Haberdashery

Have you met Deborah?

Posted on Apr 25, 2012 | 1 comment

I’ve been in love with her for a few years.

She’s a product of John Robert’s marvellous mind. His mom is kinda special, too.

Reason #4 to have a child-robot.

Posted on Apr 24, 2012 | 0 comments

A great idea! (If you are behind the controls.)

The future is going to need a spare pair of pants.

Posted on Apr 20, 2012 | 0 comments

Those of you familiar with me will not be surprised to learn that my take on robots is BURN THEM AND KILL ALL THOSE WHO SEEK TO CREATE THEM! Have we learned nothing from Arnold Schwarzenegger movies? They are worse than giant ants! Cold, unfeeling and bent on world domination.

And now they have robots smart enough to dodge oncoming humans.

Hm.

I will reserve my panic until such time as the most advanced robot currently available no longer walks around like he’s got a serious case of the squits.

Where you going, ASIMO? Toilet’s over on the left.

The truth hurts.

Posted on Apr 15, 2012 | 0 comments

There were several of us, sitting around a table at a pub, when talk turned to a shocking local news piece.

A young fellow had been shopped to the police by his mother for behaviour she found unacceptable. To be specific, she had discovered the family cat had been interfered with. Yes, “interfered” with. Sensing, one assumes, that this was out of her scope as a parent, she called the authorities and had him arrested.

Around the table denouncements of the boy’s behaviour rang out.

“Disgusting!”

“Why? Lord why?”

“He’s a monster!”

“Was it declawed? It had to be declawed, right?”

When suddenly, one among us stood apart, took the road less traveled and posed the question that we might have thought but dared not speak:

“Wait, it was his cat…I mean, he paid for it, right?”

Pandemonium ensued. And while everyone else was hooting with mock outrage or laughing til they cried, I was scribbling in my notebook.

Why? Because I care about you all and take the time to ensure such moments will live on in eternity. Or until I get tired of making cards.

So here’s to you Ian, you speaker of truths, you marvellous bastard.

The Great Bacon Contest

Posted on Apr 11, 2012 | 14 comments

This bacon thing is getting out of hand.

Not that I am complaining, mind you. I just wish this alarm clock that makes bacon would also brew me a quick cuppa and then lovingly feed it all to me. If you’re going to invent something, put your pants on and do it up right, dammit.

But who am I kidding? I love those salty strips of pork so much I wouldn’t care if a poorly assembled robot smashed through the door to my bedroom every morning and hurled hot bacon at my face, waking me to the delicious smell of crispy smoked fat and the sensation of my own skin burning off, before it exited through a robot-shaped hole it had bashed into the wall.

To celebrate this love, I’m having a little contest: The Ode To Bacon

Submit your best piece of crispy bacon poetry via the comments by midnight EST on the 25 of April. The winner gets one of these:

Yes a lovely Bacon Shopping Bag designed by yours truly.

Here are the rules:

All poems submitted need to be about bacon.
Poems must be received no later than midnight EST on April 25 2012, and should be submitted via comments on this blog.
Yes, that’s right. Anyone can see your poem, so step up your game Shelley.
The winning entry will be chosen subjectively (and not randomly) by a selection committee comprised of me.
Being a friend or someone I know will not help you – I am brutally but equivalently cruel to all.
The winner’s poem (and possibly some of the losers’ poems) will be posted here and the bag will be shipped to an address the winner provides.
Do not post your address in the comments with your poem. First, that’s presumptuous. Do you really think your poem is that good? Maybe you need to tinker with it a bit more. Second, do I really need to remind you about Internet safety? Mom, I am looking at you…
All forms of poetry are accepted except haiku. Fuck off with the shitty haiku’s people. Jesus. Japan is just mortified about all these crap haiku’s.
Enter as many times as you like, but know that I have a pretty low threshold for irritation.
I don’t care where you live – that bag will get to you or I will die trying.

That’s it. Get scribbling, Emily Dickinson – that bag’s not going to win itself.

EDIT: The first two entries have made clear to me the breadth and depth of poetry forms. Personally I read nothing but British crime novels, so I would never have realised this had it not been for this contest. So there will be three categories in which prizes will be awarded:

First prize: Best in Show (the Bacon Bag) – any format (except, obviously, Haiku)

Second Prize (one 8pack of assorted Wry and Ginger bad parking notes): Best traditional type poetry, excluding goddamn haiku. You know, odes and rhyming limericks and the like.

Third Prize (one 4pack of assorted Wry and Ginger cards): Best new style poetry that does not include flipping haiku. Hip Hop, rambling alcohol induced verse and the like.