An enormous prick...

...is what Dave Sim came across as in his interview with The Onion this week. Since I'm an on-again, off again comic book reader I was vaguely aware of his book, and I seemed to remember him saying something controversial a while back, but I could have sworn it was about Jews, not women. In the interview he comes across as grossly self-important - sort of a real-life Comic Book Guy. It's like he has no clue about what an ass he is. Even worse, he may be an ass and like it. It's certainly believable. What an unpleasant person.

In the interview he says he's stopped hanging out with guys, and I can't imagine too many women would want to be around him. Who does he spend time with? No one is a very realistic answer.

I'm coming across like a comic book geek, aren't I? And I'm not. Not recently, anyway. This interview conveys a truly repugnant person - it's kind of interesting, really. How much can a person suck? This much, apparently.

Flies on the Windscreen

Death is following me today.

First I had to poke around on the internet until I found the horrifying picture of the poor American civilian hung from the bridge in Iraq. It filled me with outrage. Do we need to leave? Increase our presence? Carpet-bomb the fuckers? I don't know. It made me sick - not in a gross way, but in a hopeless one.

Al Jazeera, classy website that it is, put a loving close-up of the picture on their front page. I think they may be just a wee bit biased over there. Their poll question? "What do you think of the cold-blooded murder of Sheikh Ahmed Yassin?"

Then, on my way out of the building after work, I walked by the anatomy labs. Normally those doors are closed, but today they were wide open and the med students were chipping away at the cadavers, who all looked very miserable and flayed. I didn't need to see that, either.

Seen on the Drive Home...

...a bunch of homeboys standing around outside the ER at Charity Hospital. They were smoking, wearing gang colors, looking worried. I guess someone got shot.

...a guy riding his motorcycle, not wearing a helmet (because you don't have to wear one in Louisiana) and talking on his cellphone. Very, very safe.

Squirrel Monkey Head

From the latest recap of American Idol at Television Without Pity:

"Out in the audience, Ryan [Seacrest, the show's douchebag-errific host] borrows Matt's brother's cowboy hat (I think that's him, anyway) and puts it on. It's too large to fit on Ryan's tiny squirrel monkey head."

Secretary

Today at work I actually had to take off the headphones attached to the dictamaphonograph so I could take a letter. Over the phone.

I'm not sure what I went to college for, or what I worked in the .html salt mines for eight years for, but I'm fairly sure it's not this.

God may be punishing me. Unlike Job, though, I won't hesitate to curse him, so he better watch it.

What the fuck are you doing in my saloon?

Okay. This, as Dim in A Clockwork Orange said, is the new way. Besides, having an old-fashioned web journal is soooooo 1998.

So the Wife and I were watching Deadwood, the new HBO series last night. There is a great deal of salty talk on this program.

"They certainly do say 'fuck' a lot," Sonya observed.

"Yeah," I said, "but it's always in that old-time saloon font, so it's historically accurate."

Like so.