LOLSCHACH's Journal: June 19, 2009:
Overheard fat man and Asian kid talking during a ride on subway. Something about a "sex box". Then recalled Japanese penchant for perverted materials. Knew that it warranted investigation. Followed the two men back to apartment. Listened to them rant about wide variety of topics, nachos, Batman, ghosts, Batman, etc. Boring. Tackle the two men as soon as they open the door to apartment. Walk in and start to investigate. Hurm. Surprisingly, nothing sexual.
Instead, lots of video games... and Batman. Hate video games, misleading little "realities", even known to cause death in past. Decide to see what got the fat man excited. Turn on "sex box". Graphic comes up. Oh no. Another piece of Veidt's merchandising. "Watchmen: The End is Nigh". Hate it. Looks nothing like LOLSCHACH, and Dreiberg is portrayed as rippling 215 pound man, not the massive overweight beast that he truly is. Probably Veidt's fantasy of him. Grab "sex box" and throw it out window. Walk out of apartment, overhearing far man complain that he just got it fixed. Heh.
Showing posts with label Watchmen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Watchmen. Show all posts
Friday, June 19, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
September 15, 1392: The Ballad of the Guardians
Men sing of Maiden Uranjek,
And rumored of her parentage.
Many thought it was Baron Blake
Who that great fiend tossed o'er the edge.
Fewer sing of poulter Dreiberg
And how he was consumed with lust
For the Maiden Uranjek, oh fool,
For it left naught but dreams of dust.
All marvel at that bless'ed Veidt,
The man of power and great wealth.
For he defended them from all
And was aid to those in bad health.
But few remember the poor 'Schach.
Though in their time of greatest woe,
All nobles and wenches would shout,
"Save us!" and he would whisper, "No."
------------------------------------
LOLSCHACH's Journal: June 02, 2009:
Found a fragment of an old scroll. Supposedly a record of distant relative, Minstrelschach. Remember MILFSCHACH telling me childhood stories of Robin Hood and his merry men, possible connection? Hurm. Must remember to investigate further.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
May 21, 2009: Cake
LOLSCHACH's Journal: May 21, 2009:
Apparently word is out that Dreiberg will be released soon. That Dr. Harlem regrets incident resulting in Dreiberg's hospitalization. Will visit hospital, use powers to shorten the healing process. Soon Dreibrg will return to eating, crying, and masturbating.
Veidt aware of Dreiberg's impending return. Sent "Welcome Home" gift to apartment. Remember welcome home gift I got once. Age nine, return from school, run to greet MILFSCHACH, grabbed me and threw me through window, told me, "Get the hell out." Heh. Mother, great sense of humor, left me fond memories.
Also remember Christmas gift Veidt sends me every year. Fruitcake. Ehhh. Hate fruitcake. Hate Veidt.
Veidt's gift to Dreiberg obviously meant to promote upcoming release of godforsaken DVD. Reportedly has graphic sex scene sure Dreiberg will love it.
Must eat cake, ensure Dreiberg will never know.
Apparently word is out that Dreiberg will be released soon. That Dr. Harlem regrets incident resulting in Dreiberg's hospitalization. Will visit hospital, use powers to shorten the healing process. Soon Dreibrg will return to eating, crying, and masturbating.
Veidt aware of Dreiberg's impending return. Sent "Welcome Home" gift to apartment. Remember welcome home gift I got once. Age nine, return from school, run to greet MILFSCHACH, grabbed me and threw me through window, told me, "Get the hell out." Heh. Mother, great sense of humor, left me fond memories.
Also remember Christmas gift Veidt sends me every year. Fruitcake. Ehhh. Hate fruitcake. Hate Veidt.
Veidt's gift to Dreiberg obviously meant to promote upcoming release of godforsaken DVD. Reportedly has graphic sex scene sure Dreiberg will love it.
Must eat cake, ensure Dreiberg will never know.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
April 25, 2009: Prologue to Tragedy
LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 25, 2009:
Yesterday, found paper scrap. Old. Brittle. Supposedly stolen from Oxford.
First page of lost English play. Written around 1600. Anonymous. Possibly Shakespeare? Must remember to investigate.
Italian ancestor ROLSHACCHIO is major character. Lived in Siena.
Yesterday, found paper scrap. Old. Brittle. Supposedly stolen from Oxford.
First page of lost English play. Written around 1600. Anonymous. Possibly Shakespeare? Must remember to investigate.
Italian ancestor ROLSHACCHIO is major character. Lived in Siena.
This rank and reeking city, this Siena!How it doth scream, like Bedlam in a very butcher's-shop
A-teem with idiot changelings.
(Photo credit:jurvetson)
At library, read article. Professor thinks play is based on fact. Also thinks play is highly fictionalized. Hurm. Familiar situation.
First page lists major characters:
Don David Dreyburg -- Wealthy gentleman bachelor.
ROLSHACCHIO -- Bastard. [Hurm. -l.0.l] Companion of Dreyburg.
Edwin Blackstaff -- English mercenary. Also called "the Fool".
Lavinia -- Blackstaff's maiden daughter.
Duke Mantua -- Alchemist. Transformed into demigod while trying to create gold.
Title character is called "Oswaldo Magus."
History must be preserved. LOLSCHACH ancestor must not be forgotten. Lost pages of play must be found. May require time, broken bones.
For now, should copy into journal what I have. First fourteen lines of play. All spoken by ROLSHACCHIO.
* * *
The Tragicall Hiftorie of OSVVALDO, Wizard of Siena
Enter ROLSHACCHIO, as PROLOGUE.
PROLOGUE
Once-fair Siena, stirred now by the sword
Of Florence, flaileth lately like a dog
Ill-used, that, frantic, straineth ‘gainst his cord
And collar – choked to death, e’en ere he’s flogged.
Now beats in every breast the drum of war,
Echoes in every ear Bellona’s voice.
Mark them that march the streets to steal and whore,
And slay their neighbours – ’Struth, by their own choice!
Assassinations underneath the rose
Betwixt the cities’ spies doth multiply;
The flood-wall wavers, as the blood-tide flows,
And when ‘tis overtopped, then must men die.
The squires and strumpets, drowning down below,
Will clamor, "Save us!" And I’ll whisper, “No.”
Enter ROLSHACCHIO, as PROLOGUE.
PROLOGUE
Once-fair Siena, stirred now by the sword
Of Florence, flaileth lately like a dog
Ill-used, that, frantic, straineth ‘gainst his cord
And collar – choked to death, e’en ere he’s flogged.
Now beats in every breast the drum of war,
Echoes in every ear Bellona’s voice.
Mark them that march the streets to steal and whore,
And slay their neighbours – ’Struth, by their own choice!
Assassinations underneath the rose
Betwixt the cities’ spies doth multiply;
The flood-wall wavers, as the blood-tide flows,
And when ‘tis overtopped, then must men die.
The squires and strumpets, drowning down below,
Will clamor, "Save us!" And I’ll whisper, “No.”
"God's bodykins! 'Tis quite a drop!"(Photo credit: robin.elaine)
Friday, March 20, 2009
March 20, 2009: Merchandising
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 20, 2009
Words fail me. Veidt also sold likeness to Filmation. Saturday morning Watchmen animated series is crime in and of itself. Drieberg does not like to "party down". Activities involved in "partying" too strenuous and similar to exercise. Will not comment on misinterpreted relationship between Comedian and Silk Spectre. Veidt presented as "crime solving superstar".
Receive check for $7.75 from Veidt International. Hurm. Royalty check for likeness rights. A monthly reminder of poor decision made during inexperienced youth. Stupid. Will regret forever. Check not even enough to buy lunch at Quizno's.
1985. Approached by Adrian Veidt.
Smooth talker. Intellectual. Always hated his kind. Hated them slightly less, then.
Veidt exploits that weakness. Tells me Drieberg and other Watchmen are signing likeness rights to him. Merchandising is lucrative. All other masked heroes doing it. Won't make LOLSCHACH any less feared by criminal scum.
Smooth talker. Intellectual. Always hated his kind. Hated them slightly less, then.
Veidt exploits that weakness. Tells me Drieberg and other Watchmen are signing likeness rights to him. Merchandising is lucrative. All other masked heroes doing it. Won't make LOLSCHACH any less feared by criminal scum.
Three months later. Walk down girl's aisle at local Toys 'r' Us. Find this:
Sold likeness to Hasbro. Going to kill Veidt. Going to kill him and chop him up and grind him up and feed him to Bubastis.
Go home. Try to simmer down. Turn on TV. Saturday morning. Nothing but cartoons on. Cartoons in which military officers dressed in homoerotic uniforms do battle with so-called "terrorists". Terrorist schemes involve etching face of leader onto moon with giant laser and challenging heroes to game of football to determine ownership of America. Ridiculous tripe. Cannot abide it. Miss Space Ghost & Dino Boy.
NBC Saturday morning line-up disappoints. Change channel to ABC. See this:
Words fail me. Veidt also sold likeness to Filmation. Saturday morning Watchmen animated series is crime in and of itself. Drieberg does not like to "party down". Activities involved in "partying" too strenuous and similar to exercise. Will not comment on misinterpreted relationship between Comedian and Silk Spectre. Veidt presented as "crime solving superstar".
Molten, volcanic rage surges through entire body. Cannot fathom level of roaring, primal hatred anymore concentrated than that which I feel now.
Then I see this:
Should never have sold likeness to Veidt. Veidt sells likeness to comic book companies. Companies take idea of bearded hobo-writer-wizard, combine with LOLSCHACH's likeness. Written as middle aged neurotic in dystopian 1985 world. Was younger then. Stupid. Had grade school vision of the world, needed the money. Regrets.
Remainder of 1985 no more than chaotic blur in furthest reaches of brain.
It is 2009. Veidt still lives. No choice. Need $7.75 each month. Grappling hooks and beans and sugar cubes and Oreos and pork chop sandwiches cost money. Crime fighting is charity. Hurm.
Watchmen merchandise from 1980s continue to haunt me. Cartoon Network subsidiary, Boomerang, currently rerunning animated series. Just played episode in which "nutty" LOLSCHACH defeats sinister terrorist Moloch the Malevolent with pie to face. Episode ends with public service announcement. LOLSCHACH tells children never to fight; solve all differences through civilized dialogue or parental intervention. Ehhh.
Go outside and punch first child I see in stomach.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
March 18, 2009: Veidt's Place
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 18, 2009
Paid Adrian Veidt, AKA Ozymandius, a visit.
Dispicable. Can't stand him. Hate visiting him. Had no choice. Out of toilet paper. Hurm.
As always: Veidt ignores my request for bathroom tissue, instead "insists" I come in. Tells me, "We never talk anymore". Respond with a "Hurm" in low, gravelly pitch. Veidt throws patronizing smile at me. A wink? Did he just wink at me? Better not have.
Begin to tell Veidt I have better things to do and must leave immediately. Interrupts me and boasts about latest accomplishment in bio-engineering. Says his latest project is "fabulous".
That word.
Every time I hear it I clinch my fist and grit my teeth and feel the overwhelming urge to punch something until it can't bleed anymore. Veidt knows I hate that word. Says it to upset me. Hate him. Still need toilet paper.
Veidt ushers me into lab. "I know how much you like dogs...". Says it with intense sarcasm.
Miracle I let him live.
Veidt raises blind obscuring observation booth:
Calls it a "velocipuppy". Bio-engineered hybrid of velociraptor and canine.
What has science done?
I leave. Immediately. Use newspaper in bathroom. Marmaduke has never been more useful.
Monday, March 16, 2009
March 16, 2009: Coffee Shop
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 16, 2009
Paid visit to local coffee shop.
Ordered black, plain. No milk. No mixing of colors to create an undecided, diluted, caffeinated abomination savored by beatniks and hippies. Just black. Or white. Cannot have both.
Was offered Swedish coffee and French coffee -- but not American coffee.
Veidt's latest flavor lines the shelves: "Mocha Millennium". Declined. Generic coffee made from the hands of slave labor, slave labor manipulated by the hands of drug lords, drug lords unsatisfied with their stranglehold over potheads and delinquents and enticed by the warm, savory scent of cold, hard cash.
Manager comes by, shows me "Nite Owl Dark Roast." Describes it as low calorie, organic, bold, dark, robust blend. Ironic. Doesn't fit Dreiberg at all: dumpy, artificial, cowardly, pale, bloated. Perhaps better this way, that the two do not taste the same.
Waitress asks me what I want. Had nose ring. Low-cut shirt revealed navel piercing. Thought about the way prostitutes adorn themselves with jewelry, embrace gaudy, revealing fashions, to attract customers. Remember the days when prostitutes sold love, not overpriced, pretentious, liquid stimulants. Why are so few baristas left active, healthy, and without personality disorders?
Left.
Miss old days. Fresh coffee. Newspapers. Men with pipes. Women with aprons.
No "Mocha Millennium". No coffee pretending to taste like Dreiberg. No prostitutes pushing flavor of the month.
This city needs new brew.
Paid visit to local coffee shop.
Ordered black, plain. No milk. No mixing of colors to create an undecided, diluted, caffeinated abomination savored by beatniks and hippies. Just black. Or white. Cannot have both.
Was offered Swedish coffee and French coffee -- but not American coffee.
Veidt's latest flavor lines the shelves: "Mocha Millennium". Declined. Generic coffee made from the hands of slave labor, slave labor manipulated by the hands of drug lords, drug lords unsatisfied with their stranglehold over potheads and delinquents and enticed by the warm, savory scent of cold, hard cash.
Manager comes by, shows me "Nite Owl Dark Roast." Describes it as low calorie, organic, bold, dark, robust blend. Ironic. Doesn't fit Dreiberg at all: dumpy, artificial, cowardly, pale, bloated. Perhaps better this way, that the two do not taste the same.
Waitress asks me what I want. Had nose ring. Low-cut shirt revealed navel piercing. Thought about the way prostitutes adorn themselves with jewelry, embrace gaudy, revealing fashions, to attract customers. Remember the days when prostitutes sold love, not overpriced, pretentious, liquid stimulants. Why are so few baristas left active, healthy, and without personality disorders?
Left.
Miss old days. Fresh coffee. Newspapers. Men with pipes. Women with aprons.
No "Mocha Millennium". No coffee pretending to taste like Dreiberg. No prostitutes pushing flavor of the month.
This city needs new brew.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
March 14, 2009: Movie Theater
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 14, 2009
Saw a movie once.
Man goes to theatre with friend. Buys ticket, views film. Sees many characters from Watchmen. Sees many scenes from Watchmen. Very beautiful. Production design, cinematography, soundtrack all excellent. Main plot retold well. Good character moments. Reasonably entertaining.
But also frustrating. Too focused on heroes, not enough on doomed civilians. Too focused on main plot, so that important themes deemphasized. Violence too graphic during most of film, yet too tame during climax and aftermath. Very, very frustrating.
Friend asks what man thinks. Man says film misses point, like adult joke retold by schoolchild. Says ingredients good but incoherent, like cake half-baked. Says film shows promise. Says very good for test screening. Says major reediting and minor reshoots would do wonders. Says he looks forward to theatrical cut.
Friend bursts into laughter. Says, "But friend ... this is theatrical cut."
Bad music. Everybody leaves. Roll credits.
Curtains.
Saw a movie once.
Man goes to theatre with friend. Buys ticket, views film. Sees many characters from Watchmen. Sees many scenes from Watchmen. Very beautiful. Production design, cinematography, soundtrack all excellent. Main plot retold well. Good character moments. Reasonably entertaining.
But also frustrating. Too focused on heroes, not enough on doomed civilians. Too focused on main plot, so that important themes deemphasized. Violence too graphic during most of film, yet too tame during climax and aftermath. Very, very frustrating.
Friend asks what man thinks. Man says film misses point, like adult joke retold by schoolchild. Says ingredients good but incoherent, like cake half-baked. Says film shows promise. Says very good for test screening. Says major reediting and minor reshoots would do wonders. Says he looks forward to theatrical cut.
Friend bursts into laughter. Says, "But friend ... this is theatrical cut."
Bad music. Everybody leaves. Roll credits.
Curtains.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
March 12, 2009: Comic Book Store
LOLSCHACH'S JOURNAL: March 12, 2009:
Follow-up on investigation into Watchmen figures. Went among the scum to squeeze them. Informed of possible sighting at local comic store.
Broke in back door. Lock too easy. Did not wish to face the filth of barely clothed smirking Japanese girls plastered on the walls. Pedophiles finding comfort with the thought they can find love in drawings of underage girls in short skirts. No. Wrong. Perverted. And wrong. Love? There is no love. Not in this world. Just selfish rats crawling over each other for the next piece of cheese. Love is nothing but an illusion for the vermin.
Searched and found the face of black and white staring back at me. No grey. No mixing. Beautiful. Grabbed it before a fat slob with a grease stained t-shirt came back. Flipping through his pornography of a comic book with chocolate covered fingers. Deviant.
Dropped the object. The human boil soiled himself while made an example of. Left as a warning to all the perverts and pornographers that I would return if necessary.
Until then, obtained what was needed.
Follow-up on investigation into Watchmen figures. Went among the scum to squeeze them. Informed of possible sighting at local comic store.
Broke in back door. Lock too easy. Did not wish to face the filth of barely clothed smirking Japanese girls plastered on the walls. Pedophiles finding comfort with the thought they can find love in drawings of underage girls in short skirts. No. Wrong. Perverted. And wrong. Love? There is no love. Not in this world. Just selfish rats crawling over each other for the next piece of cheese. Love is nothing but an illusion for the vermin.
Searched and found the face of black and white staring back at me. No grey. No mixing. Beautiful. Grabbed it before a fat slob with a grease stained t-shirt came back. Flipping through his pornography of a comic book with chocolate covered fingers. Deviant.
Dropped the object. The human boil soiled himself while made an example of. Left as a warning to all the perverts and pornographers that I would return if necessary.
Until then, obtained what was needed.
March 11, 2009: Day Off
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 11, 2009:
Down time. Television programming; a cacophony of dull, meaningless advertisements, grotesque sexual wish fulfillment, violence devoid of repercussions and bottom level comedy designed to placate the irresponsible masses. Keep them indoors. Keep them off the streets. Keep them from me.
Soap operas. Bland, unsatisfying tripe. Good only for distracting overweight, under-educated housewives from their slimey, squirming offspring, choking on Play-Doh in their own cribs. Plots are repetitive. Every character seems to suffer from amnesia. If only I could forget the ugliness of the world around me as easily as Paul could forget that Pamela was cheating on him with his twin brother, Terry.
Television disgusted me. Went to library.
Thanks to internet, library practically abandoned. Now nothing more than a squalid, urine-soaked motel for vagrants and mentally inadequate social rejects. Passed through children's section. The Butter Battle Book. It's been years. Been years since I was a child. I was never a child.
My attention is drawn to a tome lying disheveled on the floor at my feet. I pick it up. Unlicensed Watchmen coloring book from 1981. I find my face plastered upon its sticky, yellowed pages. I received no royalties. Must pay visit to Random House Publishing. Beneath the crusted smatterings of Crayola, a story can be gleamed.
Down time. Television programming; a cacophony of dull, meaningless advertisements, grotesque sexual wish fulfillment, violence devoid of repercussions and bottom level comedy designed to placate the irresponsible masses. Keep them indoors. Keep them off the streets. Keep them from me.
Soap operas. Bland, unsatisfying tripe. Good only for distracting overweight, under-educated housewives from their slimey, squirming offspring, choking on Play-Doh in their own cribs. Plots are repetitive. Every character seems to suffer from amnesia. If only I could forget the ugliness of the world around me as easily as Paul could forget that Pamela was cheating on him with his twin brother, Terry.
Television disgusted me. Went to library.
Thanks to internet, library practically abandoned. Now nothing more than a squalid, urine-soaked motel for vagrants and mentally inadequate social rejects. Passed through children's section. The Butter Battle Book. It's been years. Been years since I was a child. I was never a child.
My attention is drawn to a tome lying disheveled on the floor at my feet. I pick it up. Unlicensed Watchmen coloring book from 1981. I find my face plastered upon its sticky, yellowed pages. I received no royalties. Must pay visit to Random House Publishing. Beneath the crusted smatterings of Crayola, a story can be gleamed.
I am not amused.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
March 9, 2009: Toys R Us Visit
LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 9, 2009:
Broken yo-yo in toy aisle. Child screaming before a painted whore of a mother shoves pacifier in mouth. Walked past Barbies with their smiling eyes and devious lips. Why do they smile? Are they proud of their sexual deviancy? Of course they are. Whores.
Turned down another aisle. Figures of Watchmen stare out blankly. Comedian, Dr. Manhattan's woman, Daniel with his soft abdomen, Ozymandias with his smug smile sculpted on his cheap plastic face, but no Lolschach, no me.
All the fanboys, with their greasy fingers, grabbed them. Of course. Going home to their mothers and their Hot Pockets. Giggling about their pornography and bitching about their video games. Left bad taste in mouth. Walked out disappointed.
What does one action figure mean against so many?
No one cares. No one cares but me.
Broken yo-yo in toy aisle. Child screaming before a painted whore of a mother shoves pacifier in mouth. Walked past Barbies with their smiling eyes and devious lips. Why do they smile? Are they proud of their sexual deviancy? Of course they are. Whores.
Turned down another aisle. Figures of Watchmen stare out blankly. Comedian, Dr. Manhattan's woman, Daniel with his soft abdomen, Ozymandias with his smug smile sculpted on his cheap plastic face, but no Lolschach, no me.
All the fanboys, with their greasy fingers, grabbed them. Of course. Going home to their mothers and their Hot Pockets. Giggling about their pornography and bitching about their video games. Left bad taste in mouth. Walked out disappointed.
What does one action figure mean against so many?
No one cares. No one cares but me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
