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“Why, to be my Queen!” the man exclaimed.

With that, he threw back his hood and indeed shed his entire cloak. Bela was startled to find his visage was not at all hideous as she had imagined. Indeed, she found him rather handsome. That his ears were decidedly not symmetrical with each other only added to his considerable charm. She marveled at the chiseled cut of his deep blue colored business suit as the moonlight sparkled off of his glasses in the most alluring fashion. In one hand, he gently tossed a golden potato in a most casual fashion. (more…)

The walls of the castle began to shake. The companions looked around in alarm, and quickly saw that this was no passing tremor; it was steadily increasing in intensity. “Go!” Bela screamed. Too late. Debris began to rain down and Bela lost sight of her companions. Soon, blackness took her.

Her next recollection was of being lifted from the rubble by strong hands. She could not feel her legs, but oh, how her head throbbed. She lifted it gingerly to view the face of her rescuer, but what she saw only horrified her, and consciousness slipped away once more. (more…)

As the madness unabashedly continued elsewhere in Washington state, two men sat a picnic table on a hill overlooking a quaint American town, that could have been anywhere in the nation. Accept that it was somewhere near the northwestern Pacific coast, which meant persistent clouds, chilled air and the vast majority of the days filled with rain.

Which, interestingly, never seemed to occur unless there needed to be thunder and/or lightning.

The picnic table was situated with several other of its kin near a small restaurant. The smell of overcooked allegedly beef patties on a grill that most likely hadn’t been cleaned since late last century. But the two men weren’t actually eating anything. They sat at the table with a game positioned on the tabletop. A square board was marked with a black and white checkerboard pattern. A dozen game pieces were still in play. Those which had been taken off the board had been tossed into a pile on one side.

One man was reading a book, the same book had been given to Woeisme some chapters ago. His eyes scanned the pages as he ignored his opponent who was rubbing his neck in not entirely teenage angst over what appeared to be a difficult decision. The man was taking the game far too seriously, in his expert opinion.

And his opinion had great merit. He was a doctor, after all. (more…)

For the last few decades, Garry Trudeau has represented each American President with an icon. GWB went through the most, eventually ending up as a floating Roman centurion’s helmet with increasingly tattered plumage as the war dragged on.

Thus far, though, Obama has yet to be assigned an icon.  Today’s strip asserted that Obama, as “a change agent,” is too complex to be reduced to a single visual.

I find that hard to believe. Is he really so impossible to distill to an essence?

What would work?

Perhaps a handful of coins to represent change?  Or one of those old style change dispensers that you wear on your belt, or even a cash register (both of which would represent not only change, but the GOP’s assertion that he’s too ready to dispense money).  A yin and yang symbol to represent balance? Or a pair of scales? Since he is so likened to Mr. Spock, perhaps a logic board (i.e., a computer circuit board). Maybe a basketball because of his preference for shooting hoops.

Any other thoughts?

PAD

Bela, newly empowered by her fluttering swarm of tiny mothlike friends, wheeled on the Potato King.  “You monster!  You knew this would happen!  You’ve made everything worse, and I can’t even figure out how that’s possible considering the storyline so far!”

“Don’t, darling,” Edwood soothed.  “You know you get those awful migraines when you try to figure things out.”

Bela immediately dropped to the ground, clutching her temples.  “Ooooh, you’re right! Why do I do this to myself?”

“Awk?” said the two penguins now representing Jakob, in a tone that suggested Hello?  Can we get back to me, please? (more…)

The Potato King frowned.  “What are fanfiction writers?”

Jakob mooed, meaning either “How do you know so much about freaking
werecows but haven’t heard of fanfiction?” or else “ow ow ow can we
please get back to the POINT before I DIE.”

Edwood said, “Let me explain.  No, there’s too much.  Let me sum up.” (more…)

Jakob mooed painfully.

Something was horribly wrong.  He tried to shift forms again, but agony shattered his concentration.  He was nevered that good at focusing his attention, except towards Bela, potatoes, and on occasion heartfelt teenage coming of ages movies he found late at night on Cinemax.

Edwood patted Jakob uncomfortably.  He liked Jakob much better as a werecow.  Something in his eyes reminded him of his great love.  Not the mirror or that spiffy hair gel but Bela.  Sweet Bela of the Cow Eyes.  “The burns will heal.” (more…)

Whedon fans are up in arms over the widely reported notion of “Buffy” being rebooted on the big screen sans Whedon.

I could very well be wrong–in fact, wouldn’t be surprised if I was–but I see this as a big negotiating ploy. I think that at some point the producers must have approached Whedon, he had terms they were reluctant to meet (money, creative control, whatever) and so they’ve gone public with the notion that they’re willing to proceed without him in order to gain negotiating leverage.

I would not be the least bit surprised if, should a feature film go forward, Whedon winds up attached to it. Of course, knowing Hollywood, I also wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t. Still, it’s worth pointing out that Gene Roddenberry was creatively involved with “Star Trek: The Motion(less) Picture” and actively discouraged fans from seeing “The Wrath of Khan” as being inconsistent with his vision of “Star Trek.” And Gene’s fans were no less rabid than Joss’s. But can anyone deny the relative merits of the two films?

So anything’s possible…

PAD

“Who was that?” Yukon Gold asked as Edwood put his phone away.

“Moo?” Jakob seconded.

“Um, that was my step father.  I like him to keep tabs on me.  We have a rather special relationship.”  Edwood shrugged his shoulders the merest fraction of a centimeter to demonstrate his nonchalance. (more…)

I know this entire “attack site” nonsense may make posting to this entry a challenge, but Glenn is working on trying to sort it out.  In the meantime we ask your forebearance.

PAD

Meanwhile back at stately Sullen Manner, Dr. Argyle Sullen was engrossed in the new game from Poptart Games, “Potatoes Vs. Werewolves” and he couldn’t get the catchy themesong “there’s a werewolf in my yard” out of his head. Not surprising since he was a 400 year old doctor and his head was so full of all the other little stuff he’d picked up in 400 years that once he caught an earworm it was hard to get it out. Only “It’s A Small World” or “Happy Trails” could dislodge a catchy tune and he was not yet desperate enough to attempt either one of those.

Just as the werewolf in the game fursploded, signaling a level up, the phone rang. Luckily for him he had a cheap Skype knockoff so he didn’t have to get out of his chair. He’d have bought the real thing but that would have cut into his videogame budget. “Is that you, Edwood?” (more…)

I was standing nervously at the far end of the aisle in the chapel at Emory University, with family and friends looking on, waiting for Kathleen to appear as if by magic.  The reason I was nervous was that, when my first marriage began to collapse, I had been certain I would never marry again.  If once burned, twice shy, what happens when the first time around you’re nearly incinerated?  Yet there I was, going around again.  I had been fine until that day, but I was beginning to feel like Indiana Jones contemplating a leap from the lion’s mouth.

And then Kathleen stepped out at the far end, escorted by her parents.  The moment I saw her, the epitome of the radiant bride, I knew everything was going to be fine.

And everything has been.

Happy anniversary, my love.

PAD

“SANTORA” faded in the distance and Yukon Gold breathed a sigh of relief.  “Whew, that’s good.  I’d hate to be mashed by El Patata, my brother, since I have this quest to live for now.”

He rode Jakob-the-Holstein and they were making good time, well, good time for a cow, which was barely above a panicked snail’s pace.  Yukon bounced a bit in an attempt to get Jakob to go faster. (more…)

Originally published June 26, 1992 (more…)

…and in this instance, the obscenity is the persecution of people under child porn laws–laws that were designed to protect real life children being photographed, not drawings of them–simply for owning manga.

The latest case had a less than satisfying outcome as detailed in the CBLDF press release below. (more…)

Yukon Gold had only a few moments to consider his situation. He could still hear El Patata shouting, “Santora!” off in the distance, but he was a bit more concerned about the very loud “Moo” that sounded much closer — and much more threatening. Yukon Gold wasn’t sure what “Santora” meant, but the menace in the “Moo” was unmistakable. He turned, slowly, afraid of what was keeping him company in the otherwise deserted forest. (more…)

Upon Yukon Gold’s command, a pair of figures seemed to appear amongst the gathering as if out of thin air. Both were powerfully built black men with clean-shaven heads and impressively full and well-kept goatees. At first glance, one might have thought them twins, and one would have been right. But it wasn’t their skin color and grooming habits alone that would lead one to think that the pair had once been womb-mates. (I know, old joke, couldn’t resist.) The ridiculous nature of their garb helped hammer the fact home.

Both men were dressed in matching black khakis and beige turtleneck sweaters, with only one distinguishing feature between the two of them. In order to tell them apart, Yukon Gold had seen fit to have their names embroidered in dark brown letters across their chests. And even though Edwood, Something and Woeisme could plainly read the big block font, Yukon Gold still announced with a flourish, “Allow me to introduce you to Chip and Spud, my Home Fries!”

“Wait a minute,” the one called Chip said, “Your what?”

“Home Fries?” Spud interjected. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well…um…it’s just that…” Yukon Gold sputtered. “It’s a play on words. You know, like how you people sometimes call each other homies? So I thought…”

“Whoa, you people?” Chip bellowed.

It was at that moment that Edwood quietly and without Yukon Gold’s notice, chucked a thumb over his sequined shoulder, thereby giving Something and Woeisme the universal sign for ‘Let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-here-because-this-is-about-to-get-ugly’. (more…)

In Orlando for Oasis 22, a science fiction convention. I’m the writer guest of honor. Such honors always make me nervous because if I’m the main guest and the convention is underattended, then I assume it’s my fault.

Did a store appearance today at Coliseum of Comics. Nice folks. Really nice store. Spent a little time at Disney; Kathleen and Caroline spent a LOT of time at Disney. Will swing by Magic Kingdom tomorrow. Then it’s off to the convention. Hi ho, hi ho.

PAD

Jakob realized he’d need a drink. Probably three or four before everything that had been going on this evening made sense.

The potato-man pounded a fist into an open hand and repeated its cry, “Santora!”

How’d they end up back in the woods? Weren’t they just in an alley near Forks? With a car smash-up? Could he be…El Patata?

Jakob knew where they were. He could her the noise of the noisome stream, Slough of Despond. They weren’t far from Sullen Manor. Feeling the need to run, his cowardice once again returning, but also remembering that Bela, his love, wasn’t far. Jakob tried to shapechange.

He had hoped for werewolf, but it wasn’t to be. After a few mintues where it was difficult to figure out who was more surprised, Jakob or El Patata, he shifted from werewolf to were-vampire to were-tree to were-Ford Prius to to were-goldfish to were-Joss Whedon and after a quick song and dance routine, ended up back as a were-cow. (more…)