Thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead.
I am going mad because I spent all day revising, coding, recoding, cursing Dreamweaver's sekrit templates and recoding again, discovering that I needed a bibliography and...yes. Well. This is for a web page, which...only puckrobin will care about. Damn. Anyway! It will be a good page, and it shall go up soon.
The good news is the page is nearly done; the bad news is that I got so wrapped up in the project that OSHA could come after Library Overlord for accidentally denying me my US Code-given right to 15 minute breaks every 4 hours. SO. I get home, after fortunately not being drowned in the oceans of rain that we got today, and rather than revise the prospectus, what do I do?
Yes, Pinky, I did try to take over the world.
Alas, my crack finder activated and went into overload. Like Tony with Extremis, I am awash and overwhelmed by data. In fact, I found an image that conveys my feelings perfectly:
Yeah. I am sure many of you have seen this glorious nugget, if you lurk at Horcrux 2.0. It's very close to traditional Eastern buddha and lotus painting, I know that much, and I personally see a lot of Native American Trickster art in there (apologies, my brain is fried and I cannot recall the proper tribal grouping). And then there is Marvel Crack mixed into the paint, and result is GLORIOUS. The comments are pretty good, too, though nothing can match this cover for sheer crack.
MOVING ON!
So then I found this: http://www.toplessrobot.com/2010/01/fan_fiction_friday_batman_and_robocop_in_the_day_t.php. An excerpt from this delicate flower of prosaic wonderment: "I need to fuck you Batman. This way, my memories backup is ejected from my butt and we can delete what is important to preserve your identity."
I would scream CONTEXT IS FOR THE WEAK! and leave it there, but really, it gets better if I explain: Robocop has seen Bruce turn into Batman and informed him that his memories will be downloaded and then all the horrible cops will know Batman's sekrit identity. So, buttsecks. DUH.
Anyway. Apparently Robocop has a detatchable mechanical penis, which he does not have with him, natch, and the memory chip goes sproing out his butt so "'This is a method to preserve my intimacy. If I want to sleep with a whore or a male escort, it's my right to delete my sexual encounters so no one acknowledge it's existance.'" LOL, WOT? And then there is...substituting a stick grenade for a penis, zombie victims of the shit hippies deciding to eat these hippies because their bellies are full of grass and that is healthy, and, yeah. Here is the touching ending, with Topless Robot's Commentary:
THE FIC: And the two joined their lips, doing their last kiss. Bruce them waved his hand, entered a taxi cab, and went away to Gotham. But Robocop didn't tell Bruce that his memories of their love night will exist no more. They must be erased together with the knowledge of his secret identity, for the sake of Batman's crime fighting for the humanity. It will be as it never happened. But one thing Robocop knew. He won't have the memories, but his passion and strong feelings will be forever in his heart. That can't be destroyed.
TOPLESS ROBOT: I know I should have some kind of summary here, but I'm just spent. I've laughed, I've learned, and I've loved right along with Batman and Robocop in that filthy, semen-encrusted warehouse. The greatest of stories make you think, and I know "The Day the Men Found Love" has made us all think a little. Mostly about what hard liquor to drink.
BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!
Behold a chat:
Deviouslint: I FOUND UNICORNS IN MY PSALM
CursorMundi: NO
NO WAAAAY
Deviouslint: TRUFAX
the horns of unicorns are dangerous
and are his humiliation
CursorMundi: TO THE UNCHASTE!
Deviouslint: (which I think means he's getting unicorn buttsex?)
CursorMundi: oooo
WRITE IT
Deviouslint: cannot write it must translate
also blasphemy
Apparently, Lint has standards. Which I lack. (BTW, she tells me these unicorns are in "septagint numbering, 21". Go forth. Me? Not raised in any religious tradition, so, I get to laugh. And yes, it does make being a medievalist a special type of challenge!)
SO, then I am all, hmm, where is the line "I am my beloved's and he is mine from?" and Lint tells me it is from Song of Songs, and I should go look. So I do.
And I find this:
Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead. (6: 4)
Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one barren among them. (6: 5)
As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks. (6: 7)
Sing it, sister. Just, um, don't come to me when you can't figure out why this person won't sleep with you.
Also, check out chapter 3:
Behold his bed, which is Solomon's; threescore valiant men are about it, of the valiant of Israel. (3: 7)
They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night. (3: 8)
So, gang bang? Also, protecting against buttseks in the night since the time of Solomon.
Lint wasn't kidding when she said it was hinky! If you want to have a wild time on your own, go here: http://www.fourmilab.ch/etexts/www/Bible/Song_of_Solomon.html All hail the Revised Church of Google.
In World Cup crack, I bring you two offerings:
One. When the hell did Diego Maradona get clean? And sensible? I swear it was just last year he was addicted to crack and resembled a Beluga whale, and now he's Argentina's national coach? And...apparently doing quite well? Never saw that one coming!
Two. The French national team. Pffft, you guys, have you been following this madness? Strikes, cursing the coach, ejection from the team, scolding from the minister of Sport, utter failure to play football... Now the French are starting to make with the racefail, too. I am definitely not surprised, having read a chunk of Kristeva. Not that other countries manage any better! (Especially not America.) But.
Anyway, that's it, I'm done. Gonna pop in a movie and try not to think too much--I just vacuumed the carpets, and brains are so hard to clean up when they melt out your ears.