The OFFICIAL Unofficial Achewood Message Board
Achewood => Achewood => Topic started by: wombat on May 08, 2007, 12:17:26 pm
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Is there really no May blog thread?
Is there really door to door pretzel delivery in California, or is Philippe hallucinating?
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Dang, I was really hoping that Beef's entry would have some good stories about brain-damaged Ray. But brain-eating maggots are OK, too. I guess.
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I reread Roast Beef's March blog and appreciated it for all its sublime angst all over.
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I'm slightly confused about the fact that Beef is apparently going to talk about poolhouse maintenance with Ray even though Ray might not even know he owns a poolhouse right now, but that's all swept away by the lice. gah.
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I think the foreign boy is Ray, because Beef doesn't know who he is anymore, with all his temporary mental impairment (represented by the giant lice).
OH, and thanks a lot Onstad. Now, in addition to dreaming about having delicious bacon delivered to my door on a monthly basis, I also have to swoon for daily doorstep soft-pretzel delivery. You live in my freaking fantasy world!
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I would join the Philippe Street Team. I would put that sticker on my car. I would sew that badge to my backpack. A three inch circle, with a picture of Mad Philippe in the middle, outer rim saying "The Philippe Street Team! Working hard for JUSTICE!"
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"Corned Beef Sandwich" is one of the best poems ever. It should be taught in schools.
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"Tarantula shoots up your sleeve" is terribly effective as the poem's finale; it's both unexpected and abrupt, leaving the reader with nothing but terrifying conjectures about just what the scariest, ugliest of the crawling creatures upon Earth (at least to this arachnophobic me) is gonna do under your armpit.
Dude, tarantula shoots up your sleeve.
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ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiiiit
I wish I could say this more frequently, but too often the rules of polite conversation prohibit it.
Apropos of nothing, last night on The Office, Stanley said "I would sooner work for an upturned broom with a bucket for a head than work for anyone else in this office." What a great freakin' line.
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"Corned beef sandwich? / Think again / This is one meal / You will not win" is a perfect stanza, although its rhythm keeps making me add a "Burma Shave!" to the end.
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Three new pieces from R.B. Kazenzakis. "Raw Deal" is a slight turn from his usual fear of concealed weapons into visceral terror of constant random and horrible occurrences. "Asparagus Piece" is a humorous, almost self-effacing critique of his typical "food as weapons" paranoia motif, while "Corned Beef Sandwich" is a reiteration of that same motif, made effective only by meticulously slow and deadpan pacing to indicate a sense of normalcy and even inevitability about being decapitated by one's lunch.
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"Corned beef sandwich? / Think again / This is one meal / You will not win" is a perfect stanza, although its rhythm keeps making me add a "Burma Shave!" to the end.
Haha, awesome! I am a huge fan of the Burma Shave adverts!
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It ain't a Discovery Channel thing where you ain't supposed to interfere with the animals and watch as they starve to death — we all wound up in each others' lives for some reason.
That Ray, he is a philosopher.
OK, I am worried about this whole marriage thing now. Are we just being set up? Is this going to end up with Beef and Molly breaking up?
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Ray has planned out the traffic flow. The cat worries about logistics.
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Getting married on a Friday sucks for anyone around the dudes who has a real job. Then again, we don't exactly hear about work very often, so this might not be a big deal.
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Getting married on a Friday sucks for anyone around the dudes who has a real job. Then again, we don't exactly hear about work very often, so this might not be a big deal.
Maybe they're having an afternoon or evening wedding? None of them seem like the type who would rise early. Unless Beef had depression and couldn't sleep.
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Maybe they're having an afternoon or evening wedding? None of them seem like the type who would rise early. Unless Beef had depression and couldn't sleep.
You know he's not going to sleep for like a week before the big day. All worrying that any little thing that he will do will suddenly clue Molly in on how much of a crap dude he really is [in his head].