us were up before the Gabezilla. Which unto itself is a remarkable feat, considering we were mostly showered & ready by 11am - a time when usually most of us are only starting to grudgingly rise from beneath our covers.

We loaded all of our stuff into the van, and with Charlie in the driver’s seat we vroomed off to Toronto! (And with the way we had to stack everything around my lone seat in the back, every time we made a semi-sharp left turn, I was almost crushed beneath duffles, bags of cookies and other things.)

When I wasn’t being buried in an avalanche of Constuff, we enjoyed the trek by bouncing along to tunes from Haruhi, Avenue Q, Jonathan Coulton & Scissor Sisters. This naturally brings us to…Anime North 2008!

Yes indeed, glorious AN08!

And no Anime North experience is complete without the special guest appearance of Gimpy the Wonder Elevator! This being Gimpy’s 4th annual appearance, we dubbed it: “Curse of Gimpy!” (With Gimpy, Bride of Gimpy and Son of Gimpy being its preceding titles.) Marvel as you push the up button for the third floor, only to go all the way up to the eighth floor…and then back down to the lobby before Gimpy decides it’s toyed with you in its clutches enough, and finally opens on your floor.

Next year: Legend of Gimpy!

In the meanwhile, I delighted in having the sense to purchase a luggage trolley prior to the convention. Last year, our collective arms were nearly destroyed lugging all the heavy coolers across the hotel lobby, up to our appointed floor and then (naturally) down to the furthest room in the longest hallway. This time around, the cart neatly rolled both coolers along without so much as a squeak of protest.

My arms thanked me. Profusely.

In the room, Shady sulked profusely at our regular comings & goings, but at least she’d already had one Con under her proverbial belt, so while she sulked there was no longer any expressions of blind panic & separation anxiety. She just curled up and flashed us contemptuous glances whenever we left.

Anyhoo, to no one’s surprise the Cosplayers were in full force. Much my surprise, though, Naruto is already showing a decline in noted costumes. Instead, there were dozens of Bleach, Haruhi, Ouran and Vampire Knight Cosplayers. And with a giant-assed (but alas plunger-less) Rabbid and Pedobear thrown in for good measure.

And the Dealer’s Room. Oh dear lord, the Dealer’s Room. This year I truly believed there would be very little for me to buy. I’d already acquired all my manga from the earlier Viz sale, and the only DVD box I was gunning for was SpeedGrapher. All was going well…until I hit The Cage.

You remember The Cage, don’t you?

Two years ago, at that very booth, Kevin & I each scored the entire Last Exile box set for $42. This year was the year of Geneon. Now that Geneon’s gone all belly-up, everyone has been liquidating their old DVD titles. The Cage had most of their Geneon DVDs for $10 each.

So yeah…I committed Acts of Swag. Hellsing TV, the original Tenchi Muyo OVAs, the original El Hazard OVAs and the 3x3 Eyes DVDs have since been added to the growing collection. And that sound you just heard was the sound of my wallet crying out in anguish before being suddenly silenced.

On the personal side, I had the pleasure of meeting Dejana once again (and I have the picture of me in a Puchuu hat, brandishing her Sailor Pluto Timestaff to prove it), and the added delight of meeting my partner in crime, the Fic Bitch, for the first time. She celebrated the occasion by giving me a set of singing lederhosen.

I think she was trying to send me a secret message about pants. Probably telling me that all pants look silly, so I should stop wearing them altogether.

^-^ Can you guess what I’m not wearing as I write this?

There was also the Badfic panel--a pet project Gaffney, Nightbreak, Steve Savage and myself put together for the Con. The whole concept revolved around discussing what makes fanfiction fall flat on its ass, but delivering it in a Colbert-style fashion. Which is to say, all the worst possible things you’re supposed to avoid in writing fics, we heartedly endorsed and insisted it was instant win!

(Because fame is fleeting and lasts only until you post your next story, but infamy will live on in the fandom forever. It’s always the scariest fics ever conceived that leave an indelible skidmark in our memory.)

Overall, “Fic Fic Fic Boom” as it was called (a great pun courtesy of Nightbreak), seemed a rousing success. This can only lead to greater things for next year. Fear, puny fan-denizens! Fear our badficcing! Mwah ha hah ha ha hah!!!!

[We interrupt this Con diary as the author is pleasantly sedated and some pants are put back on him. Please hum “Caramel Dancing” while you wait.]



I greeted Saturday as any typical Con-going otaku would: grudgingly, and much earlier than I would have preferred. The ensuing day ended up being a rather large blur of run-arounds and activities.

Further treks through the Dealer’s Room scored me a number of advanced presents, and there were equally happy purchases made from Artists’ Alley. (Among them being a Bioshock “Big Daddy Crossing” road sign.)

Inevitably the source of my impending nervousness arrived: the Confic was due. The Fancrew marched down to our secured panel room…and self-inserted hell ensued. I have to say, I enjoyed watching & listening to everyone’s reactions at the various jokes & sight gags, and pretty much anything to do with Ebichu.

Everyone laughed at my bukkake scene…and also laughed when we warned them that the first 3 rows were bukkake splatter zones. Hey, we did warn them, and that sillyspray was everywhere by the end!

There were equal laughs and groans over the horrid fic ideas & titles we’ve all collectively conjured up over the last decade. (Think about that: the Fanboys! as a series has been around for at least ten years now. Feel old yet? I do. Oh wait…nevermind, it was just the pants talking. I’ll remove them now.) We got an unexpectedly phenomenal reaction from Kevin’s “It’s a trap!”/“Pay no attention to Admiral Ackbar” joke, and everyone enjoyed seeing extremely-tall Dave run around with the pint-sized Edward Elric plushie.

My personal favourite came from the “Chaos you fool, this ain’t a fanfic scene, it’s a Heavyarms race!” Two minutes of lead-in for that one single gag, and it garnered the reaction I had hoped for: an initial bout of laughter…followed by the horrified groans as they suddenly realized how ridiculous the pun was.

The ABC Crossover Horror omake also received a lot of laughs, which was a relief since it was the first time I’d ever recited a bloated, epic Chaosfic crossover. The concept works great when you’re reading it, but speaking the same thing to an audience is a bit of a different beast.

Someone approached me afterwards, stating that the idea of the Venom symbiote merging with Winni-the-Pooh to create Vemon-Pooh broke them. I knew there was a reason I wrote these omakefics!

Fast-forward to the evening’s Jpop dance. And verily, I indulged in the dance dance revolution, only without much dancing. My calves were still killing me a week later, and I was only in 2 dances. Either I’m getting old, or you need to perform warm up exercises first.

There is something to be said, though, for the rush you do get in standing by the DJ’s booth and watching the sheer vibrant energy of everyone else sprawled across the dance floor. Whenever a Haruhi song, or Caramel Dancing, came on the entire place was nothing short of kinetic.

But in the end, we had to call in a night, dragged our sore feet to bed and slept.



Also known as: the day the Harvey’s employees went suicidal.

There wasn’t much else to nab in the Dealer’s Room, primarily because I’d blown all my money and then some. But the Writer’s Block panel with Savage was a great way to cap off the Con…especially when we conjured up the notion of Naruto’s Choji super-inflating into a katamari ball and being rolled across Hogwarts by Prince of all Cosmos!Draco, who them got attacked by a giant squid.

Oh sure, it all sounds positively stupid, but jazz hands make everything better!

After a discussion with Savage of future project possibilities, Mel & I retired to lounge in our room with Jen for the last few hours. We also met up with Gary & Matt, and enjoyed a fantastic & relaxing dinner at Ginko’s. Expensive, but so worth it as a means of winding oneself down after the Con’s franticness. I hope to do it again next year.

This was followed up by a brief swim in the pool of not much else (thanks to the waterslides and Jacuzzi being taken offline at the same time), and a few rounds of hot or cold sake at the annual post-Con party. The night was capped off by sleep.

Beautiful, beautiful sleep…



Monday featured an early morning rollout for breakfast (with Mel happily sleeping in) with the Fancrew, followed by our room check-out and an uneventful return to Brantford. We all relaxed in our own ways over the course of the afternoon. Mel slept, while I spent all my time attempting to get a firetruck jump a bridge under construction in GTA-4.

But like all good things, the vacation had to come to an end. Mel & I loaded up the car for the long ride home, where there was unloading, and sleep. More, glorious sleep…until the alarm went off the next day for work.



The store hadn’t, in fact, burned down in my absence. Pity. I’d have had the ultimate alibi and reason for being completely out of contact range. If the store had been smote down while I was at the Con, it would have saved me a lot of paperwork and Incidence Reports to fill out.

On a quick note, Shady went to the groomers and now resembles a large rat instead of the small, fuzzy puppy we all know and love. Pictures may ensue if I can figure out how to dump the images from Mel’s camera onto the computer.

In the meanwhile, Tuesday and Wednesday were spent as expected: recouping as best as one can from an anime convention, both in terms of integrating swag into our apartment, and as I cleaned up the store & tended to backlog paperwork.

Which brings us to the here & now. I don’t think there’s anything witty I have left to say. In my current, fuzzy state of mind I’m not sure I could form anything coherently witty even if I tried. Overall, I’m still tired, which surprises me not in the slightest, and I’m betting it’ll take the better part of a week before I fully recover.

In the meantime, there are Emails that must be sent out, stories & fics that must be returned to, and boxer shorts that absolutely must be purchased. (In the last week, two of them have had the material run so thin that when I put said shorts on, one of my butt cheeks was hanging out. A sure sign of “replace me now” if there ever was one. And on that no doubt cringe-inducing mental image, I’ll leave you in peace.)

Labels: AN08 Con diary (now with 50% less pants)

posted by Phillip at 9:27 PM