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Friday, December 26, 2003
R.I.P.
Having just read an article about how the funeral industry routinely overcharges for its services I put some thought into my wishes for posthumousness. I guess they can charge whatever price they feel they can get from their customers too much or not. The bad part is that there are certain regulations regarding burying people that require a certain minimum of hygenic protection. (As a side note if you reside in San Bernardino County and die while indigent, the county will provide you with a cardboard "coffin". Seen 'em.) I now think I know how I would prefer to be treated upon my demise.
My first idea is to be wrapped in a burlap shroud and be buried posthole style feet first at the base of a tree. Then the tree's roots could easily enter my shroud and draw fertilizer and nutrients from my remains and thusly flourish and prosper. Then a small stone bench could be placed by the tree with a plaque that reads "This abundant shade made possible in part by Zailo".
My other choice for post mortem treatment is to be skinned and have my flesh tanned. Then when I am fully cured, have watchbands, fobs, wallets and belts made from my hide and distributed among all my friends. That way everytime one of my friends looks at his watch or reaches for his wallet he will be reminded of me. Maybe even one of my really close friends could get a pair of cowboy boots out of it. Or a Zailo bound organizer like those fancy executive types carry. Preferably with my face on it so it winds up looking like the Necronomicon from Evil Dead II. Either way I achieve a type of permanence past my natural lifespan.
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
NEW REALITY SHOWS WANTED!
This should be the newest reality show on Fox: Murder Club. No millionaires, islands, fear factors, blind dates or idols. Just a group of the same self-regarding young people trying not to be the one murdered. Each week watch as the disappointment that they are not the center of attention fade from them as they are killed in front of the cameras. The one left standing gets some sort of prize. I dunno like maybe a harmonica or something. I think I am ready to watch a group of self-absorbed, oblivious and pretentious people be stabbed, strangled, crushed and dragged to death on broadcast television. How about you?
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
JUST FUN
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
A caravan of three black suburbans travels at a good clip along the desert road. They are the only visible movement for miles. Finally the lead car pulls off the road and onto the desert. It comes to a stop as the others follow in turn.
Each suburban disgorges a full load of passengers. Fifteen people step out of the vehicles. Only one of them is bound in handcuffs and tied with rope. The men and the women of the group crowd around the prisoner in a semicircle. They all face him and the desert behind him.
They are all dressed casually and armed with handguns, including two of the females hanging on each other. At first glance they are clearly identical twins. One man has a shotgun.
Finally one man steps forward from the crowd. He immediately proves to be the leader. He is dressed much finer than the others. All he carries is a small pocket tape recorder in his hand.
The bound man, dressed casually much like the others, is obviously frightened. He looks nervously from face to face in the group. They all have the same look of morbid fascination with him. His look stops on the face of the leader. The leader's face expresses no emotion.
The leader pushes the "record" button as he speaks to the handcuffed man.
"You might as well tell us your real name as by the time you may or may not be found, this tape could be the only way to identify you. Think of it as a way of giving closure to any family that you may have."
The scared man looks down at his handcuffs for a moment considering and then promptly looks into the eyes of the leader.
"My name is agent John Stores. I am married and have two child...."
KPOW!! the leader's pistol thunders as he shoots the man square in the chest.
KPOW!!
KPOW!!
The woman sitting jumps in shock at the sounds coming out of the tape player sitting on the large conference table.
KPOW!!
KPOW!!
The sounds of gunfire begin to overlap themselves on the tape giving the picture of a deluge of gunfire at the time of their recording.
KCLICK! Her slender finger pushes the "stop" button ending the cacophony of violence. Her eyes are closed. The tall man in the suit and tie looking out the window doesn't turn around.
"We believe that was five years ago.
Your assignment is to find out what agent Stores was doing..."
The room began to spin as she could feel the darkness coming over her.
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
MINISTRY of ODD FACTS
There once was a Chezch viscount named Petraf Oraculgslev. Some literature experts are now believing that he may have been the actual inspiration for Stoker's Dracula and not Vlad Tepes of Walachia. Despite the fact that Dracula was the Transylvanian prince's nom d'guere.
Oraculgslev fought in the Napoleonic wars alternately for the Little General and then for the Russians. There is one story of how he personally lead troops during a campaign in Poland. He had his troops surround a small village at dusk with orders not to let anyone leave the village under any circumstances. The viscount then entered the village alone. According to the tale he returned near dawn covered in blood and commanded the soldiers to mount up and leave. The soldiers later reported that they assumed their commander must have worked some bizzare compromise with village leaders to leave the hamlet untouched. It wasn't until a day or two later that reports from a following column of soldiers revealed that everyone in the village had been slaughtered.
Much later in life he became even weirder. He actually odered his servants to behead his wife and to asceticly starve him and to ritualistically stretch him on the rack. By the time they had finished following his orders he was bent over, hobbled and crippled yet over seven feet tall! He then went to live with his three daughters at their estates in Boratresvk. There is no official date as to his death but there are stories that he gave orders to be buried in a special ossuary that he had constructed in secret.
 For all you Mr. Show fans out there, here is a shot of a younger and hairier David Cross from a magazine ad from 1990.
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