fantasticle's blog

Have you ever been to or seen the aftermath of a Pit Bull fight?  Coming from a small WNC town, such things were not uncommon; the next most common sport was cockfighting.  No one really seemed to care; the police often turned a blind eye to it.  One of my boyfriends had a batch of the most adorable Pit Bull puppies that he had rescued from the clutches of fighters.  They were the sweetest things I had ever seen, and I was much relieved that they would not end up in the pits.  I can only hope that now that he's moved, he found them all suitable homes.  Read More »

Someone please tell me how golf course water hazards count as a valid definition of wetlands.

it was raining again. a cold, wet rain that filled the streets and soaked pedestrians. a rain that oozed into galoshes, unbidden and icy, and into seeped deep into the marrow of bones. a rain that would soon leave many sniffling and coughing long after it had been dryed by a long forgotten sun.

inside it was warm any toasty; the kind of toasty that is accented with big woolen sweaters and matching fuzzy socks. giant cozy fires and pets sleeping soundly in their respective areas. hot cocoa and frosty windowpanes.

it was then that she knew that this was it; the end of the world was coming. she had been informed of this dreadful occurance the previous night in a dream, where a creature resembling an iguana with a bad toupee had visited her and struck up a rather jolly, if not morbid, conversation. "they're in the raindrops," it had said. "little men in raindrops are coming, and soon the world will be gone." "but why?" she had asked, mildly alarmed. "because it happens every time. afterwards we're having refreshments. bonbons and milton cakes. you can't come, though." "but why?" she had asked again, this time vaguely offended that she was not invited to the afterparty. "beause you don't have a toupee." it had grinned, then, and she had awakened in her wide feather bed to the drumroll of thunder, followed shortly after by the tell-tale rapping of falling rain. distantly, she wondered what milton cakes were.

"do you really think this is it?" she asked of the sleeping mutt at her side. he had long since learned to ignore the ramblings of the lady that periodically presented him with kibble. nonetheless, he twitched and wheezed in his dream, chasing a mysteriously plump rabbit through mountain underbrush. this was the only confirmation she needed. "it must be," she muttered. "why else woudl it be raining?"

should she alert someone? who would she call to inform the impending doom of the world? the president? was he listed in the phone book? would she have to talk to an operator? outside, the rain began to fall with quickening pace. time could not be wasted.

"should i call the vice president or the president?" she asked bobo, the black and white cat infront of the fire. he stared hatefully at the woman who dished him rancid piles of animal byproducts through slitted cat eyes, believing that by sheer force of will, she would spontaneously combust. the dog, of course, would be next. slowly, his eyes pressed shut as he pondered the immense pleasure both of these occurances would bring him. it would be a good day.

"the president it is. he is the leader of the country and all. where is the phonebook?" she was up and moving now, rummaging through the living room for the elusive yellow book that held a world of information on its pages. numbers, names, addresses. all there and printed for her convenience. after plucking the book from its hiding place underneath a pile of laundry, she rooted through the endless pile of information and plugged in the number that would connect her, hopefully, to the white house.

outside, the rain continued to fall and ooze and imbed itself into the world. puddles rose on sidewalks, and lakes lapped higher at their banks. on the phone, an empty voice ran through a list of numbers for her to pound into her cellphone. she listened carefully to her options, and was confused by all of them.

"i just want to talk to the president; it's very urgent," she whined to a human being on the other end.
"i'm sure," replied the voice. "but you can't just call him unless you have good reason."
"but it IS good reason," she pleaded. "the world is ending!"
"right," said the operator. "but you can't just ring up the president and talk to him unless you have good reason."
"but the world is ENDING," she whined, becoming exasperated and waving her free hand as if the operator could be swayed by such a movment.
"okay, ma'am. i'm going to redirect you to another department," the voice finally replied. the phone line disconnected with a disheartening click. she began to cry.

"but it is!" she cried to the dog and the cat. "the world is ending! we're all doomed!" neither were listening. neither, apparently, was the president.

outside, thousands of people simultaneously came down with a rather vicious head cold, much to the delight of pharmecutical companies everywhere.

donning a ridiculous yellow poncho, she set forth to alert the neighborhood. it was the least she could do if the president wasn't going to hear any of it. perhaps a small riot would get his attention. it was her duty as a good american citizen to let the world know its demise was approaching.

however, upon stepping out onto the porch, it became disturbingly clear that the rain meant business. it seeped up her pant legs and drooled its way into her skin. tiny little alien spaceships zoomed through her toasty warm blood on their way to the body's capital. she sneezed.

her frantic cries concerning the nature of the world were lost on her townsfolk. people sniggered, police officers pondered the possibility of calling the local vet for some high quality sedatives. she knew it was futile; the world was going to end, and no one was listening. but who could comprehend the weight of such matters? certainly not commonfolk like those in her tiny town. defeated, she slopped home, the miniscule little aliens already setting up camp in her springy tissue. she coughed.

bobo continued his meditative trance of hatred, unbeknownst to the sleeping mutt and his owner as she trudged into the living room. she cried. snot ran down her face. somewhere, aliens cheered.

the police didn't show up until a week later, and only when the neighbors insisted the woman hadn't been seen in quite a while. "the animals are probably hungry. that's neglect, officer," whined the dreadlocked neo-hippie. "she should be arrested."

upon breaking down the door, they found a pile of ash on the couch. the cozy fire was long gone, now just blackened embers cradled by sooty metal claws. though the neighbors insisted there was a small mixed breed dog in the house, they found not a sign of it. only a smaller ash pile in the kitchen. to be quite honest, the only living creature in the house was the black and white cat, bobo, who sat purring contentedly on the countertop.

"well, the cat seems happy," officer jones muttered.

it was a good day.  Read More »

Is it possible to be a post-processual marxist?  To believe that every view on an issue is valid and crucial to the understanding of a greater whole, while at the same time finding a glimmer of truth in the fact that conflict (whether it be as small as a disagreement or as vast as a war) defines the individual at both the micro and macro scale? 

So according to a professor of chemistry from Purdue, it is better for your dental health to brush with bar soap (no glycerine) rather than toothpaste.  Toothpaste creats a coating on the teeth that discourages enamal growth and takes 20+ washes to get rid of, while bar soap is just the opposite.  And did you know sugar has nothing to do with cavities?  It's acid that creates those little annoying holes.  Maybe that's why I have so many cavities.  Read More »

There are quite a few of strange things you can find on eBay (human femurs being one of them), but one of the stangest things are souls.  Souls in jars, to be exact.  What are the rammifications of this?  None, if one doesn't believe in that of a soul.  But what about those who do?  Is this just a scam to make thousands of dollars?  And what possesses people to actually BID on a possibly empty jar, anyway? 

What are your views?  I personally just find it amusing.

Am I the only one who finds new Nickelodeon shows not only disappointing, but vaguely insulting and odd?  Where are the days of Camp Annawanna, Are You Afraid of the Dark, Pete and Pete?  The Angry Beavers, that weird popcicle stick that hosted during the summer, and Rocko's Modern Life?  Where has witty adolescent television gone?  Now all Nickelodeon airs is B-rated  Read More »

"Scientists at the University of Liverpool have identified a new gene that causes the spread of cancer. Professor Philip Rudland, Dr Guozheng Wang and Dr Roger Barraclough from the University’s Cancer and Polio Research Fund Laboratories have discovered an additional member of the S100 family of protein genes – S100P – that causes the spread of cancerous cells from an original tumour to other parts of the body. "  Read More »