It's a sad day. Colossal sadness. Tough to type through the welling tears. Not only am I waste deep in shitty moving boxes, tired of yelling at useless Uhaul employees, surrounded by mountains of fiddly crap that needs to be packed up, and baking alive 100+ degree temperatures, but I'm also dealing with the passing of a most beloved critter. Gimli, the baddest Corgi to roam the eastern seaboard, and my only godchild (that I'm aware of), has moved on. So, so, so, so, so bummed. Taking a bit to sink in really.
Here's the Gim wishing the wife a happy birthday.
We thought gee, he's tolerating that stupid hat pretty well.
But then you see the treat on his nose and realize the deal.
Yeah it's sappy and I front an exterior of solid
I don't give a fuck mosta the time, but this is a real shot to the dick and has taken the wind outta my sails. We build these relationships with these fucking animals that can't talk back, need help to properly shit on their own, and will never ever mow the lawn as a nice surprise - but still the connection is there. A strong connection. Gimli was totally rad. The raddest. Besides his way rad name as descendant of Gloin, the future Lord of Aglarond and the only Dwarf to visit the Undying lands of Aman, he was the most personable canine I've ever come into contact with. Not to take anything away from the myriad of other dogs I know, but Gimli was heads and tails above all of them in my mind, even at a mere 10 inches off the ground.
Gimli protecting us from yet another fiendish horseshoe crab plot.
I've known him for all of his sadly brief 6 years, and loved every minute. He popped into the mix when I was at a really low point, and helped take the edge off of the bleak times. Moving forward, he developed a fascination and adoration for my future wife in an obvious manner. Even if it had been months since we last visited, he always knew it was her, and would go ape when she was around.
Gim had all sorts of insane quirks. He would absolutely lose his shit if you rocked a raspberry (the tongue noise thing), would herd your ass if you walked side by side with him, and despite his tiny Corgi legs he loved to run up and down stairs to the point of exhaustion. The little fucker would freeze in a state of paralyzed pleasure if you rubbed his elbows -
his elbows, and possessed a vast array of redonkadonk tricks that generally involved getting food. He was into cross dressing and had a penchant for hats and humiliation. There were even key phrases you couldn't say around him or it'd set off a barking fit. Such a weirdo! Which is why I loved him. He was such a fringe critter, a state dear to my heart.
It's pretty well known that I'm a selfish bastard with the view that I don't have time for fucking dogs and their bullshit. I don't wanna wake up and walk the bastard, I don't wanna grab bags full of warm shit, and I don't wanna mold my life around a furry time bandit that constantly dictates where, when, if and how I can take part in life. It makes the strong and generally dominant logical half of my brain scream. But this little tri-colored somnabitch made a very strong case for early morning interruptions and pocketing hot plastic bundles of fresh feces. If and when I do get a dog, it'll most definitely be a Welsh Corgi. Maybe I'll nam eit Balin to keep up with tradition. (I'll teach him to avoid Moria if so)
No one knows what took him exactly. He'd been sick for a few weeks with a fever and stuff, but it all seemed like no real big deal. Then, he just sorta went. Last I saw 'im, 2 weeks back, he was up and running around and being the adorable pup named Gimli. But, the cause is of no lasting concern at this point. I just feel that this stupid assbackwards world is a bit less fun without the goofy bastard running around and shitting on lawns.
Godspeed lil' doodle.
Negative Nelly took a backseat on Comicon news for a moment when I came across this arty gem. Rocket Raccoon and the tree dude named Groot drawn by Mignola. Of course Mignola's only doing the one visual thing he seems capable of nowadays - a cover. Inside art etc, by other folks. Fun.
Of all the choices arrayed before Del Torro after he left the Hobbit (sad panda), he goes and chooses to do a movie based on Disney's Haunted House? Whaaaa? Sure, that ride is the only way you could ever drag me to the most magical place on Earth for an hour - but a movie? That's some highly disappointing news, given his ability to create and tell some sweet macabre fiction. There's no way he's going to fit a child gut-shot or wine bottle face beating in there. And wasn't this film already released, like 5 years ago only to bomb hard? Man. Comicon is off to a swell start. Bleh!
It always made my head hurt. It generally came on before something I wanted to watch. It often ruined my morning. And it sucked. Yes, Filmation's crummy cartoon version of the Ghostbusters that haunted our childhood - is actually the original version. Well I'll be a monkey's uncle. (A monkey that drives a car and wears a goofy fucking beanie.) And all this time I thought it was the lousy knock-off. Lookit! WE'RE THE GHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSTBUSTERS.
Dig up some more funtastic factoids about Ghostbuster you prolly never knew over at Neatorama.
Le notti del Terrore or Burial Ground is just another phenomenal Italio-gore zombie gore flick bonanza. Sweet goofy rubber masks, maggots everywhere, tempura by the bucket full, half-made up zombies/dudes with green make-up in the rear ranks, and a plot written in between the prima pasti and secundo pasti of an average evening cena.
Petey wakes up because he knows his momma is bangin' that dude in the next room. (5 secs)
Peter is freakishly scared. (10 secs)
Peter is still scared, though the audience is probably more frightened of him. (10 secs)
Petey can't take the zombie horror anymore he needs...something. (30 secs)
Our plucky man-boy has a huge crotch area and a jaunty trot. (5 secs)
But he's a dumbass and get's zombified. Mamma however doesn't care.
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