#488

It's funny--there's no real need to report this fact--but today's Pnnies Arkhad comical strip has a huge amount in common with the very first joke ever told in the strip, and it was still pretty funny and like, fine. An arguably objective comedic and artistic improvement over a linear span of time, and it didn't make me feel like I was choking down abject hackery! Think this shows Jim Davis did a high-acumen assessment of the medium when he said it's okay to literally repeat your own jokes after ten years.

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Guys, I should probably mention that typing has become weird and much more typo-driven since one of the cats ripped my "E" key right off the board once when I was unwisely prising her off her chosen sleep surface. Well, I wanted to fucking write, dammit, was indeed in the middle of writing and she was making deep and penetrating editorial changes--but one ought to know better than to mess with the household god that way. The slapdown was swift, and of course, ironic.

Anyway typing isn't as fun now. Hasn't been. Need a new computer, or maybe a professional tablet. Something with an "E" key. Lived this stunted life for months now. Think this incident happened in maybe October.

Something about writing in English, Singaporean bots that comprise my new readership: the letter "E" is vital to the easy use of the language. One would not be wrong in saying it is the most important and common vowel; indeed, it is provable fact.

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Jim Davis is the Garfield guy, in case that information has faded in the dead orange glow and sheer scale of that feline monument.

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Non-seq! Nintendo, you are never going to get the respect you deserve if your wonderful and constantly-growing music app doesn't work as well as other music apps. I can blame Apple for this if you need me to, though. If that were justified, I would not be the least little bit surprised.

Of course, Apple's music player is the one I like--and it could also work better on their own hardware. Maybe it's kind of a hard job?

All right, guys. Maybe I'll cut you some slack. Though if anybody that works at you ever tells me it was super easy and it was all just boardroom shenanigans harming the product and adversely affecting the consumer and their investment, I still won't be surprised. 

Guess the main issue at hand isn't whether I'm surprised. Maybe we should concentrate on everything I pay money for working perfectly every time I go to use it or all my money back for the month. How's that for a fucking suggestion box slip, you silent monoliths?

I'm looking at all of you. Maybe glaring is a better word. Glaring up, up, from the garbage-strewn canyons where my kind make their trammeled living, up to the great carven faces, the ozymandic golden idols whose slow, titanic motions reverberate through the wearied materials of this shambling, already-dead world and wrack it ever more spasmodically as it crumbles into the sands of time.

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So, what's up with everybody? Seen any good movies lately?

Perhaps that's entirely smarmy now that I work at a movie theater. That's what I'm up to later, by the way. Think there's some kind of event to host.

Peace the FUCK OUT

--JL

#401

Gonna start today by running an "advertisement", okay?

Read kcgreen dot com dot com

Good comics archived--HIAGB (award-winning? no?), Back (with beartato), other goods including something happening to an increasingly distraught pig

God's Hands updating (the only cartoon you'll ever need, may help the blind see [against their will])

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Just something I've wanted to try? I guess the way this could work is, if I ever meet the guy, I will ask him if he has any coins on his person, and if I can have them. He probably can't spare them just as bad as I need them, and the exquisite pain of that moment will fuel us both. And like, if he wants to give me a piece of metal, I'll carry it in my pocket awhile before I lose it or make it an arduous part of a transaction.

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It's kind of a Try To Have a Good Mental Health Friday, I guess? Even though I've been having paranoia about things, like wondering agitatedly whether the jokes or compliments or both of what I'm saying up there somehow some kind of terrible, irretractable mistake that will wound me viciously one day.

Oh well! I've been looking at the dude's comics since like 2004. It's good art, good comix. It's important comix, to my way of thinking.

Just that I have traumas about people I write jokes about somehow, fucking somehow, even though I am a degenerate of no regard or impact, seeing it, reposting it on main, and batting back.

The annoying closer for Time Magazine did this to me when twitter was newish. Griped about him, basically trashing his intellectual capacity (as a younger man, I was sometimes Quite Bad on webz) and he shortened my jab into something truly garbled for his post, not a true retweet--my joke made to no one, to thin air--I literally didn't have any friends on twitter yet! I was just trying shit out, playing with a toy--anyway--he made me look stupid to boost himself with a self-deprecation. I was horrified. I felt used, and also rendered both miniscule and painted with a huge target. I closed that twitter and didn't make another for years. Never fully recovered, apparently. 

The pain of the idea that it would be horrible if I made anyone have shitty feelings based on just shit I typed is an inbuilt part of the game, I guess. You can and must at least partially forget about it while you're writing, but it's not like any callus builds over the spot. It just twinges.

God, I pray to Jesus and Mary and every blessed saint that neither person I have mentioned sees this, and if they do, I guess at that point I just have to bear whatever happens with as much equanimity as possible. Also I hope I haven't told this story already, that would be egg on my face like three times over or something.

My regular paranoia is about way scarier shit than this, by the way. This is just a way to kind of talk about it without directly typing the actual thoughts out, and being forced by my own hand thereby to parse the evidence of my madness--or perspicacity. For not knowing which is half the struggle, eh?

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Ok, whatever. What the fuck ever! Who cares. I've been at this too long already. I'm gonna play Fire Emblem, which gets weirder all the time. They never forsake my precious grids on which to plot the movements of toy soldiers doing interlinked sets of rock paper scissors, but they have added like datings sims and farming sims and a bunch of other shit and tied it into unit growth, so I'm always having to do a ton of work around the battles. But it is just and correct that it should be so. Battles are 99% preparation or something crazy like that irl, and they are fought by complete people with whole lives and mindsets and circumstances, and they indeed have to do shit like muck out stables and dig latrines and drink tea and eat scones and give each other dozens of presents and shit.

Then they go blast the shit out of each other with magical energies derived from tomes groaning with the whispers of dead languages, armed with weapons forged in the unknown mornings of unremembered histories from irreproducible alloys, woven with the killing intent necessary to pierce scale and flesh and boiling blood--to reach the hearts of dragons.

It's sensible. But...hm. Sometimes the contrast can be a little jarring. 

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Still no job, but Monday I interview for a seasonal position at a local movie theater. 

Like in the famed, smash webcomic, Multiplex, featuring motherfuckers working at a movie theater. That one's been around awhile, too. 

Man, senescence sure takes the time that it takes and not a minute less, eh boys?

--JL

#390

Things have never been better! That's a joke, and also a fact, which is a second joke. Morbid, though. That doesn't stop it from being funny. The truth can be funny twice over plus in a cosmic way, and still be depressing. But only from our limited, corporeal perspectives. The mighty laughter that powers the universe is grasped by the full punchline, and that's funnier than anything. Certainly that voice must weep, and rage at the dying of the light. But this joke can be infinitely told, and remain infinitely funny and infinitely sad. 

So it all just is. It is what it is cuz it isn't what it ain't, and that's the first and last truth you can tell.

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Time to get a drink of water. Celebrate with me, dear reader, that I can remember such things, and perhaps act on them, occupied as I am with the needless burdens of an idiotic Atlas.

--JL

#43

Today was unremarkable. Yesterday, too, except I played Settlers of Catan and made tons of jokes. I was relaxed. I joke the most when I'm relaxed. When things are tense, I'm more liable to grit out simple sentences. Anyway, yesterday I hung out with a couple of friends, which is something I don't do very often. I also met drug dealers so efficient and professional they made regular business people look like benumbed jackasses awkwardly knocking over a fence in a confused parody of casually leaning against it.

It is a beautiful evening. The clouds have been first a mellow and then a blazing liquid firegold. Now they are graying, slim rows of elegant little puffs going to ash, with deep pink and bloody dusty russet embers moaning near the horizon, above the last band of gold. The overhead sky is that pale blue that wants to be silver that wants to be young mouse fur.

A migraine woke me up at two in the morning last night. It tortured, nauseated, and plagued me with cold sweats and hot flashes until at three in the morning, I vomited. Then I slept, sort of, brokenly, until five, when I got up for my shift at work. I had quite a good shift. Plenty to do, and I felt perfectly fine to do it. Walked the usual five miles there and five miles back.

Oh! Also, yesterday there was a thunderstorm with lightning and hail! Super keen.

Did you know that I have books available on the Amazon website for their Kindle device? It is eminently so. Simply click the link, and choose between stories made of prose and poems made of poesy. Go on! I know the word poesy, and let myself use it! Does this not tantalize you?


--JL

#21

Man, when a sink makes a crude noise and eructs a cool half-gallon of dull green stinking organic slime up into itself. What a stupid part of a day.

If I had to fix it, that's all I would talk about. But I don't. I just have to get up at a quarter to five.

Jokes are pretty good. Wouldn't be much of a point to anything at all without jokes, probably. Okay, I got other stuff to deal with today. Everything's changing today, a whole new life begins tomorrow. No time for a lot of talk.


--JL