Thursday Morning Hodgepodge

And once again we find the ZFS! Master Schedule all mixed up and topsy-turvy and crazy-go-nuts. ICFC is going to appear tomorrow... with a special celebrity guest, I might add... so the weekly edition of what I'm told the cool kids are now calling "The 'Podge" must appear today, a Thursday, which feels a little bit like writing with your wrong hand or putting your pants on backwards because you're still kind of hungover from that housewarming party last night and, man, what was in that punch... kerosene? The answer is yes, by the way: It was kerosene. And Sunny D. But mostly kerosene. And you're probably going to die because that stuff is way toxic, even if it does make for some quality party punch. But that's not the point... the point is that ICFC is tomorrow, "The 'Podge" is today, and we're all united in a giant warm bear hug of light and life and magic stardream wishes and I wonder if there's any more of that punch left...?

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I've been pretty busy the last couple of days, so it's very possible that everyone already knows about this and is going to be all, "Doye, C-dog," but... um... did the greater New York area get lifted up by aliens, swung across America, and dropped all helter skelter in the Pacific Northwest? Because I think that's what happened. I can't think of any other reason why it would be raining so much. The coolness of temperature is appreciated, don't get me wrong... those of us without air conditioners will take what we can get... but still, gray clouds and rain are for winter, when it's perfectly acceptable to curl up in a ball on your living room floor with Leonard Cohen music blaring so loud that your heart shatters into a million pieces of sad and you cry and you cry and you cry and then the cops show up and you have to go live in a special home for a little while, one that doesn't let you keep your shoelaces and only allows you to write letters home with a dull pencil. It wasn't a suicide attempt, people... it was a cry for attention!!! I don't understand why the courts don't get that. Man, I could use some sunshine.

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Oh, so the graduation went fine. It was like three hours and so boring that I may never have insomnia again, but you know... as a far as graduations go... it was fine. Ellen Burstyn, best known to we horror nerds as Regan's mom in The Exorcist, received the honorary doctorate and she gave a nice speech, so that was kind of cool... oh, except for she mentioned, as part of her "look how far we've come" message, that one time she was in Texas and she was told by a redneck that she shouldn't sit next to colored folks. And it's like, great, thanks Ellen Burstyn for calling out my home state at a huge gathering of people. Now I'm glad you didn't win an Oscar for Requiem for a Dream. Whatever, famous lady. Whatever. But anyway, it all went pretty smoothly and Girlfriend is finally officially recognized as having a hot, sexy brain all fuck you style. Bow before her might. I know I certainly do.

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Want to see the creepiest thing ever? Sure you do. Here, have a look-see:



Okay, let me explain to you what's going on here: The doll? She (it?) is the one in control. Maybe she's been sent forth from the bowels of Hell, maybe she's just possessed by the soul of long-dead serial killer... doesn't matter, because regardless she's running the show. She tells the little girl to kill. And, because kids are easily impressionable... particularly when they come from a strict Quaker background and haven't read a lot of Stephen King novels or even seen the movie Child's Play... she does exactly what the doll says. Lots of bloody farm equipment in the family barn, if you follow me. And the mother doesn't believe that the doll's really pulling the strings. Dolls are inanimate objects, after all. No, she just thinks her daughter is evil; a wicked child born under a bad sign and foretold in the scripture as the coming of Satan himself and all that jazz. But, and here's the kicker, she's covering up the murders. Even if Little Suzy is a bloodthirsty maniac, Momma doesn't want her baby taken away from her. So, in the dead of night, she drags the bodies out into the fields and buries them amongst the rows of corn. Not incidentally, the community just had it's best harvest in a hundred years. One hell of a crop, you could say.

That's what's going on in that picture. I don't care if they try to pretend it's some sort of kid's record. It ain't.