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Liars, Damn Liars and Magic Players

Liars, Damn Liars and Magic Players published on No Comments on Liars, Damn Liars and Magic Players

One of my wife’s friends and colleagues is an honest to goodness Montana rancher. His ranch has been in his family for approaching a century.

He spends long hot summers on horseback herding cattle, mending fences, and working harder before breakfast than I do all day.

Oh, and he’s in his 60’s. Before you get the wrong idea (quaint anachronism and all that) I should tell you he has a degree in Mathematics from the University of Chicago. He’s no bumpkin.

To unwind after work he “gardens.” I’ve added the quotation marks because it would be easier to measure his “garden” in acres than it would in feet. His garden is entirely organic, not so much because he’s into the organic food movement, but because he’s old school.

Old, old school, and very generous.

All week we’ve been gorging ourselves on the produce that he gave us, produce that tastes alive–I don’t know that there’s any other way to say it.

I had a meal of exclusively corn that I shucked moments before I cooked it–corn so perfect that salting or buttering it would have been a sin.

I rinsed most of the dirt off of a carrot and ate it up to the greens, the bit of grit in my teeth only added to its perfection.

I sauteed zucchini, squash, peppers, more corn, onions, carrots, and tomatoes–into something approaching Joy.

Perhaps, that’s why I was so disappointed with the restaurant we ate at today. Nothing I ate tasted as if it had once been alive.

The authentic “Italian” cuisine, from America’s favorite Italian chain, did have some good points though.

For instance, it had volume, as in there was shit ton of it. The restaurant was also a generous with the number of calories offered.

The meals did look nice, they came in shapes and colors that signified food.

That said, the chefs who designed the meals did make an interesting choice in opting not to actually include flavor of any kind.

It’s alright though, I’m at home and I have access to flavor. Flavor I’ll achieve with a pot of boiling water and the ear of corn I’m about to shuck.



An ABC Book

An ABC Book published on 2 Comments on An ABC Book

I’m super proud of this comic.

Some elements are true, some are inspired by true events.

The “A is for Arcade” panel was inspired by one of the great dating fails of all time. This is how Rico Suave I was…

My now wife and I planned on renting a movie (back when such things were done in places called video stores) and it was my job to pick something. I couldn’t find anything that interested me at the video store, but wouldn’t you know it they had a copy of a Nintendo 64 brawler WCW vs NWO. Needless to say, my wife wasn’t interested in a night of clunky console Pro-Wrestling. I spent the night on a stinky couch with my roommates–half-heartedly smacking Eric Bischoff in his face.

What she saw in me is still a mystery, but I’m glad she saw it.

The “B is for Botched” panel is a myth. My wife has never had a bad hair cut. A myth I say!

Though if she did, I might use it as an excuse to buy us matching pith helmets.

The “C is for Carry” panel is true. I have held many a bag so that my wife might have both hands with which to vanquish her rivals at a shoe sale.



Cutting the Cord

Cutting the Cord published on 5 Comments on Cutting the Cord

We did cut the cord and I regret nothing.

I still watch way too much TV, but happily I’m not paying to watch the same program three times on different services (i.e. Cable, Amazon, Netflix, Hulu).

On the TV front, we’re re-watching The Walking Dead to pre-funk for this fall’s Season 3. I’ve come to a few conclusions:

  1. T-Dog’s continued presence on the show is not as inexplicable as one might expect. Although his character is poorly developed and ignored for the majority of Season 2–I’ve figured out why he’s still around.  He’s around so Merle can get revenge. Then we get a Darryl vs Merle brother fight. It’ll be glorious.
  2. Lori is more toxic than the zombies.
  3. Shane was almost always right.
  4. If my wife had to choose a survivor to be with it would be Shane. I suggested Hershel, but she stuck with Shane. Women are weird.
  5. I would like to go fishing with Otis, and I don’t even care for fishing.
  6. Lastly, and this is hard to admit, I realized that if the Zombie Apocalypse does strike I have virtually no marketable skills. My existence is completely dependent upon a well functioning civil society. I am good at reading and analyzing books–a skill I trade for cash. I can’t hunt, shoot, fish, build, forage, fix, or really do anything.

Before I bid you all a very fond farewell this week, I’d like to give a shout out to my friend Brian. He’s writing a blog for, Soup Friend, Javis Ray over at Legacy Control. Brian is a stellar writer who puts out some really funny nerd-culture commentary. Whatever he writes I read and you should too.




Holy… published on 4 Comments on Holy…

Tonight’s blog will be short as I need to explode somethings with an old flame, Rochelle.

Her hobbies include Depeche Mode, TV Producing, and zombie killin’.

I don’t know why I always wound up playing Rochelle, but I did. I couldn’t sing you a Depeche Mode song to save my buddy Keith’s life, so it can’t be that. I’ll leave you to speculate.

Longtime readers of the comic have no doubt guessed that Jim and I are huge Left 4 Dead fans. We played the game, as Jim has fondly noted, nearly every night for two years. I picked it up on Steam’s Summer Sale for $5 and find myself quickly falling in love all over again.

At this point in my life it’s an almost perfect game for me. It’s competitive and compelling, funny, and if my little guy wakes up I can walk away knowing that the AI will take over and my pals won’t be a Rochelle short when the horde arrives.

Man, oh man, does Valve know how to make a game!




Praise published on 3 Comments on Praise

So there I was in the Costco bakery.

I was going to buy something.

Something awesome.

While I decided, I watched the busy bakers pull giant muffin trays out of equally giant ovens.  The smell is intoxicating.

I love the Costco bakery. It’s a place of anticipation.  A place of promise.

Moderately priced priced baked goods inflated to Herculean portions–it’s like getting a “Golden Ticket” except I’m not burdened with a sadistic Wonka making a morality play of the experience.

I am however burdened with a cholesterol of 335 (a good 135 points above acceptable, or so I’m told).

Saddled with that number and a family history of early exists–I fear my love for mammoth baked goods, is a love that was never meant to be.

So I equivocate–perhaps a five pound key lime pie is excessive; I guess I don’t really need a 12544 calorie chocolate cake (that’s actually true, sad, and true).

I told you though, I was determined to get something awesome. Instead, I got the most banal of baked goods, I got chocolate chip cookies.

They’re good, but my god it felt like a failure when I bought them.

The failure was complete when I ate two in the parking lot.

The worst part, I spent well over a hundred dollars there today. Other than beer and cookies I can’t for the life of me think of what I bought.