In Which I Summarize Movies You Can't Believe I Haven't Seen

"Whaaaaa?? How have you NOT seen The Shawshank Redemption?! It's the greatest movie of all time, and it's so right up your alley!!"

We've all been on the receiving end of that one. Substitute Shawshank for whatever your little hearts desire, but the simple fact remains: Somewhere, someone can't believe you haven't seen something. (Side note: You really should see Shawshank.)

I thought I'd take a few of the ones I get a lot, and guess how the movies go, since honestly, I probably won't watch any of them. I'm cinematically lazy like that. I'll be combining the few facts I do know about these movies, and using Google image search and context clues to fill in the gaps.


Most of the movie takes place in the title guy's office. At least that's what I assume, since any time I've seen a snippet on TV, people are always sitting and talking to him there. I'm also going to go ahead and assume that he is The Godfather, but that "godfather" doesn't mean what it traditionally means in this context. It probably means close to the opposite of its textbook definition.

He is a very powerful mobster, but will only do favors for people when one of his relatives gets married. This is because it provides cover for his shady dealings, and also because he is an introvert and hates big parties and crowds.

Someone needs a super DUPER favor when his daughter gets married, so he makes an offer (the favor-asker) can't refuse. (Yay, pop culture!) I'm pretty sure it's this guy. I'm going to call him "Doug," because "this guy" and "that guy" will get confusing.

Doug is fighting with an old man who keeps lots of expensive horses as pets. We're just going to call him Skeeter, because consistency is important with story telling.

Skeeter owes Doug a great deal of money, and has missed his deadline. Everyone who knows Skeeter also knows that Patty Mayonnaise is his prized and most favorite horse. So when Doug asks The Godfather to help him show Skeeter that he is no longer fucking around, The Godfather knows exactly how to deliver that message.

With his beloved Patty Mayonnaise decapitated, and nothing left to live for, Skeeter continues to refuse paying Doug, knowing that The Godfather will murder him, which he does. The ending is bitter-sweet though, because Skeeter and Patty get to be together again in Horse/Mobster heaven.


I feel like this one is kind of like the Matrix, except with less computers and more dreams. Are we dreaming? Is this real life? Why is the world tilting at a 45 degree angle? Haha, isn't this a hoot?!

Inception takes place in a world where a handful of people have the ability to dream the world into a state that better suits them. Leo and Juno and their friends find a way to infiltrate this dreaming world, and are trying to find ways to stop the evil-doer from bending reality. The evil-doer is really good at controlling the dream world, though, and that's why this shit is always happening:

and this shit:

and also this shit:

Spoiler alert: At least half of the main characters in this movie die, because come on. Look at that shit. Ain't nobody going to survive buildings flipping over and fizzy lifting drinks. Leo and Juno definitely survive and definitely get their bone on. But not before finding some stupid lever or button that forces the bad guy to lose his ability to control the world with his mind.


Admittedly, I wasn't even sure that I hadn't seen this movie until a couple weeks ago, when I discovered that Labyrinth and Pan's Labyrinth were actually two separate movies. In my defense, the latter definitely looks like something in which David Bowie would participate as well. It looks creepy and scary, the two key things I associate with him.


Anyway, in this Spanish Alice in Wonderland, the little girl (who we'll call Alice) climbs underneath the scariest fucking tree she can find, and lands herself in a bizarre underworld of mazes and puzzles she must solve in order to return home.

Of course, there are those who would rather keep her prisoner. The main villain - a goat man named Pan, sends his right-hand man to ensure she can't find her way out of the many puzzles and tasks he sets before her.

If this movie has a douchebag who is always making horrible puns, you know it's this asshole. "Oh, eye'd love to give you a hand with that, Alice, but as you can see, it might be a bit of a palmblem. Hor hor hor hor!"

Despite being fully-equipped for villainy, what with his wrinkly naked-mole rat skin, Voldemort non-nose, and desperate need for a manicure, this guy is quite the bumbling idiot, which allows Alice to navigate Pan's Labyrinth quite easily. Ultimately he takes maters into his own hands, and they have a big spooky show-down. At this point in the movie, Alice realizes how ludicrous and impossible everything happening is, and realizes she's dreaming. She thusly imagines a bed, and one materializes right there in the labyrinth (because, you know, dreamin' magics,) and she tucks herself in. Because just as sleep leads to dreams in the waking world, sleep leads to waking in the dreaming world.


Jesus, it took me like five minutes to even find this picture on Google, because I can barely spell the title.

I really don't understand why this movie is cute. Basically, it's about a chef who finds a rat in his restaurant, and instead of, you know, making it leave, he decides to let him help out in the kitchen, which leads me to believe he's probably the shittiest chef on the planet. How else could unexpected vermin in the kitchen possibly turn out to be a good thing?

He lets the rat take a huge shit in the gumbo, and starts winning awards for it. It's like Sweeney Todd, except instead of bodies, there's rat shit. What's more heart-warming and appetizing than that?

Anything. The answer you are looking for is anything. Take away the Pixar animation, and see how adorable this becomes.

I rest my case.


I'm confused about the time period in which this movie takes place. On the one hand, I feel like there's a chubby kid watching television. On the other, I know there are pirates involved. (There are, right? Christ, I hope so, or I'm really not going to come close with this synopsis. You know. Unlike the other ones.)

A group of ragtag misfits go looking for a pirate treasure, and have all sorts of wacky encounters along the way. I seriously doubt they find the treasure. I bed someone finds a big ol' treasure chest, opens it, and discovers only a scrap of paper with the word "friendship" written on. It's one of those stories where at the end, the adventure itself was the real treasure. Which is all fine and good, but, you know...

I think this guy's name is Sloth, and that he eats nothing but Baby Ruth candy bars, but I could be wrong. He lives in the cave where the misfits go to search for the treasure. I don't think he's a villain, but the kids spend half the movie running from him anyway, because look at that shit. What is going on up there? It's some sort of weird combination of Elephantiasis, male pattern baldness, and just a touch of bad dental hygiene.

I wish I could tell you that the fat kid who does the Truffle Shuffle adopts this little critter so that he can live out the rest of his days comfortably, but in all honesty, the kids probably stone him to death out of rage after they discover they're not going home with a fat sack of doubloons.

There are tons of other movies that I'm apparently supposed to have seen. Maybe I'll touch on the others some other time. In the meantime, I hope you found this as noneducational as possible, because, per tradition, I am talking directly out of my anus.

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Cleaning out my closet

Yeah, that's right. Eminem ain't got shit on me.

Just kidding, Mr. Nem. Please don't shoot me. 

In my last update, I mentioned that I had a few posts which I never got around to completing. I thought it might be cathartic for me, and amusing for you, for me to touch upon the two I liked the best, but realistically will probably never finish. Maybe if I feel like I have a clean slate in regards to creative failures, new creativity can start breeding like rabbits inside my noggin. (Note to self: Advance science; replace brain with bunnies.)

So! Let's get these sad, neglected posts out in the open, shall we? It'll be just like confession all over again, except a bit more random, if that's even possible.

For the first of the two posts, I'd like to preface by saying I would never actually do meth. But I did draw a picture of me contemplating it. I had some brain issues earlier this year. Yes, legitimate, medical brain issues, not "you drew a picture of Hitler banging my mom, what is wrong with you" brain issues. It turned out to be hemiplegic migraines, which suck every dick in the land. But considering the scary bullshit we ruled out, I'll bend over and take it any day.

Anyway, while we were trying to figure out why the fuck I was limping around like a stroke patient and unable to form three-word sentences, I was trying other things, such as vitamins, diet change, a slew of expensive tests, and worst of all, eliminating caffeine, in an attempt to understand and control what was happening.

As you may or may not know, I don't actually have blood coursing through my veins, but rather a frothy mixture of Mountain Dew and coffee. This is beneficial because I don't sleep well and because the carbonation tickles my heart valves. So when I was without caffeine for those horrible few weeks, I was desperately jonesing for something to keep my unhappy ass awake. I started making a list of comparable substitutes in a failed post called "Being Proactive," which included items such as duct-taping a bullhorn to my forehead (for when I slumped over at my desk) and lighting myself on fire (self explanatory,) but the only item on the list I ever got around to illustrating was Meth.

The hemiplegic migraines are under control now, and I did not have to resort to ingesting happy little meth crystals to make it happen. I'd call that a success.

The second post which deserved its day in the sun was about an awesomely terrible idea I once had involving Coca Cola, Bill Cosby, and fourteen pounds of pudding. Rather than try to explain the post, I'm just going to give you what I had accomplished so far. Heads up: I left it at a real cliff-hanger, as far as the pictures go.

This may come as a shock to all long-time readers, but occasionally, I've been known to make very stupid decisions. This is one such story.

I know not everyone who reads will know what Sam's Club is, and frankly, I'm not sure how to describe it in a way that will do it justice. Sam's is an exclusive treasure trove of goods, accessible for members only. It's grocery store on steroids. It's a beautiful, in-bulk wonderland of superfluous spending. They sell everything you could ever want, in quantities no normal human being should even imagine, let alone need. In a way, it's everything America stands for.

A few years ago, my friends Brian and Paul, who were living together (platonically, as far as I know) decided to obtain a membership to Sam's Club, in an attempt to buy in bulk once in a great while, and then go months without grocery shopping. This served not only their benefit, but my own, as members of Sam's Club were allowed to bring one non-member with them. I was lucky enough, on several occasions, to be their +1. I still remember being wrapped in a warm, fluorescent blanket of wonder as I stepped through those automatic doors and feasted my eyes around the dozens of rows, not knowing where to start.

One day, while tagging along in Sam's with my friend Brian, something caught my eye. I mean, everything in this store is huge, don't get me wrong. But this.... this was a thing of pure beauty. I felt like I was looking, for a brief, fleeting moment, into the very eyes of god.

....The god of pudding.

Bippin' and the boppin' and the boooooooooooo....

And that's where the post stopped. "What happened? WHAT HAPPENED? Did you buy the fucking pudding? Did you wrestle in it? Tell me!" scream the masses of readers at this point. Well, I'll tell you.

Being the genius I was, I reasoned that because "my stomach was about the size of this can," (Aka, my torso was, and I really had no idea what the fuck I was talking about,) that I could easily devour this monstrosity in one sitting. I begged Brian for a while, and he eventually obliged. "Okay, so we'll get a can," he conceded.
"We'll get a can each," I corrected.
"Yeah, each! Look!" *holds 7 lbs of pudding to my stomach "It should totally fit in there."

I don't know how or why I convinced him that this was the best course of action, but as a public service announcement: Friends don't let friends attempt to eat seven fucking pounds of pudding. I don't care how much you think you love it, it simply cannot be done. And by god, we certainly gave it the old college try.

We got to the check out with 14 pounds of pudding and a 24pack of glass bottles of Coke (Because, you know, fizzy carbonation + excessive dairy product = a good idea, always.) The check out lady just kind of looked at us for a minute, and eventually asked "...Big night ahead?" No, bitch, we're buying this because we're playing it safe.

We sat down with our Coca Cola, cans of pudding, and Bill Cosby stand-up. We got about twenty minutes in before we realized we had made a horrible, horrible mistake. We had foregone a party that evening just to devour pudding, and were now wishing we hadn't. The compromise was that we would abandon our plans and go to the party, but, we had to take the pudding with us and finish it there.

There is one known photograph of this night in existence, taken at said party.

Yeah, I know, the outfit was hideous. I was going through a phase. Leave me alone.

What actually happened instead of finishing the pudding at the party was that we tried to eat as much as possible over the next week, but with every passing day, every spoonful of increasingly-hateful chocolate death that passed our lips, the task grew more and more impossible. Eventually it got all watery and gross, and we probably tossed out at least 10-12 pounds of it.

I have not been to Sam's Club since.

So there you have it - my two biggest regrets, as far as failed posts. I have a few other pictures that didn't even make it into failed-post form, and have no idea what I might have wanted to use them for.

There's this one:

This was likely for some religious debate.

And then there's this one I drew of Nicki Minaj at some point:

And then there's this one, which I obviously can't take credit for, but that is hysterical to me, so I'm throwing it in here anyway:

I love tacos.

Alright. *deep breath.* I feel absolved of my sins, and like my closet is sufficiently cleaned out, for now. Will this actually help my creative process and result in more regular posts? *shrugs.* One way to find out, bitches. Stay tuned!

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My blog has a sad. My brain has a pbbbbtb.

Sometimes, I feel sorry for my little blog, here. We started off so hopeful and energetic and eager to please the masses.

But, as life has a tendency to do, my ambitions became stifled over time with real-world business, obligations, illnesses, and all the other lovely things that make up life. And thus, my blog began accumulating cobwebs in the corner, crying out for love and attention, and adding to that ever-lengthening list of shit I'd rather be doing, and never have time or energy to actually do.

Everyone has their own burdens and issues, and I try to remind myself often that mine pale in comparison to so many. And for that reason, I did not (and do not, and will not ever) want my blog to become one of those poor-me, self-indulgent venues.

All of that said, however, it's hard to flip that switch. It's hard to want to sit down and be creative when one's mind is bogged down. And I feel like mine's been bogged down for a long time.

I have so many half-finished, half-written, half-illustrated, or otherwise half-assed posts that I've never published here. My creativity and brain in general feel like an ultra-tightly-tangled ball of yarn. Every once in a while, I'll find the end, start pulling, and get excited when I make a little headway. But an inch or two in (giggity,) it stops unraveling easily, and the string I thought might actually pull free with ease disappears into an indecipherable knot. Whatever it was that used to motivate me to keep unraveling it no longer finds me easily, assuming it does at all. It's very frustrating.

"Oh, just do it, you crybaby pussface," you may be thinking to yourself. It never ceases to amaze me that people think it's that simple for everyone. How is it that we can believe stupid cliches, like "Each snowflake is unique" or "No two Doritos have the same amount of seasoning," (mmm, Doritos...) and yet, when it comes to the inner workings of our brains - the most intricate, fascinating, mysterious, unique, indecipherable little fuckers on the planet - suddenly, everyone has the exact same ability to carry on as everyone else?

Spoiler alert: We don't. And I need to learn to stop beating myself up for it.

I don't have an endgame for this post, and there's no particular point I'm trying to make, really. But I wanted to throw this all out there. It's probably more for my own benefit than anything.

Maybe I'll be back soon, maybe not. Either way... I'm sorry for abandoning you for so long, Meteoroflgy. I'll try to do better. *hugs computer screen*

I'll try to do better.


Yeah, so this happened.

Anybody got $500 laying around they weren't using so I can buy this little asshat a crown? q___q

Edit: Apparently I need four additional crowns. Shoot me in the face, please.


This is not a real post.

I have a couple posts written, and just haven't illustrated them yet. This is likely because all parts of my brain, including the creative part, are on strike. I've been having horrible migraines and headaches for the past several weeks, and it's hard to get motivated to use your brain when it's stabbing itself. Add in the chronic anxiety and insomnia, and that's basically why I never doodle anymore.

I tried to start drawing today, and this is all that came out.

So yeah. There's that. I achieved something. Huzzah. 

Today I was told I'd have to see a neurologist, so maybe when I get in with a specialist and get my head under control, I'll be less of a ghostie. 'Til then, may my creepy-ass brain haunt your dreams. ♥


Easter Shame

I'm usually pretty crafty with the Easter eggs, but I just could not get my shit together this year for some reason. My Marmie and I started off making an attempt, but as egg after egg kept looking like it fell directly out of a horse's asshole after said horse had been force-fed nothing but Taco Bell for three days straight, we just kind of gave up and made silly ones. I thought I'd share them with you lovely people.

We'll start with someone of the ones that turned out alright. 
"Golden Egg Kit" my ass. Look at those streaky motherfuckers in front. 

I think ol' Orangie on the right there is when I started to give up hope. 
Aaaand... here are some of the others. 

Marmieduke proudly showing off her masterpiece(ofshit)

Hitler and Eggva

I just... I don't even. 

My painted boat melted into a fucking demon

Hitler's backside. I put flowers around it, so it's okay. 

Derp the Ogre Easy might be my favorite. 

I like Halloween, so fuck off. 

Zombie Boat thinks it's a train. Choo choo, motherfuckers. 

One of the less shameful shots

One of the more shameful shots

Most of these are shameful shots

Oh hai!

You're special in your own way, little egg. 

"We wanted to be beautiful," they cried out in vain.

Last but not least, because I'm an asshole, and because my Marm told me I had a flat tire on April Fool's and made me shit my pants, here's a video of my mom's very best Ed Wynn impression.

"You'll delete that video, won't you?"
"Of course, mother. Of course."

What do you think, Ed?

Well alright, then.