Category: People

In which all my pent-up ideas for Modern Humor Authority are finally unleashed… ON YOU

June 9, 2008 /
The Children's Hour of Knowledge

Stephen and I have a new podcast! It’s called The Children’s Hour of Knowledge and as you might expect from that title, it a) is not for children and b) contains almost no knowledge. But it is getting better every week! The first two episodes are up now, and the third will go up Wednesday, after which there will be a new one every Wednesday from now until forever.

We really hope you like it! It has a funny beep-beep sound!

Go Play Northwest Con Report: Day One

June 1, 2008 /

PLAYING GAMES IS COMPLETELY AWESOME. Today I playtested a version of Agon hacked into Shadowrun and, even more successfully, a Dragonball Z-meets-epic-level-D&D-as-run-with-Beast Hunters game by Ryan Macklin called Mythender.

Just one day has made me actually want to go back and finish writing Welcome to the New World, the RPG I half-completed in 2005, not to mention the real-time tactical combat game I get really excited about every ten minutes and then get distracted before I write any ideas down. It’s like, oh. Is this why people go to cons?

FINALLY NAILED IT

May 30, 2008 /

This is mostly for my own records. The correct way to rejuvenate your roommate’s leftover half-steak (kept in a Ziploc container overnight) is as follows: slice thin and put it back in the container, splash a little balsamic vinegar and olive oil on it, seal the lid and shake around to coat. Let marinate for ten minutes. Dump on a piece of foil and broil in the toaster oven for a couple minutes more. Sandwich with farmer’s market lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise between halves of crusty roll from the bakery down the street. Ride the flavor horns.

May 22, 2008 /

Kara and I are simultanublogging. It is a race to see who can post their entry first, and I am about to win it. Because Kara is not aware that it is a race.

This is ideally the only kind of race I would ever be in.

My neighborhood is named after a vampire slayer

May 21, 2008 /

After nearly two months in one sort of transition or another, I have achieved something like a temporary stability: I even bought a flat hard bed, manufactured (I am given to understand) by svirfneblin. All of which is to say my name is on a lease, my belongings no longer fit in the Fit and I like it here very much. I live with the very droll Kara, at least until she discovers I used to play Warcraft and kicks me out, and I’m slowly coming around to the idea of a bike.

I promise I’ll get the rest of the Hugner pictures up soon.

Sumana, you should probably stop reading here

May 14, 2008 /

What you have to understand about the Burger King Loaded Steakburger is that I had no choice in the matter. The moment I spied it billboardwise, during the long drive west, I was gripped by the same potent mixture of revulsion and lust that came upon me once in college, when Jon and I first saw the commercial for the Bacon Club Chalupa. We turned to each other, then, eyes wide and desperate, like two men drowning who each believe the other can swim.

Neither could.

So it was only a matter of time before I ran out of excuses for not planting this particular meatbomb in my face. Leaving the drive-thru not ten minutes ago, I left steering to my nervous left hand while my right fumbled through wrappers. The first thing I saw was the edge of the patty, protruding a full inch beyond the hapless bun like a beckoning pseudopod; the second was the utter absence of traditional dressing. There is no pickle here, no tomato. The bastards have delivered a sullen daub of gray potato and onion shards instead, and they have somehow transmuted lettuce to bacon. The rites involved are none I care to imagine.

The sandwich is not good. I stress this even in the full knowledge that it will accomplish nothing; those who weren’t going to eat it won’t, and the rest of you will have no more agency than I did. But like any Lovecraftian narrator, I am bound to commit these desperate words by sheer force of narrative. I must write of its taste, like barbecue Spam fried in motor oil. I must write of its texture, which is also like barbecue Spam fried in motor oil. I must tell you how it sits in my stomach e’en now, heavily roiled, plotting its course downward with the slow cunning of a brain-damaged tiger on spelunk.

Taco Bell recently reintroduced the Bacon Club Chalupa. Should I even have time to post this missive, I cannot imagine that I will outlive it long. The end is near. I hear a noise at the door, as of some crispy flatbread, sliding deep-fried fingers up to caress the latch.