You Need to Watch Archer. C’mon Buddy.

I use my blog mostly for the forces of Hate and Complaining. Rarely do I take the time to talk about things I enjoy. Why? Because ranting and using cuss-words is fun. Plus, my crazy readers (that would be you) seem to prefer it that way, which is just fine by me. I rant about inconsequential things. It’s what I do. It completes me.

But sometimes, I have a desire to step out of my cantankerous sarcastic shell and talk about something that I truly enjoy, something that deserves to be treasured and adored. Hence my Mass Effect 3 review that reads like a 12-year-old-girl’s crushfest on a cast member of Glee. Clearly, being positive is something I need to work on. So here goes. Smiles on, everyone, it’s time to talk about something awesome, that is not to be missed, and if you don’t start watching it, I will track you down, cut your eyelids off with a pair of safety scissors, and make you watch every second of every show of the greatest thing on TV.

Archer is that thing.

Dealing With Shane: Walking Dead S2 Episode 12 Review

Just Shane and his shovel.

When we last saw our band of… whatever, they were all staring raptly at their last possible glimpse of DaleFace, trying to memorize every last unruly eyebrow hair and getting a good look at the Judgemaster General’s fillings before Daryl made his head explode by firing a high-powered revolver into his skull two feet away. Too bad they faded to black then, because I’d have loved to have seen the reaction of all of those people close enough to get hit by shards of flying bone and brains. “Dude, seriously, what the fuck! I was sitting on the guy! You couldn’t have waited like two seconds. God it got in my mouth!” That would’ve been cool.

This episode begins with Rick eulogizing the dead guy, something he’s starting to get a lot of practice at because he’s been doing a great job of keeping the group safe. Since he took over as Big Bossman, at least 7 members of the group have died (and probably some extras that didn’t get enough airtime to count). That’s close to a 50% loss ratio. He’s, uh, struggling in the role that he claims to have never asked for but sure as hell has gladly taken and run with, telling everyone what to do and making the decisions himself, at least until he changes his mind (Shoot the boy! Help the boy! Abandon the boy! Kill the boy! Keep the boy! Thank god someone else dealt with the boy!)

My Day As A Crackhead, In Photos

I wrote a while ago about playing Crackhead For a Day as part of a law-enforcement training program run by the fine folks of Center Mass Combat Tactics. Now that my failed foray into NaNoWriMo is over, and I don’t particularly feel like doing various reconciliations of various dollar amounts in various categories, I am pleased to present to you some pictures of the event.

Here Are Some TV Shows I Either Hate or Don’t Get

I don’t watch a ton of TV. I do have a bunch of shows I DVR and watch religiously like Archer, Tosh.0, Top Shot (I love Colby, and I love his teeth), some cooking shows (farewell, Good Eats, and thank you for really teaching me how to cook like a badass), Doctor Who, Top Gear, some BBC comedies… well, actually, that adds up to a shitload of TV. But hey, when repeats are factored in, it comes to just an hour or two a day at most. Some weeks we watch none at all.

Sometimes, though, I don’t have anything on tap, or I’m just trying to relax for a bit after work, and we’ll surf around and find something to watch. A lot of times it turns out to be odd shit like Mythbusters or What Not To Wear (don’t judge me) or – hey, I said don’t judge me – something like – you know what? Fine. Judge me all you want. I FIND THE SARCASTIC BANTER OF STACY AND CLINTON BOTH WITTY AND URBANE. So there. – or something equally random. It’s during these times that I am forced to see commercials, a vile life form I hate so vociferously that they can literally make me shake with rage. I have a friend who finds it endlessly amusing the gymnastics I’ll go through when diving 16 feet over a table, 2 dogs, a laptop, and couch to snag the remote so I can mute the first non-show sounds I hear. I really hate commercials.

Every now and again, though, I see them with or without sound. Or I’ll be flipping through the guide and notice the titles, and think to myself – what the fuck? Who watches this? Why? Is this country doomed? What follows is a list of some of those shows that make me wonder about or completely lose faith with humanity.

Oh, and if you’re easily offended, skip the “Toddlers & Tiaras” section below. Actually, you’re better off heading off somewhere else in general, but especially with that section.

NFL Week 3: Goddamn I Hate the F*****g Cowboys

I am fully aware that sports fandom is a wholly irrational pastime. There is nothing inherently logical about identifying oneself with a group of strangers who wear a particular uniform. “Cheering for laundry” and all that. I get it. But just because my logical brain recognizes and acknowledges this doesn’t mean that the lizard brain way in the back doesn’t get its way. I go nearly insane about my chosen type of laundry. There is something else, though, beyond my deep-seated rooting for the Washington Redskins. That is my hatred for the Dallas Cowboys.

I fucking hate the Dallas Fucking Cowboys.

15k in 15 Day: The Humiliation is Chosen

Thanks to everyone who made a suggestion. It’s really nice when people come out to lend a hand, suggesting awful things for another person to perform for their amusement as they bask in the glow of another’s failure. I appreciate it, and that’s not even being said sarcastically.

I’ve decided on the Humiliation that will happen if I fail. To quote the author of Blood Skies and its sequel Black Scars, Steven Montano:

If you fail, you’ll have to attend the opening of the new TWILIGHT movie.

You have to go dressed up as Edward…wearing an Edward tee-shirt…and with Edward glitter on your face.

I believe the film opens in November, so you’ll get a full month-and-a-half to look forward to the experience. =D

I’ll even go one better. If I fail my goal of 15,000 words by October 1st, then I will attend the opening of the new Twilight movie wearing my wife’s Team Edward t-shirt (she’s a lot smaller than me, so I think it’ll end up as a belly shirt [shudder]), black skin-tight pleather pants, knee-high boots, body glitter, vampire teeth, and eye makeup. The event will be filmed (although probably not by my wife, who I imagine will be holding her hands over her eyes for 4 straight hours as she shakes her head at me). The film will be posted on YouTube. I will want to eat glass until I die. I may get arrested as a suspected pedo.

The good news for me is that I can prevent it by finishing those 15k words. The good news for you is that I am currently behind on the pace I need to do it.

And for suggesting the “winning” Humiliation, Steven will get a free copy of The Storm of Northreach when it’s done. Of course, he was already getting a free copy of it, so it’s kind’ve anticlimactic, but I will also send him a SIGNED COPY in paperback. So, you know, there’s that.

Holy Shit, Do I Need a Vacation

Hidey ho. For the past few days, I’ve been contemplating new blog posts. My last one, though, is a hard one to follow. I’ve struggled with writing some pointless angry rant about flip-flops or some other equally stupid shit when the last thing I wrote here was a heartfelt and painful goodbye to a friend I wasn’t ready to lose just yet. It just didn’t feel right to me. I’m sure if Carl was here, he’d insist that I write some stupid piece of shit drivel because that’s what I do, and he wouldn’t want me to change.

So I’m trying. It’ll be drivel, no doubt, and useless, but it’ll be something, at least.