Here’s a Thing: Page 1

Explosions are not the best way to start your day, but they certainly are the most exiting.

I’m afraid to say I speak from experience. In fact, that experience happens to be the reason I am currently running away from several heavily armed guards.

Alright, alright, I’ll start from the beginning.

Once upon a time, there was a war. I cannot tell you which war, because there were no people who bothered to give it a name after it ended.

See, we were the unknown, shadow-figured ‘enemy’ in this war, and although history is written by the victors, most of my kingdom cannot write and the ones who can are much to rich and lazy to name a war they barely took part in.

But the commoners called it The War.

Our country, Poltin, was so peaceful most of the time that we had no more than skirmishes. And we almost never wrote, so all our tales of victory were word-of-mouth. I myself heard of The War from my father, who, according to him, went into battle with no armor and still came out fine. He also killed almost a fifth of the opposing army.

My father is chubby, short, bald, and half deaf, so you can see how this is not a very reliable source of information.

Piano Man

“It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There’s an old man sitting next to me
Making love to his tonic and gin

He says, “Son can you play me a memory
I’m not really sure how it goes
But it’s sad and it’s sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man’s clothes”

Sing us a song you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feeling alright

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine
He gets me my drinks for free
And he’s quick with a joke or to light up your smoke
But there’s someplace that he’d rather be

He says, “Bill, I believe this is killing me”
As a smile ran away from his face
“Well, I’m sure that I could be a movie star
If I could get out of this place”

Now Paul is a real estate novelist
Who never had time for a wife
And he’s talking with Davy, who’s still in the Navy
And probably will be for life

And the waitress is practicing politics
As the businessmen slowly get stoned
Yes they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it’s better than drinking alone

Sing us a song you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feeling alright

It’s a pretty good crowd for a Saturday
And the manager gives me a smile
‘Cause he knows that it’s me they’ve been coming to see
To forget about life for a while

And the piano sounds like a carnival
And the microphone smells like a beer
And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar
And say “Man what are you doing here?”

Sing us a song you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well we’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feeling alright…”


Okay. I feel like dissecting a song. And by Billy Joel, too. That takes guts. (Not really, but saying it makes me feel better)

So: Verse one. I just realized, I know if I had the weekend off (and was of legal drinking age) I wouldn’t wait until nine to rush to the bar. Just saying.

Verse Two. “Play me a memory, I’m not really sure how it goes,” Now that’s just sad. (and sweet) “…when I wore a younger man’s clothes.” So basically this poor fellow is so old and drunk he can barely remember a thing.

Verse Three. Well, well- John, letting your piano man drink for free? I’m not sure whether that is very smart or very, very stupid. Oh, and Johnny? Thanks for the light, bartender. Yes, it has been a rough day. I had to write a blog post.

Verse Four. Follow your dreams, Johnny-boy. You can do it. The next time I see you Johnny you better be in Hollywood!

Verse Five. Now, what is a ‘real estate novelist’? Whatever it is, it’s probably very time consuming. After all, Paul doesn’t have time for a wife. And Davy doesn’t have a woman either. You just can’t pull off a relationship if you’ll be in the Navy for life.

Verse Six. Who, dear fellow, is your waitress, and why is she waiting tables at a bar if she’s into politics? Also, that seems about accurate.”…And they’re sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it’s better than drinking alone.” Poor guys. Jeez, this bar seems to be a cesspool of human misery. Which is odd, considering it’s a BAR, well known for their cheerful atmosphere and sober intellectuals.

Verse Seven. Oh, really? Also, I think (not that I have any experience) but don’t people come to bars…to, I don’t know, drink? I think if they came for the piano they’d be better off in a concert hall listening to a classical pianist. But then again, this bar pianist is Billy Joel, so I’ll let it slide.

Verse Eight. Wow. You’d think with Billy Joel as their pianist, they’d make enough money that your piano did not sound like a troupe of traveling performers and the instrument used for singing does not smell like booze. But then again, the ‘bread’ put in the jar might not mean money. It could mean actual, literal bread. After all, these people are quite drunk. (However amusing I may find this, I must admit that it is far more likely he’s just getting tips)


Sing us a song, you’re the piano man

sing us a song tonight,

Well we’re all in the mood for a melody,

and you’ve got us feeling alright…


Bye-bye Shrimplets! ♥

Sequels, Sequels

So, seen Transformers Four yet? How about Saw…what are they on? Eleven? I heard Nightmare on Elm Street: The Next One (or something along those lines) was…horrible, as most sequels these days are.

So, what’s up with all the sequels? Well, of course, the answer is simple:

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Money. So much money!

Oh, Paranormal Activity made money?

SEQUEL!

Oh, Saw was pretty popular?

SEQUEL!!

Alien was good?

SEQUEL!!! (That was better than the first one)

It’s just sort of…

MONEYMONEYMONEY!!!!!

And we’ll stop at nothing to get it! MWAHAHAHA!! And then….

Reboots!

The new Poltergeist is coming out…like, three days after I watched the old one, which is kind of creepy!

New Nightmare on Elm Street…New Superman…

Anyway, bye my little Shrimplets! ♥
Stay tuned for the sequel!

Animal Farm: Pigs Indeed!

Ever heard of Animal Farm? If you haven’t, read it before you continue.

Okay, are you back? Well, since you’re done, I’d like to say something:

Communism sucks.

Think about it. China’s a mess, North Korea’s doing horribly, and Cuba…

Actually, I’m not too sure about Cuba. I’ll get back to you on that one. I heard they’re doing better, which means they had to be doing worse in the past, so my point is not entirely lost.

And it just sort of paves the way for corruption, y’know? Factory Worker #984633 is supposed to be giving the chocolate he makes to the government to be distributed as needed, and Farmer #96678 is supposed to be giving his milk to the government for the same reason. But then Factory Worker #984633 leans over and says, to his friend Farmer #96678,

“Hey, Farmer #96678!”

“Yes, Factory Worker #984633?”

“I’ll give you a chocolate bar if you give me some milk.”

“…Deal.”

Meanwhile, some bloke gets less chocolate, and some other poor sod gets less milk, all because Farmer #96678 and Factory Worker #984633 were being corrupt jerks.

Oh, hey, viewer. I’ll give you some posts if you can get me some chocolate. And remember, under Communism:

All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

See The Same

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What would a world without color be like? I was reading a book (The Giver, you know—one of those ‘dystopian future’ kind’ve books) and the entire community only saw things in black and white. Well, until the main character, Jonas begins to see colors.

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He gets his assigned job as ‘The Reciever’ who holds all the memories of the past. The old Reciever, now dubbed the ‘Giver’ shows him memories of love, war, snow, hills, Christmas, birthdays—you name it! So he begins to understand what life back then was like, and he wonders why things can’t be like that now. He sees his father, in charge of the children of the community, ‘release’ a child and realizes that ‘release’, which has been described as ‘going Elsewhere’, is really death.

So he takes a child about to be released, and runs off. The book ends with him finding this ‘Elsewhere.’

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I Never Thought I’d Do This, or: My Five Year Old Self Would Be Ashamed

I never thought I’d do this. I mean, if you’d asked me a couple years ago if I would ever read Vogue and enjoy it, I would say:

“No. Why?”

But, even though I really only watch it to make fun of high fashion (I mean, some of those colors…ugh!) I still compliment and to someone who likes interior designing I might even sound coherent. This would frighten my tiny five year old self to death.

“You LIKE this stuff?!” My cute little self would sqeak.

I would nod solemnly and reply, “It’s fun to laugh at how ridiculous some of these dresses are. Look! Who pairs those two colors tog—”

“STOP!” Chibi me would shriek. “For the love of Tolkien, stop!”

I wouldn’t heed little Chib-me’s words, and continue gushing about dresses and colors and design and GOOD LORD WHO DESIGNED THAT GARBAGE BAG IN THE GUISE OF AN OUTFIT?!

IS SHE EVEN WEARING A SKIRT?

Chib-me hangs her tiny head in shame and shakes her head. She’s so disappointed. Awww.

I Describe, Then Show You A Drawing or: Dazzletabulous

My hair—my mother spends real, actual money to have my color of hair. It sparkles in the light, shines, glimmmers, sparkles…(what are more synonyms for glitter…dazzletabulous?) Unfortunatly, my hair is more wild then a pack of wild dingoes, and it really sort’ve ruins the [dazzletabulous] effect when your [dazzletabulous] hair is standing up every which way and is more frizzy then a sweater in a lightning storm.

My clothes are nothing special. Solid colors, little designs—the most extravagant thing I have is a Doctor Who tee-shirt. Well, that in the wierd weird wierd HOW DO YOU SPELL THIS WORD WIERD flower dress I never wear.

My glasses are a sort’ve bronze color, gold perhaps? Ovalish in shape, goldish in color—like a librarian’s glasses.

That’s it. Really. I’m sort’ve plain.

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POEM: REDUX

Victory, but—
Hollow.
This isn’t how
The battles were back home
We’d kick and
We’d hit and
We’d scream and
We’d fight—
But we’d always be friends
By the end of the night.

Victory, but—
Hollow.
I let myself believe
They didn’t have a soul
So I hurt
So I maimed
So I caused them pain
I was deaf as stone
As they cried to go home
And I kicked
And I hit
And I screamed
And I fought—
Even though I won
It was all for naught.

Victory, but—Hollow.