Category Archives: Books

Operation Global Media Domination: no more games

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TIAIt seems nobody cares if Harry Potter is dead. Nobody but the BBC, that is, which commented on my post about the story in the Guardian. The BBC is trawling my blog for readers: while I am somewhat stunned at this micro-, nay, nanomanagement, I’m okay with it if they’ll only give me the linkie luv. Translation: they don’t allow you to leave the URL of your blog your signature, ie like this: raincoaster. Frightfully Web 1.0 of them.

In other OGMD news, the Mento and Diet Coke Fountain Madness is dying out as those mad scientists lay the smackdown on YouTube and the video has been kaput for a week now, after nicely threatening the existence of my blog. I wonder how long you have to respond to those threats before the powers that be nuke the blog. Could be tricky, as I do not actually have electricity at home at the moment.

And although for the past several days it’s been beating the coprophilia out of the Beautiful Agony post, today nobody is interested in Watching the World Cup For Free. Is it over or something?

I only care about the Stanley Cup, yo. Do they even have ice in Carolina?

Potter must die!!!

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Just ask JK Rowling.

“One character got a reprieve, but I have to say Snape strikes!two die that I did not intend to die.”

“They don’t target extras do they? They go for the main characters. Well I do.” In a phrase sure to be closely analysed by the legions of visitors to Harry Potter fansites that deconstruct the author’s every word, she said she empathised with Agatha Christie, who killed off her detective Hercule Poirot so that other writers would not be able to continue his stories after her death.

“I’ve never been tempted to kill him [Harry] off before the end of book seven, because I always planned seven books and that’s where I want to go,” she said.

“I can completely understand, however, the mentality of an author who thinks ‘Well, I’m going to kill them off because that means there can be no non-author-written sequels … so it will end with me, and after I’m dead and gone they won’t be able to bring back the character‘.”

The Guardian has got themselves quite a scoop with that one. Legions of Hermiowanabees will be crying into their butterbeer tonight.

And a few Rons and Dracos as well.

Snape is not amused

deja vu all over again…tissue?

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Here’s a report from the GalleyCat blog on MediaBistro, of all places, on what Alan Moore’s up to now. This should be good for what we in the biz call “coverage.” Wide coverage.

Peter Pan Heirs Protest Wendy’s Porn Comic

Moore’s latest project, Lost Girls: a “porno-graphic” novel in which Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz meets Alice from Alice in Wonderland and Wendy from Peter Pan, and (as near as I can make out from the descriptions) they tell each other X-rated versions of their stories while having hot sex with each other.

Ellie Dee in the Land of Woz...it's still around here somewhere under all the Vanity FairsWell, near as I can make out this is actually just a retread of Ellie Dee in the Land of Woz, which is an old comic book from the XXX Cherry Poptart comic juggernaut by Larry Welz, and which is still around here somewhere, no doubt under all the unpaid bills and piles of Vanity Fair back issues. That comic featured Cherry’s geeky friend Ellie falling through a wormhole in her laptop or somesuch and ending up in the land of Woz, ie Steve Wozniak, inventor of the Apple computer. The Wicked Witch of the West was a dominatrix and the Tin Man was a horny robot. Sorry, pix will have to wait. Strangely, it seems the Vancouver Public Library computers aren’t too terribly fond of such illustrations as I wish to lay on you. All better now.

The Times of London reports that Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children is saying permission must be sought to write about Wendy, and it doesn’t sound like they’re inclined to give it.

Fuck Censorship

Moore is unmoved: “I don’t see that you can ban anything in this day and age,” he tells the Times.

There’s a quote for the ages. If his lawyers can successfully defend it, back up goes my Mentos and Diet Coke video, stat.

Mentos, Diet Coke, cascading fountains of pop fizz, children’s literature, and porn. That would be a video for the ages. At least, all of them over eighteen.

Cherry is confused. And prescient.

as the world turns…without me *sob*

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I hate being sick. All the interesting shit in the world happens when I'm home, sick.

Proof: behold who Raj ran into on the last Vancouver Martini Tour. As for me, I was home in bed developing an intimate acquaintence with the Norwalk Virus.

Henry Fucking Rollins

Henry looks poleaxed in all probability because he knows I could not be there with him. Yeah, that's it.

Raj: Hey, would you kindly spit on my head?

Henry: What?

you fug us, you really fug us!

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The Fuggers go to Canada! We'll get Perez any day now!

Bonus Fug

Deep down, buried beneath our hard, enraged, belt-hating exteriors, we have hearts of gold. We're softer than a golden retriever puppy. More agreeable than an heiress in a crack den.

So when MuchMusic.com asked us to participate in their ramp-up to the Much Music Video Music Awards by fugging a few people who showed up last year, we couldn't refuse.

After all, we are very fond of Canada. We know many great Canadians. We have a couple Canadian readers [raincoaster waves]. We are very sorry that Alanis Morrissette and Ryan Reynolds fulfilled our private predictions that they would never get married because they were engaged for too long, and that is a sure sign in Hollywood of cold feet. And despite the fact that one of us went to high school with someone who plays for the Carolina Hurricanes, we are rooting for Edmonton to continue its comeback in the Stanley Cup (last night's overtime win on a short-handed goal? Unbelievable) so that Canada can sit atop the NHL again the way we feel it should.

Ergo, in a sense, we're fugging for Canada; we're sharing it here because, basically, these four blurbs amount to some bonus fug for the day. So here you go, guys — this fug's for you.

 Unfortunately, the Muchers (not nearly as cool as the Kutchers) use the phrase "what in sam hell" in the intro. This cries out for fugnalysis, but as I am currently about to be booted from a public computer and supposed to be headed over to Pivot to do actual work for them, alas I am prevented from giving them what they deserved. As I was prevented, just yesterday, from giving Vicus the 1000 words of re-jiggered Keats he was just asking for. Yeats, Keats, and Bono: the three greatest poets in the history of civilizaton. But at least I laid the smackdown on the blond bombshell.