An Accidental Correspondence with Kim Jong-un


I’ve been receiving strange emails in my inbox.  I think they’re from this guy:

In this image taken from video North Korean leader Kim Jong Un, center, salutes during a military parade marking the 65th anniversary of the country's founding, Monday, Sept. 9, 2013, in Pyongyang, North Korea. (AP Photo/KRT via AP Video) TV OUT, NORTH KOREA OUT

What follows is the entirety of our email exchange.

HELP!  I MIGHT BE TALKING TO KIM JONG-UN VIA ACCIDENTAL EMAIL.

Sent to thecorngoblinofficial@gmail.com from kimjong@nk.nk at 11:24 PM

친애하는 일반 황 ,

그것은 멈추지 않을 것입니다 ! 시끄러운 스피커 는 국경 을 통해 끊임없는 대중 음악 을 폭발 , 나는 나의 아름다움 잠을 얻을 수 없습니다 입니다. 당신은 포격 을 계속 해야합니다. 내 최대의 궁전 심지어 벽은 음악 밖에 없는 블록 ,하지만 폭발 금속 의 소리 는 확실 하지 . 또한 저녁 식사 목요일 밤 사용할 수 있습니까? 나는 나 자신이 점점 외로운 찾을 수 있습니다.

사랑 ,

김정은

Translated via google translate

Dear General Huang ,

It will not stop ! 
Loud speaker explosion of popular music through the endless frontier, 
I can not get my beauty sleep. You have to keep shelling .
 Even within the palace walls up to the block with only music , 
but the sound of exploding metal are not sure. 
It can also be used for dinner on Thursday night ? 
I find myself more and more lonely .

love ,

Kim Jong-un

My Reply

Dear Kim Jong-un,

I think you have the wrong email address.  I am no one of your generals.  I’m not sure how you possibly made this mistake.  Also, this can’t actually be the real Kim Jong-un. Is this some sort of scam? Send me a picture of you at your computer.

Sincerely,

The Corn Goblin

Sent to thecorngoblinofficial@gmail.com from kimjong@nk.nk at 11:28 PM

친애하는 옥수수 고블린 ,

어떻게 저를 믿지 감히 ? 내 말 은 금 이다. 내 입으로 는 하나님의 입 이다. 그것 에서 , 진리 는 깨진 베개 에서 깃털 처럼 떨어진다. 태양 광선 은 내 엉덩이 에서 와서 나는 방귀 때, 계피 냄새 , 하지만 난 단지 방귀 를 할 때 .

어떻게하면이 잘못된 이메일 주소 로 보내 나요?

여기에 사진 입니다.

진심으로,

김정은

Translated via google translate

Dear Corn Goblin ,

How dare you not believe me ? I mean, it is gold. 
My mouth was the mouth of God. 
In it, the truth will fall like a feather pillow from broken . 
When the sun's rays come in my ass , I fart , smell of cinnamon, 
but only when I fart .

How do I send emails to the wrong address?

Here is a picture .

Heartily,

Kim Jong-un

image

My Reply

Why are there so many people around your computer?  Why are you talking about farting?  Is there going to be war?  WHO DOES YOUR HAIR?

Sincerely,

The Corn Goblin

Sent to thecorngoblinofficial@gmail.com at 11:31 PM

친애하는 옥수수 고블린 ,

오 예.

온라인 내 장군 을 사칭 계속 하면 전쟁 이있을 것입니다.

나는 물론 , 내 자신의 머리를 않습니다. 누가 그렇게 잘 할 수 있을까? 내가 처럼 아무도 다른하나님 의 손 이 없습니다.

내가 다시 얘기 해야하는 경우 , 내가 당신을 죽일 암살자 의 치명적인 팀 을 보내드립니다.

최고의 소원,

김정은

추신

당신의 " 대통령은 오바마 대통령 이 " 그 빌어 먹을 음악을 거절 말한다.

아니면 .

Translated via Google translate

Dear Corn Goblin ,

Oh yes .

If you continue pretending to be online in general there will be a war .

I , of course, do my own hair . Who could be so good ?
 No one another the hand of God as I do.

Why do you keep talking about farts?  Damn this google translate.  
It messes up your english into my Korean.  I don't think very accurately.

If I have to talk again , I will send a team of deadly assassins to kill you .

Best wishes ,

Kim Jong-un

Postscript

Your " President Obama ," says reject the fucking music .

Or .

I did not contact him again, for fear of deadly assassins.  I think I learned something that day, though.  I learned that even iron fisted dictators have frustrations with technology, which sort of humanized Kim (as I now call him) a little bit.  I also learned that they apparently have access to Google in North Korea, and that Google Translate isn’t very accurate sometimes, be you a lonely blogger from Los Angeles, or a maniacal dictator from North Korea.

In that way, we’re sort of kindred spirits.  It’s the human condition, really.

Someone, please help me.

Please.

ninjaparty

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How to Get 3 Million Blog Views


Dear readers,

I’ve recently been working with a team of researchers from Miskatonic University, whose main goal is the delve into the lost recesses of cyber space and uncover long forgotten blog posts from blogs that, for one reason or another, came offline.  We’ve made some astounding discoveries.  This following piece is a prime example of some of the lost treasures we’ve found.

-The Corngoblin

**********************

3 MILLION VIEWS

3 MILLION VIEWS

Hi guys!  In case you’re new here, my name’s Peter, and I’ve got 3 MILLION VIEWS, and I’d like to show you how you can too.  You guys are obviously familiar with my work since, you know, you’re on the internet, so here we go!

HOW TO GET 3 MILLION VIEWS

I go on a lot of people’s blogs, normally just to post a spam comment so they come look at mine, sure, but it still counts, and there’s one thing I always notice.

They Aint Got 3 million views

Some barely have 1,000!  PATHETIC.  That got me to thinking, why does a famous, successful blogger like myself have so many views?  I mean, so many.  Is it fair that some bloggers get all the views, while other bloggers are relegated to the blogging slums, flighting each other for 10 views a day?  The short answer:

YES, IT TOTALLY IS

It’s called natural selection, or selective blogging, or maybe even blogctual naslection.  Survival of the fittest, and as anyone in the blogosphere could tell you, I’m the fittest, because baby, I’m survivaling.  I feel bad for those pathetic bloggers who don’t have any views, so I’ve decided to take the time out of my busy blogdule (blog-schedule LOL) to try and help those poor unfortunate souls.  First off, if you don’t have many views, then

YOU’RE PROBABLY A BAD WRITER: No offense, but you should just quit.  You’re wasting everyone’s time and taking valuable views away from people like me, who want to get 3 million more.  3 MILLION.

But for those ouf us who are good:

THERE’S HOPE

Follow this list and you too will get…

THREE!  MILLION!

THREE! MILLION!

  1. USE PICTURES: They say a picture is worth 1000 words.  I say a picture is worth:

THREEMILLION
VIEWS

The Joker and I have one similarity: He likes bullets and gasoline, and I like pictures.  What’s the similarity you ask?

joker cheap

Free, even.  So use pictures.  Not only do they get traffic back from google image searches, but they LOOK PRETTY AND ARE FUN TO LOOK AT.

2.GO CLICK LIKE ON OTHER PEOPLE’S BLOGS: They’ll come look back at yours.  Who cares if they don’t read?  It’s not reading you’re going for, its views.  You don’t even have to read they’re posts, just click “like”…

big jerk

3. WRITE SOMETHING CONTROVERSIAL OR OFFENSIVE, YOU IDIOT: If you make people mad, they’ll comment about how stupid you are, and tell their friends to come look at your stupid blog.  Everyone will hate you, but WHO CARES?  It’s the VIEWS.  For instance, did I tell you that Harry Potter is a STUPID IDIOT, and his books are so bad, I have no idea why he wrote them?  And that Lost is the worst thing to be on TV since they showed those videos of that school bus falling off a bridge?  LOL  And Reddit is for stupid fools that don’t know how to use 9gag.  And wordpress?  Don’t get me started on wordpress.  MYSPACE4LIFE, GEOCITES BITCH.

4. ENCOURAGE VIEWER FEEDBACK: Talk to people if they comment on your post.  IT’S ONLY POLITE.

5. DON’T WRITE BAD POSTS: If you write something that’s BAD, then people won’t want to read it.  So don’t write anything that’s bad. I know it comes easy for amazing bloggers like me, but that’s cause im a flippin GENIUS.

*****

After careful research, it was discovered that Peter had been slain, stabbed 30 times with a long knife at a meeting he had arranged for fans of his blogs.  Strangely, there were no witnesses, and none of the 30 fans who had shown up were called in for questioning.  Another internet mystery.

Travel


~On Traveling~

I started out this post wanting to prove to the world that traveling isn’t as good as everyone lets on.

Image

After looking through all these pictures, I’ve completely changed my mind.  It’s worth it.  It’s totally, unequivocally  irrevocably worth it.

dover castle

Now, you might think you can get away without traveling.  Take food, for instance.  One of the troubles with Europe nowadays is that the food is almost universal, at least from my experience.  Sure, the French food in France is better than the French food in London, but I can still get French food in London at far less cost, and they speak English, or at least I don’t feel quite as dumb when they don’t.  Same thing with Italian, German, Spanish, Russian (which I’ve never actually sampled.  Anyone know what russian cuisine is like?), it’s all there.  So that’s one less reason to leave.

churhc

All of this true, but when you eat a croque madame in a cafe in Paris, looking out the clear glass window into the bustling, twisting streets, and everyone is speaking Frech, and your completely happy to munch on your meal and play at guessing what they’re actually saying, you begin to understand a little bit more about France than you otherwise would have in your neighborhood pub with a croque monsier.

Travelling can seem daunting at times, though, and it can sometimes seem a bit boring, though it is, in fact, anything but.  Things just lose their glamour after a while.

Paris

Versailles, for instance, is great.  It’s a bloody huge palace that removes any pity you may have had for Marie Antoinette or the French aristocracy, because it is nothing if not absurdly opulent.  I Mean, look at this:

versailles chapel

My God!  Or try this one on for size:

Hall of mirrors

Now you can’t tell me that if you were a french peasant who had recently lost his favorite mound of dirt to a royal tax collector, you wouldn’t be more than a little upset when you saw this place.  Makes sense, right?

But that’s not really my point.  It’s actually the opposite of my point, for as I walked through Versailles, through room after disgustingly opulent room, I began to marvel less and less at the richness of the place.  Indeed, by the end of the tour I was quite blasé about it.

“Oh, look.” I’d mutter in a monotone to Jared, “Another jewel encrusted doorway…”

“Gee,” he’d say, “Havent seen that before.”

versailles ceiling

Just imagine how boring the world must have seemed back then if you were a king.  You’d be bored with Versailles, which was probably one of the most beautiful places in the world at the time.  What else is there?

Especially when you have statues of yourself looking like apollo enshrined all over the place.

Especially when you have statues of yourself looking like apollo enshrined all over the place.

And it kind of goes that way everywhere you travel. Another beautiful lagoon (BVI’s), another ungodly huge graveyard (Ypres), another monstrous church (Rome).  You get used to it, and pretty quickly I might add.  It’s not that the things are suddenly less good because you’ve seen a bunch of them, it’s that they just begin to become part of the scenery, to the point that you never notice them, and that if a tourist were to ask you where St. Paul’s was, you’ respond with “Well, i think it’s over there.  Not really sure why you want to go to that place.  It’s just a beautiful cathedral.”

st. pauls

But if you only go to these big places, you miss some of the other things.  The things that really make the trip special.  Like this.

amelie

It’s the cafe where they filmed Amelie.  Cities like paris are full of little treasures like this, hidden away from you as you run by, sprinting from Notre Dame to the Eifel Tower, a tattered map in one hand, fifty euro clutched in the other.

thames

So what’s my point?  I don’t really know.  Sometimes, you just write about something you love simply to write about it.

horse on hill

I guess my point is this: I’d encourage anyone planning a trip to take a step back and think, really think, about what it is you want to do.  Nine times out of ten I would bet it’s not run yourself ragged seeing every single big, famous thing in the city, because when you rush through, you miss the little things, the tasty things that make traveling worth it, and make life worth living.  You miss wandering down the alleys that only locals use, and watching street performers, and rushing off before the end because you don’t have the money to pay them, or leaning against a brick wall and sipping on mulled wine in Covent Garden Market as you people watch, or simply sitting on a bench and watching the river flow on by..

I'll leave you with a caption from the best worst movie ever, "The Room"

I’ll leave you with a caption from the best worst movie ever, “The Room”

Dear god, another one!


Well, dear and gentle readers, I must, first and foremost, apologize for not having posted anything in the past 3 or so months.  I was going to apologize for not having written anything, but as the most devout of you are surely aware, I am in a graduate screenwriting program, and have therefore written quite a few things, just not blog things.

I was doing pretty well with blog posts until we hit the production cycle last semester, which is when in a few short weeks every student directs his or her own movie, and also does every other film set position on other people’s movies.  It’s sort of like undercover bosses, except that all the people you may have pissed off while you were the boss know exactly who you are, and their turn is coming up soon.

The most exciting thing that happened to me during this whole period happened on the first day, when, in a dusty and dank warehouse, I dropped a $60,000 lens onto the cold, hard floor.  The concrete welcomed it greedily, and everyone else, the whole film crew and actors, watched it in slow motion as it tumbled from my clumsy paws.  There was really nothing I could do; my arms wouldn’t react fast enough.  It’s ironic, I thought, that the thing you are most often warned about not dropping is more often than not the thing that you drop.

And warned we had been.  Every class, every day, to hold the lens securely, and cradle it, much like one would baby Jesus, unless you were a Satanist or something, and make sure the party you are passing it too has secure hold of it before you release your grip.  This point was stressed again and again.

I honestly have no clue how I dropped it, I just sort of fumbled it.  One moment it was in my hands, and the next moment I was curly from the three stooges, clawing desperately at a 35mm lens that had seemed to have turned into a Mexican jumping bean, and refused to stay locked in my grasp.

As fate would have it, the trajectory at which I had launched my expensive missile led it to strike my friend Joel’s hip, and somehow, magically somehow, roll down his leg, like a wheel going down a hill, have a soft landing on his shoe, and then roll across the floor, where my friend John snatched it up before it could crash into a wall and shatter completely.

The room was dead silent.

“Gosh” was all I could manage to say.  The director nodded in agreement.  Gosh indeed.  As it turns out, the lens was somehow completely fine, a godsend, and I was merely charged a fee for having someone look at it, which I’m not entirely sure I ever actually got charged.

I was so warn out come winter break that writing was the farthest thing from my mind, and then, in Januare, I loaded up on an airplane and flew across the northern Atlantic to make my new home, at least for the next three months, in old London town.

It’s part of the writing program.  We get sent over here to work with British playwrights and other British people.  It’s supposed to help our writing, but it’s really been is an absolutely lovely way to write one’s first complete screen play, in a fabulous city, steeped in history and time, and rich in culture.

London, I’ve come to find, is nearly the antithesis of Tallahassee.  It feels safe where Tallahassee feel like there is death lurking around every corner.  It is clean, where Tallahassee is covered in litter.   It is classy, where as Tallahassee is full of bros.  Not that I don’t like Tallahassee.  Quite the contrary, it’s a fun place.  I just wouldn’t want to live there after I finished the program, but I wouldn’t mind living in London, even during the bitterly cold winter.

What’s gotten me back into blogging, you ask?  Well, the answer is twofold.  To put it simply, the first reason is that I’m supposed to be doing something else right now, yet another outline for my screenplay, but I’m meeting with my professor later to work out some kinks.  The kinks are only at the end, but it’s still an excellent excuse to not work on it.

The second reason is that the estimable Reverend Mother has nominated me for the Versatile blogger award, my third award if were counting, and we are, and I couldn’t bring myself to not write a lovely thank you.

So, thanks for the award.

Ok, so I’m reading this list of things I need to do in order to receive this award.  15 people.  I need to nominate 15 other people for the award…

1. http://seedofbilly.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/weekly-poem-2/#comment-51

2. http://stvaltheeccentric.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/still-writing/comment-page-1/#comment-12

3. http://vincentmars.com/

4. http://ahouseandagarden.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/oh-my-word-many-words/#comment-1472

5. http://narrellemharris.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/it-means-what-it-is/#comment-1727

6. http://ramblingsfromamum.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/five-sentence-fiction-challenge-empty/comment-page-1/#comment-6574

7. http://writenaked.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/5-ways-to-make-money-writing-as-you-travel/#comment-547

8. http://screenwrites.wordpress.com/

9. http://bonesmurphy.wordpress.com/

10. http://gameoverbooks.wordpress.com/

11. http://alyssalyssa.wordpress.com/

12. http://observingvessel.wordpress.com/

13. http://clareodea.wordpress.com/

14.http://markbirch33.wordpress.com/

15. http://kamikazehermit.wordpress.com/

Dear me that took a long time.  Now I have to write 7 facts about myself.

1. One time, upon leaving my house, I witnessed a possum eating another possum; on my very doorstep no less!  It’s one of those images you can’t ever unsee, and it haunts my dreams to this day.

2. I’m living in london right now.  The weathers been quite bad the past week, but it seems to be getting better.  I might even go to the farmer’s market!

3.I quite enjoy tea and coffee, but here in englan i’ve somehow been drinking more tea than coffee, I guess because it’s cheaper and easier.  It’ll be nice to get back to florida where coffee is a plentiful as fire ants and the rain.

4. I had never seen Tarentino’s from dusk till dawn until this weekend.  It’s quite good.  You should wach it.

5. I’m an aspiring screenwriter and I care more about sports than the academy awards.  Is that bad?

6. I fought a grizzly bear to the death one time.  With a knife.  I won’t say it was easy, but I’m still here.

7.I know how to sail a sailboat.

Cool, there we go! Thanks gain, http://lifeaswedontyetknowit.wordpress.com/ for the award!

It was only inevitable, after all…


Well dear readers, it seems we have reached yet another milestone.  I’ve finally gotten a blog award.

Uh-oh! Party Spock’s back! Looks like we’ll be tearin’ up the clubs with our cold, unfeeling logic tonight!

I have, this very weekend in fact, been nominated for two blogger awards, first from the estimable sued51 of http://sued51.wordpress.com/, and secondly from the incomparable Exceeding the Speed Limit, of http://exceedingspeed.wordpress.com/ .  Congratulations.  Your loyalty has been duly noted…

As for the rest of you…

Behold, your punishment!

Anyway, I encourage you to go a visit their blogs.  Sued51 gave me the sunshine award, I suppose for bing luminous, though more likely because I somehow brightened her day.

Here’s what it looks like

I’m glad I could help.  Exceedingspeed gave me the one lovely blog award, for having a lovely blog.  Again, I say thank you.

And this is that one.

Now, Down to Business

Reports have reached me that there are certain… requirements one must fulfill in order to fully receive an award.  Many bothans died to bring me this information, and so I thought it only fair that I would act on it as soon as possible.  Apparently, I have to answer some questions about myself, though the intelligence the bothans had stolen was damaged and incomplete.  I would have gotten quite upset with them, but they managed to let me know that the new death star isn’t fully manned or fully operational yet.

Excellent! Commence the attack!

Plus, they’re all dead anyway, and you can only beat a corpse so many times before your arm gets tired, so what’s the point in being mad?

Some Facts About Me

  1. My favorite time of year: is fall.  I wrote a post about it in a drunken fit of ecstasy  the likes of which I won’t see for quite some time.  I’m broke and out of booze.  Alas, such is life.  You can read it here.
  2. My Theme Song: Fear of the Dark by Iron Maiden.  Not only is it one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands, but I both am afraid of the dark and enjoying scaring people when I hide in the dark.
  3. What would you like to change about yourself?  I would like to not have allergies.  That would be awesome.  Also, if I could shoot lasers out of my eyes…
  4. What is it that you do, anyway? I am currently a graduate film student at the FSU college of motion picture arts.  I’m in the screenwriting program.  When I’m not doing that, I’m usually plotting with pinky on how best to take over the world.
  5. Whats your favorite time of day? Morning.  Easy.  I love coffee, breakfast food (bacon, donuts and CHICKEN BISCUITS) , and the sunrise.  These things all go hand in hand, and each one is complimented by the other, so that when all three are combined, this happens:
  6. What would possess someone to draw this?  Coffee, sunrise, bacon.  EVERY.  TIME.

    What is your favorite day:  Thursday.  It has both the knowledge that the week is now more than half over, and the tangible anticipation of the fun the weekend will bring.  It’s much like Christmas.  I enjoy it’s build up much more than the actual day.  Therefore the penultimate christmas experience is Christmas Eve.  I still have trouble getting to sleep on Christmas Eve.

    7. What is your favorite physical activity? Pillaging.  Second?  Ultimate Frisbee.

    8.What is your favorite DnD class?  Wizard, easy.  What’s not to like?

    9. What is your favorite monster?  Cthulhu, though he is more of an ancient one, a being from the stars, and an old god than a “monster,” though he is most certainly “monstrous.  H. P. Lovecraft is one of my favorite writers, and Cthulhu is one of his greatest creations.  There’s even a Metallica song about it.

    10. Favorite Clint Eastwood Movie?  This is a tough one.  I think I’d have to go with “Fistful of Dollars.”  The good, the bad, and the Ugly is awesome, but it’s so long.  I just watch it for the shootout at the end, which is one of my favorite scenes in anything ever.

    11. What is your Ideal Villain Lair?  An inactive volcano, that is secretly active, so that when the hero’s army invades, you can flood the complex with lava and be done with his pitiful attempts to foil you forever.

    12. What is your favorite movie that takes place in Bruges? …In Bruges.

    13. Who is your favorite author? Sir Terry Pratchett.  He is absolutely fabulous.  Go read all of his books, now!

    14. What is your favorite foreign language?  German, because I know it.

    Well, thats quite enough of that.  Now I suppose I have to nominate some other blogs.  Let’s see…

    1. http://movealongblog.blogspot.com/ writes about karate, philosophy, and everything in between.  Who cares if she is on blogspot and not wordpress?  That’s her challenge, not mine.

    2. http://giddysap.wordpress.com/  has fun pictures and interesting musings.  Giver her a read.

    3. http://doesthishappentoyou.wordpress.com/ blogs about funny everyday stories, and occasionally reblogs/narrates some of my own.

    4.http://jacquedhoward.wordpress.com/ is a fellow writer who has a very organized, interesting, and delightful blog.  I am jealous of it’s ease of use and scroll bar thing on the homepage.

    5.http://somethingfathappened.wordpress.com/ writes about… um wow… everything and everything, and everything in between the two.

    6. http://darkofficehumour.wordpress.com/ writes humorous things, and has a book too.  Lucky.  I wish I had a book.  Though I dont have one due to lack of trying.  Maybe one day…

    Well, thats about it.  I’m glad i’ve finally gotten a blog award.  I’ve been waiting a long time.  As the title states, though, it was only inevitable, and so to anyone waiting for their first one who may happen to read this, I have one thing to say to you.  It’ll happen eventually.  It is only inevitable, after all.

A Lannister is a soaring soul, as free as a mountain bird


Confused with the title?  Well don’t be!  Its a famous Gilbert and Sullivan song, from one of their better operettas “A Game of Thrones.”  The song goes like this
“A Lannister is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird,
His energetic fist should be ready to insist
his dictatorial words.

His hair is gold,
and also it should curl,
His cheeks should flame
and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave
and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready
for a knock-down blow.”

See where I’m going with this?  Maybe not, so I guess I’ll just need to spell it out for you:

House Lannister is my favorite house in HBO’s  game of thrones (and in A Song of Ice and Fire, too)

Oh, and Warning!  If you haven’t seen every episode of Game of Thrones so far, up to 2 9, then beware of spoilers.

A Lannister always pays his debts… with bullets

Shocked?  Well you shouldn’t be.  If you have read some of my older posts, you would be aware that my favorite house in Harry Potter is Slytherin.  It is no wonder then that my favorite great house of Game of Thrones is the Slytherin of Westeros, the Lannisters.

Ah yes, the Lannisters.  The house everyone loves to hate.  I used to hate them too, back when I was reading through the first three books, but there eventually came a point where I really began to sympathize with the evil Lions, and eventually wished to join their ranks, despite a certain distaste for some of their leisure activities…

creepy cersei and jaime

Ahem…

To help you understand my decision, and inevitably bring you over to my side, thus swelling the ranks of the mighty Lannister host, I will first break down why it would suck to be a member of any of the other houses.

The Inferior Houses

At first glance, House Stark would seem to be the best house.  You would have awesome siblings (except for Sansa, that traitorous wench!), a super awesome murdered father who also happened to be Sean Bean, a family with a blood line that can be traced for thousands of years, all the way back to the first men, the largest land area in all of Westeros under your control, and demon wolves to do your bidding.  Plus, you get to worship the old Gods, who seem way cooler than the new ones.

I mean, who wouldn’t want to worship that?

It seems like the Starks have it made, but there’s a catch: if you are a Stark, then only horrible things will happen to you for the whole series.  It’s true, think about it.  Ned had to go take a horrible job that he didn’t want, then his leg got stabbed, then he got thrown and jail, then he had to tell a lie in front of thousands, breaking his code of honor, and then he was killed for it.  Sansa is just stupid and trapped in a castle full of scheming Lannisters, the worst of all fates, I’ve been told, unless of course you are a Lannister.  Bran had his legs paralyzed from pretty much day one, and they dont seem to be getting better.  He and Rickon got thrown out of their castle by a childhood friend and are forced to wander the wilds of the north with a mad woman and a retarded Giant.  Oh, and winter is coming.  Arya is pretty much a street urchin, though she is very good at it, and Jon joined to monk like brotherhood of the Nights watch, and is in the freezing north and kidnapped by crazy savages.  The only one who has anything going for him is Rob, but I have a feeling that his success just cant last.  Oh, and I almost forgot about Catlyn.  She literally ruins everything, and I think she knows it too.

I actually quite like house greyjoy.  They are essentially Vikings who worship Cthulhu.  Their emblem is an awesome Kraken, and they are evil jerks.  What’s not to like?  Oh wait, the place where they live:

How depressingly beautiful!

And worse still, the women that live there:

How depressingly depressing!

And the most worst still of all, she doesn’t even seem to know her own name!  She calls herself Yara, but I’m pretty sure her name is Asha.

I just get the feeling that when it comes to house Baratheon, no one cares.  They are just kind of usurpers to the Targaryen throne, and their emblem is a stupid stag.  None of them are exactly likeable, and they worship a fire god who can summon creepy demons, which they then use to murder each other.  Plus, it seems like ever since Robert defeated the Greyjoys, all they do is lose.

As a Targaryen, you have a 50/50 chance to be awesome or to be stupid and crazy.  A risky bet, I know, but what’s worse is you’ve been defeated by the Baratheons and scattered to the four winds.  Plus, you would either have a brother who is a moron and sucks, or a sister who is annoyingly stupid but has dragons.

House Arryn sucks, bad.  You’d have to put up with both Lysa and Robert, both of whom are creepy idiots who are disturbingly annoying.  Plus, you have to live in a castle up on a mountain.  Talk about a long trip to get groceries, unless of course you take the moon door…

As far as the HBO series is concerned, those are the only houses we have actually met.  Sure, we have seen Margery and Loras Tyrell, and we have heard talk (at least I think so) or the Martels in Dorne.  We’ve also kind of met the Tullys, but not really, so these are the houses up for consideration.

House Lannister is better than all of these, and there are several reasons why

  1. They have Lord Tywin:  Lord Tywin is possibly the most cunning of all the schemers in Westeros, or at least of all the schemers who are members of a major house.  He is also ruthless, and his banner men are terrified to betray him, especially after what he did to the Reynes of Casamere…
  2. They have a hilarious Dwarf:  Tyrion is awesome.  I would bet 10,000,000 dollars that he is almost everyone’s favorite character in the show, and if you were a Lannister, you would get to hang out with him all the time.
  3. They have infinity gold: They are famous for it, in fact.  Westeros runs on Lannister gold, so what do you think would happen if the gold supply suddenly dwindled?  That’s called economics, and the Lannisters have literal tons of the stuff.
  4. They currently hold the iron throne: It is a huge advantage to already have the thing that everyone is fighting for.
  5. They seem to have the Tyrells, too:  The tyrells produce the most food out of anyone in westeros, and I think they have the biggest army too, though as Lord Tywin says, armies don’t win wars, gold does.
  6. They are deliciously evil: This goes without saying.  The Lannisters revel in evil, even the good ones!  Sure, Tyrion is a good guy, but he also uses some rather unscrupulous means to achieve his ends.

So it’s house Lannister for me.  I can’t wait to see what the end of the season brings us.

Smashing!


And then it happened.  Despite all of my careful planning and practicing, I forgot everything I was going to say.  This is a common occurrence in college students when we are forced to do presentations.  We are meant to read our papers but to not stare at it.  We are supposed to just sort of glance down, absorb all the words, and then spew them out like a vocabulary sponge.  The problem with this method is that it is quite easy to lose one’s place, which leads to one becoming flustered.  Once one is flustered one inevitably starts to babble nonsense because the silence is just too awkward.  I had lost my place, and i could feel the fluster rising in my bowels like a vengeful eagle.  I had a choice to make, and i chose instead of being sad to be smashing!

My thought process.

You see, there is a recent (or perhaps not so recent, I do only get internet access in my cave once a week) internet fad in which one replaces someone’s face with the face of Nigel Thornberry.  Above is a great example, but there are many others, like this one

The movie would have been much more smashing like this.

If you don’t know who Nigel Thornberry is, then I pity you, because you missed out on a big part of the late 90’s and early 00’s.  Nigel is a character from the cartoon “The Wild Thornberrys,” in which Nigel and his family traveled around the world making animal documentaries.  He described things that he liked as “smashing!”  You probably wont find this post amusing in the slightest if you never watched the show, but if you are a truly devoted fan of my blog and wish to slog through this post, then more power to you I suppose.  Now, where was I?

Ah yes, my paper.  I had worked on this particular paper for over 3 months, it was my senior thesis after all, and I had forgotten literally everything about it and had lost my place while reading.  I think it was about crime in ancient rome… or maybe fish.  This was bad, but don’t worry, gentle reader, for I was not in any true danger.  The penalty for messing up one’s paper had been recently reduced from beheading to a mere 13 lashes from the ol’ cat o’ nine tails, but even though death was not a possible outcome, the situation was quite perilous indeed.

“Ahem,” I said, clearing my throat.  What could I do?  Smashing, I need to be smashing!  And so I became smashing, as smashing as even Nigel Thornberry himself.  Once the transformation was complete, I remembered everything.

A brief depiction of my metamorphoses.

“You know what?” I said, picking up my papers and tossing them in the air, “Who needs these old things?  I’m sure that you and I are quite done with hearing papers read, am I right?”  There was a general nod of assent from the audience.  some of the sleeping people had even woken up from the fluttering noise of my paper blowing out the window.  I gave the room a quick look around until my eyes finally rested on an individual who had been on his computer during all of the presentations.

“You!” I said, pointing at him.  He jumped in his seat and looked around, wondering who I was pointing at, until he realized that there was no one near him.  He pointed at his chest and mouthed the word “me?”

“Yes, you!  Come hither.” I beckoned with one of my fingers.  He came to the front and stood before the podium.  “What is your name, lad?”

“Roger.”

“Smashing!” I turned back to the audience and gestured to roger. “Roger is going to help me demonstrate the difference between manifest theft and non manifest theft in ancient rome.”  I set a pen on the podium and then turned around to face the wall.  So far, so smashing!

“Now, Roger,” I said, still facing the wall, “If you would be so kind as to take my pen from the podium and then signal once you have accomplished this simple task.”  I waited for but a few moments until I heard a slight cough from behind.  I spun about.

“You rascal!” I roared, “You’ve stolen my pen!”  Roger looked absolutely terrified.  He held out his hands in protest and began mumbling something about me telling him to take.  I laughed, which seemed to calm him somewhat.

“Roger, Roger, Roger… this is just a demonstration!  I know you didn’t actually steal my pen.  This was merely a demonstration of non manifest theft.  If the audience will recall, I didn’t find out anything of mine had been stolen until after the deed was done.  That’s why it’s non manifest!  I didn’t actually see it happen  Now, if you would be so kind as to return the pen to the podium, we can continue.  Good, that’s good.  Let’s give a round of applause to Roger here folks.  He’s doing a great job.”  The audience, now all interested in what I was doing, politely clapped.  Roger seemed to be encouraged by this, and he puffed his chest out a little.

“Now, roger, I would like you to once again steal my pen, but this time I will be watching.  Go ahead whenever you are ready.”  Roger strutted over to the podium and plucked my pen off of it with a flourish.  The audience gasped a little at his boldness.

“You rascal!” I roared, “You’ve stolen my pen!”  Roger gave me a quite demeaning look and smiled.

“Yeah?” he asked, holding his arms out wide and turning to the audience, “and what are you gonna do about it, nerd?”  He barked out a harsh laugh and I grudgingly gave Roger a mental commendation.  He was playing his heart to perfection.  The audience booed him and shouted that he should return the pen to me this instant.  Smashing!

“Why,” I responded, pulling a gladius, a Roman style sword, from it’s hiding place under the podium.  Roger turned at the hair raising sound of metal scraping. “Kill you, of course!  Such is the cost of manifest theft, you simple fool!” I raised the deadly blade high for a killing blow.  It’s metal glinted harshly off the fluorescent lights, and for just a moment, we could imagine that we were not in a science classroom at all, but were instead standing on the blood soaked sands of the arena.  I was a mighty executioner, Nigelus Thornberris, and Roger was but a runaway slave, condemned to death by stabbing.  Such spectacles were common enough in the Roman world, though not as popular as the gladiatorial bouts that brought such fame to the colosseum.  He looked up at my sword with fear in his eyes, but I had no pity.  Killing was my business, and business was good.

In a flash, it was over, and we were back in the science room, with it’s cold tile floor and institutional overhead florescent lights.  Roger was on his knees, his hands clasped before him, pleading for his life.  All of the bluster that had characterized his performance beforehand was gone.

“Roger,” I sighed, shaking my head and lowering my gladius, “Roger, Roger, Roger… I’m not going to kill you!”   Roger sagged with relief.  The audience muttered in disapproval.

“Oh thank god,” Roger breathed, “for a minute there I thought…”

“That’s the guards job!  Guards!”  Two praetorian guards burst into the room in full battle gear and marched over to roger, who backed away in fear.  They quickly closed upon him and grabbed him, and then dragged him away.  The bewildered Roger couldn’t seem to decide between screaming “No!  Nooo!” and  “What?  How?”

“Smashing!” I laughed as he was dragged out the door, “That guy had been pissing me off with his incessant typing for the past hour!  How rude!”  The audience followed my example and burst into laughter as well.

“Now, if you would permit me,” I sad, pulling out a collection of papers from behind my back, “I would like to continue reading my paper.”

“Smashing!” They all responded, and so I read.

Smashing!

Sunday in the Renaissance with Brian


I like Renaissance festivals.  There’s something magical about being able to step back in time to a long forgotten age.  I should know, I do it often.

“What, you go to medieval fairs a a lot?” you might ask

No, I’ve only ever been to three or four.  I actually travel back in time, or at least used to.  I’m a time traveler.

“What?”

Yes.

“Time travel?”

Indeed.

“Like doctor who?”

No, no!  More like Hiro from Heroes, I just sort of wish myself there and suddenly, with a glint in my eye and a twinkle in my toes, I am whisked away to a new age.  It’s all terribly complicated, so I’ve drawn a diagram to help you understand:

In step 1 we see that I am in a normal house with a dog outside. If we then go to step two, we can tell that something has changed. I am now in a castle, with a plague rat outside. This is time travel

But I found that with time travel comes a host of other chores that one must inevitably complete before being able to go home.  They include but are not limited to: storming castles, slaying monsters, rescuing princesses, assassinating Caesar, impaling heads on spikes, putting spikes through heads, completing dark druidic rites and cooking feasts.  The list goes on and on, but the one thing that all of the items have in common is that they are a chore.  We time travelers grow tired of them after a while, and so we often find ourselves attending modern re-creations of the past such as civil war reenactments and Renaissance festivals.  It helps us when we are jonesing for the oh so familiar thrill of traveling back in time and we aret required to save any kingdoms.

And so it happened that my friend Brian and I decided to visit the Georgia Renaissance Festival a couple days ago.  I was very excited.  One of my favorite things about renaissance festivals is the people who inhabit them.  They are consistently interesting and irresistibly bizarre.  Look at this guy, for instance

scary guy

A medieval batman, perhaps?

I could tell it was going to be a good trip, but even as we entered I began to notice some striking dissimilarities between this festival and the actual renaissance.  First off, though there was a frightening, obviously insane woman sitting in mud and playing a wooden flute at the gates, I failed to find any dead peasants in the gutters or in the street.  It is inattention to detail such as this that detracts from the overall festival experience.  The nerve!  I decided then and there that once I got back to Birmingham I would send a strongly worded letter to the host of the event with my suggestions to increase historical accuracy.  Take the water, for instance.  It was clear and drinkable, and I didn’t even taste a hint of syphilis.  Preposterous, I know, but it only gets worse, I’m afraid.

historical inaccuracies abound at the medieval fair

Where are the hanging bodies of thieves? Where are the indentured peasants tilling the fields? WHERE IS THE AUTHENTICITY?

A blast from a horn caught Brian’s attntion, and we followed the sound to a stick thin 40 something year old man who was dressed in all black and had a purple feather sticking out of his hat.  Rediculous!  I assumed that he didn’t know that purple dyes were very expensive during that time, and the color was reserved almost exclusively for royalty.  I held my tongue, however, not wanting to ruin what ever it was he was about to do.  He told us to wait because, as he put it “I am going to do stuff.”  It turns out that he was a hypnotist, but not just any hypnotist, mind you, he was in fact the worst hypnotist on the planet.  My patience had run thin.

“A hypnotist?” I asked him, scoffing, “Absurd!  Hypnotism wasn’t even invented until the 19th century, a good 300 years after the time period for this fair!  How do you explain that?”  He looked at me for a long time.

“Shut up kid.” He said dismissively, and then began his act, which involved telling a woman that he was going to hypnotize her, asking her to close her eyes, and then pushing her on the ground and saying He then passed around a hat that we were supposed to put money in. I was about to challenge him to a duel upon the jousting lists when my friend Brian dragged me away.  He must have known what I had been thinking.

I glanced back at the terrible hypnotist one last time, and saw to my terror that this man was watching me with great interest.

Who does he think he is? Blade? A monk? A Serial Killer? All three?

“Your costume is horribly inauthentic!  People didn’t have leather coats like that back then!” I shouted at him.  He merely eyed me and took another sip from his mug.  I count myself lucky that I never saw him again, though I am quite certain that on some lonely, dismal night, many years from now, I will be in my room, writing, when i hear a tinkle of broken glass from the living room.  I will walk into the room to discover this man standing in the exact same position and in the exact same costume, and the last words I will ever here will be “Who’s inauthentic now?”

We made it to the jousting lists just in time.  Some horribly obese women who were wearing disturbingly tight corsets were trying to sell the crowd $5 pennants to support a knight.  Apparently, each side of the arena was assigned to a knight who would be jousting and you were meant to cheer for only your knight and boo the other one.  Our side was the fated to support the evil Amadeo, a rakish scoundrel from Italia, whose horsemanship was as sharp as his goatee, and who would win at any cost.

You can tell he's evil because he's wearing red and black. Oh, and because he's FOREIGN

I was reather pleased with our choice in seating.  This Amadeo seemed like a real go-getter, and I was certain he would bring us victory.  I squealed with glee as none other than King Henry VIII himself came on to the field and sat on his throne. The referee knight on the field began a long diaribe about jousting and rules and honor and other such nonsense that I’m sure I would have completely ignored if I would have been able to hear, but as it was I could hear nothing other than the inane fool standing right behind me with a cart full of beef jerky who was shouting”BUYYYY MYYYYYY JERKYYYYY!!!” about every 5 seconds.  Whenever his voice became tires he would take out a bell or whistle or horn to make as much noise as possible.  I turned and gave him the most irritated look i could muster.

“Has anyone ever bought our jerky?” I asked scornfully.  He thrust out his chest defiantly for just a moment, until his whole body sagged and his head drooped down wards.

“No.  Never.” He cried as tears dropped from his eyes.  I felt a pang of pity for him, and nearly reached out to console him, when he suddenly lifted his head, still crying, and tilted it slightly askew as he extended to me a ragged piece of beef jerky.

“So would you… would you buy one?  My beef jerky?” He asked, his hands shaking.

“No, never.” I replied dryly, turning my attention to the joust that was just about to take place.  The ref seemed to have finished and the games were about to commence.  We had all come to see some knights in full armor ride horse and hit each other with things.  Preferably lances, but any other sort of weapon would have been acceptable.  What we got instead was a insulting farce of  knights charging wooden dummies and catching rings out of the air with their lances.  Amadeo’s opponent caught more rings, and so he was pronounced the winner.

“Absurd!” I roared, standing up and waving my plastic beer cup around, sloshing it’s delicious contents on the spectators around me.  “We came for blood!  Blood damn you, blood!”

“What’s that peasant saying there?”  King Henry roared back, shoving himself out of his seat and pointing an accusatory turkey leg at me.

“He says he wants blood my lord!” said the referee knight.  Ridiculous!

“Blood?  Blood!  Ha Ha!” The king laughed.  His face suddenly darkened, and he looked right at me and in a deep, threatening voice said “Then blood you shall have.  A Joust!”

“A joust!” shouted the ref.

“A joust!” cheered the crowd

“A joust?” asked the knights, suddenly worried

“Yes!  A joust!” King henry confirmed.  He waved at some squires who brought at wooden lances to the knights, who eyed them nervously.  It was at this point hat I was beginning to wonder whether these guys were even real knights at all, or if they were just actors that the festival hired.  A horn was blown, and in a flurry of hooves and flash of steel they charged, their magnificent beasts racing down the list towards one another at breakneck speed!

a Joust

It was quite thrilling!

The day was getting better and better.  The knights were actually pretty good at jousting, and the crowd was really getting into it.  We cheered, we gasped, we booed, we cried!  After two bouts, however, the king stood up and looked at the ref angrily.

“What’s this?  Why are they still using these practice lances?  Go on!  Bring out the real ones.”

“But my lord, is that… legal?

“I will make it legal.  I’m the king, after all.”

“But, my lord, I don’t think that we should…”

“Guards, take this man to the tower!” He ordered, and several armored me approached the ref and pulled him down from his horse.  The dragged him off while he screamed “Noooo!”  The crowd stood up and cheered.  This was great fun!

“You there!” said the king, pointing at one of the squires, “You’re the new referee, but don’t disappoint me.  You know the price of failure!” A scream cut through the hot afternoon air and ended in a sickening crunch.  “Now, bring out the real lances!”

The squire climbed up in the old ref’s horse and nodded at two other squires who went fetched the lances.  The knights must have looked very worried indeed, but as it was we couldn’t see their facial expressions inside their helmets.

“Much better!” The king said, sitting back down.  “Now, commence the joust, and may the best man live!”  The crowd roared it’s approval as the knights took their positions.

“Amadeo will surly win this one!” I said to the little kid next to me, “He’s a real go getter.  Plus, he’ll do anything to win.  That other guy is toast!”

“But, won’t they die?” asked the kid, looking up at me with worried eyes.

“Well, yes, but it’ll probably only be one of them who dies!  There’s no need to worry, Amadeo will win!  You do want Amadeo to win, dont you?”

“Um… yes?”

“Good boy,” I said, ruffling his hair.  The horn blew and the knights thundered towards one another and we stamped our feet and hooted like howler monkeys.  When the two met, the sound of steel upon steel rang out across the land, and we all held our breath in anticipation.  When their horses finally parted, my side of the lists began to cheer like madmen.  Amadeo’s lance had gone straight through the other guys chest, killing him soundly!  I turned to give the kid a high five, but he had gone.  The king stood up and we grew silent.

“Well struck, Amadeo!  You are this days champion!”  He screamed.  We cheered even louder as Amadeo took a victory lap.  Our revelry was cut short, however, by the arrival of police officers who arrested the King and shut down the festival.  He had apparently gone mad from the heat of his robes.  I heard that he was thrown in jail after a long trial, and his daughter Mary took over running the festival.  She proved to be a poor ruler as well, and was deposed so that his third daughter Elizabeth could take the throne.  One of my friends went last sunday and said that she was a fair and just ruler, at least compared to her predecessors.  Such is the way of the world, I’m afraid.  The best renaissance festival I have ever been to also happened to be the most illegal.

But Oh! To Be Freshly Pressed!


I am currently enrolled in a class at university called “Roman Republic and Empire.”  We have learned many things, but the most interesting fact to have lazily drifted into my mind is that the penultimate goal of the Roman experience was to win a Triumph.  A Triumph, for those of you who have not taken Roman Republic and Empire, was a parade for a conquering General, where he was allowed to ride in a chariot with four white horses as the citizenry of Rome cheered his name and shouted insults at his captives, who were towed behind the general in chains.  It’s where we get our word triumph from.  The triumph was the highest honor a Roman could receive, and was the dearest wish of every Roman citizen since time immemorial.

Triumph General

A roman general in Triumph. Note his four white horses, legionary standard bearer and captives.

“This is all well and good,” you may be saying as you slowly lose interest, “but what does this have to do with anything?  Your title has nothing to do with the Romans.”

“Why, my dear Watson!” I would respond, shaking my head and chuckling to myself, “My title has everything to do with the Romans.  Did you not know that WordPress.com has it’s own triumph?”

“Conrgoblin, whatever are you talking about?  How could you have a triumph on wordpress?”

“By becoming freshly pressed of course!  Now be quiet and listen.  Everyone who creates a wordpress blog hopes to one day become freshly pressed.  It is our goal, our dream, even!  Just like the romans of ages passed, we want our own triumph.  To become freshly pressed is to be victorious!”

Tomb Robbers triggering a booby trap

Here we see some tomb robbers becoming "freshly pressed" by a clever booby trap. Their prayers for mercy will most likely go unanswered.

But what is being freshly pressed?  Blogs that are freshly pressed are displayed on a special tab on the main page of wordpress.com!  As you might expect, this brings a great increase in traffic, which in turn will greatly increasethe ammount if people who follow your blog if it is good, or increase the amount of apathy or even hatred you receive if your blog is bad.  I have often thought that the worst sort of comment a blogger could ever receive would be a self styled Ignatius Riley replying to a post with a mere “Ho hum.”

I have always yearned for the honor of becoming freshly pressed.  There are of course criteria that one must meet to even be considered.  I have included a list of the criteria here, for your reading pleasure.

The Criteria of Freshly Pressed

1. Write unique content that’s free of bad stuff.  This includes language, images and other nasty things.  No wonder I have yet to be pressed!  I break this rule all the time.  You may have noticed the pictures in this post have deviated from my standard “google keywords and then post the image’s that a find with some pithy title” approach to blogging.  All of these new images are painstakingly hand drawn, and are owned by yours truly.  I also have written a single swear word in this post so far!

2. Have visuals.  Checkity-check!  I use visuals all the dam… err… darn time!

3. Sacrifice a bull on a full moon.  What a happy coincidence!  I do this anyway.  Well, I say that “I” do it, but that’s not entirely true.  I get my cult to help me, too.

Cult of Cybele Sacrifice

A fairly accurate depiction of our monthly meetings.

4. Cap off your post with a compelling headline.  I think all of my headlines are compelling, especially this one

That’s really all there is to it!  When these four things are completed, there will be a knock on your door.  Don’t be afraid.  Go and answer the door, but make certain to open it with your left hand.  If you have no left hand, than you must use your left foot.  A man wearing a trenchcoat and fedora will be waiting for you.  You will not be able to see his face, nor would you want to!  He will extend his hand, and you must give him exactly 3 trout fins, which he will eat.

How to be freshly pressed

The proper procedure in the vitally critical "presentation of the trout fins" stage.

Warning: Do not look away.  It is important to have your head bowed but still be able to watch him.  Upon consuming the trout fins, he will sing a song.  The lyrics are unimportant, but be sure to remember the melody, which you must hum back to him after he finishes.  Do not hum the melody incorrectly.  If you sing it back to him correctly, he will nod and leave.  As soon as he is gone, shut your door and pour salt on the floor in a protective semi-circle around the threshold, and then immediately go to sleep.  If you did everything correctly, you shall be freshly pressed the next day!  I hope this guide has helped you in your goal to become freshly pressed.  Leave a comment if it did, or even if it didn’t!  Oh, and here’s a picture of an awesome Latte I had one time.

Latte

It's from a place called Red Katz in downtown Birmingham, Alabama. Please freshly press me!

A Golden Age is Dawning


Some of you, my dear readers, may have noticed a sudden resurgence of interest in blogging on wcbrock.wordpress.com.  Some of you may have not, but that’s ok, I don’t blame you, I blame your lack of perceptiveness.  Before the tabloids begin to have a field day, let me lay to rest once and for all the rumors that have been floating around of the coming of a golden age here on wcbrock.wordpress.com.  You might want to put on your safety goggles, because I’m about to blow your mind.  If you don’t know how to put on goggles, the doctor is here to demonstrate:

See? It as easy as pronouncing Raxacoricofallapatorius!

IT’S ALL TRUE.  ALL OF IT.

We are entering a golden age here at wcbrock.wordpress.com, or at least that’s what the experts at MIT and Cambridge think, and who am I to argue with experts?  Four posts in just as many days is no coincidence, they say.  It is in fact classic evidence of a golden age, just like the one in Greece that one time!  In honor of this auspicious happening I am now going to assemble list of some of my favorite things.  It won’t be a complete list mind you, but I’m planning on updating it regularly.  Oh, and if you’ve found your way here because I liked or commented one of your posts, I’d like you to know that yes I did in fact read it.  It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.  So, if you agree with what I say, feel free to comment.  If you disagree, feel even more free to comment.  If you don’t care, feel even more even more free to comment.  And lastly, if you TL;DR, then you can just go back to your troll cave sir, and cry yourself to sleep as you are want to do.

My Favorite Movie

If you argue, then I have just one thing to say to you: Ni!

I lik funny things, and lads who work at conrgoblin.wordpress.com and I agree that Monty Python and the Holy Grail is about the funniest damn thing we have ever seen.  Not convinced this is a great movie?  Oh, ok.  Maybe rotten tomatoes can convince you.  A 95%?  Even Alvin and the Chipmunks: Chipwrecked didn’t get a 95%, and some kid at the mall told me that movie was “fucking awesome, bro!”  Every scene in this movie is hilarious, and could be a skit in its own right, but the movie doesn’t feel like it’s a bunch of skits loosely strung together, it feels like a real movie.  And I think that’s the true beauty of the film.  It was made with no budget, and never takes itself seriously.  I even went to an interview for the writing program at the Florida State Film School and said that Monty Python and the Holy Grail was my favorite movie at all time.  They laughed.  One of them went so far as to say “bold!” while shaking her head.  They didn’t let me in, but I’m sure it had more to do with the absolute state of bowl releasing terror i was in during the interview than Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  And even if it was the movie’s fault, who cares?  It’s only a flesh wound!

My Favorite TV Show

Ok, first off, let me say this was a hard one.  I really, really, really like arrested development.  But there’s one thing about Futurama that makes it my favorite show: the writers can write whatever the fuck they want.  There is literally nothing holding them back.  Futurama is set in a crazy magically advanced future world with no rules.  It’s beautiful.  Wanna assassinate Hitler?  No problem, time machine.  Want to have celebrity appearance?  All of their heads are preserved in a museum.  Want to do anything else?  Time travel, infinite planets, extra dimensions; they have it all.  It’s like going to a cafeteria salad bar only to find out that the shitty lettuce has been replaced with every beer on the planet.  And its all free.  That’s Futurama.  Deal with it.

deal with it

Favorite Soda

It’s got 23 flavors.  I mean, come on!  Nothing has 23 flavors.

Favorite Toaster

 toaster that makes eggs

This one.  You can cook eggs and toast stuff at the same time!  What’s not to like?  You know, unless you are allergic to eggs or something.  Can you be allergic to toast?

Favorite Historical Thing That Can Also be a Halloween Costume

Vikings are as awesome as Pirates, and they have a crazy awesome battle religion to boot.  Plus, everyone dresses up as pirates.  Hardly anyone dresses up as vikings.  It’s probably because they’re scared to.

Favorite Element

Not only is francium all the way down on the bottom of the table of elements, but it’s also the most unstable naturally occurring element.  This means that if vikings were an element, they would be francium.  Vikings conquered parts of France(ium) didn’t they?  Answer: yes, yes they did.  My logic is irrefutable.

Favorite Medieval Torture Device

The Iron Maiden.  It’s also one of my favorite bands.

Favorite Fantasy Race

goblin

Goblins, duh.  Have you not read my blogs name?

Hopefully this list sparked some interest.  What are your favorite things in these categories?  Comment your answers, and we can argue and ruin each others day.  It’ll be just like the league of legends forums.  Dr. Who knows what I’m talking about.

dr who yell

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