Michael clutched his arms around his chest, bracing himself against the wind. His destination lay before him, through a dank hole in the earth that had the audacity to call itself a cave. He entered, inhaling the musty air and praying that his feet managed to find a decent foothold.
With the flick of a switch, his flashlight sprung to life. It did little good, though. The darkness seemed to be an actual tangible force physically pushing the light back to its source. In the corners of his eyes, shadows seemed to shift of their own volition. Michael sighed, took a deep breath, and continued forward.
It was a difficult journey, long and arduous, but he knew he was heading in the right direction. He could hear it. It was soft at first, almost inaudible, slowly growing louder as the distance lessened. It was low and unintelligible, something like a cross between the wind and a murmur, the sound of voices on the edge of existence.
Soon, Michael could deny it no longer. The shadow on his left was the same shadow that had been on his left since he entered. It was a shade, traversing the length of the cavern not because it was following him but because they shared the same destination.
Once he knew what he was looking at, Michael could make out several of these vague shapes around him, like beings that weren’t quite there. This, he supposed, wasn’t that far from the truth.
Then, he was surrounded by them, their murmuring much louder now. He pushed his way forward, moving through the crowd. His heartbeat was speeding up, ignoring his mind’s insistence that there was nothing to worry about—at least not yet. But the pressure, the tactile sensation of beings rubbing not so much against his skin as at some intangible part of himself only vaguely related to his physical body, was hard to ignore.
Finally, he came to the river. Here, the shades of the dead congregated, waiting for the opportunity to move on. It was hard to tell how many, but it was clear that he was surrounded by them. He could hear their not‑quite‑real words as they whispered in his ears. It was impossible to know what was being said. Words of anger, words of friendship, words of warning … The language seemed to exist somewhere just on the brink of his understanding but always beyond his comprehension. But whatever thoughts they hoped to convey, they all waited here around him on the banks of the Acheron.
There was no way to cross. The black water—if indeed it was—would swallow anyone foolish enough to attempt swimming the river, and with no bridge in sight, Michael had little choice but to sit on the bank, carefully looking to the horizon for any sign of motion.
Finally, he saw it, a speck somehow visible in the darkness. As it moved closer, the shades seemed to become agitated, pushing and struggling to get as near the shore as was possible. They exerted no physical effect on Michael, per se, but the force he felt pressing on that inexplicable place deep inside was unnerving. He stood, trying vainly to push aside the fear and doubt, and waited.
Soon, the speck was close enough to make out the shape of a small boat. As it came nearer, the vessel’s age and state of disrepair became increasingly apparent. There was little choice in the matter, however. This was the only way across. And he had to get across. Everything depended on it.
The ferry pulled ashore, carving a small trench in the dirt as it had done for centuries. Shortly after, a foot touched the ground beside the trench, just as it too had done for centuries. The man attached to the foot carefully surveyed the shades before him and, at length, pointed a thin finger to one, which promptly boarded the vessel, pausing only long enough to give a small coin to the ferryman. Pocketing his payment, the ferryman turned his attention back to the shades.
Michael swallowed his fear and stepped forward to meet the man face to face. He paused as the man looked him over, his haggard, gaunt face giving him an almost skeletal appearance, though he was clearly human.
The man leaned forward, resting on his oar, and spoke in an aged, gravelly voice. “This is a place for the dead. You do not belong here.”
Michael nervously replied, “Begging your pardon, Mr. Charon, but I need to use your boat.”
Charon exhaled a brief, sharp chuckle. “Centuries have passed since a living man asked for my … services.” He grinned an unpleasant, frightening grin. Even the shades seemed to pull away from him at this sight. “The … eh … man in charge … He doesn’t really like it.”
Michael shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s very important that I get across.” Then, digging awkwardly in his pocket, he produced a small coin. “I have the fare … I …”
Charon’s bony fingers plucked the coin from Michael’s hand. “Get in.”
“Oh …” Michael climbed aboard. Sitting down, he asked, “Don’t you even want to ask what I’m doing here or anything?”
The ferryman dismissed the question with a wave of that emaciated hand. “It gets boring down here.” His grin spread even wider, threatening to tear apart the flesh at the corners of his lips. “I just want to see what he does to you.”
Don’t get too excited. You’ve already seen essentially everything this cartoon has to offer. It was, however, suggested to me that I might as well try entering something into the Aniboom/Fox Holiday Animation Challenge, so I hastily edited together the first four Don Juan Frankenstein shorts into the form of this:
The grand prize winner not only receives a large quantity of cash but also the opportunity for a development deal with Fox. Not that I’m holding out an inordinate amount of hope for that, but hey, if a hack like Seth MacFarlane can have two fucking shitty shows on that network, why not a hack like me?
Which brings me to the point: Four of the five finalists will be selected by a mysterious Fox voting panel of mysterious voting. The fifth selection will be made by fans via a nearly equally mysterious voting process that I’m assuming is tied to the Aniboom rating system and/or the number of times a cartoon happens to be viewed. Honestly, I’m not exactly sure how it works, but if you’re so inclined, you’re more than free to drop by and rate me.
Besides, my birthday’s coming up–I’m turning the big three-oh, as the silly people like to call it–and you know what I’d like more than anything? A development deal with Fox so that I can sneak into Seth MacFarlane’s office and shit on his desk while he’s out enjoying the fruits of being the highest-paid TV writer in history, for fuck’s sake. Please! Help me shit on Seth MacFarlane’s desk!
posted by arthbard at 9:14 pm on Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Hello, yes. I do live in the state of South Carolina. Always have.
In the past, my state’s big claim to fame has always been that it was the first to secede, plunging the country into Civil War, during which time, thank God, my state’s side lost. Its most famous politicans have always been the pro-slavery John C. Calhoun and pro-segregation Strom Thurmond.
At least until Mark Sanford–that brave soul–decided that this state should go down in history for something even stupider than not liking black people.
As you may heard, Governor Sanford mysteriously disappeared for about a week back in June without telling anyone where he was going or bothering to transfer gubernatorial power, leaving open the very pertinent question of just who the fuck was in charge at this time. When asked about Sanford’s whereabouts over that Father’s Day weekend, his own wife responded with a curt “I don’t know where he is.”
When the Governor finally returned, he held a tear-streaked press conference during which he admitted to having an affair with an Argentinian woman.
Of course, Governor Sanford vowed to attempt to work things out with his wife, all the while telling everyone that the Argentinian woman was his “soul mate.” Which his wife, presumably, was not–obviously good, solid ground for attempting to reconcile a strained marriage.
But, it turns out that wasn’t the full extent of Governor Sanford’s incredibly, magnificently stupid plan to get the State of South Carolina remembered for the dumbest thing ever. No, he’s been working on this for years, and only now is the extent of his grand scheme being revealed to the public!
Because, with his Argentinian excursions, the Governor’s usage of state funds in his travels has come under increasing scrutiny.
Because, the man who likes to make such a big deal over government spending, the man who refused to accept federal money for our state’s schools on the grounds that he didn’t like President Barack Obama’s stimulus plan (again with the black people!), the man whose Web site features a page drawing attention to the South Carolina Budget Waste of the Day … This man! is responsible for inspiring this AP Story, of which I will now quote my favorite section verbatim:
On March 10, 2006, a state plane was sent to pick up Sanford in Myrtle Beach and return him to Columbia, the state capital, at a cost of $1,265 — when his calendar showed his only appointment in Columbia was “personal time” at his favorite discount hair salon. He had flown to Myrtle Beach on a private plane and attended a county GOP event.
The trip home on the state aircraft took off at 1:50 p.m. and arrived in Columbia at 2:35 p.m., enabling the governor to keep his plans for a 3 p.m. haircut across town.
See, he was being thrifty. It was a discount hair salon. Thank God he made it in time for his appointment. The results speak for themselves.
posted by arthbard at 9:50 pm on Sunday, August 9, 2009
We’re all familiar with generic, store brand, ripoff products. They’re those products that are extremely similar to some more well-known product, but subtly different and decidedly cheaper.
There comes a very important point in the development of any knockoff product, however, when the makers have to decide: What the Hell do we call this shit? You see, they have to come up with a name that’s similar enough to evoke images of the actual product they’re emulating, but different enough to avoid a lawsuit. This sometimes leads to interesting results.
I’ll never forget, for example, when my mom would go shopping and come home with a bottle of Extra Strength Non-Aspirin. What was in the bottle, I couldn’t tell you, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t aspirin.
Still, few product names have amused me as much as this Food Lion brand Isn’t It Butter.
I mean, Fabio may not have been able to believe it, but at Food Lion, they’re still not really sure. Isn’t it butter? It might be … We think it is … Y’know, we really can’t tell.
Ultimately, though, the brand “Isn’t It Butter” won out over alternate names “It Tastes Like Butter,” “I Swear To God, I Really Think This Must Be Butter,” and “Here, Try Some Of This And Tell Me If You Think It’s Butter Or Not.”
Still, though, at least this product name is slightly less ridiculous than that of the product it’s ripping off. Do you think Fabio can believe that?
posted by arthbard at 7:38 pm on Saturday, August 8, 2009
It’s not every day that one gets to write about a genuine miracle. As a skeptic, cynic, and general nonbeliever, it pains me to even admit that an actual, according-to-Hoyle, hand-of-God miracle might exist … But, I may have just found it. Read on in amazement:
Yes, do you see it? Do you see!
The Kraft corporation has apparently done the impossible. The Miracle Whip1 you see before you proudly advertises two amazing and seemingly incompatible qualities: It is simultaneously “New & More Amazing” and “The Tangy Original.” At the same time! thereby making it the only blatantly self-contradictory sandwich ingredient I happen to be aware of.
How did they achieve this? How did Kraft manage to create something that is both “new” and “the original” in one gooey, white substance? Obviously, such an amazing thing must be a well-guarded company secret, so we can only speculate.
Perhaps Kraft has simply learned to exploit the ever-popular Schrödinger’s cat effect, where the relative newness/tangy-originalness is dependent on some reaction at the sub-sub-subatomic level, causing both possibilities to be equally true until someone observes the mayonnaise.2 This may well be the very first example of a condiment marketed on the basis of quantum physics. However, we have to consider the fact that tasting the mayonnaise certainly counts as observing it, which would cause the Miracle Whip’s waveform to collapse, bringing a sudden, disappointing end to its inexplicacality right there in your mouth, which is where it would have really mattered, anyway.
On the other hand, perhaps the Miracle Whip was made “New & More Amazing” simply by adding even more tangy originality. Thus, the levels of newness and originalness would be directly proportional to each other, but this does still leave us with one question: How did they increase both the amount of tangy originality and new & more amazingness … without increasing the size of the jar! This insinuates that a high degree of tangy originalness would have to be compressed down into a smaller unit. This might avoid increasing the volume, but it would certainly increase the mass of the mayonnaise and, by extension, its weight, which doesn’t seem to have happened.
Which pretty much brings our conventional line of scientific reasoning to a dead end, leaving us with only one real conclusion: This Miracle Whip is, in fact, a miracle, bestowed onto the Kraft corporation by God Himself. Why does God favor Miracle Whip so? Why does He see fit to offer such blessings to the people at Kraft? I dare not presume to know the will of the Lord Almighty, but He certainly seems to be showing a great deal of support for His preferred sandwich spread.
So, you should probably eat more Miracle Whip.
Yes, I eat Miracle Whip. And, yes, as a matter of fact I do prefer it to real mayonnaise. Fuck you. [↩]
Yes, I called Miracle Whip mayonnaise. Come on, mayonnaise is a funny word. Cut me some slack. [↩]
posted by arthbard at 8:59 pm on Friday, July 17, 2009
Customer service/sales: Part-time, someone able to work w/ people w/ cancer. Must be organized & computer literate, bra fitting a plus. Benefits not offered.
posted by arthbard at 7:44 pm on Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Because, with his Argentinian excursions, the Governor’s usage of state funds in his travels has come under increasing scrutiny.
Still, few product names have amused me as much as this 