Vern, aka Vernal Squeequinox, is my Winter White dwarf hamster. You might have seen him in other articles here, or in my interminable Facebook posts. Maybe you’re not interested in another page about my emotional support hamster*, but I assure you, Vern only wants to share love. Like me, he takes his small fandom very seriously. (As seriously as a tiny ball of fluff can take anything.)
A snoozing Vern in an Ovo pod.
*If you’d like to lose an awful lot of blood, mention “that news item” in front of me. I will happily crush your windpipe and aerate your jugular vein. Happily.
Everyone loves a gingerbread house. Even South Park’s hate campaign against the “ginger” couldn’t dull the sugary luster of the beloved cookie-built domicile. You probably remember the first time you saw one, right? Or the first time you smelled one?
How to make me put a ring on it*, chapter one. (*the robot.)
Sometime in the late 1970s, at my local church, I spied and smelled a real, elaborate gingerbread house for the first time. It was during an Advent festival, with apple-cheeked residents of my snowy hometown selling pinecone ornaments and weaving fragrant holiday wreaths budded with hollyberry. Someone had knocked themselves out on the centerpiece, a resplendent dwelling of gingerbread with all the confectionery trimmings, the kind that lured the likes of Hansel and Gretel to their near-doom.
This is it folks; the final chapter for 2015. If you still aren’t full and/or sick after reading this, here are the first, second, and third chapters. Spoiler alert: Freddy dies in this one. From an overdose of candy corn.
Welcome to the third installment of our perennial perusal of Halloween sweets. If for some reason this one’s not enough for you, here’s the first, and the second. It’s a lot of sugar and junk, so pace yourself.
I don’t want to admit that I’ve been eating a lot of candy corn this fall, but earlier I cut myself and bled orange. I’m surprised my craps aren’t pumpkin-colored by now. I make a lot of sacrifices for this website, but at this point I feel like Martin Sheen in Apocalypse Now, writhing and bleeding, muttering “shit… I’m still eating this shit.”
Halloween is little more than a month away, so join me, as I once again risk my tooth enamel and gastrointestinal tract trying to recapture the joyfully spooky autumns of my youth. Click here for a much earlier installment in this series.
I found these things at Target, which is where I get about 50% of the candy I consume. The rest comes from Publix or CVS. These places understand adults with a diet that includes candy/crap. I typically can’t emerge from a Publix without a fresh bag of Wonka Randoms. Whoever designed those needs a fat promotion. The satisfaction of going to the scoop-and-bucket candy store at the mall- they nailed it. Continue reading →
That Turd of Shame should be bigger. I still have that Jesus Christ Superstar LP, for crying out loud. But take heed; without ALW’s bloated messiah opus, Mr. Show would never have given us Jeepers Creepers Semi-Star.Continue reading →
As Halloween approaches, we celebrate by getting sick on weird candy. To kick off this recurring feature, here’s an article from October 31, 2007.
What, you thought I was too busy to hand out treats to you fine kids? Hell no! How could I show up empty-handed, with all the hard work you guys put into your costumes? Sure, maybe you’ll be a little disappointed with what I have to offer, but since I at least made an effort to please you nice kids, maybe you won’t huck eggs at my quaint little Web 1.0 home here.
I’ll be blunt; my choices aren’t very original, but I hope you nice kids won’t hold that against me. I can see the glimmer of apprehension in your eyes behind those clever masks, no doubt caused by the realization that my home smells like compacted ass. Perhaps my shambling and tattered clothes suggest a feral man easily spooked by traffic’s roar. I assure you the corpses on the lawn are decorations and not interns.