Rumble, Groan, Itch

Huh?

Whuzzat?

Sleeping? Yeah, I suppose so, but you have to understand that Spring is not really the best of seasons for the undead. It's a time for life to renew- not for death to renew. The ground is moist and full of worms- which tend to eat the delicate flesh of you-know-who.

So Spring is the time of year when the walking dead slumber, safe in their luxurious condos down in South Beach, waiting for the smell of tanned, wrinkled flesh to appear. You'd be amazed at how easy it is for the unliving to blend in down here. And I get to practice my New York accent.

Fuhgeddaboudit!

Time to Raise the Dead

I don't get out much... online that is. I get out plenty in the real world- because brains don't come to you, you need to go to them!

I digress.

Occasionally I like to fire up up the old magic box and take a stroll down the information walkway. I'll peek in here, read a little there, but very rarely do I make an appearance anywhere else online. I kind of have a mystique to keep up, you know? If kids thought that old Santa was a guy you see everyday there sure would be a few less offerings of milk n' cookies laid down at the hearths of hopeful homes holding out for holiday happiness.

I don't generally care for the cookies, but the milk often attracts a delicious cat or two for the taking. Cat's brains, while not filling, can be delightfully appetizing when you are in a hurry.

But where am I going with this diatribe? One of the sites that I used to visit has contracted a terminal case of apathy. No posts, and comments that are languishing in moderation. For shame! What we need is a good old fashioned raising of the dead. A voodoo hootenanny, where we roll the old bones out and make 'em dance with supernatural fervor.

I can't do it alone. I beg you to visit this site. Leave a comment imploring the author to post again. To wake from his slumber. Do it for me. Do it for the children. Do it for the creeping undead flesh of blogs that fall by the wayside every day!

RAISE ME FROM THE DEAD!

EDIT: It worked! He lives!

All work and no play...

I'm sure you assume that my rotund shape is due to the fact that I only work 1 day out of the year.

Most people assume that I spend 364 days out of the year sitting on my kiester watching the workers in my elf sweatshop to produce entertainment goods for spoiled children that have managed to convince themselves that they were good. (Despite all of the horrible things that they have done, and all of the lies that they told to those that they loved these children still thought of themselves as worthy of some kind of gift to celebrate their "goodness". I digress.)

I have a softer side. From earlier post, you see I like to read and engage in playful games in a simulation of the inevitable undead apocalypse. Little did you know that I also have a penchant for the licensed TV drama spinoff re-imagining themed boardgame. Come into the drawing room and sit for a while, as I regale you with stories of light-hearted playfulness in the world of a mini-series/soap opera.

Truly, this is a bonding experience- the game is co-operative! Each player is one member of a group working to help humanity escape the clutches of a brutal group of evil robots (that they created to be helpers! such bad robots!) and find your long lost brethren. You're all working together to help reunite family!

Unless one or more of you are actually evil robots in disguise.

This game is built on paranoia, fear and deception. Add in the frequent result of all of mankind's extinction and you have yourself an absolute lock for best family game of the decade. Don't like the fact that your dad is always telling you to how to play? Convince your mother and sister that dad purposely played his turn poorly, or is so inept that he was lucky to have reproduced, and so he must be a Cylon . Throw him in the brig and strip him of his presidency so that you can take the title and help win the game for the humans!

You may get grounded, but when Dad sees you announce that you are, in actuality, a Cylon and then proceed to dash the hopes of the humans you will know that true joy that comes with the crushing defeat of others. Your father will hopefully see that he managed to defy genetics to produce one of the finest minds of your generation. Nah, the guy totally misplayed that nuke when he was Admiral- what a loser.