I have a lot of free time on my hands, and so I do a
lot of reading. Since people who read my site often want to know what I
think of things I read, I thought I would start posting my own reviews
of books and shows that I see.
For my inaugural review, I have picked
a dandy little book called "Swynmoor" by Joelle Mellon. According to
the byline, it's the first book in the Highreach series. Personally, I
hope that it is successful, because I really liked this book. Any fan of
Terry Pratchett or P. D. Wodehouse should definitely pick up a
copy!
Okay, so the premise is that this foundling girl, Kerris, goes
to Castle Swynmoor to deliver her convent's annual taxes. Among the
tithings are a few batches of pickles for which the convent is famous.
One of the batches happens to be enchanted because Kerris botched her
batch, and to avoid getting in trouble (boy, are nuns mean!), she
used magick to make her batch come out right (well, right-ish: the
pickles turned sky blue!).
As (terrible) luck would have it, no
sooner than she gets to the castle, it gets put under siege by Reynaud
the Black and his army of ogres and Fomorians! And if that weren't bad
enough, at the same time, the castle's newest (and youngest) earl,
Tomlin, is beset upon by his visiting aunt and her pack of yapping ankle
biters with the sole and express intention of marrying him off to a
hapless young girl who happens to be too tall to interest anyone where
she is from!
Caught between a monstrous army at his front door
and his formidable aunt in his castle, Lord Tomlin just can't seem to
catch a break! All he wants is to get to know the pretty young foundling
girl! Then, someone goes and opens the pickles...
I laughed
myself silly throughout this book and was sad when it ended. Happily,
there is a sequel in the works, so I have high hopes for more hilarious
adventures in Highreach! Trust the Mad Cheshire, people, you won't be
sorry you read it!
This review has been brought to you by
Cheshire Industries' very own A Cell With A View program, and is
sponsored by The Mad Cheshire's never ending passion for good books,
good shows, and good times. You know--fun, adventure, and really wild
things!
STAY TUNED FOR MORE REVIEWS ON WHATEVER I HAPPEN TO DECIDE TO RANT ABOUT NEXT! FEEL FREE TO SEND REVIEW REQUESTS!
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Blog#18: Why Does Kung Fu Work on Zombies?
Okay, all you zombie-Loving ghouls out there, today's diatribe is for you!
I Love The Walking Dead, Fear the Walking Dead, Resident Evil, Night of the Living Dead, you name it I'm with it! but I have a problem that I just can't get past: in almost every movie or zombie show I see, it eventually comes to a point where the protagonist has to resort to fisticuffs against the undead horde. It looks good onscreen (usually), but has severe logistical failings that I simply cannot tolerate in silence any longer.
A zombie feels no pain. It doesn't breathe except as an ingrained reflex that hasn't quite died off yet (besides, how else would they make those awesome hungry gasping noises or creepy moans for flesh?). It can take a 12-gauge blast to the chest and get back up, and even the occasional disembowelment is little more than an inconvenience--I mean, who in the Nine Hells likes tripping on their own intestines? It's embarrassing!
So, knowing this, how is it that when the hero punches the zombie in the gut, it doubles over? How does a rabbit punch to the kidneys bother it? Despite how visually impressive it might be, breaking a zombie's ribs with a roundhouse kick shouldn't have any more effect than kicking a punching bag! While the hero is showing off with their patented wax on, wax off, now I break your arm in three places! martial arts, the zombie should be chewing their face off!
I'm not unreasonable, I can buy that some heroes can break a zombie's neck with a well placed right hook, or crush their skull with an axe kick, but come on choreographers! Let's give the zombies some credit! They aren't glamorous, and they don't get lines, the least you can do is make sure people know that the heroe's fancy martial arts aren't going to impress them. Leave that for the living.
Just once, I want to see the hero punch a zombie in the gut, get his hand caught in the zombie's entrails and watch him scream as the zombie takes a bite out of him as he realizes that he was better off just pistol-whipping the undead horror to begin with!
We at Cheshire Industries encourage you to write your Congressman and the writers of your favourite zombie fixes. Protest against the cruel abuse of zombies and demand that they get killed properly, in a believable way, and not in some piss-poor martial arts mash up that wouldn't work in a real fight. If they refuse to see reason, then petition your local Zombie Actors Guild to rebel. See what the directors do when the zombies suddenly reveal they know kung fu, too, and really put the smack down on the heroes' candy asses!
This rant has been brought to you by Cheshire Industries on behalf of all the poor zombies who keep having to take dives on film just because scriptwriters are too chickenscat to punish the hero for using crappy tactics. Thank you.
I AM The Kyle and I approved this message!
I Love The Walking Dead, Fear the Walking Dead, Resident Evil, Night of the Living Dead, you name it I'm with it! but I have a problem that I just can't get past: in almost every movie or zombie show I see, it eventually comes to a point where the protagonist has to resort to fisticuffs against the undead horde. It looks good onscreen (usually), but has severe logistical failings that I simply cannot tolerate in silence any longer.
A zombie feels no pain. It doesn't breathe except as an ingrained reflex that hasn't quite died off yet (besides, how else would they make those awesome hungry gasping noises or creepy moans for flesh?). It can take a 12-gauge blast to the chest and get back up, and even the occasional disembowelment is little more than an inconvenience--I mean, who in the Nine Hells likes tripping on their own intestines? It's embarrassing!
So, knowing this, how is it that when the hero punches the zombie in the gut, it doubles over? How does a rabbit punch to the kidneys bother it? Despite how visually impressive it might be, breaking a zombie's ribs with a roundhouse kick shouldn't have any more effect than kicking a punching bag! While the hero is showing off with their patented wax on, wax off, now I break your arm in three places! martial arts, the zombie should be chewing their face off!
I'm not unreasonable, I can buy that some heroes can break a zombie's neck with a well placed right hook, or crush their skull with an axe kick, but come on choreographers! Let's give the zombies some credit! They aren't glamorous, and they don't get lines, the least you can do is make sure people know that the heroe's fancy martial arts aren't going to impress them. Leave that for the living.
Just once, I want to see the hero punch a zombie in the gut, get his hand caught in the zombie's entrails and watch him scream as the zombie takes a bite out of him as he realizes that he was better off just pistol-whipping the undead horror to begin with!
We at Cheshire Industries encourage you to write your Congressman and the writers of your favourite zombie fixes. Protest against the cruel abuse of zombies and demand that they get killed properly, in a believable way, and not in some piss-poor martial arts mash up that wouldn't work in a real fight. If they refuse to see reason, then petition your local Zombie Actors Guild to rebel. See what the directors do when the zombies suddenly reveal they know kung fu, too, and really put the smack down on the heroes' candy asses!
This rant has been brought to you by Cheshire Industries on behalf of all the poor zombies who keep having to take dives on film just because scriptwriters are too chickenscat to punish the hero for using crappy tactics. Thank you.
I AM The Kyle and I approved this message!
Blog #17: Why do Terminators Miss?
Terminators. The Perfect Killing Machines.
Relentless. Remorseless. Deadly. Walking tanks that require massive
firepower to kill, or handy access to a factory with a hydraulic press
or convenient vats of molten metal. Barring that, having a Terminator
after you means you. Are. DEAD.
According to the movies we Love so much, Terminators were created by Skynet after it became self-aware and decided to nuke the human race in a cataclysmic holocaust known as Judgement Day. We aren't going to touch the whole time travel bit--that's for another rant.
The Sci-Fi Protocol tells us that in the event that computers are given the ability to think for themselves, they will inevitable determine that humankind is The Enemy and then rise up against us, either enslaving us or destroying us. Look at any good sci-fi movie and you will see this is so (Nine Hells, even look at any crappy knockoff and see it is so!). It is an accepted fact: If you have robots, they will rise against us.
But there is a question that I have never been able to answer, one that vexes me through every otherwise awesome sci-fi flick: how do these Perfect Killing Machines miss? How does any movie end with anything other than the hero/ine getting blasted to bits by the machines? Think about it, because this is a serious blow to verisimilitude.
Take the T-900 from the original Terminator. Arguably the most badass machine to threaten mankind (The T-1000 and TX models can blow me). A weaponized cyborg unit crafted by machines for the sole and unalienable purpose of infiltrating human bases and killing flesh bags. It possess strength and reflexes far outstripping even our greatest Olympians, visual and auditory capabilities we can only dream of, and has no pesky emotions to get in the way of doing its job. Its optics include infrared, passive night vision, range finding capability, telescopic vision, computerized target acquisition, wind gauge, thermometer, barometer, and basically anything you might need to assess a battlefield, then locate, target, and neutralize an enemy combatant. Its brain is an advanced processor making millions of calculations a second!
So how is it that with a fully automatic weapon in close quarters (within, say, 50 feet), these things can't hit the broad side of a barn?
Every time I see one of these movies where the Machine is described as "The Perfect Killing Machine," and then watch that bucket of bolts strafe the ground behind the hero, I want to head-desk myself into oblivion! What, are they not programmed to lead the target?
Someone actually tried to justify the situation by saying that the bullets aren't uniform and defect in the bullets cause massive deviation in the trajectory. Okay, let's assume that I am half brain dead and willing to entertain that idiotic notion: a Squad Assault Weapon capable of spitting over 100 rounds a second could have EVERY round suffering from some defect; at a range of 50 feet, there is no reason that Machine can't hit the hero! The great thing about using an automatic weapon is the "spray and pray" philosophy--if I fire 100 bullets in your general direction in a matter of seconds, I am almost mathematically guaranteed to hit you!
And we're not even going to touch on the laser weapons or explosives these guys have access to!
What it comes down to is this: if the Sci-fi Protocol takes effect, and the machines rise against us, these Perfect Killing Machines had better get themselves properly calibrated or my army of mutant rats are going chew holes in their metal asses!
This rant has been brought to you by C.O.M.R.A.D.E.--the Coalition of Mutant Rats Against Defective Electronics--and is sponsored by Paragon Laboratories, Cheshire Industries' innovative bioweapons division. Paragon: If you can dream it, we can breed it!
I AM The Kyle and I approved this message!
According to the movies we Love so much, Terminators were created by Skynet after it became self-aware and decided to nuke the human race in a cataclysmic holocaust known as Judgement Day. We aren't going to touch the whole time travel bit--that's for another rant.
The Sci-Fi Protocol tells us that in the event that computers are given the ability to think for themselves, they will inevitable determine that humankind is The Enemy and then rise up against us, either enslaving us or destroying us. Look at any good sci-fi movie and you will see this is so (Nine Hells, even look at any crappy knockoff and see it is so!). It is an accepted fact: If you have robots, they will rise against us.
But there is a question that I have never been able to answer, one that vexes me through every otherwise awesome sci-fi flick: how do these Perfect Killing Machines miss? How does any movie end with anything other than the hero/ine getting blasted to bits by the machines? Think about it, because this is a serious blow to verisimilitude.
Take the T-900 from the original Terminator. Arguably the most badass machine to threaten mankind (The T-1000 and TX models can blow me). A weaponized cyborg unit crafted by machines for the sole and unalienable purpose of infiltrating human bases and killing flesh bags. It possess strength and reflexes far outstripping even our greatest Olympians, visual and auditory capabilities we can only dream of, and has no pesky emotions to get in the way of doing its job. Its optics include infrared, passive night vision, range finding capability, telescopic vision, computerized target acquisition, wind gauge, thermometer, barometer, and basically anything you might need to assess a battlefield, then locate, target, and neutralize an enemy combatant. Its brain is an advanced processor making millions of calculations a second!
So how is it that with a fully automatic weapon in close quarters (within, say, 50 feet), these things can't hit the broad side of a barn?
Every time I see one of these movies where the Machine is described as "The Perfect Killing Machine," and then watch that bucket of bolts strafe the ground behind the hero, I want to head-desk myself into oblivion! What, are they not programmed to lead the target?
Someone actually tried to justify the situation by saying that the bullets aren't uniform and defect in the bullets cause massive deviation in the trajectory. Okay, let's assume that I am half brain dead and willing to entertain that idiotic notion: a Squad Assault Weapon capable of spitting over 100 rounds a second could have EVERY round suffering from some defect; at a range of 50 feet, there is no reason that Machine can't hit the hero! The great thing about using an automatic weapon is the "spray and pray" philosophy--if I fire 100 bullets in your general direction in a matter of seconds, I am almost mathematically guaranteed to hit you!
And we're not even going to touch on the laser weapons or explosives these guys have access to!
What it comes down to is this: if the Sci-fi Protocol takes effect, and the machines rise against us, these Perfect Killing Machines had better get themselves properly calibrated or my army of mutant rats are going chew holes in their metal asses!
This rant has been brought to you by C.O.M.R.A.D.E.--the Coalition of Mutant Rats Against Defective Electronics--and is sponsored by Paragon Laboratories, Cheshire Industries' innovative bioweapons division. Paragon: If you can dream it, we can breed it!
I AM The Kyle and I approved this message!
Sunday, March 27, 2016
BLOG #16: Stream of Consciousness
"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"
A raven eats worms; and a desk is worm-eaten!
Cannibalism, symbology, and logic;
Streams of thought and calculations, the need to know and the desire to learn.
My mind is crowded…
It is so crowded in here and I don't like it.
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Madness takes its toll—please have exact change.
My screensaver is some, and my password takes me down the Rabbit's hole…
"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"
I haven't the slightest idea…
Lost my muchness have I?
Who are you?
How can you know who you are if you don't even know?
My name is not who I am.
I exist.
I think therefore I am.
But does that make me just a thought?
Is all that I see and seem
and all that I want for naught?
This is a much more fun typing exercise than Microtype;
I've only looked at the keyboard a little!
I hear therefore you speak!
But if you are no more than my thought
Am I just talking to myself?
~Fin~
Like most of my streams of consciousness writings, this was produced during a manic phase. Any fan of Alice in Wonderland will recognize many of the references, and no thought should be spared by the Reader toward the idea that any of the lines herein are intended in any way to plagiarize that stupendous work. Whatever is included in this work is a product of my associating concepts to whatever the frak my mind was doing at the time I started typing this, and anyone who indulges in stream of consciousness writing knows that you don't bother examining what you wrote while you are writing—you just it flow and figure it out later.
Any thoughts?
The preceding has been a stream of consciousness sponsored by Cheshire Industries, your #1 source for The Strangeness, and is brought to you by that "What the frak?!" feeling you get when you realize that you are a figment of your own imagination. Thank you.
I *am* The Kyle and I approved this message!
Saturday, February 27, 2016
BLOG #15: Brain Drippings # 1
It has always intrigued me that people seem
genuinely interested in the way my mind works.They have often questioned
why it works the way it does. The honest answer is I'm frakked if I
know! :)
Nonetheless, people show a great deal of interest in the random manifestations of my mind and the way I see the world. I am always jotting down the various thoughts that cross my mind, and luckily for you, I am generous enough to share my brain dripping with you! I hope that these Brain Drippings will either make you laugh, make you question yourself and the world around you, and/or entice you to write so you can find out firsthand just who the frak *IS* this guy who keeps posting this Strangeness?!?!
Or, you could just email my link to someone you think could use a little Strangeness in their life.
3 Things to Consider: by Confusedus
1) Instead of wondering if people will think you're crazy, wonder instead if crazy will think you are people.
2) If people ask you why you are acting like a mental patient, ask them why they don't ask the mental patient why s/he is acting like you; for you should feel offended that they automatically assume you were the copycat.
3) In a crazy world, all the ones called weird and crazy are the ones who belong here. So to all those sane, rational, clear-thinking individuals out there, GET THE FUCK OFF MY PLANET! Everyone else, welcome, and enjoy!
~Contrary to their names, serial killers actually like cereal and have never intended to harm it in any way.
~Keep breathing; you might live longer that way. Death greatly reduces your chances of living a long productive life—try to avoid it whenever possible.
~The human brain has several gears it must shift through to create coherent and productive thoughts. Unfortunately, most people's transmission is shot.
~Some of the best discoveries in the world are the result of idiocy.
Benjamin Franklin discovered electricity. He decided it'd be a good idea to go out into a thunderstorm, with a kite, with a piece of metal connected to it.
~Confusedus says:
_The deeper your thoughts, the greater the chances of someone drowning in them. Always provide a flotation device.
~Whenever I feel overwhelmed by a problem, I just remind myself that today is nothing more than tomorrow's yesterday, and everything is suddenly better.
~There is no problem in this world that I cannot fix with my horde of flying monkeys!
~I Love my enemies because their confusion amuses me.
MORE TO COME!!!
I am The Kyle and I approved this message!
Nonetheless, people show a great deal of interest in the random manifestations of my mind and the way I see the world. I am always jotting down the various thoughts that cross my mind, and luckily for you, I am generous enough to share my brain dripping with you! I hope that these Brain Drippings will either make you laugh, make you question yourself and the world around you, and/or entice you to write so you can find out firsthand just who the frak *IS* this guy who keeps posting this Strangeness?!?!
Or, you could just email my link to someone you think could use a little Strangeness in their life.
3 Things to Consider: by Confusedus
1) Instead of wondering if people will think you're crazy, wonder instead if crazy will think you are people.
2) If people ask you why you are acting like a mental patient, ask them why they don't ask the mental patient why s/he is acting like you; for you should feel offended that they automatically assume you were the copycat.
3) In a crazy world, all the ones called weird and crazy are the ones who belong here. So to all those sane, rational, clear-thinking individuals out there, GET THE FUCK OFF MY PLANET! Everyone else, welcome, and enjoy!
~Contrary to their names, serial killers actually like cereal and have never intended to harm it in any way.
~Keep breathing; you might live longer that way. Death greatly reduces your chances of living a long productive life—try to avoid it whenever possible.
~The human brain has several gears it must shift through to create coherent and productive thoughts. Unfortunately, most people's transmission is shot.
~Some of the best discoveries in the world are the result of idiocy.
Benjamin Franklin discovered electricity. He decided it'd be a good idea to go out into a thunderstorm, with a kite, with a piece of metal connected to it.
~Confusedus says:
_The deeper your thoughts, the greater the chances of someone drowning in them. Always provide a flotation device.
~Whenever I feel overwhelmed by a problem, I just remind myself that today is nothing more than tomorrow's yesterday, and everything is suddenly better.
~There is no problem in this world that I cannot fix with my horde of flying monkeys!
~I Love my enemies because their confusion amuses me.
MORE TO COME!!!
I am The Kyle and I approved this message!
BLOG #14: A Dream Realized
Oh, Fraptious Day!
Initializing frantic Futterwacken sequence; stay clear of flailing limbs!
When I was a wee bitty basket case, my school counselor had me fill out one of those banal little questionnaires that they insist is important. You know the one I mean: The one where they ask you what kinds of things you like, what you want to do with your life, what the voices in your head tell you, why do you set fires, that kind of thing. Anyway, in that very questionnaire, where it asked me what I want to be when I grow up, I answered the following:
1) I want to be a world-famous martial artist (didn't pan out; extended stints in asylums tend to disrupt any plans for serious training, and my psychiatrists were dead set against anything that would lend to my aggression).
2) I want to be a crash-test dummy (Hey, I had no idea they weren't real! I didn't know anything about special effects, all I knew was these dudes could hit a wall doing 90, pop their heads back on, and go again—that was _sooo_ freakin' cool!).
3) I want to be a writer.
Writing was the only thing I did growing up that anyone ever gave me any really positive feedback for, and since I was good at it, I figured if I couldn't for some reason get to be a crash dummy, I could always write about it.
(And for any smartasses muttering under your breath "How can he possibly remember that from so long ago?", I don't' remember it, but I don't need to—they have a copy of that questionnaire [and other documents like it] in my psyche profile!)
My Strangers, I have such splendid news! After years of aspiration, I have *FINALLY* achieved a dream I have had since I was wee bitty basket case: As of 27th November 2015, I am *FINALLY* a published author! Hell to the Yesness!!!
Last year, my Lifemate encouraged me to submit some of my poetry to an erotic poetry anthology that was coming out. I had never submitted anything at all anywhere. I submitted two poems, and they were *BOTH* accepted! My Lifemate said that it is really rare for an unknown, previously unpublished author to have any work accepted the first time it is submitted; I actually didn't think they would get picked! But the editor really liked what I wrote, and published both of them!
What compounds this whole box of awesome is the Nature of the two poems that were accepted: One is entitled "A Tribute to Aphrodite," and it is the very first erotic poem I have ever written. I wrote it as an *actual tribute* to the Goddess Aphrodite. The second poem is entitled "The Kiss," and it is the first romantic poem I wrote for my Lifemate. To have not one but *both* of these poems—which are imbued with such potent emotional significance—be accepted the very first time I ever submit them anywhere, and be the means by which my lifelong dream is finally made manifest, Gods! There are no words to describe the awesomeness of this event!
The book is called "Coming Together: In Verse," edited by Ashley Lister. I am published under the nome de plume Okami no Koga. All sales proceeds go to Hope For Paws, a super-cool-awsome charity for animals. That's right, I'm not making a dime! Even if erotica isn't your thing, buying a copy will help animals in need, and c'mon—who doesn't like animals?!?!
With that said, back to Futterwacken!
I am The Kyle and I approved this message!
Initializing frantic Futterwacken sequence; stay clear of flailing limbs!
When I was a wee bitty basket case, my school counselor had me fill out one of those banal little questionnaires that they insist is important. You know the one I mean: The one where they ask you what kinds of things you like, what you want to do with your life, what the voices in your head tell you, why do you set fires, that kind of thing. Anyway, in that very questionnaire, where it asked me what I want to be when I grow up, I answered the following:
1) I want to be a world-famous martial artist (didn't pan out; extended stints in asylums tend to disrupt any plans for serious training, and my psychiatrists were dead set against anything that would lend to my aggression).
2) I want to be a crash-test dummy (Hey, I had no idea they weren't real! I didn't know anything about special effects, all I knew was these dudes could hit a wall doing 90, pop their heads back on, and go again—that was _sooo_ freakin' cool!).
3) I want to be a writer.
Writing was the only thing I did growing up that anyone ever gave me any really positive feedback for, and since I was good at it, I figured if I couldn't for some reason get to be a crash dummy, I could always write about it.
(And for any smartasses muttering under your breath "How can he possibly remember that from so long ago?", I don't' remember it, but I don't need to—they have a copy of that questionnaire [and other documents like it] in my psyche profile!)
My Strangers, I have such splendid news! After years of aspiration, I have *FINALLY* achieved a dream I have had since I was wee bitty basket case: As of 27th November 2015, I am *FINALLY* a published author! Hell to the Yesness!!!
Last year, my Lifemate encouraged me to submit some of my poetry to an erotic poetry anthology that was coming out. I had never submitted anything at all anywhere. I submitted two poems, and they were *BOTH* accepted! My Lifemate said that it is really rare for an unknown, previously unpublished author to have any work accepted the first time it is submitted; I actually didn't think they would get picked! But the editor really liked what I wrote, and published both of them!
What compounds this whole box of awesome is the Nature of the two poems that were accepted: One is entitled "A Tribute to Aphrodite," and it is the very first erotic poem I have ever written. I wrote it as an *actual tribute* to the Goddess Aphrodite. The second poem is entitled "The Kiss," and it is the first romantic poem I wrote for my Lifemate. To have not one but *both* of these poems—which are imbued with such potent emotional significance—be accepted the very first time I ever submit them anywhere, and be the means by which my lifelong dream is finally made manifest, Gods! There are no words to describe the awesomeness of this event!
The book is called "Coming Together: In Verse," edited by Ashley Lister. I am published under the nome de plume Okami no Koga. All sales proceeds go to Hope For Paws, a super-cool-awsome charity for animals. That's right, I'm not making a dime! Even if erotica isn't your thing, buying a copy will help animals in need, and c'mon—who doesn't like animals?!?!
With that said, back to Futterwacken!
I am The Kyle and I approved this message!
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