The look on his face changed from sanguine and benign to a sneer that spoke of sadistic violence and sex upon triumphing nature and capturing the elusive Lesser Sharkdog of the Greater Antilles, but even his serape couldn't fill the growing emptiness that grew inside Hannibal as he realized that he'd finally caught his greatest catch.
His life would be devoid of purpose from this moment on. He'd wander Northern Africa from opium den to gutter, babbling on about the sharkdog in a hoarse whisper to anyone who would listen.
Frankly, I think this ad is a more effective ad than anything we've seen in Presidential Ads for decades. My major reason for liking it is that it's not attacking Stevenson, Eisenhower's opponent in the '52 election.
And while the "everybody likes Ike, so why don't you?" message is a little abrasive or overwhelming here, at least it's honest. We've seen billions of ads with the same message our entire life. It's nothing new.
There are octopuses out there with more than 8 arms. In fact, they have a specimen with 96 tentacles
96!
This monstrosity even reproduced, though I am relieved to report that all of her fiendish spawn not only died, they had the normal amount of legs.
But imagine, just imagine, that horrible, sticking, wet sensation as an octopus grabs onto your leg to drag you to the inky depths. Now imagine it times 12! There would be no escape. No time to scream, to call for help or even to send one last, hard telepathic thought of love and warmth to your dear ones.
There would only be the hideous grapple. Then cold death on the bottom of the ocean. She would suck out your eyes and each tentacle would grow stronger and she would wait for her next victim.
I spent Bastille Day of '07 in Paris. And the celebrations did commence indeed. This video is from the night before, however it was almost definitely late enough that it was the 14th.
I want to hold your hand
We spent the evening on the canal that Amelie skips stones into, went to a shop and bought beers and peanut flavored snacks and drank and ate and danced and sat and stood outside a club. They played loud and we were in a rather large company of people.
The evening was thoroughly enjoyable, save for someone stealing Vanessa's purse! Vanessa and her boyfriend Marc were good enough to shepherd me about Paris, speaking English and Spanish with me. They were kind and generous and truly fun people. The Earth would be better for more of them and the kind of person who would steal her purse is indeed a low form of scum.
But even with her purse stolen, the merriment carried on. These are the kinds of people who don't let trifling matters bother them. Credit cards, passports, licenses and the like can all be reordered and canceled as need be. People are harder to come by and people who realize this - as they were and ever will be - are rarer still.
We left the club at three or four or so in the morning and hopped in a cab. Well, Marc and his friend Estefan had to hoof it back to Vanessa and Marc's abode as there was not space in the cab for us all. We sat around their apartment, drank more and talked until the sun was fully risen. We sat on their deck and watched the people in the apartments around us wake up and fell asleep on mattresses laid on the floor of their living room.
And the next night, the night of proper Bastille Day celebrations, they took me under their wing again and we went to a high spot in Paris, not Montemarte (at least, I don't think it was) and we fought for a view of the fireworks in front of the Eiffel tower. The mood was light and happy.
Truly wonderful people can make for a truly wonderful trip. Thank you, Marc and Vanessa!
Remeber PBR Coffin Guy? Yeah, I guess he's pretty cool and whatevs, but this guy takes the cake.
It'd be pretty sweet to go over to his house.
"Hey man, can I get you a drink?" "Yeah, I'll take a vodka tonic"
And then three minutes later you're drinking! My hope is that he only invites over people who drink vodka tonic and when they ask for it without the cuke, he kicks them into the basement where a fiendish Rube Goldberg torture device awaits. Also, polka music.
The octopocalypse. Man. Dangit. I had stuff I wanted to do. Well, if you need me, I'm moving out to a mountain in the desert. Those eightleggers do like their water. Join me, we'll form the last stronghold of humanity. Hopefully it'll be like the Battle of Helms Deep.
