Today has been spent reviewing a draft contract, so haven’t had time to craft engaging thoughts. As compensation, here’s an amusing little film that’s tangentially related to my day:
Hailwood mixes the always-amusing subject of bodily functions with a fast-paced chase across fantastical worlds to create a story that is sure to appeal to any child who has wondered if garden gnomes can be worn as shoes. …
I had a conversation over the weekend about whether certain genres need to be about particular things or whether they can be an aesthetic. And, as is common with discussion of genre boundaries, the discussion soon sent out a tendril into the field of literature vs. genre fiction. While the difference—if any—between literary and genre fiction is of interest to me, I was more intrigued by the question of whether the reverse of magical realism existed: a genre version of literature. So, I experimented with a pulp version of the opening of an American classic. I present it below, not to prove or disprove a hypothesis but in the hope it will amuse. …
As further evidence of a universe that basks in blessed madness, Episode 92 of the Geek Podcast: The Nasgûl & The Bus Driver makes passing reference to one of my moments of Yog-Sothothic whimsy. For those seeking the ultimate in roiling blasphemy, it’s also on iTunes.
Should you feel mentally prepared for those secrets Charlie Hooper refused to share, I reproduce my suggestions of films altered by the name Cthulhu below: Correlate the contents of your mind…
This short film about growing up seen from the perspective of a girl’s imaginary friend rather pleased me:
Not utterly sure whether abandoning the imaginary is a necessary part of adulthood – but then I suspect most authors would be silent without their imaginary companions – but the aesthetics are most apposite to my interests.
There are two sorts of people in the world: people who are not involved in a legal proceedings, who think that the law is somewhat ridiculous; and people who are involved in legal proceedings, who think that the law is of the utmost seriousness. However, it can’t be denied that there are sometimes cases that tickle my fancy; although not always for the reasons they please most. …
“My theory? These are what kept humans from dying out like the Torgal.” Ambassador Zarlec pointed a spindly finger at a cabinet.
“Not just spoons. Horn spoons. Wooden spoons.”
The ambassador’s eyes flickered grey with embarrassment. “If you focus the emitter from a portable scanner just right, you can make metal twist. When you’re young… you know how trends happen… cutlery bending just took off.”
“That was your people playing a prank?”
“The Torgal discovered metal early. Their brains were still evolving; I think they became too terrified of cutlery to eat.”
Puxty displays paranormal romance and Boschian demonology through the lens of slapstick and surrealism to produce a story that is both amusing and thrilling. And provides a salutary warning to those who do not treat cats with the respect they are due. …
Basildon Watt glanced down. Brass jaws snapped shut inches below as the clockwork alligators strained for his feet. Maybe not the best day to show off his new hand-stitched brogues after all.
Not that he’d notice their demise. The scrolling laser would reach him well before one of the mechanical lizards got around to standing on it’s fellows.
“The orbital mining was obviously for the engagement ring, Don Pagliacci. But, why kidnap the world’s leading experts on Mustelidae?”
Pagliacci waved his cigar dramatically. “Isn’t it obvious, Mr Watt? I’m going to make the world an otter it can’t defuse!”
T’kjun pressed his flippers to the ice, shooting forward to the base of the berg. Harpoon cinched tight, he clambered up. The five heads that had shattered the ice had gone—for now. The tribe relied on him to find the bounty exposed by the breaking and to give warning if the five heads returned. He would not fail them.
Beak jutting, he crested the ridge and stopped in awe. Aqua green skin with markings of brown and beige. A mighty Vy’un Etta, flanks barely dusted with frost.
Raising his harpoon above his head, he signalled the mammoth handlers to advance.