A Night Before Christmas.

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the place,
The Resident Murloc was running a race.
The stockings weren't hung by the chimney with care,
For last minute panic caused her to despair.

"C'mon sweetie," I mentioned, "let's snuggle in bed."
"No time for that now, I'll sleep when I'm dead.
Now working, now toiling, now wrapping the presents,
All of this work is for you malcontents.

"I've decor to hang up and presents to wrap.
So help me with this or just shut your yap."
Her jaw was clenched firm, her eyes were quite glary,
Her nose blew out flame, the site was so scary.

I thought it might be beneficial to ease
Her stress levels so I gave her a tease.
"You're so cute when your anxious. Did you know your belly
Shakes when you fuss, like a bowl full of jelly?"

More fright'ning than grizzlies, her fury it came,
She cussed, and shouted, and called me such names.
I spoke not a word, but just turned and fled.
Knowing she'd give me something to dread.

Hot on my neck, I could feel her spit spatter.
I sprang under the bed to avoid the whole matter.
But I heard her exclaim, 'ere I dove out of sight,
"I'll get you, I promise, you'll die this dark night!"


Yeah, I'm no Clement Moore, but it's 3am. Gimme a break.

Because Gun Control...

...is on my "absolutely positively under no circumstances discuss this on Facebook" list, I'll link this article here (warning: it's long; 10k-ish words): http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2012/12/20/an-opinion-on-gun-control/

Also, I made this for you:

What Do You Make of the World?

In which I plow ahead, forcing myself to write a short story, not because I think it's good, or interesting, or even because I enjoy it, but because if I'm going to start something, then, gorammit, I'm going to finish it even if it kills me.

I’ll never forget my first day at the Academy.

“The world,” began Professor Sullivan, “is what you make of it.”

The elderly doctor leaned on the podium. It bobbed up and down as the anti-gravity thrusters adjusted to the meager weight of his wiry frame. His eyes swept over the attentive audience--my classmates and myself--drinking us in. And we were eager to be drunk on his words.

He turned to the screen behind him and, with a sweeping gesture of his hand, wiped a static image of the world into existence. The orb was crudely drawn, jagged lines cordoning off areas of flat-shaded blue and green.

“Centuries ago, this is how we saw the world: fixed and unchangeable. Mankind was the slave of relentless and ineffable powers, over which he had no control, or means to keep them at bay.”

He folded his arms behind his back and turned towards the image. The profile of his dimly lit face was overcome with concern. “Those were dark times.”

He waved his hand across the board once more and the image changed again. The jagged lines smoothed into curves and the flat hues blended into an infinity of shades.

“But in the midst of these dark ages,” the professor continued, “came some remarkable minds. Minds who were able to master the laws of nature. Minds that saw the malleability of the universe and thus opened themselves to a world of amazing new possibilities.”

He turned back to us, a glimmer in his eye and a mischievous grin on his face. “But even they were held back by their shackles to the old way of thinking: that there were some absolutes which mankind simply could not overcome.”

Behind him, the world expanded and contracted. Bulges formed and crept under the surface, as if some great mass was trying to burst forth.

“It was only at the turn of the last century that the wisest of the wise finally stumbled onto that great, liberating truth that freed humanity forever, to be the master of nature, instead of her slave.”

The world changed colors, from blue to red to violet, then shapes, from a sphere to a cube, to a flower. The light show grew in intensity and vibrancy, shining through the professor’s wispy-white hair, finally becoming a fiery explosion, a flaming wreath around his face, which was darkened by shadow. He was a terrifying sight to behold.

“Centuries of human progress were poured into discovering this truth. It represents the sum total achievement of all knowledge.”

He held out his hand and the flaming rose jumped into it, burning itself into ashes. The light vanished with the flames and the room was darkened, save for a single shaft shining through an open window behind us which illuminated his open hand. He stood motionless. The room was dead silent.

The ashes began to stir. They crawled around in a circle on his hand, moving faster and faster, until they became a tiny cyclone. From the midst of the whirlwind, a dove burst forth and flew over our heads. We gasped and turned to follow its path out of the window.

The professor spoke slowly and clearly. “The world is what you make of it.” He smiled and looked at the moment no different than any other kindly old gentleman. Once more, his eyes washed over us.

“Now it is up to you, the greatest minds of your generation, to use this truth. Make the world into something greater.”

Read the rest here.

# # #

For those of you keeping score at home, I started writing this story over two years ago, about the time I made this blog post. The story was originally called "Delusions of Reality" and was going to be about a boy at an academy who learned to "change the world" by make-believing it was something else, until he realized that it was all make-believe and nothing ever changed. I realized this was dumb and stupid and violated the cardinal rule of story-writing: the artist serves the muse, not the agenda. But, I still liked the conceit and the twist at the end, and reworked it.

Bonus points to those who get the references. Certain persons who did their theses on Fermat should get a few of them.

As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.

{phfr}

Because absolutely nothing else worth talking about has happened recently. Nope. Nosiree. Absolutely. Nothing.

{pretty}

{happy}

Play it, Sam.

 {funny}

Star on Cheek. Star on Chest's sidekick, perhaps?

Scumbag babby.

{real}

Couch occupied? Use the coffee table!

This is what I found after practicing Chopin's Polonaise in A. Apparently, it's a lullaby for toddlers.

Oh, joy, oh, mess!

And yet—somehow—life goes on (with all the frills).

On the Ability of Inanimate Objects to Fly when Sprinkled with Pixie Dust in Disney's Jake and the Neverland Pirates

Objection 1: It would seem that flora, fauna, and inanimate objects should not be able to fly when sprinkled with pixie dust, as the second component of the ability to fly is the requirement to "think happy thoughts". Since these things lack an intellect, they thus lack the ability to think of pleasurable things, and ergo cannot fly.

Objection 2: Moreover, the directionality and speed of inanimate objects, if they could fly, would be random and uncontrolled, since the flyer controls his path by thought. An un-thinking object would not fly in a directed or controlled manner, as portrayed in the children's tales.

Objection 3: Moreover, flying by means of pixie dust is akin to witchcraft and therefore not suitable for portrayal in children's tales.

To the contrary, surely it is written "For his own purposes he opens the storehouse and makes the rain clouds fly like vultures."

I answer that,

John C. Wright Gets to Say Who Is and Who Is Not Brilliant

I copied and pasted my previous post verbatim to the comments of Marc Barnes' hilarious article about Vegans for Meat Catholics for Choice President Jon O'Brien's piece on the Huffington Post which my previous post was an all-too-easy parody of (50 internets if you can diagram that sentence including this parenthetical remark). I checked back today to find that, not only had it been voted the top comment, but a hero of this blog had also commented on it!

Nobody Gets to Say Who Is and Who Is Not Vegan

Hugh Jass
President, Vegans for Meat

My organization, Vegans for Meat was the subject of a bizarre attack from the United States Vegan Council (USVC) this week.

Ms. Cary Ann Schmaltz, the director of media relations for the USVC, took to her blog in a pathetic attempt to discredit VFM as a legitimate voice for vegans in the United States. She expressed concern that "sleepy editors" or "inexperienced journalists" would be taken in by us, simply because we describe ourselves as vegans. She said that we are not vegans and we don't know veganism. Schmaltz is sadly wrong on both counts. Any cursory visit to VFM's website will give a reader the opportunity to learn more about vegan practices and healthy eating than would a visit to many other vegan websites. And as to my veganism, perhaps I'll send her copy of my last grocery store receipt, though I doubt she'd be appeased.

But this is not just about VFM. It's about Schmaltz presenting herself as the arbiter of who's a vegan. It's kind of like letting the Tea Party decide who's American, isn't it? Just like them, Schmaltz doesn't let the facts get in the way of her message. With her ham-fisted blog, Schmaltz insults the hundreds of groups and millions of vegans who choose to remain vegan while raising legitimate voices in support of eating meat.

Her appeal to guarding the "brand" of veganism is simply crass. Veganism is not Apple or Google, global corporations that zealously police the use of their brand, siccing corporate lawyers on anybody who dares use their name in vain. The USVC's brand control over individuals ends the minute a person begins eating. From that point forward, we have the right -- and the responsibility -- to speak as vegans on matters of health, including those that involve meat, eggs, and other animal products. Understandably, this makes Schmaltz and her bosses nervous because all too often, the leaders of the USVC haven't said or done the right thing on these issues.

We base our support for eating meat on the long-standing traditions within veganism. We are part of the great majority who believe that the teaching on the primacy of appetite means that every individual must follow his or her own taste buds -- and respect the rights of others to do the same. As vegans we take seriously our obligations to know and thoughtfully consider vegan practices. And in coming to our positions on eating meat, animal products and other issues we have done so, and continue to do so. We didn't make this up. We've got vegetarians, carnivores, omnivores and millions of vegans on our side.

As somebody intimately familiar with the ways of veganism, Ms. Cary Ann knows that nobody gets to say who is and who is not a vegan. Not the cooks, not the chefs, and not the food critics. One is a vegan after eating a vegetable. Period. She might have her own opinions about who is a healthy vegan or an unhealthy vegan, but her claims that we aren't vegans need some fact-checking.

The good ma'am may be jealous of the media attention we get. She may be upset at the quality of our arguments. She may find the statistics that we use disconcerting. I would, if I were her, as they show that the positions taken by the USVC have been resoundingly rejected by ordinary vegans. But it's interesting that she chose not to, or more likely couldn't, address the basis of our arguments. So she resorts to demonizing us. 

Ms. Cary Ann's rant was addressed to the new public editor at the New York Times, Maggie Sullen. It seems that she thinks that a senior editor at the Times will be intimidated into ignoring the legitimate and widely supported arguments of those who are not granted the USVC's blessing. We know that we speak for the majority of vegans. And we are happy to continue to forge our path, knowing that it is one that will be well-traveled by our fellow vegans for meat.

As to Ms. Sullen, and her many fine colleagues in the Fourth Estate, I am pretty sure they know that if they want the USVC's opinion on something, they can give Ms. Cary Ann a call. But when they want to know what vegans think, they know to call somebody else. VFM will always be happy to take that call.

It's almost painful how little I had to change. Arguably this version makes more sense.