Sometimes You Find Cool Stuff When You Rummage in Your Headspace

[laguera25]

I finally bestirred myself to update Facebook just so I could friend Dug the dog from Up. While there, I noticed that Statler and Waldorf, those venerable Muppet hecklers, were also members, and I duly friended them. Yes, I am a sad specimen frozen in toddlerhood. I find comfort in these gentle, unassuming characters, especially waggy, slobbery Dug, who just makes you want to hug him and scritch his belly until his legs splay bonelessly and his eyes roll back in his head. Dug and his ilk keep me from washing my hands of the whole human species and declaring my independence thereof with the help of dual mounted machine guns and a bag of ammunition. Every time I convince myself that humans are nothing but a horde of irredeemable fuckwits, I just see Dug and Wall-E and Statler and Waldorf and remember that some humans are capable of great and wonderful imagination. I just wish there were more Jim Hensons and John Lassiters and Brad Birds and fewer Ann Coulters and Fred Phelpses and teenage girls who think it's funny to stuff kittens into ovens. Fewer bus drivers who take time from their day to ensure that I know what an irksome burden I am to transport. Fewer passengers who piss and moan that I should segregate myself to the exceedingly limited and cripplingly expensive "disabled transport" to save them five minutes. After all, haven't they be so gracious and accommodating to me, what with letting me live and allowing me to venture out in public at all?

He might be for children, but I need Dug's goofy sunshine, too. Does anybody know where I can find some LJ icons?


AHAHAHAHA! For the first time in my life, I fangirled Bobby Flay. Teddy was his usual skuldugerous self last night, trying to claim the collaborative dish by him and Debbie as solely his, and Bobby saw right through the self-serving bullshit in a moment so sublime that I pined for a DVR with which to preserve it for posterity.

Teddy: I really think the meatloaf was my dish.

Bobby: Your dish?

Teddy: Yes.

Bobby: Last night, you said the dessert was your dish. ~rolls footage~

Teddy: ~is busted~

Beautiful. It was Law and Order: Food Network, as though he were channeling his wife's former character, Alex Cabot. I could've high-fived him for the sheer awesomeness of the smackdown. His world-weary eyeroll when Debbie continued to flog the drama llama with her stick of wounded integrity after the smackdown had been rendered also made me love him just a little. If only he weren't always so damn smug.

As for Debbie, I'm unimpressed with her whinging that she can't trust Teddy's integrity. Yes, Teddy's a scurrilous scalwag who'd gank his terminally ill grandmother for her Social Security check if it brought him one step closer to victory, but she isn't much better. She did transform her unilateral "executive decision" in Week 1 into a "group effort" in a bid to spread the blame when it backfired. She's not exactly Harry Potter, foregoing the opportunity for a peaceful afterlife to save his friends and the rest of the wizarding world.

Miraculously, Teddy, who performed a backstage grovel job that would've done Peter Pettigrew proud, survived because Eddie has the culinary knowledge of a turnip and the personality of an ulcerated buffalo bollock. Bobby called him to task for his unbecoming chauvinism in the kitchen, though Bobby is hardly one to be casting stones in that department. In episodes of Grilling with Bobby Flay and Throwdown with Bobby Flay, the condescension oozes from his pores in a nearly visible haze of Smug. It's three times worse if the oven rack isn't the only rack in the kitchen. More than once, I've wondered why the opposing female chefs haven't snapped and stabbed him in the nuts with the barbecue tongs while screaming that they're going to show him how to make Rocky Mountain oysters, motherfucker.

So, Eddie's gone, but Teddy lingers like a bad taco fart, as does Debbie and the eye-gougingly annoying Katie, who sabotages herself weekly by bludgeoning the judges with her idealistic nutritionist fu.

I predict the three finalists will be Melissa, Jamika, and Jeffrey. I'm rooting for either Jamika or Jeffrey because Melissa is too bubbly, and I'm tired of her Everywoman Supermom schtick. So you have four kids and know all about cooking on a budget. Good for you. I don't need to hear it every week. Tell me something about you I haven't heard before.

My predicted winner: Jeffrey, though his odds might be hampered by the fact that Food Network is rapidly becoming a sausage fest.


I managed to plunk out a few lines of my criminally-overdue spn_halloween fic. Not many, mind, but enough to rekindle the passion long enough to finish the fic, I think. I finally know how to get where I need to go.

Once I get it finished, I need to do the following:

-finish "C Is For Confession" and post it.

-start Stella's chapter of History Lessons.

-start Part XIII of Et Tu

-start that Dowdfic I've contemplated for years.

-either throttle or nurture the My Bloody Valentine plotkit that hopped into the hutch the day before yesterday.

-decide if I want to write the two ideas for Rammstein RPF that have taken root in my brain recently. While I wrote reams of dreadful New Kids on the Block RPF badfic during early adolescence, when the world began and ended at the end of my nose and celebrities existed solely for my amusement, I have since developed pangs of conscience when it comes to writing about living people who might be angered, hurt, or offended by what I wrote. Someone suggested that I write it for my private satisfaction, but I have discovered that when it comes to my writing, I'm a potty-training toddler. I just have to show someone what I made.