FLAPJACKS: So did you win a Weblog Award yet?
ME: No, I wasn’t even nominated.
FLAPJACKS: But I thought you tried to get people to nominate you?
ME: No, I tried to get them to nominate me for the Bloggies.
FLAPJACKS: But it says here that the Bloggies are the weblog awards.
ME: They’re weblog awards, but they’re not the Weblog Awards.
FLAPJACKS: What’s the difference?
ME: The Bloggies are more important.
FLAPJACKS: Why?
ME: Because they’re older and more prestigious.
FLAPJACKS: But aren’t the Weblog Awards bigger?
ME: I’m sure I wouldn’t know.
FLAPJACKS: They are.
ME: Look, the Bloggies are clearly more important because they have a snazzy nickname. It’s like – look, do you know who won the American Music Awards last year?
FLAPJACKS: …you know, I don’t.
ME: There you go.
FLAPJACKS: Of course, I don’t have any idea who won the Grammys either.
ME: But you feel a bit guilty that you don’t, right?
FLAPJACKS: …wow. That’s right.
ME: Or, like, the Golden Globes and the Oscars. Who won Best Picture last year at the Oscars?
FLAPJACKS: Good Burger.
ME: You always say that and you’re never right.
FLAPJACKS: One day I will be.
ME: That is a horrific yet strangely philosophical thought.
FLAPJACKS: So anyway, did you get nominated for a Bloggy?
ME: I don’t know yet. The nominating period is over and now they’re whittling down the list to make a set of final candidates to vote on.
FLAPJACKS: Think you’ll be on any lists?
ME: I don’t even think about it, to be honest.
FLAPJACKS: Oh, come on. You totally do. You actually set up a campaign to win the Canadian Weblog Awards. Then you threatened all the other sites to be less awesome during the vote period or you would make sure that they got syphilis. This is the next logical step.
ME: I didn’t threaten anybody with syphilis.
FLAPJACKS: You would have if you’d thought of it.
ME: Anyway, I’m telling you, I’m too busy to think about these things.
FLAPJACKS: You’ve probably already figured out who to bribe.
ME: Even if I did do that, I’m sure I don’t have the money to afford such things.
FLAPJACKS: You didn’t have the capacity to give anybody syphilis either, but did that stop you?
ME: Why on earth did you go to “giving people syphilis” for the purposes of comparison?
FLAPJACKS: If you don’t get nominated, are you going to call all the other blogs douchebags?
ME: No.
FLAPJACKS: …hey, you could call them “doucheblogs!” Doucheblogs! It’s a thing! We totally have to make this a thing!
ME: We really don’t.
FLAPJACKS: Oh, come on, it works! Kathy Shaidle is a doucheblogger! Glenn Reynolds is a doucheblogger! Jeff Bridges is a doucheblogger!
ME: …what do you have against Jeff Bridges?
FLAPJACKS: It was my life’s ambition to play Obadiah Stane in a movie about Iron Man, and he took that from me.
ME: Anyway, I think you’re too late to make “doucheblog” a thing.
FLAPJACKS: Why?
ME: Because it is a word with “blog” in it, and I’m pretty sure every single word that can be punned off of with “blog” has already been invented by somebody else.
FLAPJACKS: “Bloggage”?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: “Diablog”?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: “Catablog”?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: “Blogeye”?
ME: That is just “Popeye” with the word “blog” stuffed into it.

JANINE (a friend): So, FYI: Down’s Syndrome jokes? Not the new hotness.
ME: I had heard.
JANINE: Man, did I ever get burned by that fad.
ME: That’s what you get for thinking Dane Cook is funny.
JANINE: Cystic fibrosis? Not funny either.
ME: Lupus, on the other hand, is always funny. Say it with me. Luuuuuuuuuupus.
JANINE: You know what’s weird? On House, the mystery disease is never, ever lupus.
ME: You know, I think you’re right about that.
JANINE: It’s never multiple sclerosis either. It’s never anything with any auto-immune deficiencies. They should just stop testing for those things on that show because nobody ever gets them in Universe-House.
ME: True. It’s always something totally obscure like British Moose Syndrome, or alternately it’s so obvious and mundane that House is a genius because he figured what everybody else missed because they’re stupid.
JANINE: “This man is suffering from a common cold, which has gone septic, but only in his lower intestinal tract! He needs saline and some orange juice, stat!”
ME: Hee. Stat.
JANINE: And another thing, it’s always injections on that show.
ME: Well, they are medical doctors. I would expect injections. Just like if House were a homeopathic doctor, I would expect him to, I dunno, rub herbs on his patients or something.
JANINE: “THIS MAN NEEDS CORIANDER!”
ME: Exactly!
JANINE: “Sir, we need you to sign this consent form before we give your wife an experimental thyme and verbena drip.”
ME: “I don’t know! It sounds dangerous!”
JANINE: “Do it, or I’ll do something strange that makes sense when you apply tortured logic to my tragic-hero situation!”
ME: “Herb her, Dr. House! For God’s sake, herb her already!“

LISA (my sister): So I have to say – living in Montreal, you really get an idea of how racist people are.
ME: How so?
LISA: Well, you watch the CBC in English, and it’s all “Members of the whatever community continued to express concern about whatever.” Then you switch to the French CBC, and it’s all “Minorities kept complaining about things.”
JEFF (my brother): Plus the French CBC? Much, much whiter than the English CBC.
ME: Maybe they can’t get French-speaking visual minorities.
JEFF: Yeah, because all those African refugees can’t speak French. It’s racist. They should be raceful.
ME: What the hell is that?
JEFF: Raceful. Like, racist is bad. Raceful is good.
LISA: Meaning?
JEFF: Instead of saying bad things about minorities, you say good things.
ME: Is that even a thing?
JEFF: It is now. I just invented it.
ME: I thought it was already called “liberal guilt.”
JEFF: You have to admit, it’s not nearly so catchy as “raceful.” Come on. Work with me on this. We’ll make this a thing.

FLAPJACKS: Whatcha reading?
ME: An essay by Catherine MacKinnon.
FLAPJACKS: Who’s she?
ME: Radical feminist legal scholar.
FLAPJACKS: How radical is “radical”?
ME: She supported Andrea Dworkin’s assertion that all heterosexual sex can be defined as rape.
FLAPJACKS: That is pretty radical.
ME: Yeah.
FLAPJACKS: Wait, was Andrea Dorkin –
ME: Dworkin.
FLAPJACKS: Oh. Was she married?
ME: I’m sure I don’t know.
FLAPJACKS: Sec. (pause) Okay, she was married.
ME: All right.
FLAPJACKS: Do you think she referred to her husband as a rapist?
ME: That would be on my long list of “things I don’t want to even speculate about.”
FLAPJACKS: Because that would make for some really awkward pillow talk.
ME: Please stop.
FLAPJACKS: I mean, he’d be all “I love you, baby,” and she’d be all “this is raping, you raper.”
ME: I am trying to read this, you know.
FLAPJACKS: Maybe they got off on it.
ME: See me flipping pages here?
FLAPJACKS: Man, academics have weird-ass sex lives.
ME: You know, when you came over, you said it was only because you wanted to borrow my wok.
FLAPJACKS: I’ve got it right here.
ME: And now?
FLAPJACKS: We’re bonding.
ME: I see.
FLAPJACKS: Why are you reading that thing, anyway?
ME: Writing a research paper on how a given Canadian court decision about how pornography should be treated under obscenity laws.
FLAPJACKS: And how should it be handled?
ME: Liberally, with minimum censorship.
FLAPJACKS: …there’s no real opportunity for me to make a dirty joke there.
ME: Imagine that.
FLAPJACKS: Say, while I’m here, can I borrow some peppers and onions and chicken?
ME: So what you’re saying is that in addition to borrowing my wok to make a stir-fry, you also want to borrow all the ingredients for a stir-fry.
FLAPJACKS: Well, I’ve already got oil.
ME: Good to see you’ve thought this out.
FLAPJACKS: Exactly. I said to myself, “what can I make with this bottle of canola oil?” And I said, “hey, a stir-fry!” Now all I need is the stir-fry stuff. And you’ve got that. So I come over here.
ME: Exquisitely planned, I must admit.
FLAPJACKS: While I’m here, can I use your stove?

As selected by me, naturally. (I fully admit that there are many that might have been funnier than these to some people, but these were the funniest that were also, I feel, directly parodic of the image or the Archie ouevre itself, and given that Canadian fair dealing law protects parody and not free-ranging satire, etc.)

I have been inspired by many gift guides seen all over the net. I was particularly impressed by Newsarama’s gift guide, which explained to people that comic fans should get their friends copies of Iron Man, because that was a comic book movie people might have heard of, and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, because your friends might actually forget for five seconds that you love comic books if you don’t give them a comic-themed gift every single time. (Alternately, the gift guide might have been targeted for what comic book fans would like, and I sure am glad they reminded me that The Dark Knight is out on DVD or I might have forgotten!)

But just about every site has a gift guide, be it CNet reminding you that GPS direction thingies are available and practical for all those people who have forgotten how to read a map or AOL’s TV column making sure you don’t forget that this year, you can buy the entirety of The Cosby Show in one box set. These gift guides are practical and eminently helpful. But what do you get for the person with more specific interests?

Thus, mightygodking.com is pleased to present The Holiday Gift Guide For The Rest Of Us 2008. The only gift guide that answers the more difficult questions in giftgiving.

The Firefly Fan That You Think Desperately Needs To Move On Already

A nice black or grey trenchcoat. Of course, they will complain that the coat isn’t brown, but be sure to have a supposedly neutral party handy (preferably of the person’s preferred gender for sexin’ – assuming they are into that, anyway) to ooh and ahh over how good they look in the non-brown coat. That should work. If they say something like “Mal never wore nothin’ like this,” hit them in the face. But in a nice way.

Garth Brooks In Space. This shortlived (seven episodes) science fiction series aired in 1996 on The Nashville Network, starring country legend Brooks as a “space trucker,” bringing hope and friendship wherever he travels. Every episode features two musical performances – one by Brooks and one by a “special guest star,” usually a country music legend. (The show’s theme song, “Milky Ways And Yesterdays,” was a minor hit.) By episode six – where the “special guest star” is Chris Gaines, Brooks’ “hard rocker” alter ego – your friend will never, ever want to watch a “western in space” ever, ever again.

An egg ring. Who doesn’t like Egg McMuffins? But wouldn’t it be better if you could make your own? An egg ring is the ticket. Tell him Jayne likes his eggs that way or something.

Your Younger Sister, Who Wants To Be An Actress

Old VHS tapes of Mr. Belvedere. The timeless charm of the late Christopher Hewitt will lull her into complacency, and when she finishes the tapes (sadly, no DVDs of Belvedere exist, despite many a letter-writing campaign), she will no doubt investigate what happened to its young stars, at which point she will discover that Tracy Wells was hit by a truck, Rob Stone was stabbed to death in an alley by a hobo, and Brice Beckham grew a really ugly goatee. The horror should snap her out of her dreams and off to trade school to become a plumber.

Tickets to Lark Voorhies’ one-woman show, “Turtling.” Ms. Voorhies sings, dances, and tells stories from her storied career – from being on Saved By The Bell to that one time she appeared on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine to the time she re-enacted the role of her character on Saved By The Bell on Robot Chicken. If her five-minute graphic description of Dustin Diamond’s sore-encrusted penis does not turn your younger sister’s attitudes towards a different profession, nothing will.

An egg ring. Make her more aware of her limitations regarding future employment with the gift of an egg ring! Just like the egg rings they use professionally!

Warren Ellis

Alcohol. Gin is acceptable, whiskey sublime. But nothing girly. Warren Ellis does not drink girly drinks. He drinks man drinks. Because he is a man. A man. He has manly parts. He. Is. Made. Of. Man. Parts.

A dog. Secretly, Warren Ellis has always wanted a dog. A fluffy dog, that romps and scamps and humps. He would call the dog Sparky, for reasons his entirely his own. It is probably better left unsaid what he would do with the dog once he has it.

An egg ring. Eggs are the demon seeds of the universe, a code against human immortality that can be scrambled and fried. However, egg rings can also be used to make miniature pancakes. You had better believe Warren Ellis loves himself some miniature pancakes, lightly dusted with sugar and lemon juice. They remind him of his grandmother. The one who died, not the other one. (Who also died.)

The Person Who Is Obsessed With Jason Statham, So Much So That You Suspect He May Be Gay And In Denial

Props from In The Name of the King. All of the fly-by-nighters and regular people have already snagged all the cool stuff from Snatch and the Transporter movies, but this 2007 Uwe Boll one-day-to-be-a-classic still has tons of props for sale over the Internet. Plus, they are all swords and armor and stuff, and your friend will no doubt enjoy that.

Jason Statham’s home address. Not as difficult as you might think. He is English, after all, and they’re awfully casual about these things. As a matter of fact, we happen to know that this is conveniently available to you. Go to your local Starbucks – the one on the corner, not the one in that strip mall – and ask for “Terry.” Bring five thousand dollars in unmarked, non-sequential bills. Are you a cop? You have to say if you’re a cop. No offense, we just have to ask.

The “Streetwise” 1000kV stun gun. Jason Statham is a big guy and he could probably kick your friend’s ass. You’ll want your friend to be prepared, right?

An egg ring. Jason Statham likes Egg McMuffins, and your friend won’t be able to leave the apartment for too long, preoccupied as he will be staring at Statham’s rock-hard abdominals and chatting about how they “could be really great friends,” so clearly the solution is for your friend to make him home-made Egg McMuffins, which will also be tastier and much healthier for Jason Statham while he is in those restraints.

Your Friend Who Really, Really, Really Likes Knitting

Steel wool. She is no doubt in search of a challenge, having knit garments from every possible knittable substance there is. But has she knit from steel wool? Steel-wool knit jackets can, in a pinch, serve as quality short-term replacements for Kevlar if knit tightly enough. Also, if set afire, it can be the deadliest garment of all!

Model For a Day. This model will come over to your friend’s house and pose in handmade knitted garments for hours and hours, lending the knit clothing the temporary appearance of stylishness. For one precious day, your friend’s knitwork will not look like a pile of heavy winter socks thrown into a blender and sewn back together, but instead will appear to be the work of some brilliant designer! Or at least Stella McCartney or something, we dunno.

An egg ring. She can knit a cozy for it!

ME: You know what I don’t get to say in daily life often enough? “Stat.”
FLAPJACKS: What, you mean like, “I need 20 CCs of moxydoggleflippadone, stat?”
ME: Exactly.
FLAPJACKS: But I don’t see why would you want to say “stat” more often. Beyond the obvious, of course.
ME: Because it is like a magic word that gets things done.
FLAPJACKS: I am intrigued. Elaborate upon your thesis.
ME: If you begin a sentence with “I need” and then end it with “stat,” people will instinctively want to do what you need done. It doesn’t matter what it is. “Stat” is code for “I am speaking with authority and you had better move your ass.”
FLAPJACKS: My god, you’re right. It’s like someone decided to take the very nature of alpha male domination and condense it down into a single word.
ME: “I need someone to get me a mongoose, four cans of Pabst and a garden hose, stat.”
FLAPJACKS: “I need you to hold this bag of wontons and do the Chicken Dance, stat.”
ME: “I need somebody to debone this turkey while wearing boxing gloves, stat.”
FLAPJACKS: “Hey, you! Deal out a deck of cards to everybody here, and kick whoever gets the Jack of Diamonds in the crotch, stat!”
ME: But we must remember that there are rules to “stat.”
FLAPJACKS: There are?
ME: For example: your “stat” order can’t have more than three elements to it. If you have more than three elements, it loses its tone of urgency. Shopping lists are not “stat.” They are “anti-stat.”
FLAPJACKS: That’s a very good point. One never shops for “stat.” It is taken. By force of will alone.
ME: Also, tone of voice is important. You can’t end “stat” with a question mark.
FLAPJACKS: Hm. “I need twenty CCs of doublequantinegatone, stat?”
ME: I told you.
FLAPJACKS: Wow, you’re right. That’s not just “anti-stat.” That is practically “unstat.” Are there other rules?
ME: “Stat” demands must be specific and concrete. “Stat” does not deal in abstracts.
FLAPJACKS: So existential philosophy is right out, then.
ME: To say the least.
FLAPJACKS: Still, I assume I will generally not urgently need people to tell me about Kant or whatever.
(Pause.)
ME: Do you actually know anything about existential philosophy, or did you just pick “Kant” as a philosopical-sounding name at random and hope your reference would be right?
FLAPJACKS: The second one.
ME: I thought so.
FLAPJACKS: Are there any other rules to “stat”? Presumably it doesn’t work on people who know about the rules of “stat.”
ME: See, that’s the beauty of “stat.” People tend to assume you will not misuse its power for self-centred means.
FLAPJACKS: But we will, right?
ME: Well, therein lies the problem. It’s difficult to do so. Traditionally, the purpose of “stat” is to help someone else. “Excuse me, miss? I need you to suck my cock, stat,” doesn’t work, because you’re obviously just asking for a blowjob and that goes beyond the needs of “stat.”
FLAPJACKS: I see your point.
ME: You ever notice when you watch a doctor show, the person who says “stat” is never the person who’s hurt? It’s always someone else saying “stat,” even when the person who’s hurt is a doctor who themselves is capable of saying “stat.”
FLAPJACKS: That’s an excellent point. You never hear anybody say “I need twenty CCs of floovoploxylipizone, stat,” wherein the “I” means “it will be injected into me.” The “I need” is always short form for “I need to give this person,” and so forth.
ME: So “stat” really can’t be used for blatant self-satisfaction.
FLAPJACKS: No, it can.
ME: I thought I just explained why not?
FLAPJACKS: Yes, but I have found a cunning loophole.
(Pause.)
ME: Okay, I’m ready. Let’s hear it.
FLAPJACKS: Are you sure?
ME: Hit me.
FLAPJACKS: “I need you to make out with me, stat,” as you have already made clear, will not work, no matter how good your delivery is.
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: However, “I need you to make out with my friend here, stat,” on the other hand, will work if delivered properly.
(Pause.)
ME: Oh my god.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: You have cracked the code.
FLAPJACKS: Well of course.

For months now it’s been the same question over and over again in email. “When are you going to do a parody of Secret Invasion?”

Well, here you go.

continue reading "Squeaky Wheel Gets The Grease"

FLAPJACKS: I downloaded the Star Trek trailer! Let’s watch it!
ME: But I already saw it.
FLAPJACKS: You can’t watch it again? Come on.
ME: Oh, all right.
FLAPJACKS: So we start out with Young James Kirk driving across the desert in a classic Chevy.
ME: How do you know it’s a Chevy?
FLAPJACKS: I don’t. Maybe it’s a Ford.
ME: We’re not car guys.
FLAPJACKS: No, we aren’t.
ME: But it’s probably worth a lot of money in the year 23-whatever. It could be a Geo and it would be worth millions.
FLAPJACKS: So you’re saying young James Kirk is driving a million-dollar collectible off a cliff for kicks?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: That’s cool.
ME: That’s retarded.
FLAPJACKS: But in a cool way.
ME: It really isn’t.
FLAPJACKS: He’s going to smash a priceless piece of history for no better reason than because he can? That’s totally punk, man.
ME: You don’t know that he doesn’t have a reason, though.
FLAPJACKS: This is true.
ME: Hey, look! Deadshot’s a cop now!
FLAPJACKS: Floyd Lawton is going to shoot Young Kirk!
ME: How will Young Kirk escape his deadly aim?
FLAPJACKS: By flash-forwarding!
ME: Now Less Young Kirk has a motorcycle, I see.
FLAPJACKS: Boy, I can’t wait to see him crash THAT off a cliff!
ME: Aw, he’s looking up at the unfinished Enterprise.
FLAPJACKS: Probably planning to have sex with it.
ME: What?
FLAPJACKS: This is James Kirk we’re talking about here.
ME: Baby Spock!
FLAPJACKS: Teen Spock!
FLAPJACKS: Teen Spock will not be judged by your Vulcan courts!
ME: How do Vulcan teenagers rebel against their parents, anyway?
FLAPJACKS: Maybe they do math with irrational numbers. Up high!
ME: You do not get a high five for that joke.
FLAPJACKS: Aw.
ME: Old Spock!
FLAPJACKS: You want Spock? We give you Spock! What kinda Spock you want?
ME: Okay, the transporter looks hella cool.
FLAPJACKS: It would not be a new iteration of Star Trek without a new transporter special effect.
ME: What happens when they run out of new transporter special effects?
FLAPJACKS: YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH! YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY WHORE MOUTH!
ME: And we’re in a hangar filled with people wearing red.
FLAPJACKS: Does the hangar blow up?
ME: Don’t be silly. They wouldn’t deprive us of all those individual death scenes.
FLAPJACKS: Montage! The Enterprise! Fighting stuff! In space!
ME: The inside of the Enterprise looks like an iPod.
FLAPJACKS: J.J. Williams is warning us all about the future!
ME: Huh?
FLAPJACKS: All I’m saying is that the phasers have clickwheels.
ME: NO, KIRK AND SPOCK! DO NOT FIGHT EACH OTHER! YOU ARE FRIENDS!
FLAPJACKS: Maybe Spock is in pon farr and he feels the need to defend his territory and then mate with Uhura.
ME: Maybe J.J. Abrams couldn’t find a way to fill up part of the script and he took an old episode of Lost and renamed Jack and Sawyer.
FLAPJACKS: I like my theory better.
ME: Are those people skydiving or are they using jetpacks?
FLAPJACKS: If they’re using jetpacks then this is the best movie ever and all the nerds complaining that the Enterprise isn’t exactly the right shape or whatever can fuck off. Star Trek with jetpacks is Even Better Star Trek.
ME: Well, I – no, I have to agree with you one hundred percent about that.
FLAPJACKS: That’s because I’m not wrong about jetpacks.
ME: Hey, the emergency siren!
FLAPJACKS: Oh, the Enterprise emergency siren! How I’ve missed you! And the doors that go “wsssssh.”
ME: Hey, that’s Bruce Greenwood!
FLAPJACKS: I understand he is playing Captain Pike before Pike ended up in a box that spoke through a little red light.
ME: Kirk with his shirt off!
FLAPJACKS: Uhura with her shirt off!
ME: Scotty – thankfully with his shirt on.
FLAPJACKS: You can tell they think Simon Pegg is a draw because he gets to say something.
ME: You know what would make this movie better? If Scotty fought zom – actually, no, it wouldn’t, never mind.
FLAPJACKS: Caught yourself just in the nick of time there.
ME: John Cho as Sulu, having a sword-fight in a spacesuit!
FLAPJACKS: Didn’t a girl you dated once say she wanted to bone John Cho?
ME: She also wanted to bone Kal Penn.
FLAPJACKS: So she wanted to do both Harold and Kumar?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: Did she ever talk about wanting to be the filling in their sandwich?
ME: Why do you care?
FLAPJACKS: Why wouldn’t I?
ME: Karl Urban IS Leonard McCoy, and he’s intense!
FLAPJACKS: Is McCoy intense?
ME: He is when he is Karl Urban. Karl Urban can stare through metal until it melts.
FLAPJACKS: I bet that comes in handy in surgery.
ME: Montage! Kirk hanging off the edge of a cliff!
FLAPJACKS: A weird-looking monster thing!
ME: Kirk saying “buckle up!”
FLAPJACKS: And not the unmentioned “your pants after I gave you a good rogering.”
ME: Uh huh.
FLAPJACKS: Because he had sex with that person, you see.
ME: No, no, I got it.
FLAPJACKS: Are you sure?
ME: Spock strangling Kirk, Uhura just standing there –
FLAPJACKS: May I just say that Uhura just standing there, ineffectually, really captures the essence of Uhura.
ME: That’s mean.
FLAPJACKS: But not inaccurate.
ME: She did love Tribbles.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: And she distracted the enemy with a sexy dance in Star Trek V.
FLAPJACKS: I was trying to forget about that entirely.
ME: Sorry.
FLAPJACKS: You should be.
ME: Space-warpy thing, ship being blown up, Kirk fucking some girl…
FLAPJACKS: See? See? Kirk will fuck anything that moves!
ME: Yes, I got it.
FLAPJACKS: And we close with Erik Bana as a Romulan with a Swedish accent.
ME: Holy shit, you’re right, he does have a Swedish accent there.
FLAPJACKS: “Und zeen ve-a teke-a zee vurmy-hule-a tu zee pest, und ve-a cunker hoomuneety. Bork bork bork!”
ME: And… logo.
FLAPJACKS: So what do we think?
ME: Takes liberties with the source material?
FLAPJACKS: Is this an issue?
ME: …no, I do have sex every once in a while, so I have better things to care desperately about. You?
FLAPJACKS: Wait, you have sex?
ME: Shut up. You?
FLAPJACKS: I’m going to go line up at the theatre right now. I figure if I get in before the rush I can get oodles of free stuff from people willing to sponsor my lonely vigil.
ME: Who?
FLAPJACKS: Stupid people, and the people who sell things to stupid people.
ME: Ah.

FLAPJACKS: So guess what I saw today?
ME: I am fairly sure I don’t want to guess.
FLAPJACKS: Aw, come on.
ME: The new Bond flick?
FLAPJACKS: Nope!
ME: Watchmen six months early?
FLAPJACKS: if that was the case, why would I spend valuable lording-it-over-you time making you guess?
ME: Porn?
FLAPJACKS: Other than porn.
ME: Then I have no idea.
FLAPJACKS: Tomcats!
ME: I thought you said it wasn’t porn.
FLAPJACKS: Google it.

continue reading "Things we talk about."

(Part one here. Part two here. This was originally supposed to be a three-day block of posts, but, well, we all know what happened there.)