Daily Archives: November 15, 2006

Baba Wawa on Opwah

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from (who else?) Go Fug Yourself. There’s no way to abbreviate this, so I’ll just steal it wholesale and encourage you to check out the whole site for all the demonic and glorious fashion-victimizing.

Exclusive! A secretly obtained excerpt from The Secwet Diawy of Baba Wawa:

Baba Wawa and Opwah!

Nov. 13, 2006: Twuly, I’m at my wits’ end, Diawy — sometimes, I want to scweam with bottled-up wage! Have you ever twied going to an event with Opwah? The woman does not STOP wunning into people’s photogwaphs! It’s all I can do not to THWOTTLE her. It’s a GALA and I’m wapped up tighter than a Cwistmas gift in twenty-thwee layers of hot-pink taffeta, stwiking my most distinguished pose in fwont of all these people with camewas, and WHAT DO YOU DO but sneak in and upstage me with your Cwayola-colored makeup and EVEN SHINIER clothes? Don’t you WESPECT who I AM? I am BABA fwickin’ WAWA, Winfwey! Wosie and I could fold you up and fit you into ONE of my EXTWAOWDINAWILY MASSIVE SLEEVES. Do you hear that? So DO NOT CWOSS ME, or else you will take a little time to enjoy the view, all wight… the view of my DEATH PINCH. MAYBE THEN YOU WILL WEGWET THIS!

Cthulhu comix

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How can you resist the Unspeakable Vault (of Doom) eh?

Unspeakable Vault of Doom, Cthulhu's Pillow!

the Communist Manifesto, by Disney

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and via BoingBoing. Please try to overlook, or at least laugh at, the fact that the narrator pronounces it “Boozhwazie.”

Displaying a broad range of Golden Age Hollywood animation, Manifestoon is a homage to the latent subversiveness of cartoons. Though U.S. cartoons are usually thought of as conveyors of capitalist ideologies of consumerism and individualism, Drew observes: “Somehow as an avid childhood fan of cartoons, these ideas were secondary to a more important lesson—that of the ‘trickster’ nature of many characters as they mocked, outwitted and defeated their more powerful adversaries. In the classic cartoon, brute strength and heavy artillery are no match for wit and humor, and justice always prevails. For me, it was natural to link my own childhood concept of subversion with an established, more articulate version [Marx and Engels‘ Communist Manifesto]. Mickey running over the globe has new meaning in today’s mediascape, in which Disney controls one of the largest concentrations of media ownership in the world”

Sirens

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from the Archive

Sirens sometimes and screams, always. Warbling squalls of screams, gusts of them, scream fronts, the ambiguous kind that could mean something very good or something very bad. When it’s men screaming it’s that much more intense, whatever else it is. The worst thing is, you can’t see a thing. There’s nothing there, not by the time you get your courage up and your shoes out of the hall closet. Fifteen syringes between the corner and the first driveway, piles of torn bread scattered across the grass like abandoned snowdrifts, and a plastic bag skydancing in the warm exhaust from a cop car as it rolls down the alleyway. The ghosts look at you funny, and the buildings seem to sigh and close their eyes in exhaustion. And there is no-one there.

Then the screaming starts again, just a little way over, and by the time you get there, there is nothing. It could be aliens trying to abduct Downtown EastSiders, using the sound like a turkey call; that would explain the lack of…well…any thing. They’ve all been beamed up. But then wouldn’t there be fewer from day to day? And there are more, or at least plenty, thank you very much. Maybe they put them back after the anal probe; I can see why they scream.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the Astoria now sells hard liquor. Junkies are usually nice and quiet, just sort of slumped there, but booze makes you publicly loud; check out any Earl’s after nine at night, or just take a walk around Yaletown. It’s good for a laugh; they say all the same things, just really, really loudly. “Bob, how was London? Great, great. Did you recover your investment there? Great, great.” Good for Bob, you think. And who the hell is Bob.

Maybe the screaming is related to the new supersupply of crystal meth. This is the stuff OJ used to take; not sure if he can afford it now. In Asia it’s called Yah Bah and the clubkids get whacked on it and rumble. It’s infamous for the violence it causes, so maybe the screaming is a secondhand effect.

The other day a 74-year-old man stabbed a middle-aged man to death over an old debt. They were both in line at the soup kitchen, just around the corner from my house. There were probably a hundred witnesses, on which there were probably 175 outstanding warrants.

Sometimes I feel like screaming myself.