When Ross approached me with his business offer I didn’t really see the harm. Just clamp the apparatus to my armpit before shuffling off to the land of nod every noon and collect my pittance from the dresser in the morning. They always use the dresser.
Had I known he intended to actually market my sudations I’d have asked for more than $3.75 per diurnal marriage of man-pit and machine.
Our deepest apologies, dear readers, for having fallen down on the job as of late in regards to one of our most sacred traditions. Needless to say, we are filled with a great sense of shame and assure you it will not happen again. If, in the future, one of us is unable to fulfill their obligations our newly acquired team of Korean animators will leap into action, producing original cartoons for your enjoyment, although in all honesty I personally cannot guarantee this. You see, by “team of Korean animators” I actually mean a Korean family that Eliza met — and subsequently forced into her windowless van — while running errands at Home Depot. They have tried to reason with her, explaining that they are involved in other professions, the father is a salesman for a lighting manufacturer and his wife works as a bank teller. The children are, well, children.
Eliza would hear none of it however, either assuming that they were lying or under the impression that all people of Korean descent have an innate ability to animate. The rest of the staff has done their best to ignore the situation, knowing full well that once Miss Gauger has set her mind on something, one has little chance of ever changing her opinion. It is for this reason that we do nothing when she insists that her aforementioned van has the ability to travel through time or that Qais is, in her words, “a spy sent by space Turks to steal her chocolate secrets.” Regardless it has been uncomfortable, the tired and nervous familial unit has taken up residence in our break room where they were horrified to find only four items : coffee, tea, pipe tobacco, and squid chips. It would be worse when they found out that these items were our sole sources of sustenance. The children, unsurprisingly, did not take well to the tobacco. Perhaps we should send out for food.
Ah well, I’m sure they’ll be fine, besides it’s cartoon time! Click through, loyal Ectomites, and witness their triumphant return!
P.S. Also, remember that if you visit the YouTube page for a particular video you have the option to watch it in high quality. Especially well suited to the anime.
Your gross negligence in assuming I am ashamed of any of my musical predilections is noted, and will be revenged. There is absolutely no reason to assume, self-righteous pricks that you are, that the carmine creeping up my collar is anything other than stoic pride, a touch of the ol’ toxoplasma gondii, and perhaps a brief spike in my everyday, baseline feelings of discomfort.
Listen you, I was enjoying the Ruski pop nymphets way back, before any hoity-toity English remixes got loose, much less actual American album releases. This shit was edgy and inaccessible. Hell, it still is! I would get home from my live-action Vampire the Masquerade roleplaying session at the local college campus (back when I was a ginger-curled nymphet myself), maybe boot up a game of Fallout 2, invite my BFF Steve over, and we’d watch these videos, on repeat, in silent awe. Why, I thought to myself, did I not have a dark pixie of a partner, an eternal semi-succubus, someone to cling to during the long nights of crippling self-doubt, someone to share my pants and lipgloss, someone to hold my hair while I purged, someone with whom to ghost ride the whip? I mean, someone besides Steve?
Now, emerald-haired, naked in a wooden trunk, chugging Red Bull and typing on a keyboard for which I cannot see the screen, I ask myself: if I had found her, this dark unicorn, would things have turned out better?
No one is taking the future envisioned by 99% percent of anime a step closer to reality than Dubai, who recently revealed their selection for their newest “Look how much money we have, motherfuckers!” building project, the 6th Crossing:
FXFOWLE INTERNATIONAL’s proposal for the architectural design of a 1.7km (1 mile) and 205m (615 feet) bridge in Dubai was selected by the country’s Roads & Transport Authority in a major international design competition. The firm’s winning bridge design further advances the infrastructure and transportation initiatives in Dubai. FXFOWLE’s design makes the 6th Crossing the largest and tallest spanning arch bridge in the world.
The above is a clip from the “film” Faust: Love of the Damned based on the execrable comic book by artist Tim Vigil and writer David Quinn which featured graphic violence and sex. Also, demons. Occasionally, by which I mean often, these were featured in combination, allowing Mr. Vigil to draw severed penises, severed demon penises, and severed demon penises ejaculating onto a nude woman, or nude women depending on if said severed ejaculation took place during one of the numerous orgy scenes, in which he could render bodies in a vast array of different positions seemingly in order to better display his complete lack of knowledge of human anatomy, meaning that most of the attendees had four hundred extra muscles.
In lieu of padding all of his actors with eight extra abdominal muscles, director Brian Yuzna decided to accentuate the more grotesque side of the series’s sexuality. In this scene Mephistopheles, or “M” as he is known, punishes a treacherous harlot by inducing some sort of powerful, gooey super-orgasm which then inflates her breasts and buttocks until she is rendered a sobbing, quivering mass of lactating T and A with a face. Like I said before, just take my word for it and don’t watch it. Certainly not at work, at least.
Behold, the trailer for the blaxploitation classic Dolemite. Rudy Ray Moore stars as the titular Dolemite: pimp, kung-fu master, and all around badass. The trailer’s combination of Moore rhyming like a foul mouthed Dr. Seuss and footage of Dolemite striking an attacker, causing him to jump into the trunk of a car, or surrounded by a bevy of deadly, afroed hos sums up the film perfectly.
(Clip is NSFW not so much for, what can be described as, copious use of the word “muthafucka” but for a single, naked breast. Thankfully, said mammary does not belong to Moore.)
Having already been privy to the insanity that is High Seas Cthulhu, it only makes sense that Lovecraft’s invention would explore other genre clichés. With that in mind, allow me to present Frontier Cthulhu: Ancient Horrors in the New World which really sounds more like an Eldritch/Barbie playset but is, in actuality, a series of Mythos related stories that take place in the American West. No doubt there is a heart-wrenching story of the love between Cthulhu and a cowboy which blossoms as they herd shoggoth in the mountains of Wyoming and ends once Cthulhu swallows the cowboy’s soul.
Four Red Bulls, twenty hours, and a bag of squid chips later, it is done. The very first Ectoplamosis print broadside is ready for distribution.
But soft, ye say, what in blazes am I talking about? I’ll let Warren Ellis, Big Daddy to Ectomo’s Little Sister, explain:
The broadside has a centuries-long history as a device for disseminating news and ideas. I mean, flyers go up on the web to be printed off, sure. But it’s not quite the same thing. Getting an idea, or a piece of writing, on a single sheet and saying, yes, print this off, copy it and distribute it wherever you like — that’d be interesting.
In short, a single-page guerilla publication, distributed by xerox and zealous reader in coffee shops, cubicle farms, club bathrooms, 24-hour greasy spoon diners, on telephone poles, shoved under windshield wipers, wiped under windshield shovers, safety-pinned on unsuspecting hobos, and fluttering in a comet tail behind us, wherever we may roam.
The first episode of ECTOPLASMOSIS! is offered in three editions:
This broadside is formatted specifically for easy printing and xeroxing, and features original artwork, an updated version of my famous Toxoplasmosis article, vintage illustrations, and an octobee coloring contest! Those of you who wish to curry our excellent favor, print and distribute with zest and enthusiasm! You will be rewarded in this life, and the next.
Stay tuned for more information about the coloring contest, a distribution contest, and other blunt mutterings from Brownlee.
This video (and stupidly enjoyable track) must have cost at least a cool million, but the Backstreet Boys didn’t care. They were riding high on Lou Perlman’s buggery adoration, they had legions of teenage girls at their beck and call, and it was the nineties, so nobody bothered telling them (to their faces) how stupid they looked, acted, and sounded.
When you’re that rich, that vaunted, and that young, what can you do? Why, a Thriller rip-off that will live in infamy for a chosen few, of course. Namely, me and the rest of the malcontents who were impressionable youth during that cursed era.
And by impressionable, I mean we thought backflipping werewolves were pretty much the golden apex of comedy. We still think that.
Why am I posting this on Cthursday? Pay attention to the gangly gentleman in the deceptively intellectual glasses, with the briefcase and the obsession with staring away from the camera at exactly a ninety-degree angle. I assume he’s supposed to be some sort of Jekyll/Hyde manifestation, but his bifurcation is less monstrous than it is piscean. My hypothesis is that some concept artist snuck that one past the board, giggling into his dog-eared copy of the Compleat Works of Lovecraft the while.
But I don’t think backflipping werewolves had to be snuck past anyone.
In a culture of casual nudity, cheap beauty, and non-stop supermodel rollerdiscos, what can a man do to get noticed? How can he draw slitted eyes away from mirrors, and fellow sapphic sphynxes, long enough to make any sort of impression? When personality, looks, and tiger speedos just don’t cut the mustard anymore, what else is left?
Pictured above is Pony, an orangutan that was recently taken from a village in Borneo where she was shaved every other day, chained to a wall, and used as a sex slave. Which means that, at some point in the last year or so when you were, say, eating dinner, or reading a book, or playing “teh Haloz”, somewhere, deep in Indonesia, a man had handed someone an undisclosed amount of money and was, at that moment, humping an orangutan. I’ll give that a moment to sink in. Continue Reading…
If you have a problem with a pretty pesky poltergeist or other paranormal partycrasher, fear not! You can get a paranormal restraining order filed against whatever particular monster might be buggin’ you.
Keep them away!
Since the dawn of time, mankind has sought the means of keeping away supernatural and paranormal entities. Now, for only $5 each, receive a printed document that bars them from approaching or contacting you.
For $5, you can file a restraining order against zombies (always a problem in the Pittsburgh area), Satan, Aliens, God, or even—gasp!—that most monstrous of all monsters: David Letterman.
Unfortunately, they do not offer restraint orders for Cthulhu. You try serving papers to a Great Old One….Write back and tell me how it feels to be devoured down to the quark level.
In analyzing my name, a blessing and curse bestowed on me by my worldly parents, one might infer that I am a swarthy foreigner sipping Turkish coffee and smoking kreteks in a Middle Eastern cafe surrounded by throngs of brown skinned youth, eager for tales of debauchery and adventure. One might also infer I am simply a long haired, pimply faced, goon with a penchant for obscure literature in middle America having taken up the moniker of an Arabic poet in an attempt to obfuscate the shame of being named Ernie. While I fit certain portions of each stereotype, Ernie being what Brownlee calls my “bitch-name”, I am neither in whole.
I’m a French Toast man myself, but this week’s Photoshop Phriday theme is utter genius: Grindhouse Breakfast Cereals. I would start buying breakfast cereal if the boxes looked like this. My friend Stacey, an immortal bride of Count Chocula, is sure to be disappointed when she clicks the link though.
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.
If you have a problem with a pretty pesky poltergeist or other paranormal partycrasher, fear not! You can get a paranormal restraining order filed against whatever particular monster might be buggin’ you.
