2002-07-25 - 3:48 p.m.
I think Uncle Bob�s got a fantastic idea here. Except that I�d let Gimpy win--by biting, by doing the patented ball-snatch-grab-and-half-twist, or simply by taunting his opponent with such unrestrained cruelty that he sinks into a suicidal depression and blows his head off right there in the ring.
Plus, Gimpy is too weak a name. I�d call him "Graf Helmut von Krueppelschlagen."
And I�d schedule his championship match right opposite the Jerry Lewis Telethon.
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Speaking of which, I�m going to be visiting friends in Portland over Labor Day weekend this year. Meaning that I�m going to be so busy carousing, debauching and book-shopping that there�s very little chance that I might be channel-surfing one afternoon, accidentally stumble across the Jerry Lewis Telethon,and be driven into such a rage by all the mawkish pity-mongering and degradation of innocent poster children that I go shoot up a Denny�s or drive my van through the middle of the telethon with a nuclear warhead strapped to my waist. Meaning that those friends of mine who dread the approach of Labor Day each year for this very reason can rest easy.
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So I got together for drinks with Dlove Tuesday night and at one point we tossed around the idea of a Diaryland convention.
The more I think about it, the more I like it. We could even have it here. Our convention center was recently expanded, and it annually plays host to a gathering of a couple of hundred thousand comics geeks--I can�t imagine the personal hygiene of Diarylanders is anywhere near as bad as theirs. Just think--we can start things off the first morning with ComfortFood�s Lesbian Pancake Breakfast, then break into small groups for one of Badsnake�s flogging seminars (intermediate to advanced). Later on, Uncle Bob�s coke-sniffing brother-in-law could present his latest performance-art piece for us all, Gawain and I could deliver a joint keynote speech on our various plans to take over/destroy the world, JerseyGrrl could give fingerprinting lessons, and a grand prize of $1,000,000 could be given away to whoever answers the eternal question, "WHERE THE FUCK IS TURTLEGUY???"
We would have to decide how to deal with all the emo kids who�d show up, though. I�m thinking boiling oil, myself.
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I would have updated yesterday but it was way too hot to write. Really. It doesn�t often get mindnumbingly hot in this part of town but there are always at least a few days in July or August when the temperature goes up, the offshore breeze stops, and my brain turns to lukewarm pinkish-gray snot. I could hardly put two words together to form a sentence yesterday.
On the other hand, the nights are hot too, and that�s great. I loooove hot summer nights. Now that I�m on an upper floor I can throw open the windows without fear of crackheads or pedophiliac ex-priests climbing through them. It�s too hot to sleep but I find I need less sleep anyway. It�s balmy. Sultry. Sexy. If I were William Hurt in Body Heat I�d have been fucking Kathleen Turner in the ass last night.
Um. That was an image no one really needed, huh?
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