Maybe Kung Fu Panda Can Find My Focus

The weather outside has been frightful and promises to be so for three days more, so if I'm not around, it's because I'm cowering in the living room and using Till Lindemann's melodic demonstrations of testicular might to drown out the thunderclaps.

( Kung Fu Panda--Microscopic SPOILERS )

I'd reserve that label for Pixar's upcoming release, Wall-E, because even Pixar's worst(Cars) is excellent. I just hope they don't overdo it with the dreaded Go Green hammer of self-righteous and impracticable environmentalism. Cars' saccharine ode to Route 66 and "the good ole days" before the evil, phallic intrusion of the land-raping interstate makes my stomach heave every time I watch it and nearly ruins a wonderful movie.

And wow, this is a meandering entry, like I've taken a hit of LSD and am meandering through a field of poppies, sniffing the pretty, nodding buds and absent-mindedly taking off my clothes. By the end of this post, my underwear will be on my head and I'll be singing "Lesbian Seagull" while regaling unlucky readers with lurid, incoherent details about my latest Flack fantasy.

I'll be Tom Bombadil. Fantastic.

Speaking of Flack, I'm behind in the ficcing department. Flack is still puttering in the cemetery, waiting for me to pull my thumb out of my ass and stop being so lazy and unfocused. I'm 3,000 words off pace, and matters are not improved by the knowledge that an SPN exchange fic is due on August 1st, or by the niggling temptation to play with other buns in the hutch.

My focus, someone show me it.