There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the stories and visions of their youth; for when as children we listen and dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the poison of life.
But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of fountains that sing in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and then we know that we have looked back through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy.
One night I had a dream— I dreamed I was walking along the beach with a Batman and across the sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene I noticed two sets of footprints, one belonged to me and the other to a Batman. When the last scene of my life flashed before me, I looked back at the footprints in the sand. I noticed that many times along the path of my life, there was only one set of footprints. I also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in my life. This really bothered me and I questioned a Batman about it. "Batman, you said that once I decided to follow you, you would walk with me all the way, but I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life there is only one set of footprints. "I don’t understand why in times when I needed you most, you should leave me.” A Batman replied, “My precious, precious child, I love you and I would never, never leave you during your times of trial and suffering. "When you saw only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.”
“Batman’s mask is lingerie. It conceals, and reveals, a face made for objectification. The leather fetishism of it, the animalism, even the aerodynamics: they turn his whole torso into a Cadillac. It is everything but human, but for the mouth, which is presented. That brilliant scene in Spider-Man where the ugly girl rolls up Spider-Man’s mask in the rain, using his mouth as he hangs there, bound up in his own sticky threads, that’s Batman all the time. He’s faceless, but orificed. His five o’clock shadow, that noir symbol of virility, is brazenly on display. While the rest of his face is armored, he is unable to defend his mouth. He is as anonymous, and accessible, as a masquerade orgiast.”—GIBBERINGS - Batmans
STEP 1: PERUSE THE MENUS. Go to Eat24Hours.com and type in San Pablo Ave in the address field, and 94608 in the Zip field. No, this isn’t my address, you creepazoids. Hit Search Now and you’ll be presented with a list of restaurants.
STEP 2: CHOOSE THE FORM OF MY DESTROYER Find a menu you like and put together a meal. Make a screenshot and send it to me at eliza.gauger at gmail, along with the total price via PayPal.
STEP 3: SELF-CONGRATULATIONS The food will be ordered according to the screenshot, using a PayPal debit card, and the artists will devour it gamely.
GOOD JOB! You just fed an artist, which is something they’re incapable of doing themselves.
The owner of Sweatshop.tv, who previously offered me a very good price on the domain, has written again to tell me he is going to set up a redirect from his domain to the SWEATSHOP site. What a mensch!
“I need a day job, I think all artists do. Without something horrible happening to me every day, I don’t have a foil to work against when I come home to make comics. Nothing comes out. No pages, no jokes or artwork. When I don’t have a job, there are only two or three subjects I can talk about with any authority: masturbation and killing myself.”—Tristan A. Farnon - The Comics Journal: Interviews
Fuckin brass, like in every war, managed to fuck it up.
My drop-ship landed on Pyrsis and we walked right into a fucking meat grinder. 250,000 men stormed their positions and wouldn’t you know it the vaultpacks (jetpacks) wouldn’t spark up to get us over the initial defensive wall. Seems the generals in all their infinite wisdom never realized that the atmosphere didn’t have enough oxygen to light up and we just pissed men into the wind. There were so many dead in that bottleneck, dying as fast as they showed up you probably could have just walked over their bodies to get over those 8m walls. Some of us unhooked our masks and used them to vent enough air to spark up and clear the wall, but by that time we were probably down to 10-15,000 men. The drop-ships were gone, getting the next batch of suckers to die where we were.
My platoon and about … maybe 13 others made it over the wall. We mopped up the Narath soldiers easily enough, and took their base. Luckily for us they’re a lot better at operating remote turrets than actually getting their claws dirty.
No sooner than the place was secured we were given orders to move out. They didn’t leave anyone to garrison the base and they didn’t even bother to nuke it from orbit to deny it from the enemy. A week later we heard they moved back in, 2x the strength they were before and refitted their base for air defense which included a missile screen. The next landing didn’t go so well and they pissed 10 whole divisions of shock troops into the wind. Half those poor bastards were microwaved in their drop-ships a mile and a half before they touched down, the rest who managed to survive the trip down didn’t have much fight left in them.
Since I was a fucking hero and was wounded in battle, I’m now the guy who goes to high schools all over the planet, telling kids how great a life is in the service.
I was in recon - you know, one of those guys the troops liked to make fun of. They all said we were pussies because we hid behind computers while the real soldiers went to fight. We had our own version of that line too, of course… let them be the meat shields this time, and we’ll hide behind our computers just fine, thanks. Don’t matter how manly you are — you ain’t dodging no laser, kid.
My job was to deal with tracking down the fucking Google-Droids. Nobody had a clue back before the war that they could move so fast, spread so quickly across the solar system, but they did, and once they were there you had to root ‘em out in a hurry or they’d start to replicate. They’d replicate so fast you couldn’t spit without shorting out a fucking droid. They all seem nice and all, yeah, and they had that adorable little paint that said “Don’t Be Evil” on it, but without the original company leadership anymore, they forgot what good was. We were the evil, and they wanted us to not “be” anymore.
I called out coordinates to the meat shields, and they got to be the ones getting shot at. Was a pretty good deal for the paycheck, I’d say.
You know the funniest part of it all, to us reconners? All we did was look up the bots on Google Spacecharts to find ‘em all. Even after you meatshields shot ‘em all to dust, it’s Google that went and won the war for ya.
“I went on a mission that took a 100 years to get to the target mission site to eliminate the non-humanoids. I complete my mission and it took another hundreds years to get back. I thought I would come back to a hero’s welcome, instead I was arrested when I landed for trying to disturb the peace between Earth and friendly nations. Now I am in the brig for treason. God space warfare sucks.”—War of 2345 Veterans Thread - The Something Awful Forums