Suvudu has a great cagematch tournament going on. The tournament pits various sci-fi and fantasy characters (reps from major fictional universes).

Some of the best (possible) battles:

Dumbledore vs. Ender Wiggin

Aragorn vs. Arthur Dent

Rand Al’Thor vs. Conan the Barbarian

and my personal favorite:

Hermione Granger vs. Cthulhu

How great is that!?!

My prediction:

Final four: Arthur Dent, Roland, Aslan, and Cthulhu.

The Elder God drowns the simpering Christian allegory in a sea of endless dread.

And there it ends.

Arthur Dent and Roland Deschain battle endlessly. Arthur Dent is functionally immortal and Roland’s narrative is cyclical.

Wowbagger, the Infinitely Prolonged and Cthulhu bond over beers while watching the fight.


Snowed In, (1)

John could smell his rear tires burning. Christ, he thought. I’m burning rubber and it’s three degrees outside. He felt the back end of the car slide to his right and cursed. He pulled the wheel hard right and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The skid slowed, and he felt the front tires grab the snow just before the damn car went horizontal. He couldn’t see shit. The snow had been coming hard for the past two hours and was getting worse. He had given up on his brights about twelve miles back; they let him see the snowflakes, but did absolutely jack for the road.

“Take it easy, John. Just pull to the right.”

“I am fucking pulling to the fucking right as hard as I can. This stupid fucking thing just won’t…” A car sped past, climbing the hill on the left.

“What an asshole. John, ease up on the gas.”

“Steve, if I ease up on the gas, we’ll slide into the embankment.” John could feel the rear tires spin on the ice. It had been snowing for about five hours, piling powder on top of the slush and ice that had covered the local roads for the past week. Driving had been bad since they’d gotten here, but it hadn’t been this bad. They’d picked a bad night to try for a dinner out. John let the pedal up slowly and felt the car begin to slide backward the hill. He gave it a little more gas, but the car slid right back into the embankment. The impact was slight, but it was enough to knock the rear end of the car straight again. With the car back on the road, John eased the car back down the hill.

“Steve, I’m sorry, but we’re going back to the Cricks.”

The rest of the drive was silent. As John pulled the car, a little too fast, into the unplowed driveway, Steve said, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll be asleep.”

“Don’t bet on it.” John glanced at the dashboard clock. “It’s only 9:30. He’ll be waiting for us.”

John watched the snow fall and wondered how the hell they were going to get the damn thing out of the driveway in the morning or if they’d be able to get out at all. He reached into the back seat for his jacket and saw that Steve already had on his gloves, his hat, and his scarf. It was a thirty-foot walk to the front door, but Steve was going to be well covered. Protection from the cold or from Harold? Probably both, John thought. Hell, he’ll probably pull that hat down over his face and go straight up to his god damned room. If Harold was awake, it would be John’s responsibility–again–to talk to him. John opened his door and grimaced as he braced against the cold.

Moving on….

I know that the recent swarm of political posts has been… depressingly sad. As if y’all don’t know what I think about the bailouts and the stimulus plan.

If there’s anything worse than the political rant, it’s the never-ending political rant that never changes. And if there’s anything worse than that, it’s Rush Limbaugh.

And if there’s anything worse than that it’s Al Franken, who figured out that the only way to become a bigger ass than Limbaugh was to become a U.S. Senator. Touché Mr. Franken, touché. Anyway, I regress….

I want to scale back the political whining blogging and try to focus on more constructive, creative things… like  twitter and facebook! And there’s the super-secret project that I neglected last week and I missed a self-imposed deadline, which stinks. And there’s my not-quite-so-secret project that I’ve neglected for months now and is beginning to haunt my dreams… but I tease.

And I tease badly. The super-secret project is a website, and no, I won’t tell you what it is, but it’s up and nobody’s seen it yet. If and when it gets rolling I’ll unwrap it. For now, I want it to build it’s audience slowly…. (slower than this? You ask. Yes. Slower than this.) The not-quite-so-secret project is a writing project that I’ll put up here eventually.

The point (and there is one, I promise) is that I’ve been so consumed by whining blogging about politics and the economy that I’ve let other projects that actually make me happier sit unattended and that’s… well, that’s just plain silly.

I’ll still put up the odd post or four occasionally, but I’m going to make a concerted effort to keep things lighter here for a while.


So… now. Ahm…. about those…



Here’s a funny cartoon from xkcd!

The Princess Bride

I’m also going to put up some recipe/food stuff and maybe some more lists…. I like lists.

And, I’m going to put up a story that I’ve been working on for a while. That’s coming tomorrow. The story is “Snowed In” and I’ll put it up in installments. Probably one installment per week….


Nationalizing the banks would slow economic growth and keep vital capital shackled to inefficient enterprises at just the time that we need to liberate… ack… [cough]… [sputter]…

Ok, ok. I think I’m  OK now. I think that was the last of it.