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Archives for December 2010

Today in Startling Tell-All Revelations That No One Could Ever Have Guessed

“Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Mansion More Like a Squalid Prison, Say Playmates.”

Since ending his relationship with the sisters, in January this year, he is said — in what must be one of the most suspect statements of the century — to have been monogamous. Unlikely as it seems, he is perhaps serious about making ­Harris his wife.

If so, she will be little envied by many of Hefner’s former girlfriends. For they know that, while life at the Playboy Mansion appears to offer all that an aspiring young celebrity might yearn for, she is committing herself to a life of squalid degradation in a cage which is far from gilded.

Resolution 2011: Get Some More &#($&%$!! Work Done.

Here is a list of 11 “weird” video game endings. Some of them are…interesting.

F.E.A.R. 2: “As far as I know, this is the only game where the good ending involves getting a woman pregnant against your will.”

Jericho: “So you spend the game battling the evil influence of the Firstborn, an abomination created by God as a failure before he made Man. When it’s time for the final confrontation, the Firstborn is… a baby in a bubble. And you don’t even kill it – the game’s other antagonist turns into a dragon, picks it up and flies into a light-up cave vagina with it.”

Drakengard: “So here’s one of the game’s five endings, which involves giant floating cannibalistic babies, suicide bombing and more.”

See you and raise, Webb.

“How four women (and one man) conspired to make two babies — a son and a daughter of the same age from the same egg donor but two different surrogates.”

The Flight into Egypt


“Art is not made to decorate rooms.  It is an offensive weapon in the defense against the enemy.” — Picasso

I wrote a (very short) review!

Rabbit Hole – I one-starred it, which makes me out of step with the critical consensus.

Today in Porn, NPR Edition Redux

Yeah, pretty much the only fun thing about Hugh Hefner getting engaged again is hearing it announced in the professionally lighthearted tone employed by the ladyhost of Morning Edition.

My Christmas Poem to the Korrektiv Kollektive….

…and all youse guys who bother to bother with me.

(My faults are my own and my virtues are your fault!)


Uncle Paul played the hunter each Christmas
Out among the frozen hills, his gun in hand,
“It takes more than blood-thirst to hunt, I guess,”
He’d say. “You have to know what’s on your land.”
He’d come back, a bird in bag and listless
To tell his tale. He’d fumble words in his head,
Then begin: “Today was miraculous…”
He’d wander around the land of the dead
With light snow from last night as the world’s pall.
He’d hear a crow sing for mercy on the ridge,
Bleak as rust. And in a pear tree he’d find his soul.
Like Saul’s David, he chased that partridge.
“That pear tree always drops me bitter fruit,
Yet each year it offers me a bird to shoot.”

Christmas Eve Flashback

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
(or A Visit from Quin and Henri Webb)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and we were watching House —
That episode where he had a webcam pointed at a mouse.
Foreman and Chase were trying not to care
That to be fodder for put-downs was why they were there.

The patients were nestled in their hospital beds,
While House smacked a few of them upside their heads.
And Cuddy with her cleavage, and Cameron the sap,
Figured as foils for more of House’s crap,

When out in the street there arose such a clatter,
I paused the TiVo to see what was the matter.
Handing my wife the remote and my beer,
I got off the couch to see who was here.

The pizza guy fishtailing madly through the snow
Had collided with my neighbor’s 1993 Volvo,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Quin and Henri Webb bringing more beer.

With a twelve-pack in one hand and in the other a stick,
Henri Webb made a strange but impressive St. Nick.
More rapid than a gutter, Quin guzzled one down,
And he whistled and said, “Let’s go out on the town”:

“Now Søren! Now Walker!
Now, René* and Blaise!
On, Flannery! On, Fyodor!
Fie, Despair and Malaise!
To the top of the blog!
To the top of Korrektiv!
Now post away! Post away!
Post some invective!”

As comments that make other wild comments fly,
When they land in the combox like farkleberry pie,
So Quin and Henri began to jeer
At Lickona who showed up with even more beer.

So Quin and Henri Webb began to get frisky
When they spied Lickona coming with a bottle of whiskey.

*Girard not Descartes.

A brief history of rock, musicology edition

With apologies:
1. in the event that I have already posted this
2. for not living up to the esoteric standards of Korrektiv
3. for any earworms contracted as a result of exposure to this video