Darren Endymion's Blog, page 32

R = Rabies (A-Z Challenge)

First, considering my leanings, you might think that this will be an entry about Cujo. And you’d be partially right.

Imagine this greeting you at the door.

Second, there are a lot of urban myths revolving around getting rabies. Yes, it will kill you, and there is a nearly 100% fatality rate…if it was the year 1884. Now there are vaccines and all sorts of other stuff to make this entry seem boring and less dramatic. Therefore, we will ignore that there are now only about 2 deaths annually in the United States and pretend that it is an epidemic of Quarantine-type proportions. However, worldwide, it is pretty dramatic. Worldwide, rabies causes about 26,000 deaths.

This, too, is waiting at your front door. Enjoy.

The period between the bite and the first flu-like symptoms is usually from 2 to 12 weeks. However, it has been as short as 4 days…or 6 years. Can you fucking imagine? “Well, I got bit by a bat like almost a decade ago…” “Rabies! Get the shotgun!”

The symptoms don’t help, either. They include: very odd behavior, drooling, pain in the muscles, pain in the tendons, spasms in the muscles…anyone else thinking these are actually the symptoms of a long night out drinking? Or do you not know as many alcoholics as I do? Don’t judge me….difficulty speaking, hallucinations, convulsions, and hydrophobia or fear of water. Yeah. Totally a bad night out with my drunk ass friends.

Patient with rabies circa 1959. Still looks like my friends after a bender.

Oh, and that whole myth about getting like twenty shots in the stomach appears to be total crap. You get five shots over a period of 14 days — two on the first day, and the others over time. One is given on the site of the bite and the others are given intramuscularly farther away. But not in the ass. Too much fat.

However, it is a deadly disease. Death almost invariably will occur 2 to 10 days after the first symptoms, even with proper care. In unvaccinated humans, you will most likely die after the neurological symptoms have developed. Unless they put you into a coma and shoot you up with stuff for a long time.

Point is, if you get bit by a bat or other wild or feral animal, seek treatment. Wash the wound and get your bitch ass to a hospital right away. Because they are coming to get you.

Alternate letter considerations: Roth IRA, Radioactivity, Rut, Runes.

Q = Quahog (A-Z Challenge)

The quahog is a large clam of the Atlantic coast. They are edible with the proper preparation and… *snore*

Quahog. Clams. Yaye.

They are also the premium currency in Family Guy: the Quest for Stuff. More importantly, they provide the name for the town in Rhode Island where Family Guy takes place: Quahog!

Quahog is a cesspit of drunks, rampant stupidity, aged perverts, young perverts, colorful shenanigans, and from which much hilarity ensues. For example:

Meg: [about Peter being retarded] I can never go to school again!

Stewie: Oh, yes, Meg…everything was going swimmingly until this. Yes, yes, THIS is the thing that will ruin your reputation; not your years of grotesque appearance, or your awkward social graces, or that Felix Ungerish way you clear your sinuses. No, no, no, it’s THIS. Do you hear yourself talk? I might kill you tonight.

The trifecta of cartoon hilarity for me is the Simpsons, South Park, and Family Guy. They range from sarcastic, generally wholesome prime time fun to the gross out, horribly inappropriate humor. Stewie is the best, I admit, but they all have their moments. As a huge fan of the Gilbert and Sullivan comedic opera, The Mikado, one of my favorite clips from Family Guy is Stewie’s rendition of I’ve Got a Little List. All the Brian and Stewie episodes, and almost any interaction between Lois and Stewie:

Lois: Huh, what’s this? You know, Stewie, Mommy doesn’t usually read things out of Chris’ poket. She’s more respectful than that.

Stewie: Whatever helps you sleep at night, bitch.

Peter is like the king of Quahog. He’s upsettingly stupid, bordering (on either side) of retarded, crude, and totally hilarious. There is the trend of making the father figures, the older straight males of comedies ridiculously stupid, but Peter is the worst, I think. For example:

Peter: Oh my god, Brian, there’s a message in my Alphabits. It says, “Ooooooo.”

Brian: Peter, those are Cheerios.

Quahog was founded by the ancestor/reincarnation of Peter Griffin when he was exiled to America and won a talent contest for control over the city. It is currently run by mayor Adam West, who is responsible for some of the strangest, most random quotes ever said on television.

Trisha Takinawa: Here comes Mayor Adam West himself. Mr. West, do you have any words for our viewers?

Mayor Adam West: Box, toaster, aluminum, maple syrup… no I take that one back. I’m gonna hold onto that one.

According to South Park, Quahog seems to be full of manatees as well as clams… (*giggle, 10 points if you caught that one.) It is also home to a wide array of deviants and perverts, one of which is another Q word…Quagmire. The word “quagmire” actually means an area of muddy ground or a difficult position or situation. As a proper noun, it’s a pilot whose mind and actions run to the, uh, colorfully explicit.

Now knowing the proper definition of “quagmire” this and everything else you ever see with this character will be even more repulsive and meaningful. Consider it my gift to you.

As perverts go, there is none to match Herbert. “Are you a Giving Tree or a Receiving Tree?” or “Anyone want to see my Purple Heart?” He’s hilarious and terrifying, wrong, repulsive, and ghastly. But he has popsicles.

It has its local legends, two of which are main stars of the show.

*cackle, kick* Her FACE!!!

I spent a great deal of time on yesterday’s entry, which I figured nobody would read. (I loved writing it, though, and I’m allowed that from time to time…like with my King Henry VIII entry. As a side note, yesterday, May 19th, was the anniversary of the unjustly accused, convicted, and executed Queen Anne Boleyn. I was going to do an entry on that, but decided not to. Consider it another gift.) However, since I accept that this entry seems rather picture- and quote-heavy, and rather like I phoned it in, I might as well shove it all the way up and leave you with one last picture/quote that is guaranteed to piss you off and get stuck in your head.

You are welcome.

Alternate letter considerations: Quetzal, Queens (of the evil variety), Quaker, Quicksand, Quarantine.

P = Prydain (A-Z Challenge)

Does anyone remember a little Disney movie called The Black Cauldron from the mid-1980s? Yes? I want you to get an ice pick and a hammer. I’ll wait. Ready? Now, I want you to place the pointy end of the ice pick near your temple or eye. Still with me? Okay, use the hammer to drive the ice pick into your brain. You may need to do this more than once to remove the memory of this movie from your brain. If you still have the ability to read when you are through, come back here or have someone read the rest of this to you. Are we ready to go? Okay, then…

Now, as a stand-alone movie, The Black Cauldron wasn’t that bad. It was exciting, fun, I remember the music being good, and it felt very dark. I will say that upfront. I will even go as far as saying that I like the movie’s depiction of Gurgi. He was as cute and cuddly and looked almost exactly the way I pictured him. But the resemblance to the books was…lacking. In the words of the author of the Chronicles of Prydain books, Lloyd Alexander:

“First, I have to say, there is no resemblance between the movie and the book. Having said that, the movie in itself, purely as a movie, I found to be very enjoyable…”

Yikes, right? Well, I agree with him. The books, published throughout the 1960s, were magnificent and are very, very unappreciated (as in they are not as popular as Oz, Narnia, Xanth, etc. and they very much deserve to be.) There were five books in the series, starting with The Book of Three, about Taran the Assistant Pig-Keeper for an oracular white pig named Hen Wen. Taran is an orphan taken in by Dallben the sorcerer, and Taran spends his days dreaming about being a warrior. Arawn the Death-Lord has released one of his most fearsome servants, The Horned King, and Dallben has to consult Hen Wen about him. The adorable little pig Hen Wen gets frightened by her own visions and the approach of the Horned King and runs off. Taran goes to find her, and the journey begins.

The books take place in a medieval place called Prydain, which closely resembles Wales in structure and mythology. Swords have names, bards are everywhere, there are different kingdoms ruled by the High King, there are dwarves and Fair Folk, and there is the pool of all evil, Anuvyn, ruled by the aforementioned Arawn who has some rather nasty creatures at his disposal. Now, in addition to the Horned King, Taran must face the Cauldron-Born (essentially zombies who are brought back to life by tossing them in the Black Cauldron) who can only be killed by total dismemberment. No double-tap will suffice here. Then there are the gwythaints, giant birds who have been tortured and maimed and warped by Arawn and who now do his bidding. And don’t forget the Huntsmen, wild men/warriors who travel in packs. They are strong yet can be killed, but you don’t really want to do that. See, they are bound to each other spiritually: if there are ten Huntsmen and you kill three, the remaining seven gain the strength of the fallen three. They travel in small packs of savage, bestial men with only nominal fear of death.

Sounds good, right? There’s more.

Taran’s friends eventually include some colorful characters. And some of them are so adorable that you can’t help but love them. Gurgi is a small, furry humanoid who is perpetually hungry and speaks in the third person, but whose speech is quirky and fun. He’s always talking about crunchings and munchings (food), or if he is to see a battle he will talk about fightings and smightings, or after a bath he will talk about washings and sloshings. Stuff like that. Then there is Eilonwy, a young girl who embodies the word “feisty” and is the descendant of a long line of enchantresses, who is just learning her powers. (Think Brave’s Merida with magic and a sword.) She’s feminine but tough, and is very practical. She’s always making odd comparisons which will still make me laugh aloud. (Such as, “He helped us…just the way a robber helps you tidy up your house!”) She has a glowing golden sphere she calls a bauble which can glow in the dark at her command and is, of course, more than it seems. Doli is a dwarf who can eventually turn invisible, though it makes his ears buzz painfully. He is a warrior and that odd combo of lovable and cranky which makes me so happy. Last, there is Fflewddur Fflam, a king/almost-bard with a penchant for exaggerating the truth. Unlucky for him, he owns an enchanted harp whose strings will snap when he lies. The bigger the lie, the more strings will snap. However, it plays beautifully and makes up for his shortcomings as an almost-bard who didn’t pass his bardic tests.

In the first book, they fight and take on the Horned King, rescue Hen Wen, and do all sorts of other stuff (that was me being vague on purpose, by the way). In The Black Cauldron, the armies of the good guys realize that if they are ever going to defeat Arawn, they have to destroy the zombie-generating Black Cauldron, which has recently gone missing from Arawn’s evil land. All the good guys unite and head out to find it, not realizing the terrible price it will require to destroy the Cauldron. Sacrifice is an ongoing theme throughout the books. It is often painful, and there isn’t a moment you don’t feel for Taran and his friends — you may be exhausted by Taran’s pig-headedness, but there is never a moment you don’t care about him.

The movie The Black Cauldron stems from that brief period where Disney was trying to go darker, which was necessary to do the books justice. However, in the process they made many crucial mistakes. First, they combined the first two books, and I can even understand that in a way — thematically the first book probably didn’t have enough to sustain a standard film length (without masterful filmmaking and scriptwriting). There are five books in the series and when this came out, entire series just weren’t made, and certainly not in traditional animation form.

Second, they robbed some of the characters of everything that made them unique, nuanced, or entertaining. Most horrifying, Eilonwy lost all her spirit in the movie and became just another boring blond princess character, constantly in need of saving. (Imagine Disney going back and robbing Merida of all her spirit, energy, and strength. Essentially, that’s what they did with Eilonwy.) In the book, let’s just say that you didn’t want to mess with a feisty young swordswoman with red-gold hair who is discovering her talent for enchantment (though she needs some serious training). Fflewddur became an ancient gnarled thing upon whom it pleased Disney to foster boob jokes. Taran was generic and bland. Doli, a red-haired cantankerous warrior dwarf? Well, he was turned into a freekin’ fairy. He had occasional bouts of crankiness that really came off like bipolar disorder. In fact, the only character who got away unscathed was Gurgi, and he became the one good character whose cartoon representation was essentially him.

Third, they took away the epic feeling of the books, the feeling that these people belonged to a rich and colorful world where terrible things sometimes happened. And they turned the gwythaints into goddamned dragons! WTF? The movie flopped terribly, which makes studios reluctant to revisit that territory, which is a travesty. Somehow, these books are not as popular as their peers, despite winning two prestigious awards. Look up “Prydain movie” and ignore all the bashings and trashings of Disney’s The Black Cauldron. You will see a bunch of people whose lives and hearts these books have touched who want nothing more than to see them properly done into movies…which will likely never happen.

The books are definitely worth reading. If you like fantasy, you should absolutely the Chronicles of Prydain, even if you’re used to the hardcore fantasy like Lord of the Rings (with which there are many commonalities), Game of Thrones, Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn series, etc. The Prydain novels are short, practically pamphlets in comparison, but contain a surprising depth of character and adventure. Additionally, what do you have to lose? They don’t take much time to read, really, and are definitely worth it. If you have pre-teens or young adults into fantasy (hell, or adults; the books stand up regardless of age), I cannot recommend these books highly enough. There is sadness, happiness, plenty of laughs, lessons, growth of characters, a lot of appealing darkness, and love.

Now, who do I have to hump to get the Prydain series made into good movies? They don’t have to be live action; I’m okay with good CG. Well? Damn it, pay attention, someone! Am I going to have to hand out thrashings and whackings? Stabbings and jabbings? Cuttings and guttings? *cackle*

Alternate letter considerations: Pokémon, Princesses (Disney, probably *gay*), People Skills.

O = Oz (A-Z Challenge)

Time for honesty (if anyone cares, which I doubt): I was going to do octopus and outline how they are very intelligent, use tools, are the escape artists of the sea, how they change colors, how all of them are venomous (most only mildly), and cap it off with how one should never say “octopi” because that’s just wrong. But…well, this would be the end of the entry. Bye!

However, it’s Saturday, few people read my sheeit on weekends (*ahem* my Stephen King’s It entry for last week *coughcough*), and a friend and I are in the middle of an Alien marathon (in honor of H.R. Giger’s recent passing and because my friend has somehow managed to call himself a geek without ever seeing Aliens. Lunacy, right?). We are behind schedule and plan to have White Russians during the next movie (think about it and tell me that isn’t gross and awesome at the same time), so trying to be witty and talk about research I have already done would have only devolved into flinging random ideas at my laptop concerning octopus-inspired fantasy creatures.

Instead, I will talk about my love for the land of Oz, and if one person points out an imaginary correlation between homosexuality and loving the Oz books, I swear to the gods, I will have them tased into incontinence. Where was I? Oh, yeah. On my way to Oz.

Oz is surprisingly open as to how you get there — no need for a fancy wardrobe or a train station for Oz. You could get there by cyclone (so, Oz is Heaven? I’m not sure how that would wor…oh! Magic. Got it, love it, moving on.) Uh, you can get to Oz by cyclone, earthquake, flood, a pair of used shoes, taking the wrong path, or a mirror, just to name a few. That was, of course, until Oz shut its borders in The Emerald City of Oz after Dorothy came to live for good and the borders to Oz were closed. A few random people stumbled in after that, but not as many.

Oz was fun, whimsical, and in some ways way ahead of its time. Did you know that it featured a transsexual? No, I’m not kidding. The second book was Land of Oz and was about Tip, a young boy who was the servant of Mombi the witch. She went out to bilk some magician out of his Powder of Life when the mischevious little Tip built a pumpkinhead, naming him Jack. (Yes, he was the inspiration for the evil pumpkinheads in my recently released version of The Snow Queen.) Mombi came back, got pissed at Jack Pumpkinhead who was put in the way to scare her, and decided to use her Powder of Life to see if it worked. She sprinkled it on Jack, said something line “Weaugh, Teaugh, Peaugh!” and Jack came to life.

Tip stole the Powder of Life, grabbed Jack Pumpkinhead, and took off. He ran into other inanimate objects he brought to life eventually coming to the Emerald City where he and his friends stopped an all-female army’s invasion (their weapons were knitting needles. It was like a step forward for women’s equality in literature and then a punch to the jaw…with a penis.)

Where does the tranny come in? *spoiler for a 100 year old book!* You see, Tip was really Ozma, the empress of Oz. Ozma was kidnapped by the Wizard, that kindly old humbug, and handed over to Mombi, who changed Ozma into a boy named Tip. After the female army was thwarted, Glinda came down like the god from the machine and told this sordid tale of kidnapping, secrecy, attempted regicide, and transformation. Makes you look at the Wizard a little differently, doesn’t it? Glinda told Tip that he/she was the rightful child heir of Oz and offered to change him into his/her original sex. Tip agrees, as long as it doesn’t hurt (!), and Glinda changes Tip to Ozma. She is immediately basically a fairy princess, full of feminine grace, charm, and beauty. Gone is the mischievous boy who stole magic powder, journeyed across Oz, stopped an army, and saved the day. Now he/she was a pretty thing to be feminine and have magic.

So, considering that The Wizard of Oz was written or published in the year 1900, the series was progressive and antiquated all at the same time. The books are not all so…special. They are good, honest, magical fun. There are the ones by L. Frank Baum and about a billion by others. There are amazing characters: Jack Pumpkinhead, the China Dolls, the Sawhorse, the Glass Cat, and (one of the best) the Patchwork Girl.

I remember getting a bowl of hot water, stealing my mother’s scented powers, adding glitter (for flair, duh), mixing them all together, letting the concoction settle, pouring out the water, and scraping the concoction into another powder form in attempt to make my own Powder of Life. Aside from thinking she was losing her mind and powdering everything in sight, my mother probably heard me around the house trying to bring my toys to life…or the couch…or my bed…or anything that could get my little ass to Oz. I can imagine her thinking, “What the fuck is he chanting? What is wrong with my child? I don’t think I can afford a therapist.”

If you decide to get them and relive your childhood or to entertain yourself, spend like a dollar each on the Kindle versions published by Eltanin. The artwork for this series is crucial and gorgeous, but doesn’t translate well to Kindle unless the publisher tries. The books in the public domain don’t feature the pictures. Eltanin, in my opinion, did the transfer better than any other publisher. Also, the Wizard of Oz had a different illustrator. All the other Baum books had another illustrator who, in my opinion, was much better. Try them. They are, despite the above themes I mentioned, very much fun books for children and adults.

And, if you haven’t seen it, try watching Return to Oz featuring Fairuza Balk. This is the movie they made from the second and third books, Land of Oz and Ozma of Oz (without the tranny theme to it). It’s darker than you would expect. Mombi in the movie was not the one from the book, but she was another character from the books with all the terror of her many heads. The Wheelers? FUCK the Wheelers. They scared the hell out of me when I was a kid.

It’s awesome. Would I go to Oz right now if I could? Hell yes. I would push that stocky farm girl Dorothy out of her floating house and take my little ass to Oz. I just hope that Elphaba from the Wicked books would be there. That fairy land would never be the same…

Alternate letter considerations: Octopus, Orca.

N = Narcissism (A-Z Challenge)

It struck me that I have been far too nice during this A to Z blog exercise. Therefore, I will now talk about narcissism, one of the most irritating human qualities one can possess. It’s right up there with reckless disregard for human life, pretense, and people who walk in public while texting and don’t watch where they are going. Yeah, tell me you don’t want to charge right into those people, slap their cell phones out of their hands and, if you are very, very lucky, make them weep like colicky infants.

The myth of narcissism has to do with the young, beautiful Narcissus. He was so beautiful and egomaniacal that, while wandering near a pool, he fell down at the water’s edge and fell in love with his own reflection. (And thus Instagram and the selfie were born. The End. Bwahahaha!) Well, there was this beautiful nymph named Echo who was in love with Narcissus. Echo was cursed to only be able to repeat what people said back at them and was therefore 100% perfect for Narcissus. Instead, Narcissus was so transfixed by his own beauty that he stayed there, admiring himself, ignoring Echo, and eventually wasted away and died. Another version says that he finally realized it was a reflection, knew he could never have the perfection before him, and committed suicide.

Tell me you don’t know several people like this. I personally don’t know what’s worse — the people who are truly physically beautiful, or the…others.

I tend to think the latter are more sad than anything. The others, for me, are huge, horrible turnoffs. Who wants to be with a guy or girl who is more in love with him/herself than you? Or who would rather take pictures of themselves than spend time with you? Or who is only looking for hotter versions of themselves? Or someone who cannot resist the combination of a cell phone and a mirror?

I have NO idea who this random hot guy is. However, I Googled “Narcissism” and, I shit you not, this picture came up.

I had a, uh, “friend” who was tall, incredibly good looking, somewhat smart…and knew every bit of it. His famous saying was to follow any criticism with, “But I get what I want.” You could tell him that continuing to smoke meth would kill him and that being skinny wasn’t worth the loss of his life, and he would tell you that he was hot enough now and that it didn’t matter. He never saw a duck-lipped picture of himself that he wouldn’t be willing to lick.

If he irritated me to the point that I would no longer talk to him, he would send me pictures of himself — any part he thought would get my attention — and wait for me to respond. If I didn’t, I would be on the receiving end of no less than five pictures of his dick. If that didn’t work (I was familiar with the region and therefore was less than stunned by its charm and beauty), he would begin to berate me. He would say the most horrible things he could think of. There would be a period of texting silence, and then he would call and leave a voice mail. The message would invariably be wheedling and apologetic, explaining that he loved me and wanted me and that he hated when we fought. I want to say now that we never were together. He wanted it, I pictured a life of this bullshit, and realized that no amount of beauty could make up for it. He was plain in his affections and simply could not accept that someone he wanted did not feel the same way about him and couldn’t be swayed by what he apparently thought was utter physical perfection.

Not him, but let’s pretend it was, because he’s pretty…and clearly full of himself.

Contrast this with another guy I know. He’s model-hot, brilliant, catches on to any given task in moments, is very fit and sexy, does crossword puzzles and reads to kill time, is polite, and has no clue how attractive he is. He is confident, but not a pusbag of ego on the ass of life, just waiting to be lanced and leeched. This ridiculously hot man is sweet, smart, and kind.

Now, who the hell would YOU rather be around? Guy #2 realizes that being beautiful (which he may or may not realize he is) is a genetic accident. For Guy #1, his physical appearance was his reason for living and the world was owed to him for it. I saw the good in him but realized that it would never be enough. I no longer speak to him.

You want to see horrible, rampant narcissim? Like, the kind that will make you shudder and want to slap a baby? Go onto a gay “dating” site, or ask your gay male friends about it. Change your location to Southern California. LA is a good place for this exercise, but not for those with high blood pressure, heart conditions, or who are prone to gastrointestinal distress. Click on the pictures of the attractive, in shape men. You will see things like, “No old guys. Only into fit and young. No fatties. If you don’t work out, we won’t get along. Work out 5x a week. Under 30 only. Look at yourself and then look at me; be realistic.” I have read these comments (every last one of them) over and over on different profiles. It’s revolting.

It’s not limited to looks. There are intellectual narcissists, cultural, emotional, anything. These people are burdens to be around. Sometimes, for whatever reason, these guys will hit me up and want to talk. Are they feeling magnanimous? Are they coming off their god-given thrones to perform a random act of kindness, mercy, and charity? Are they interested? Who fucking cares? Narcissism is repulsive, repugnant, and ghastly to me. I used to be polite, make conversation, feel flattered, and move on. Then I would ignore. Now, I think I will send them a link to this rant and a picture of my middle finger…and a big, fat, hairy, unwashed ass.

Alternate letter considerations: Narnia, Nervousness, Numerology.

M = Misery (A-Z Challenge)

“But I didn’t cheer. I stood right up and started shouting, ‘This isn’t what happened last week. Have you all got amnesia? They just cheated us. This isn’t fair! He didn’t get out of the COCKADOODIE CAAAAR!’” — Annie Wilkes, Misery (movie)

***Please note that all quotes contained in this entry are cited from memory (and are not my property, paraphrased, etc…duh.). A few words may be misplaced, but I have opted to show my love for the movie by reciting totally from my memory.

So, as a huge movie buff I am occasionally asked what my favorite movie is. It’s a difficult question to answer. What is my favorite movie of all time? Childhood movie? The one that has affected me the most? The best/most traumatizing? (Probably Requiem for a Dream, incidentally) Current favorite? Or is the question more about which movie can I literally watch every day of the week, read the book for, devour the audio book for, and never get sick of?

Well, then that gives us Misery, starring Kathy Bates and James Caan. (Costarring Frances Sternhagen and Richard Farnsworth as the lovely police couple, and guest starring Lauren Bacall)

Well, honestly speaking, there are several movies like this: Clue, most of the Harry Potters, X2 (X-Men United), several Disney movies, any of the Lord of the Rings movies, Silence of the Lambs, etc. As you can see, my taste is rather eclectic and somewhat random.

But the one I keep returning to is Misery. It’s about Paul Sheldon, a bestselling writer of romance novels who gets into a terrible car accident during a snowstorm. All but paralyzed by his injuries, he is rescued by Annie Wilkes, who happens to be a nurse, Paul’s number one fan, and, uh, a little unstable. When she finds out that he has killed off bubble-headed Misery, the heroine of his novels, Annie decides to “convince” Paul to write Misery back to life. Her motivation tools include codeine-based narcotics, drugs, a barbeque (as a fledgling writer-ish, I can tell you that this scene hurts very, very much), and a sledgehammer — making for one of the least gory but most horrifying scenes in any movie…ever. In the book, she also employs an axe, an electric kitchen knife, and a “birthday” cake.

“The operation was called hobbling.”

James Caan was absolutely amazing as Paul Sheldon, but he was truly outclassed by Kathy Bates as Annie Wilkes. She won an Oscar for her portrayal, beating out Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. (Unfortunately, Julia would go on to rob Ellen Burstyn of the Oscar she deserved for Requiem for a Dream, but that’s another matter.)

“‘What’s the matter’? I’ll tell you ‘what’s the matter’! I go out of my way for you! I do everything to try and make you happy: I feed you, I clean you, I dress you…and what thanks do I get? ‘Oh, you bought the wrong paper, Annie. I can’t write on THIS paper, Annie.’ Well, I’ll get your stupid paper, but you’d just better start showing me a little more appreciation around here, Mister Man!” *slams the full pack of paper onto Paul’s wounded legs* — Annie Wilkes, Misery (movie)

Paul’s sexy legs.

Annie Wilkes was a paranoid, evil, manic depressive, terrifying villain. She tortured him both physically and psychologically. The first real sign (in the movie) of this seemingly beatific, life-saving nurse’s deep-rooted issues was when she discusses the profanity in Paul’s most recent non-Misery novel. Annie — whose idea of swearing is using words and phrases like oogie, dirty bird, cockadoodie, and fidledefoof — gets so worked up at the implication Paul makes (that “everyone” uses real profanity — he means in the slums, she takes it to mean everyone) that she spills soup all over the bedspread and blames Paul for it. In the book, she hurls the bowl across the room, comes to her senses, cleans the stain for hours while Paul writhes in pain, then gives him his pain pills…making him take them with the soapy, dirty water from her cleaning.

“Now I must rinse.” — Annie Wilkes, Misery (book)

Stephen King, who was dealing with addiction at the time he wrote this novel, later said that Annie was a manifestation of the drugs for his writing: a rampaging lunatic who imprisoned Paul and forces him to write what she wanted, using whatever means necessary. Further — and probably the most terrifying thing — is that Annie was likely based on a real person. Genene Jones. If you have read the book or seen the movie, look this scary bitch up. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genene_Jones) If not, don’t read it just yet, or you will find a clue to Annie’s, uh, colorful past. (Then again, if anyone is reading this, I doubt that you don’t know anything about Annie.)

Annie makes you look at super fans of anything with even more horror and suspicion than before. It makes you look at that lovely Midwestern woman who refuses to swear with doubt and stink eye. It’s a damn good movie, and for everything Annie does to Paul in the movie, she does something worse in the book. If you haven’t experienced one or the other (or either), I suggest that you pick them up immediately.

“You see, I started by only loving the part of you that wrote such wonderful stories, because that’s the only part I had. The rest of you I didn’t know anything about…but after a while I came to know the rest of Paul Sheldon, and I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but I have come to love the rest of him, too.” — Annie Wilkes, Misery (book)

Alternate letter considerations: Mikado (operetta), Maleficent (hard not to choose).

L = Labyrinth (A-Z Challenge)

Today I am cheating a little. Yes, I will talk mainly about Labyrinth, but I would also like to talk about The Dark Crystal. So, it will really be more about Brian Froud, the designer behind both movies. The creature concepts, while not Froud’s alone, were astounding. Together with Jim Henson (who was surely a wizard god of some sort), these two men created things which transcend almost all known references. The world of the Dark Crystal was so complete, its mythology, its visual style, its rules, its cultures, were all fresh and are still unrivaled.

Brian Froud’s work.

The Labyrinth wasn’t such a complete world, and I think for that it gets less recognition. The goblins, Luto, Hoggle, the guards, the fairies, etc. while all uniquely portrayed and beautifully realized, were not an entire world unto themselves. They were an offshoot of reality, and that was part of the brilliance of it.

Beauty and the walking warthog. Run, Jennifer! He has boils on his lips!

Jennifer Connelly (on whom I had a crush) hates her colicky little brother, Toby, and wishes the Goblin King would take his crying little ass away. Bless her, she freaks out when goblins come in and make good on the request. Toby is taken by the Goblin King — David Bowie in distressingly, R-rated tight pants. She must then skip around through a maze which is pretty much Wonderland meets Oz. The whole adventure is like the Wizard of Oz. She meets three friends, confronts the evil Goblin King, and (uh, spoiler alert if you have a touch of the Down’s) gets back home with her brother, lessons learned, and wiser for the adventure.

Said pants. Look away!

Typical story? Who gives a shit? This is all about the journey. The world is gorgeous, the creatures are amazing, and the goblins are astounding. They look different, varied, and wonderful. They also look like fat babies who were left in tanning beds and developed some sort of gene cancer. And that’s on purpose! They were designed that way.

For just 25 cents a day, you can provide medical treatment for these diseased babies.

These movies shaped my imagination. They were great. If you are a fantasy fan, you owe it to yourself. You should also check out Brian Froud’s other work. His book Faeries is gorgeous and worth every penny. There are more. Check his stuff out here: http://www.worldoffroud.com/.

Labyrinth was a magic journey and used to fight with Wonderland for the third place of magic lands I wanted to visit (Narnia and Oz taking the first places. Xanth took over when I was an adolescent). The Dark Crystal world was amazing, gorgeous, wonderful, but the thought of facing the Skeksis was too much. I would just watch the movie again; it wasn’t a place I wanted to be. But when the new show Jim Henson’s Creature Shop Challenge (which is amazing…I love it almost as much as its sister show Face Off) had a challenge to make Skeksis, I got emotional. Still…

“Come to ooooooour world!” Uh, thanks, but no. Or I’m not leaving the Valley of the Mystics.

Alternate letter considerations: Lasix, Lust, Lies.

K = King Henry VIII (A-Z Challenge)

Since I missed him in favor of Harry Potter on H day… This entry is a bit longer, but I think it’s amusing. If it’s not your style, tune in tomorrow. I’ll throw glitter in your faces or do something shiny and geeky to entertain. *cackle*

By today’s standards, Henry VIII was a misogynistic, spoiled, over indulged, whiny lothario who was never meant to be king. His brother Arthur was trained, tutored, geared, and supposed to be king. Unfortunately, he died, leaving Henry, the spoiled boy who knew no restraint, the one who was possibly meant for the priesthood, in charge of an entire kingdom. He all but bankrupted the kingdom because of his insistence on grandeur and pomp. His whims were law. It is thought that after a head injury which knocked his ass out for hours, he became totally insane. Physiologically speaking, of course.

Of course, he was also astoundingly brilliant. A poet, songwriter, tactician, actor, and a talented womanizer. He spawned three rulers of England. Regrettably, for all his accomplishments he was best known for the drama, his excesses, his wives, and for being a great big fat ass.

Let’s go on a (hopefully) amusing romp through the achievements for which he was known, shall we?

Katherine of Aragon: Poor Katherine. Seriously, of all his wives she was with him the longest and I think she got the worst, most heinous treatment. Daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand of Spain, Katherine was intended for Henry’s brother, Arthur. Whether or not they had sex (Katherine and Arthur, not Arthur and Henry), is debatable, even to this day. They were horny teenagers who were expected to produce an heir as soon as they were married. After the wedding, Arthur said that he had “been to Spain”. Take that as you will. Then again, he was sickly and died like 5 months later at the age of 15 or something. A horny teenager, married to a beautiful princess, expected to have children, said he had been to Spain…a strong case could be made for them having had sex.

Regardless, Arthur died and Katherine was left in England with almost no money. Henry’s father and Ferdinand pretty much played tug-o-war with Katherine until the king died. Thus, Henry Tudor became King Henry VIII. Henry married Katherine of Aragon. Unfortunately, though they spent over a decade together, everything Katherine touched afterwards seemed to turn to shit. Miscarriage after miscarriage happened, and they finally had Mary Tudor. Mary Tudor eventually became Queen of England and had over 300 Protestants killed, usually burned, earning her the nickname Bloody Mary.

Katherine was a pious, genteel woman, raised from birth to be a princess, a queen, and was, by all accounts, a wonderful, generous Queen. However, she did not seem to be able to keep a child alive in her rotten womb. The one son she had died when he was a few months old. Henry, feeling that Katherine was being spiteful, said she had actually fucked his brother Arthur and used this as Biblical grounds to start getting an annulment. He began to take and knock up mistresses. Which leads us to…

Anne Boleyn: Also known as the Great Whore. An ambitious, brilliant woman from a fatally ambitious family. Her sister Mary was King Henry’s mistress for a while, popped out a few kids, and was dispensed with. Anne saw what Mary and the others went through and refused to go out like that. She tantalized Henry. Since Henry was an egomaniacal dickbag used to getting his way, he became entranced with Anne. She was charming, pretty, intelligent, strong, and ambitious.

More books have been written about Anne Boleyn than almost any Queen of England, save for her eventual daughter — Elizabeth I, who reigned for 40+ years and ushered in the Golden Age of England. Cate Blanchett played Elizabeth I in two movies and was robbed of an Oscar by some pretentious wench.

Katherine of Aragon, ever the stately Queen, and Anne Boleyn had a courtly fight for Henry VIII. Anne won, but Henry had to forever change the history of England to have her. He broke up with the Pope via letter (pretty much by text. “It’s over. I’m gonna be with Anne now.”) Katherine was sent away and eventually died of heart cancer. Pretty much a broken heart. Anne produced no male heirs, which Henry felt he needed. (If he could only see what Anne’s daughter would go on to do, he might not have been such a dick.)

When Anne couldn’t have a baby boy (who lived), Henry VIII decided to be rid of her. He made shit up, eventually accusing her of being a traitor and having sex with her possibly bisexual brother.

This shit sounds like a reality show, right? Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!

Anne Boleyn was accused of witchcraft, treason, and incest. I don’t personally believe that Henry actually thought she was a witch, but a convincing case can be made for it. Some think that Henry was such a raving egomaniac that he couldn’t possibly come to grips with the fact that he made some very serious, very public mistakes by ousting Katherine and breaking with the Catholic Church, just to get some more Boleyn pussy. The ensuing trial was a travesty of justice. Anne was beheaded. A few days later we have…

Jane Seymour: The daughter of a noble, she was innocence and light and happiness. After over seven years of drama, she was a note of sanity for Henry and they were married mere days after Anne Boleyn’s beheading. Jane was sweet, kind, and totally boring. I think Henry would have tired of her eventually, but he wasn’t given a chance. Jane got knocked up, had Henry’s male heir, and died during childbirth. Some think that Henry loved her most of all, but I think there was a romantic sentimentality attached to her. I think she was too kind and too sweet and Henry would have cheated on her like he did all the others. Frankly, I think he loved Anne Boleyn the most, judging from the lengths he went to have her…but who cares?

Jane’s son would eventually become king of England, but would die at a very young age, causing more drama by naming some distant cousin next in line, Lady Jane Grey — innocent victim of more ambitious parents. She was Queen for 9 whole days before (Bloody) Mary Tudor, Henry’s first kid, rode into town, said, “Bitch, please!” and had Jane’s ass off the throne in no time. Mary would eventually have Jane killed for treason. Mary was fun, wasn’t she?

Anne of Cleves: After mourning Jane’s death, Henry ate himself into gout, diabetes, and shame. He was a huge, lecherous, Tyrant the Hutt. He eventually decided to make a political alliance and marry Anne of Cleves as a sort of mail order bride. When she arrived, Henry threw a tantrum, called her a horse, and stormed out of court. She wasn’t pretty enough, said the crazy man with the head wound, ulcerous leg, fatty eyelids (so sayeth Philippa Gregory in the best line from The Other Boleyn Girl), and a 51 inch waist (if it can properly be called a waist at that point).

Henry asked Anne of Cleves for an annulment. She was a smart and very kind woman who realized that all Henry’s previous wives died because of him. She said yes. She got Anne Boleyn’s old estates at Hever (irony!), a pension for the rest of her life, and would outlive everyone in this sordid drama. Henry called her his sister and they were besties for the rest of their lives.

Catherine Howard: Henry was about a billion years old and at least that many pounds by this time. He saw a pretty young thing, I think she was like 15 years old, and decided he would fuck her and make her the Queen of England. Unfortunately, she didn’t want to fuck him, so she fucked Thomas Culpeper, the king’s man servant, instead. She was helped by Lady Rochford, Anne Boleyn’s ex-sister-in-law who had betrayed the whole Boleyn family. Henry found out, and had Catherine, Thomas, Lady Rochford, and a few other people killed.

Catherine Parr: Nobody wanted to be near Henry at this point. He was insane, the ulcer in his leg smelled of meat rotting in the sun, and he had a bit of a reputation for being a wife killer. Still, he persuaded/told/forced the widow Catherine Parr into marrying him. He eventually had a psychotic episode and jailed her for talking about Protestantism during a chat with him. Lucky for her, Henry VIII died before he could kill her.

She went on to get knocked up and died in childbirth. Her new husband was eventually killed for putting Jane Grey on the throne for a whole 9 days.

So, that was the brief view of King Henry VIII’s life as told by a snarky jerkface who didn’t want to do any of the boring words listed below. I have a feeling NOBODY will read this, but if anyone reads this sentence, I promise to be less educational tomorrow.

Alternate letter considerations: Ketchup (as a symbol of change, if you can believe that shit. I used to hate it, now I like it. Weak!), Kindle, Kleptomania, Kryptonite.

J = Jabberwocky (A-Z Challenge)

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!” — Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky

I loathe poetry. I know, I know. As a writer-ish it’s like saying that I am a fish who dislikes the hydrogen part of water molecules. Poetic language in prose, however, is acceptable and pleasant. I love the Lord of the Rings, but Tom Bombadil gives me a rash, mange, a brain embolism, bunions, and swimmer’s ear. I think the concept of the character is great and amazing, but that nonsense-spouting, poetry-shitting, skipping blight on humanity could curdle water and putrefy granite. Yet I love the dwarves’ songs, and the goblin song is pure freekin’ genius. But even with the masterpieces of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the poetry is hit or miss with me.

The only exception to this nearly universal dislike of poetry is almost everything in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There. I cannot off the top of my head think of a single poem that bugs me. Does that say something about me, that “adult” poetry pisses me off, but “children’s” poetry still tickles me? Probably, but I don’t care.

The best of the best for me is the Jabberwocky. Pure nonsense, utter madness, totally deranged, and utter perfection. Is there a single piece which screams “Wonderland” as much as this poem? A debate could be made…but the debater would be wrong. *cackle*

The original.

I remember playing Final Fantasy 1, looting, stealing, and rummaging around in random chests I found in caves, only to come across a Vorpal sword. I almost squealed with delight. I wished that it was good against dragons, but they saved that honor for the Wyrmkiller. Still I was thrilled that the sword was in the game and kept it on my Knight long after it lost its usefulness.

“One, two! One, two! and through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.” — Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky

The jabberwocky was a great dragon-ish creature who has been done and redone many times. Many years ago I found a poster/artwork that I was immediately drawn to. It wasn’t until I got it back home that I read the title. Jabberwocky, by Rodney Matthews (I think you can find it here: http://www.rodneymatthews.com/main.htm) I still have it and, when moving recently, ran across this old, perfectly preserved, totally unmarred poster. I want to hang it up, but cannot decide what place in my room is good enough so that I can always see it.

Love it!

There is also the whole universe of American McGee’s Alice and Alice the Madness Returns. These games take the truly frightening, opiate-influenced terror lying not too far under the surface of the Alice books and brought it out. (If you haven’t played them and have a PS3, I suggest you get on it. The original Alice was for the PC and can be a little clunky by today’s standards, but the visuals are still amazing.) There was apparently a version of the Jabberwocky in the second game, and it looks very much like it was Alice meets Aliens.

So, given my feeling about poetry and my high opinion of Alice’s scary-ass adventures (which I could go on about forever), the Jabberwocky is a poem which makes me happy and fuzzy even today. I can still here the Cheshire Cat in the Disney version singing his lunatic, invisible heart out to the beginning and the end of the poem, and so I shall close with it and urge you, if you have somehow not read the poem, to skip on over to Wikipedia and read it there (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jabberwocky) or (even better) read the books. Sheesh. They are in the public domain and can be downloaded for free, though I recommend paying a dollar or two (for the Kindle versions) and picking up a version with the original illustrations. Pretty pictures and all that.

“‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.” — Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky

Alternate letter considerations: Jail time, Jaundice.

I = It (A-Z Challenge)

“…so I went to the library and picked up three books by the greatest author of the last thousand years: Stephen King.” — Peter Griffin, Family Guy.

I have discussed before my love for Stephen King. I told about my histrionic private school teacher finding ‘Salem’s Lot in my desk, freaking out, and calling my mother. I don’t think she expected my mother to say, “Yeah, I know he had it. I got it for him.”

However, several years later I saw my mother with a thousand-page tome, titled It. Actually, I believe I almost scared the woman into gastrointestinal distress. I have always been very light on my feet, very quiet, strong for my size, and am pretty fast. I think I missed my calling as the mighty White Ninja. One night I was in the kitchen, and apparently my mother forgot about me, as I was silently making something in there. I came out, saw my mother on the couch reading, and cheerfully asked her what she was reading.

I still don’t know the meaning of some of the things she said. What I do know is that she threw the hardcover for It (no small feat, that), knocked over her drink, and cussed like a wounded possessed woman already suffering from Tourette’s. My mother has had a lifelong fear of clowns, you see.

The main villain, Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

When she was done she had me read It, knowing it would scare the hell out of me, and warned me about a certain scene toward the end which was, truthfully, a little risqué by any standards. At the time, I was probably in seventh grade and I think she didn’t expect me to have the reading stamina or attention span to get through the book.

About that she was wrong — she should have known better. It did take me a while, but I got through it. And then I read it again, but only skipped through and read the kids’ scenes. I watched the movie with Tim Curry as Pennywise. I hear they are planning to do another movie (or two). I don’t know if they can get someone to play Pennywise as well as Tim Curry did.

Terror in the sewers.

I had trouble sleeping. The book was pure terror. The movie was good (though lacking in SO many ways). I was given the hardcover as a gift and still have it. I read it again as an adult, now closer to the age of the adults than to the kids. It was still good. Overall, it was and remains my favorite Stephen King book, and that’s saying something. But as an adult, the more subtle touches creep me out. Pennywise is terror incarnate, but what about Henry Bowers, the raving lunatic? The leper, which I didn’t fully comprehend as a child? And, of course, Patrick-fucking-Hockstetter, the serial killer in training. The brief dip into his mind scares me now because I know there are people out there really like him.

The camaraderie between the kids was amazing. As a writer in training, I can now see this book for what it was: a masterful book told in omniscient voice with no less than seven main characters. Bill, the stuttering leader whose brother was the first victim of that coming of It. Richie, the goofy comedic relief. Eddie, the hypochondriac with mommy issues. Mike, the victim of horrifying racism who came out on top, strong, and tough. Ben, the lonely fat boy. Stan, the prissy, proper, neat, somewhat fragile Jewish boy. Beverly, the tough as hell girl who survived abuse that nobody should be subjected to. Taking their characters down to one sentence is an injustice. There was so much more to each of them, and you care deeply for all of them.

However, one character I always hated was Stan’s wife. She was annoying, superficial, uptight, and a canker sore on the butt of life. She got made fun of once and it bothered her for the rest of her life. Boo hoo, bitch. Welcome to a day of light bullying for any grammar school kid. Yet, she was, in her irritating way, more fully realized and fleshed out than a certain character with an entire series devoted to them.

A strategically placed picture with no significance to the sentence directly preceding it.

That, among other things, is the mastery of Stephen King’s It. Over a thousand pages, seven main characters, fully realized human villains, an entire town, evil for hundreds of years, a macroverse, and a terrifying shapeshifting villain. Each fleshed out. Rarely did the book slow down. It was a masterpiece, and I still love it.

I regret to say that I don’t always have the time to read It as often as I would like. And you know what? That’s okay. Not only does that give me time to savor it when I do read it, but it gives me time and reason to appreciate the 40+ hour audio book read by Steven Weber, whose acting skills give him the perfect voice to read this book. He should have had awards heaped on him for his reading of this book. Don’t think it was that good? Skip on over to Audible.com and give it a sample listen.

After years of reading, dozens of Stephen King books under my belt, and less time than I would like to give to new books, I still find myself returning to Stephen King’s It over and over. And Pennywise? A child-killing, human-eating, shape-shifting clown luring his prey with promise of cotton candy, rides, and balloons.

Balloons that float.

Alternate letter considerations: Ignorance, Immortality, Impress (think the dragons of Pern).