You know what, SWTOR really should've made it so when you corrupt a Jedi over to the Less Freakin' Beige Side they swap accent along with eye colour.



"Walk in darkness with me, baby. Our fashion sense compares to yours the superior. Also you'll be British."

On-Demand up the Big Bang Theory season ender, and found it surprisingly neither rage nor vomit nor nohow glassy-eyed-boredom inducing. And it was a wedding episode. I worry me.

So after The Return Of The Walking Dead...after The Walking Dead comes back...there's going to be this reality show with which Kevin Smith is somehow associated called "Comic Book Men" which I kind of feel as though I ought to watch because it's not called "Graphic Novel Men" (NEVER SURRENDER) but on the other hand it's reality television...

But anyhow as always when the Mainstream Press is required to write about Wordy-Picture-Paper-Narratives and the savage inscrutable culture that surrounds them, they can all agree on one thing and hell universally declare it to be pretty much that which defines Wordy-Picture-Paper-Narrative Culture, which is that it is exclusively male, man.

"Here, there be dudes. At one point, a peroxide blonde crosses the threshold in an attempt to sell a Chucky doll, but the Secret Stash is primarily a male preserve and, more importantly, a refuge—a fanboy man-cave."

Wait, a Chucky doll? *reads for comprehension* Oh it's a memorabilia shop. Why isn't it called "Memorabilia Men", then? That'd be way catchier. I would totally read a graphic novel called Memorabilia Men.

In conclusion I was going to arbitrarily insult Magic: The Gathering players but I'm all off topic now.

Checked in on Big Bang Theory to see whether it was continuing its descent into uncharted suck. It was.

Then I get online and everyone is on about how this episode was way totally an improvement over the previous two. Good Christ. I can only assume babies were involved.

can't believe today was the day David Bowie became a senior citizen and I didn't even bake a cake or nothin'. DAMN YOU SKYRIM.

Lego "For Girls" where "For Girls" is functionally equivalent to "That Sucks". So that once again assholes who had avoided buying their tragically penis-impaired progeny Lego for fear that the reek of theoretical testosterone radiating from all those sweet interlocking oblongs would turn them into lesbian anarchist vegans can feel safe in forking their hardearned simoleans over for some monochromatic and annoyingly unmodular crap labelled Lego and when said PIPs don't express the same degree of enthusiasm that little Dick did they can throw up their hands and say "Sorry, man, what ya gonna do, giirls just don't like Lego" whereupon LegoCorp will be FORCED go back to the drawing board to come up with something even PINKER and LESS MODULAR and I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID PREVIOUSLY ABOUT HUMANS NOT SUCKING.

So tonight the Garneau which is now the Metro but still the Garneau was showing Akira, subtitled, and as I had never seen it either on the big non-VHS screen or not dubbed by ninja turtles I was like I am so all over that and helpfully wrote "KANEDAAAAA! TETSUOOOO!" on the day on the kitchen calendar to remind myself.

The theatre is like a five minute casual stroll away, so we set out a-strollin' bout ten minutes before the movie was set to begin, because come on, it's a 20-something year old cartoon on a Tuesday night and university's out and GOOD CHRIST WHAT'S WITH THE MOB ON THE SIDEWALK? Turns out I'm part of a surprisingly populous Akira-appreciating five-minutes-from-the-theatre-dwelling karass. Jesus it was chaos. The ticket guy kept saying that people who could pay cash could go THERE, and presumably he was in some way indicating where there was, but I couldn't see 'cause PEOPLE, so we stood in a line for a while that turned out to be the concession, and intermittently this chick would appear and tell us not to riot worry, they were delaying the showing.

But anyways we got in and got decent seats and they had a little pre-show contest thing getting people up onstage to scream their best TETSUOOOOO and/or KANEDAAAAA and Diabla participated and got lots of claps but the last dude won for being willing to enthusiastically hurl himself into a wall and moreover it was generally agreed that the one guy in the middle should have won like way more but after his thing he flounced off the stage all in character y'know.

So after that I braced myself for a lot of hooting and hollering and Rocky Horrorish shenanigans, and you know, why not, it's ancient and the dialogue does whether in Subtitle or Ninja Turtlese consist primarily of characters screaming each others' names. But no man they were so quiet. They were so INTO it.

tl;dr: sometimes humans are tolerable.

...do you realize, do you understand, DO YOU, that I probably coulda mighta totally retrieved the Amulet of Yendor Skyrim and, like, been bathed in radiance by an invisible choir   been told by Atrus to go make myself useful   okay I have no idea what BUT I COULDA MOST LIKELY BEEN DOING IT IF I DIDN'T FEEL COMPELLED TO RELOAD EVERY TIME YOU HURL YOURSELF INTO MY LINE OF FIRE AS I AM FINALLY ABOUT TO KILL SOMETHING REALLY HARD TO KILL BUT INSTEAD I SHOOT YOU IN THE HEAD AND YOU DIE???



YOU TOO, DOG.

Okay so that's THREE shows I had been enjoying now that have suddenly swandived into the "they are siblings but not GENETICALLY so let the sexin' commence!" pit of ewww. And you know it's not even the incest aspect that offputs me most, I mean I find it approximately as erotic as eating poop but to each his own and judging by Supernatural fandom there's a whole lotta each. No, it's the NOT GENETICALLY business. Show some balls, Hollywood incest fetishists, let Sam and Dean go at it, it's not like it could make things any stupider (aw don't cry Supernatural, THIS made it ALL worthwhile).

I've made this soup twice now--the second time mind you just trying halfheartedly to replicate the first but it worked out very well and mysteriously made a noticeably larger quantity of soup.

Take:
1 large cauliflower, growing old in the shadows at the back of your refrigerator
2 large potatoes, sprouting great eyes in the depths of your pantry
1 onion fished out from amongst the corpses of its horrifically besmutted brethren
3 cloves of garlic EFF YOU ENTROPYGOD YOU HAVE YET TO FIND A WAY TO DESTROY GARLIC
1 shallot ditto
1 sweet bell pepper
3 bay leaves, I try to fish them out before the emblendening but the first time round one got in
lots and lots and lots of olive oil
equal lots of salt

Roast all this shit in a large rusty rectangular cake pan at about 450 degrees Fahrenheit for about an hour, taking the pan out and stirring the burnt bits down into the sweet olive oily goo accruing on the bottom whenever you smell burning vegetables and wondering all the while why Canadians consistently cook in Fahrenheit and also why there are rectangular cake pans, let alone why you own one, I mean are there even rectangular cakes outside of those gross things you buy at Safeway that taste like dryer lint coated in toothpaste but way less zesty?

Remove all this hopefully now moderately brown and juicy shit from oven and dump it into a pot. On the stove. Top up with water and two of those organic veggie cube things that you use whenever the recipe calls for chicken stock and it always feels sort of totally like cheating at this game of wait what exactly? Also pepper to taste.

Simmer while you watch Psych and try to accept the premise that Jean Smart is an undesirable hag. Allow to cool to a point where it won't kill for final reals your cheap plastic blender that you cannot get the bottom out of. But oh well if it does you know. But it doesn't. Damn. EDIT: AND THEN BLEND. Ffff.

Add in the juice of half a lemon. I cannot overstress this. Replicating, I forgot, and I was like, eh, it's good, but why was I so keen on this stuff? Then I remembered and put it in. Yeah.

Eat. Feeds like a kazillion. Keeps ya regular.