Alternative Tolkien - Raymond Chandler

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Raymond Chandler:


It started that night, and it started with a wizard. It always starts with a wizard.


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Kinda like Clive Barker on Spanish fly

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Pimping weepingcock:


The Walking Talking Tongue


Yes, you read that right. No, I'm not high. (Well, yes I am, but that's not the point.)

Just go.

Oh, and be sure to put the Coke down first.

Email spam of the day

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Confess. You are broil about your penis size.



I'm afraid even to ask.

Earthshine

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( My current desktop )

This one's particularly pretty, I think, so I wanted to share it.

( Here's the original pic, )

in case you'd like to have it.

Beowulf vs. The Lord of the Rings

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I seem to have a lot to say today.


From Salon.com:


"Beowulf" vs. "The Lord of the Rings"

One is a living universe, the other a 3-D voyage to schlockville. A great essay by Tolkien helps us understand why.

by Gary Kamiya


Having seen the ads and the trailer, nothing in this article surprises me, frankly. It's the typical Hollywood fervor to dig up every ancient story and shit on it so thoroughly it'll take decades to undo the damage. Par for the course. I just wish the Professor's favorite text could have escaped unscathed. I'm sure he's spinning in his grave even as we speak.

Alternative Tolkien - Ernest Hemingway

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Ernest Hemingway:



It was very late and everyone had left the hall except an old man who sat in the shadows the leaves of the old Mallorn made against the moonlight. The two elves inside the hall knew that the old man was a little drunk, and while he usually was quiet and kept to himself they knew that if he became too drunk he would start setting things on fire, so they kept watch on him.

“He’s drunk,” one elf said.

“What do you care?”

“He’s muttering about the secret fire.”

“Leave him alone. He used to carry a ring.”

“He’ll stay all night. He should never have been rebodied.”

The old man rapped on the table with his goblet. The younger elf went over to him.

“What do you want?”

The old man looked at him. “Another miruvor.”

“You’ll be drunk,” the elf said. The old man looked at him. The elf went away.

“Look at his bushy eyebrows,” he said to his colleague. “There is nothing as nasty as an old Man. He’ll stay all night and I’ll never get any sleep.”

The elf took the bottle of miruvor from the counter inside the hall and marched to the old man’s table. He poured the goblet full.

“You should never have been rebodied,” he said to the old man.