Esophagus Afternoons

What could be better than spending a sunny afternoon nestled in the slimy warm esophagus of a lovely swamp alligator?  Hard to say, but from my experience, NOT being in an alligator's snack pipe would be a much more enjoyable way to spend an afternoon.

The lump inside is me. If he did this just to get my hat then I wouldn't blame him..

So yes, I spent my afternoon inside an alligator's mouth today.  Although it was not in my evening planner I can assure you that.

I had just set up my picnic umbrella near the fancy old pond in my mansion's Picnic Courtyard.  I hadn't visited the old pond since I was just a lad, so I figured it would be good for me to return to one of my childhood memories.  When I arrived however, things weren't quite how I remembered them.  The oval pond's water was murky and black, and the little statue angel that watched over the pond was no longer spouting water out of his cute little discolored pie-hole.  Nevertheless, I set up my Picnicking equipment and began crafting a rather festive turkey sandwich. 

I had just spread out a thick even layer of jam onto the bread when I heard a splashing sound.  I shifted my head to the source of the sound, and there it was.  Two glaring yellow eyes poking out from the murky black liquid like sadistic finger puppets, staring at my sandwich.  I turned my head away and pointed my nose into the air, the universal sign for "I don't need to deal with this."  Too bad for me the alligator wasn't getting the hint.

A thrust, snap, and swallow later, I found myself wedged into an uncomfortably tight spot, submerged partially in strange bodily fluids and nothing but the sound of heavy breathing to comfort me. Had I died at that moment would have been the ultimate irony, considering how it was nearly identical to my faint memories of what birth was like.  Of course irony can save itself for the weaker, because a man like me simply does not tolerate being devoured.

I had considered going out through the opposite end, but from the looks of it there wasn't much light at the end of that tunnel. Then I considered tickling the beast's throat with my mustache, but my mustache had become far too moist for that.  After an hour of brainstorming various escape plans and ways to kill the alligator from within, I noticed something a bit odd.  The alligator's heart beat had stopped!  But how?  Well, my fellow science-oriented friends, the answer would seem obvious had you paid any attention at all to the title of this post.  It can oftentimes be hard to breathe when you have something lodged in your esophagus , and lack of breathing generally leads to death.

So there you have it folks!  If you want to save the species of alligators or crocodiles or whatever it was, make sure you know the Heimlich!

-Cheers!

Double Zed Wednesday

The Swimming Hole

Not one of my better wake-up calls.

While prancing around carelessly in my dreams last night, a sudden high pitched squealing sound, coming from outside my window, interrupted me from my slumber.  I lifted my feet out of the covers and ran to the other side of my kingdom-sized bed to take a look at whatever was making that hideous noise.  Pressing my face against the high quality glass to get a better look, the culprit was revealed.

A short stocky child, with a blue baseball cap wrapped tightly around his crimson-haired cranium and  his green eyes bursting full of tears, was standing there bawling with one foot stuck in my backyard swimming hole.  For those who don't know, my definition of a swimming hole is very different from most.  Whereas most people use the term to describe a small pool or lake that can be used to swim in, I use the term much more literally.  In other words, a swimming hole is an actual small hole in the ground that contains a small volume of water.  Many question my usage of the word "swimming" in this definition, but many also later question why I couldn't have punched them in the face instead.

As the stocky ginger boy tugged at his trapped leg, he opened his mouth and once again made the squealing pig noise that had woken me up in the first place.  At first I was simply going to activate the Swimming Hole security system installed in my mansion, (A massive drill that emerges from the hole) but then decided against it when I saw that the boy had passed out due to his inability to realize that screaming was not helping his little brat lungs gather air.

I trudged outside my bedroom and walked outside to tend to the boy.  I found him collapsed on the floor with his left foot driven like a steak into the hole, his mouth still open from all the squealing noises he was making earlier.  As I kneeled down on the grass and started to pull his foot out, a sudden quake in the ground below me caused me to lose my balance and I was thrust onto the floor violently.

"My word! What is transpiring?" I said as my buttox jiggled from the vibrating earth beneath me.

The Swimming Hole Creature in all its evil glory

Suddenly the crimson-haired boy sprung up like a snake, his eyes now glowing with a fiery green light.  Two green vines burst from the swimming hole and grasped him tightly as it lifted the wicked smiling boy into the air above me.  His gaze fell down on me as a croaky, yet deep voice boomed from his mouth.


"Your days of being a gentleman are over Liveshitzzzz......Tonight will be the last night you don that mustachhhhe...... tomorrow it shall be mine to rule..."

The leafy creature was quickly being consumed by more and more vines, until I could barely even recognize the boy that had once been a simple red-head.  I stood on my feet proudly and pointed a finger at the beast.

"I don't know what you are or who you are foul swimming hole beast, but I know one thing is for certain, you're no match for a pure-bred gentleman!  I'm referring to myself in case you didn't get it!"

The creature of the swimming hole smiled devilishly and whipped at me with its many vines.


"Diiiieeee....Shitz...."

"You'll have to try harder than that my fellow chum!"   I taunted him as I bounced around the backyard, occasionally swatting him with a former-gargoyle's broken arm.

I led the creature around the yard for around an hour, and then decided that enough was enough.

"You're getting rather boring to fight against my green friend, what say you and I end this now?"

"Diiiie..." 

"I was hoping you would say that!"

I snatched up a box of matches from my pocket and lit one of them as I smiled generously at the creature.

"I hope you enjoy your vegetables hot!"

I shouted out to the creature of the swimming hole as I threw the match its way.  A sudden burst of light was followed by the squealing sound I had heard that morning.  As the creature squealed it dissolved itself and climbed back into the swimming hole.

"Thissss isn't over Liveshitzzzzz!"  It shouted as it bubbled back into the water.

"Yes it is!"  I shouted back, turning on the Swimming Hole Security system and watching with guilty pleasure as various green juices sputtered out of the Swimming Hole.

So remember folks, never trust small children, as they're most likely just mutated plant-creatures in disguise.  Cheers!

Mustache Twirling Monday

Flipping through the old photo album today, I came across an old portrait of my dear late Grand-Pappy.  Better known to the family as "Uncle Foosh".  The rather silly nickname derived from the sound his back-hair would make anytime he removed his shirt.  FOOSH!

Uncle Foosh's back-hair looked almost like miniature bat-wings the way it extended from his back and fanned out to his sides.  Despite his somewhat odd appearance, I always saw Uncle Foosh as somewhat of a role model to me, and that's why today's update will be my tribute to Uncle Foosh's favorite past-time:  Growing immense ammounts of facial hair.

Dear old Uncle Foosh

Facial hair often tends to get a bad rep, what with it's tendency to preserve extra bits of food in it's bristles, as well its scratchy-like feel.  For these reasons and many more, most modern men simply just shave them off on a daily basis.  This has to stop my fellow gentleman, this hatred for facial sprouting has to come to an end.  Many men don't realize it, but facial hair has been a very important evolutionary tool in the battle for survival, for many many generations.

In the stone ages, men would disguise their beards as prehistoric bird nests, and lay still on the gravel until their flying prey would lay fresh eggs within the bristles.  Without facial hair, many prehistoric wives and children would have gone without breakfast.

In Medieval Europe, noble knights would grow out large mustaches, to intimidate their enemies when going out into battle.  In those days, only the men with mustaches had a chance of survival.

Even in modern day, goatees are used as status symbols amongst bar-patrons and rock-stars.  The scruffy chins being an indicator of strong-will and rebellious nature.  Even popular images of Devils portray them as goatee-sprouting mischief makers.  This just goes to show what a simple patch of facial hair can do for your manly reputation.

So remember fellow men, facial hair is our history and our pride, and we must not let razors be the end of our manliness!  Uncle Foosh, may you rest in peace.

Busy Busy Busy

As the title says, I'm going to be might busy today.  Busy with what, I cannot say for fear of losing my kidneys. But since you're all such loyal readers, I will leave you with a lovely picture to gaze upon in my absence.  May your eyes enjoy it thoroughly.

The Gentleman Cannon is ready to fire.

Cheers!

Top 10 Most Annoying Comedy Cliches

Everyone loves top ten lists, so who am I to fight their popularity?  I myself do enjoy a good rocket launching countdown, so I suppose top ten lists is a way for those who don't like loud noises to have the same thrilling experience.

As some of you may know I'm a bit of a film buff, and as such I always do enjoy a silly old comedy now and then to help ease some of the tension that comes with being one of the world's most strapping men.  But even comedies, with their silly characters and often nonsensical plots, have standards.  Certain jokes can often be a bit too crude, or sometimes a comedy film simply tells a joke that has lost its luster well over a decade ago.

After a 48 hour-long session of drinking coffee and watching comedy after comedy, both old and new, I have compiled a list of the top ten comedy cliches that desperately need to die before they do anymore damage to the film industry and its consumers.

 NIQUE'S TOP 10 MOST ANNOYING COMEDY CLICHES

10. Pun Fun!

Mostly making an appearance in comedy titles, this little cretin has overstayed its welcome.  A welcome in fact, that wasn't even really a warm welcome to begin with, more like the type of welcome you'd give to a Repo man who barges into your house to take all your expensive valuables.  Movies like "Bee Movie", "Legally Blonde" and "Vampires Suck" all take buck-toothed pride in their "clever"  movie titles.

9. The Dog Sniffs Butts.

This one just never seems to go away does it?  Every time I'm watching a film concerning dogs in any way, shape or form, the same joke comes back. "Dogs sniff butts hahaha!" This may have been funny the first time, or even the second time, but we've reached the point where this joke just isn't relevant anymore.  Dogs are salivating, excitable, often funny looking creatures, and all we can come up with is that they sniff each-other's butts?  What a world for dog jokes.


8. The Bad Guy is Short.

This one surprises me simply because every time it happens the movie tries to pull it off as an original idea.  The camera pans along the baddie's feet as he stomps around, and then as the music reaches a particular evil chord, we zoom back to reveal our vertically-challenged villain.  "Shrek", "Hoodwinked", "Elf", and several other less-notable films all have the same punchline.  Ironically enough, there has yet to be a descent film starring Napoleon Bonaparte as the villain.


7. The Sassy Gay Guy.

So it has occurred to me that in today's world, we have people referred to as "Gays".  While originally I had thought this was a word to describe an extremely happy man, the usage of the word to describe myself at "Hugo's Manly Pub" resulted in the actual definition being beaten into my flesh bag.  This fact aside, I now know what "Gay" means.  I also know what it doesn't mean, and it doesn't mean a man who talks in a lisp while tossing his hand around flamboyantly.  This may be true for some gays, but it isn't common enough to justify every gay character in comedy films being the SAME SASSY GAY GUY EVERY TIME.  In all honesty, it feels like one writer decided to sneak his sassy gay character in everyone else's script, because there is literally no difference between these stereotypes.

6. The Fat Guy Falls.

Now this is a sticky one isn't it?  In most comedies, they employ a tactic called "slapstick".  As the name implies, it usually involves the characters getting hurt in various different ways, some of those ways involving sticks or slapping.  This has proven to be a very successful tactic, as it is flexible enough to be done in a variety of creative ways.  One thing that has gotten rather stale, however, is the exploitation of some of the chubbier characters.  Oftentimes films attempt to wring more laughs out by making the slapping-stick victim a fat guy.  From this point on, the films wants you to know that whatever he does is going to be doubly hilarious because he's fat.  Seeing blubber vibrate may be funny in a disgusting ironic way, but if you keep waving that particular flag it's going to collapse under it's own weight.


5. He's got a Small Willy.

Need I say more?  This one is pretty much tied with "She's got big jugs" when it comes to overdone and needless exploitation jokes.


4. Jingle the Family Jewels.

Better known as "Hit in the Crotch" jokes, this also falls under the slapstick category of humor, but unlike most slapstick jokes, this one hits the same spot every time.  Yes I'll admit I got my Ping-Pongs pricked by a rather nasty spearhead once, and yes it hurt like the dickens, but it doesn't get funnier the more I tell the story.  The same applies to filmmakers and their obsession with man-parts.

3.  Fart Jokes.

I know I'm not alone hating this one.  Think back to the last time you genuinely laughed at a fart joke.  Were you drunk?  Was it at a party?  Were you five years old?  These jokes are the comedy equivalent of parasites.  Still alive, and only draining from the pool of society.  *Poot*

2. Sarcastic Rants

Well if you made it this far, obviously this one doesn't bug you. *Snicker*

1. Pop Culture! Ha?

The Mastermind of all annoying comedy films, Pop culture references are nothing to joke about.  Not because there is nothing to poke fun about them, as there is usually an abundance of things to jab at, but because they age so fast.  Nothing tells you how old a film more than characters discussing how silly the new disco records are.  A good joke is one that does not require you to have prior knowledge to get it.  Jokes follow a simple formula.  The Set-Up, The Build-Up, and the Punchline.  Pop Culture jokes are easy to make mostly because the first step of telling the joke has already been done for you.  You don't need to tell the audience what the joke is about, because they presumably already know of it.  This causes these jokes to immediately lose appeal the second the popular fad or reference has passed, and makes for a bad film overall if used to frequently.  The recent "Movie Movies" such as "Epic Movie", "Disaster Movie" and "Superhero Movie" have all depended heavily on pop culture jokes for laughs.  As a result, they die out rather quickly, simply piling dead material on top of the film industry's idea bucket.

So there you have it.  My very own top ten list.  It seems like what I was really trying to say throughout this whole article is...


Watch More Rocket Launches!!

Adventure for Breakfast

As I stood on the top of that ledge, with a beautiful woman's dainty legs swaying loosely in my burlesque arms, I shouted out into the dark depths below.

"No man alive or dead can keep me from being a gentleman! Not one!"

I waited for a response, but instead I was treated to an echoed thump, most likely the sound of my former-nemesis's body hitting the ground floor.  I had done it, I had once again saved the day!  The woman in my arms must have been happy for me as well, as she was kicking furiously trying to get down, presumably to better embrace her hero.

So that was my morning. Pretty predictable I suppose, but exciting nonetheless.  Although for those people reading this, you may be curious as to what fantastical series of events led to this exciting conclusion.  Well folks, to tell the complete truth, I don't know either.  I woke up that way.

It was all really bizarre at first, as I woke from my slumber and found a dastardly-looking fellow plummeting down a cliff and a distressed woman flailing in my arms.  I was already suited in my suit, bow-tie and top-hat, and my mustache seemed to have already been groomed. What was I supposed to think?  I just played along and did what I would normally do in a situation like that - yell at the dead guy and look good doing it.

Of course after the bizarre incident, I tried questioning the woman regarding the events that took place up until that climactic point, but she seemed rather occupied with her distressing and confusing position, mostly focused on beating me with her precious little fists.  It was more or less at this point I realized that perhaps she wasn't as charmed by my rugged handsomeness as I had originally assumed,

I set the lass down gently, as to not let her frail body go plummeting down the cliff to join her dead kidnapper.  She didn't seem to share the same thought process however, as she hurled herself off the cliff like a brain-damaged chicklet, flapping her arms and shouting.

"I'm coming baby!  Hold o-"

Her frantic screaming was rudely interrupted by the sound of her own bones shattering as she hit the bottom, a few feet away from the other nicely dressed corpse.  There had to be more to all this than meets the eye, so I decided to investigate.  I reached into my top-hat to find a conveniently coiled rope and hook nestled on my morning head of hair.

One agonizingly long set-up later, I had fashioned myself a zipline and started walking down the side of the cliff, careful not to dirty my favorite bowtie.  Soon I found my black leather shoes had touched the bottom, and I turned around to take a look at the bodies.

The man I presumed to be some sort of dastardly villain was suspiciously well-dressed, aside from the blood stains of course.  He donned a lovely looking black tuxedo, with what was either a rose or his kidney poking out from one of his pockets.  The woman also seemed suspiciously un-damsel like, as she was wearing a poofy white dress.  Further inspection of the woman's outfit revealed several other things, amongst them was something old, something new, something that may have been blue at one point, and something I presume was borrowed, but that last one was mere speculation on my part.

Then it all started to come together for me.  They were a newly wed couple!  This explained a lot for me, because I recall my own wedding ending in disaster due to the nefarious plot of an old nemesis, Sir Isaac Cottonwood.  (That is a story for another day, and one I'll most likely delve into sometime in the future) Since that day though, I have always hated husbands in married couples, and developed an unconcious habit of sweeping brides off their feet to keep them away from marriage.

So there you have it.  I incidentally murdered someone's husband and inadvertently also caused the death of his thick-in-the-head wife. Does that make me a bad person?  After all, can you honestly say you've never been annoyed by a newly wed couple in a public place?  All that kissy kissy and baby talk?  I rest my case.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for my breakfast.

P.S. Since I'm a gentleman, I will still say I regret the death of the wife, but the husband probably had it coming.

Pixels and Polygons Galore

If you're a regular reader here, you may recall around a week ago I mentioned something about me starring in my very own computer-pixel-game thing.  You may have also noticed that since that post, there hasn't been much info about it. Much meaning none at all.

I have noticed this as well, and so I stopped by the game designer's office today to see what progress had been made since I had thought up the idea.

The Game Designing Office after Spring Cleaning

After I wrestled the keyboard out of Gorgo's greasy ape hands, I clicked around on some files to see if anything interesting would pop up regarding my game.  After sifting through the many many files filled to the brim with threatening letters towards the mailman, I came across something quite intriguing.

I found something interesting alright, something VERY interesting.
Behold ye blog readers the very first  pixelated version of Nique Liveshitz!

Move over Mario, step aside Sonic, Burn in Hell PacMan, the new king of fantastical games has arrived.

That being said, I actually have no idea what the game is about yet, but if it's anything like this marvelously crafted pixel-Nique, it's going to send many geeky socks a-flying.


But while I'm waiting to find out what sort of digital adventures awaits my virtual counterpart, let's break down what makes other games so much fun.

This way, we can at least make a rough estimate as to what sort of game my persona will be inhabiting soon.


NIQUE'S LIST OF POPULAR GAMES AND WHY THEY KICK ARSE:

Super Mario Bros: Kicks arse because you can smash enemy skulls with your own fat arse.

Sonic: Kicks arse because you get to defy the laws of physics by spinning around like a spazzy top.

PacMan: See article "Pac(k)Man"

Pokemon: Kicks arse because you get to verbally abuse small critters.

Gears of War: Kicks arse because you shoot things.

Asteroids: Kicks arse because you shoot things.

Monopoly: Kicks arse because you get to kick somebody's financial arse.

Birthday Bashing

Sitting in my study this afternoon, whilst busily chewing away at what little wood is left on my pencil, a strange thought entered my mind.  This thought manifested itself as a blog post, right here on this very website, starting on the next paragraph. Starting.....now!

Why are birthdays so important to us?  I mean sure, it's the same numbered day as the day you were born, but in that case why don't we have birth hour?  Birth week?  Birth month?  The fact of the matter is, we all seem to think we need a day for ourselves at least once a year. A day that lets us know that yes, people do care you were spat out into the world, and no, you will never get all those hours of wasted time back.  I, however, believe it's all just an excuse to bask in your own swollen ego.

Because of birthdays and all the fanatic gift-giving and celebrating that surrounds them, I decided to dedicate an article to bashing in common arguments as to why birthdays still exist, and to help you, the readers, recognize why I believe birthdays are a load of bull-shiner.

So here it is folks, Nique's Birthday Bash! 

That's right, You WILL laugh.  It's a baby.  You can't resist.

Common Argument: Birthdays are special because they help make us unique.

Nique's Answer: Well that's a bit narrow minded isn't it?  The day isn't unique at all!  In fact it draws away from the uniqueness in you by reminding you of all the other screaming babies that were being delivered the same time as you.  You're just one umbilical-cord-cut out of many.

Common Argument: When it's your Birthday, you get to reflect on how much you've grown.

Nique's Answer: I always thought that's what New Year's was for.  Besides, there is hardly time to reflect on your past mistakes when you're busy paying attention to what a perfect little angel you are.

Common Argument: Presents! Cake! Candles!

Nique's Answer: Spoiled! Fat! Fire Department!


Common Argument: How can you criticize birthdays for being days where you can bask in your own ego when you clearly do the same thing every day of the year?

Nique's Answer: Precisely, who would want to limit their self-loving sessions to a single day?


Well that's all the bashing I can muster for today, so as a final note, let me just say this.

Happy Birthday!

I am Offended.

I was browsing around on the world-wide-web this morning, looking to see if there was some new electronic way to get my morning tea.  When my search for some sort iTea application ended in failure, I figured I'd cheer myself up by doing what everyone does when they need to feel good about themselves using the internet.  I typed my name up in the internet searching bar.

I suppose my name is too innovative and original for any silly search bar to recognize, as it tried to correct me saying "Did you mean Nick Lives?"  Not caring enough to click on the correction, I simply retyped a description of myself.

"Top Hat wearing, Mustache sprouting, Woman catching British gentleman"

THIS is what came up.

 Curly mustache, white-toothed smile, fashionable top-hat, but all with one major difference:  This gentleman is clearly supposed to be some sort of VILLAIN! 

Now, normally I wouldn't draw conclusions from pictures such as this, considering I'm most certainly not the only man in the world with a mustache and top-hat, but what concerned me about THIS particular picture, is how closely it resembled my Senior yearbook picture at Whipper-Snapper High School.  I'll post it below for reference.

As you can see, aside from a couple of more masculine body lines from my high school picture, they are practically identical! 

Now I confess I didn't look my most handsome in high school, as my uni-brow had formed quite thickly that morning, perhaps giving my smile an "evil" or "devious" vibe, but such exaggerated cartoons depicting me as some sort of evil villain?  Simply barbaric!  I will not stand having my image and name tainted like this, mustached men who wear black top hats are not comical villains by default, we are merely men.

This stereotype is something us mustached men must fight.  From here on out, any anti-mustache propaganda that prowls the internet will be taken care of by me, personally.  And by "personally" I mean in the most physically painful way imaginable, in case that wasn't a clear threat.

Well, I believe I'm pretty much out of things to complain about for today, so cheerio and I'll see you all all on Monday!

Oh wait here's one more.

This one caught me by surprise, if only because this actually did happen to me once.  Believe it or not, but that Cowboy was one vile piece of work. 

Pac(k) Man

In case you're daft and missed the post's title, today I shall be discussing the endlessly popular and forever misspelled arcade game "PacMan".  Yes, the small yellow pie-chart-shaped man who eats dots and gets chased around by ghosts in a maze.  It's funny how we just sort of accept a bizarre premise like that in a game, since if PacMan were a movie, it would be most likely designated for the bargain bin for having such a ridiculous story.

All of the above considered, I have decided today's post will be a breakdown of what possible plot-related situations may have led to PacMan's bizarre position introduced in the game's start.

First of all, let's take what we know about each element in this story and see if we can interpret what might bring them together.

1.  There is a maze. Mazes are usually found in the fall when cornfields are ripe and farmers are ready to make some extra income by charging people to walk through it. From this we can assume that the characters have somehow ended up in a cornfield maze and are perhaps lost. 

2. The dark colored background also indicates it may be night-time.

3. The "Ghosts" as they are called, all have strangely childish sounding names: "Blinky, Pinky, Inky, and Clyde".  Since we've established that PacMan's plot takes place somewhere in the fall, we can speculate that these "ghosts" are merely children running about the corn maze, all fully cloaked in their cheapo ghost costumes in preparation for the Fall holiday, Halloween.

4. The various "dots" that mottle the maze ground, are something to be cleared up, as indicated by the game's rules that PacMan cannot proceed to the next level until he has cleaned all of the dots off the ground.  They probably have little value, otherwise the ghosts would have been picking them up as well.  Since we've established this is a corn maze at night, we can assume the dots are merely insects, littering the crop floor.  This also leads me to my next leap in logic:

5. PacMan is a farmer!  Think about it; the corn-maze is probably closed down due to it being nighttime, and old farmer PacMan is simply out in the maze to clear out all the insects that have gathered during the day.  Too bad old farmer PacMan didn't prepare for lost children, who never found their way out of the maze, and who's parents might file possible wallet-smashing lawsuits against the poor farmer if word were to get out.

6. The "special" dots that cause the ghosts to suddenly become killable. What are these?  Well let's think about it, if Farmer PacMan is trying to avoid a lawsuit from the children's parents, he can't afford to be caught by them, as he would be forced to lead them out of the maze and release them to their worried parents.  What other options are there?  What makes children run in fear more than anything else?   Chainsaws.  Farmer PacMan keeps various powertools located in convenient sheds throughout his corn maze in case he needs to help clear a broken path or amputate a tree's leaning limb, but tonight they would serve a special purpose: To dispose of the troublesome children.

So there you have it!  The seemingly arbitrary setting of PacMan has officially been explained!  In conclusion, PacMan is little more than a desperate, crazed farmer, out on a nightly chainsaw-fueled killing spree!  No wonder it's such a popular game.

               PACMAN:
Hey you punks!  Wocka Wocka Wocka! *Chainsaw Revs*

Fourth Day or Fright Cancelled.

Sorry to say folks, but the fourth day of fright got canceled at the last moment, when a rather massively plump ghost smashed my keyboard into bits and pieces when I starting typing an article regarding overweight ghosts and their negative impact on the afterlife.  So sorry if you were expecting something spectacular on this site's final Halloween update, but chances are you were probably too busy caroling and decorating your Christmas Tree anyway, seeing as how people tend to jump on the nearest holiday the very second the old one has passed.

In other news, I'm going to be in a video-game!  My lovely pet gorilla Gorgo has already begun designing it this morning!  At least I thought he was designing anyway, to the untrained eye it would appear Gorgo was using the keyboard as a back-stratcher, but that's simply his creative genius at work.

Here is a fabulous artwork of me and my cartoon-like video-game persona! It's a lot similar to what I would look like if my father had been the Pillsbury dough boy.

A hero, a legend, a gentleman.  What better character to play as?