Inky alligators read about squids.
So odd porn magazines keep up business.
Sleepy, smart cheese stockbrokers open bids.
Like dogs before Tom will Jerry Mouse kiss.
Potatoes hide in the ectoplasm.
There are ten rooms but only one dinner.
Outside's a coyote cataclysm.
Rabbit population's getting thinner.
Tensions burn between three sewer raccoons.
Bunny bodyguard rings shield masked rodents.
Canine officers listen to spy moons.
Power is shifted by paws on pavements.
Costly control of day and night is dead.
Suns and moons a quarter from Servo's head.
After losing five games of chess in a row last night, I signed on to Second Life while I was eating breakfast to-day and won two and lost one. Apparently when I'm not sleepy and drinking gin, it makes a big difference. I may go to only playing chess when I can play it early in the day.
One of the games I won was due to a computer opponent
On Bri's recommendation I watched the pilot episode of Dead Like Me. Or I should say, upon Bri reminding me by his recommendation that I'd meant for a while to watch this series, its creator, Bryan Fuller, being by far my favourite writer on Heroes. I really liked Dead Like Me's pilot--Mandy Patinkin's and Ellen Muth's performances responsible for a large percentage of the show's goodness. Muth in particular, playing the newly dead protagonist, George, very effectively runs with some great material, particularly early in the episode when she's just an eighteen year old girl meeting with a temp agency person. George is established as a smart young girl who doesn't know as much about life as she thinks she does without coming across as ridiculous, and the people she's talking to come off as ridiculous as she thinks they are without necessarily being two dimensional. George is actually much closer to Alice from the Alice in Wonderland books than most movie and television adaptations of those books make the character--a young, endearing green character coming into understated conflict with a world of nonsense. My only problem with the series so far is that death kind of lacks a punch--I wish the existence of heaven hadn't been established so early, but maybe it proves later to be less than certain.
Here's some brief footage of a raccoon I offended last night with some Gyorgy Ligeti music to lend it creepy significance;