Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Hunger Pangs Of A Wile E. Coyote

"For shame, Doc. Hunting rabbits with an elephant gun. Why don't you shoot yourself an elephant?" ~ Bugs Bunny

"I may be a craven little coward, but I'm a greedy craven little coward." ~ Daffy Duck

"At wast! The wong awm of the waw is weaching out and cwosing in on you. You scwewy wabbit." ~ Elmer Fudd

"Why it's gettin' so a man can't earn a dishonest livin' no more!" Yosemite Sam

"One thing I've learned while chasing the bird... avoid the dog!" ~ Sylvester

"I know this defies the laws of gravity, but I never studied law." ~ Bugs Bunny

If you've had the pleasure of growing up watching Looney Tunes cartoons, you were a very lucky person indeed. If you didn't, how much of a deprived childhood did you have, growing up without the demented anarchy of Bugs, the Road Runner and the Coyote, Pepe Le Pew, Sylvester, Foghorn Leghorn, and Yosemite Sam?

Bugs of course is the signature character of the franchise, usually annoying Elmer Fudd or Yosemite Sam. Despite the fact that they're usually far better armed, they're the ones who end up exasperated and get their own plans blowing up (literally) in their faces. His smart-aleck mouth, coolness under pressure, and occasional crossdressing tendencies persist in keeping us amused. 

It's a bit hard to root for Sam or Elmer. They're the authors of their own misfortunes, and they're case studies in hair trigger tempers and an inability to walk away when they should know better. They could avoid that rifle backfiring on them, or the TNT they seem to have in plenty of supply blowing up in their faces (just where do they get all those explosives?) if they only set their pride aside and walked away. But no, Elmer and Sam can't do anything that makes sense, after all...

Admittedly, the Tweety and Sylvester toons always struck me as maladjusted. Maybe it's that I'm a cat person- I was always rooting for Sylvester. Maybe it's also that unlike other protagonists, Tweety always  had to depend on others to save him, the dog, for instance, or cranky Granny (was she born with the name Granny?). Yes, I was always rooting for Sylvester to somehow get Tweety.

Of course it never happened. Sylvester and his creative voice impediments suffered from a basic condition that afflicts most Looney Tunes antagonists. He wasn't all that bright. Yes, he could be obsessive about getting that bird, but was it really worth it? The bird was little more than one bite big to begin with. All that energy expended to chase down something that's not even snack sized. A smarter animal would say to himself that maybe it's a better idea to just order out or hang around the fish market for dinner. Not Sylvester. That loveable but dumb kitty mostly had blinders on to all but the idea of a Tweety Bird a flambe dinner.

Which brings us to the other bird and predator conflict of these cartoons. The Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote. Unlike Tweety, the Road Runner could nicely take care of himself. That super speed of his was ability enough to ensure his survival. And he didn't prattle on, unlike Tweety. Also unlike Sylvester, Wile E. came across as smart. Here we had a coyote capable of building complex machinery, death traps, and weapons in the middle of nowhere. And he had the financial resources to regularly buy equipment from the ever reliable Acme Company. So yes, he was smart. But he was also obsessed with a bird dinner. So much so that instead of just using those soft skills from years spent in weapons engineering and the financial wealth at his disposal to order out for pizza, he'd go out of his way to figure out some new way to get that Road Runner.

You have to feel sorry for him. Because there were moments when his carefully laid scheme was being laid to waste, and he knew it- and he'd just stare with that helpless look in his eyes as the train was bearing down on him, or the cannon was about to fire on him, or the giant rock was plunging straight down at him.... and you just couldn't help but feel such a deep pity for him.

It didn't help that on those rare occasions when he managed to somehow walk away from nearly getting blown to smithereens by his latest project gone wrong, and was catching his breath and thanking his lucky stars that he was still alive.... that the Road Runner would stop right behind him, feel inspired to be a sadist, startle the living daylights out of him by blurting out "Beep Beep!"... and send him plunging off the cliff yet again.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Vampire Caprice: Sabrina Strong

Before I get started today, some links to see to. Norma was back at her blog with a farewell to a DJ. Parsnip had desert wildlife at her page. And Eve had a garden project at her blog.

Today I'm doing something different. Fellow author Lorelei Bell has just released Vampire Caprice, the fourth book in a series. It can be found at Amazon, along with other work by Lorelei, in Kindle format. Lorelei can also be found at her blog Lorelei's Muse.

The big vampire, Bjorn Tremayne has lost his reign and
has become a rogue, and this doesn't sit well with him. But he's about
to do something that will change all this. Dark World has set a bounty
on Sabrina's head because she wouldn't mate with him, but he has come
up with a way to trick her into bed with him. He needs to get her away
from the only vampire who protects her--Vasyl.

Sabrina's agenda was to enjoy a pleasant Thanksgiving with family, and
no vampires, Nephilim, werewolves or demons to interrupt it.
Unfortunately a demon in the guise of her grandmother has decided to
attack her at this family gathering.

 Bill Gannon, her neighbor and Nephilim, has gotten an invite to
Thanksgiving. Just when he's about to save Sabrina from the demon, who
walks in, kills the demon and whisks Sabrina off in his cool Super
Snake Mustang but Tremayne... with the help of leprechaun Rick. 

After the melee in Sabrina's brother's house, Tremayne convinces
Sabrina she isn't safe and manages to talk her into running.

Vasyl, meanwhile, has fought off Tremayne's minions, but in the
meantime has lost Sabrina. It's daybreak and he must hide from the
sun. He has to chase Sabrina across the Midwest, knowing that
Tremayne's ultimate goal is to mate with her--before he, himself has a
chance to consummate his marriage to Sabrina.

In order to complete his duty of finding the sibyl, Bill Gannon must
chase after Sabrina, too, and find a way to talk her into having his
children in order to save the whole Nephilim race.

While all of these men are vying for Sabrina's attentions, something
called an Undead, who feeds on souls, seeks Sabrina--the last
sibyl--for his own diabolical needs. And he is very determined to find

Monday, June 23, 2014

A Night In The Life Of A Cat

Some links to get sorted out first. Yesterday we had a Snippet Sunday post at our joint blog. Krisztina has some Fourth of July ideas at her blog. Whisk had this funny pic at her page. And Gina paid a visit to a small Texas hamlet for a somber occasion. Check these out.

Today I'm finishing off this series of dog and cat blogs, with the point of view of the cat as the evening wears on...

5:40 PM. Purring and circling around Mrs. McIntyre in the kitchen while she puts dinner together for me. I can smell strips of chicken. Very tasty indeed. She really is good people. My staff could learn a lot from her on proper treatment of a cat.

5:50 PM. Contentedly eating from a plate of chicken strips. Mrs. McIntyre even dusted it with parmesan. Now this is service. Plus I have a good bowl of milk to wash it all down. Mrs. McIntyre is having some tea, chatting about her day. 

6:05 PM. Mrs. McIntyre and I have bowls of ice cream. French vanilla, mind you, but it's tasty. 

6:15 PM. I escort Mrs. McIntyre to the door, purring along the way. Have a good evening, and if you hear from my staff, send her home post haste.

6:25 PM. I decide to turn on the television, see what's on.

6:26 PM. You mean they're still playing that stupid game? Or is this a new one? Either way this stupid soccer tournament is going on for far too long. Look at that guy, howling like a baby over a fake injury. Crybaby.

6:27 PM. Thanks but no thanks. I'll skip this pointless crap and turn the television off for awhile.

6:40 PM. Searching the house for an errant ball of string. No success yet.

6:59 PM. Back in living room. Let's see if that soccer game is over.

7:00 PM. Well, well, well. This is what you get when you let a bunch of psychotic soccer fans get together in the same stadium. Riots, bloodshed, a stadium on fire, and people being slaughtered in the stands. 

I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm not.

7:05 PM. Watching one group of fans being tortured live on television by other group of fans. Here I thought drawing and quartering a man was something left behind centuries ago...

7:15 PM. The broadcaster actually said it. Took him long enough. O the humanity indeed!

7:20 PM. The head of FIFA turns up at a press conference. This despite the fact that the rioters are still in full bloodlust mode, the stadium is on fire, and scores of people are already dead. You'd think he'd be trying to stop the riot.

Let's hear what Blatter has to say.

7:21 PM. Blatter apparently thinks that decapitations and mass slaughter are just an isolated incident, and it shouldn't mar the rest of the tournament.

Sure. And I've got beachfront property in Saskatchewan for sale if you believe that.

8:05 PM. Staring out the front window. Really, what's taking the staff? How long does it take to say I do, cut the cake, give a few speeches, and peel a garter off a leg without using your hands?

8:35 PM. Turning on television again. Hey, it's that Star Trek reboot sequel. Okay, what the heck, at least it'll keep me awake.

8:50 PM. Five minutes of listening to Scotty talking and I'm finding myself seeing clan tartan colours everywhere.

9:10 PM. Ah, there's Benedict Cumberbatch. It's strange, but he kind of reminds me of a cat somehow. 

The staff is in lust with him. She keeps wishing there were more Sherlock episodes in a season.

10:39 PM. Here we go. The whole Kirk is dying, but the audience knows he's not really going to die, because it's way too early in the reboot series to do that, and besides, Kirk only can die by having a bridge thrown on him.

You know, aside from switching the characters around, they already played this scene in Wrath of Khan, right?

10:59 PM. Movie over. All's well that ends well. Kirk lives to be a charming scoundrel another day. Spock continues his streak of looking constipated. McCoy looks like he needs a drink.

11:00 PM. National news coming on. Anchor looks grave as she announces hundreds of dead rioting fans of both teams involved in the World Cup game earlier tonight. On behalf of all cats, knowing how insane soccer fans are, I'll just say it: I told you so.

She says the images might be shocking for some viewers, which of course is meant to get everyone to pay close attention.

11:10 PM. Remote camera footage from the interior of the stadium. Even at this late hour, people are still bludgeoning each other. 

A guy looking strangely like Mel Gibson is wearing blue warpaint and holding a severed head in his hand, screaming something incoherent.

Nicely done, humanity, you've thrown yourselves right back into the Dark Ages.

11:40 PM. Local news. Forecaster deliriously cheerful. I don't understand how they can be that cheerful.

I really don't understand how they can be wrong 90% of the time and still keep a job.

3:10 AM. Awakened out of a doze by the sound of a car door closing. Is that the staff? Finally???

3:11 AM. Meowing incessantly as the staff comes in and greets me. Sniffing at her as she takes her shoes off. Hey, wait a had sex!

Staff, what have I told you many times about your horrible taste in men?

3:18 AM. The staff heads for upstairs. I find myself quite perplexed and put out. At least she didn't bring the guy home. 

Tomorrow morning, staff, you and I are going to have a long talk about your wretched taste in men, is that understood? I said, is that understood?

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

A Day In The Life Of A Cat

Today I'm carrying on with the next part in this series of dog and cat blogs...

6:55 AM. Waking up out of deep slumber for no reason. In bed. Where is the staff, and why is the shower running at this hour?

7:05 AM. The staff comes out of the bathroom in a robe. Why on earth are you subjecting yourself to water torture at this hour? You could just make it easy on yourself and clean yourself up the same way I do. With your tongue.

7:10 AM. Meowing for my breakfast. The staff is chattering on and on about going to a wedding today. Wait a minute... this is the weekend. Your sole duty on the weekend is to cater to my every whim. 

7:12 AM. It's no use... the staff won't pay attention to me. Apparently something inconsequential like being maid of honour for her best friend is more important than being at my beck and call.

7:15 AM. Back downstairs. Debating if I should demand to be let out. If she's already getting ready now, that means she'll leave soon. And I do not want to be stuck outside all day.

7:17 AM. The staff is downstairs to prepare breakfast. She's saying something about someone coming by later on to give me dinner. Wait a minute, you're going to be gone that long?

7:22 AM. She thinks she can get back in my good graces by giving me bacon for breakfast. This despite leaving me on my own today...

Hmmm, that bacon smells good....

7:24 AM. Yum yum yum... bacon tastes so good. Why can't you do this every day, staff? As I've explained many times, I don't care for field rations.

7:35 AM. Following staff back upstairs. She sheds the robe and starts getting dressed for the day. Naturally, I must watch. I feel so voyeuristic.

7:50 AM. The staff is finished dressing in something in peach. I guess bridesmaids and maids of honour must love their friends enough to dress in something like that for a wedding day...

8:10 AM. Escorting my staff to the door. Yes, yes, have fun at the wedding. I doubt they'll be serving tuna pate at the reception, but in case they do, bring me back some.

And whatever you do, I know it's practically tradition that the maid of honour's going to get lucky at these things, but you will not have sex without my express permission. Need I remind you of your bad taste in men?

8:12 AM. Watching my staff leave in the car. I suspect it's going to be a long day.

8:42 AM. Sitting on windowsill looking into yard. Birds on the grass. If it wasn't for this glass between us, I'd be on you like white on rice.

I wonder what that phrase means.

8:46 AM. Spotting movement at the forest line. Oh, wonderful. It's that annoying dog from down the road.

8:47 AM. Hey! Go away! You're not wanted here. Are you that unable to take a hint, you stupid mutt? 

8:49 AM. The annoying mutt is wagging his tail. What is it with dogs and tails?

8:50 AM. Finally the dog decides to leave. Isis, what were you thinking when you created dogs?

9:30 AM. Deciding to look at things online. Fortunately I know the password the staff uses for her computer. Makes it so much easier.

9:45 AM. Examining articles on wedding customs and behaviours. Yes, there seems to be a well established tradition of the maid of honour getting lucky at weddings. And what's this? Catching the bouquet means she'll be the next one to get married?

The staff had better not catch a bouquet, let alone even think of getting married without my express permission.

10:05 AM. Watching online footage of women at a wedding reception clawing each other's eyes out for possession of a wedding bouquet.

Humans are truly weird. 

10:10 AM. Feeling tired. I'll log off and take a nap. After I add one interesting item into the search history of the staff's computer. How To Steal The Mona Lisa.

2:10 PM. Wake up from nap. No sign of the staff. Just how long does it take to say I do and cut a cake?

4:10 PM. Turn on the television to see what's on. For some reason it's that World Cup nonsense. All they're doing is kicking a ball around and faking injuries! It's the most boring sport alive!

4:11 PM. Why on earth this sports inspires its fans to kill each other in riots is beyond me. I'm turning it off before it bores me any more.

5:35 PM. Front door opening. Well, hello there, Mrs. McIntyre. You're one of my favourite humans. Always good company, always willing to spoil me rotten. I take it you're the one who was going to be looking in on me?

In which case, I approve.

By the way, you smell like you've been around a dog.

To Be Continued....