The Pains go ever on and on, out from the door where they began. And you must read them if you can. . .

Another two chapters of the nanoscopically famous novella written by me, edited by a waitress, and illustrated by a Cheeseburger are now up Wetmachine.

Paraphrasing me, perhaps it's fitting that a story about a humble human of common decency but no particular kozmic talent who is evidently picked by the universe to redeem the world through his own suffering should turn out to be a colossal root-canal to finish writing.

Anyway I'm pretty happy with how it's going so far, modulo the snail pace, and I still adore the illustrations.  For any of y'all as may be innarested, yes, there are a few more chapters right behind (yeah, yeah, I've heard that before) just almost kinda-sorta maybe-really ready to go off to the editor any day now. . .

johnny, in other words, is going to debug this novella or die trying.

Your so-called "Lou Gehrig's Disease" is a feeble troll unworthy of Kuro5hin, and your "stage three brain cancer" is some script-kiddie's pathetic idea of a clever hack. Mankind invented Auschwitz, and this is the best you can do? Horrible diseases that maim and torture one person at a time? Now that is what I call pathetic. Basically, you suck ("suxxor" if you insist). So why don't you put your long stringy hair into a ponytail, put on your black trench coat and your baggy black pants with all the zippers, pull on your black gloves with the fake chain-mail accents and sling your black backpack with the skull and crossbones and Ubuntu sticker over your shoulder and CLEAR THE FUCK OUT; go down to the 7-Eleven or the comic book store or wherever it is you like to hang out. Buy a pack of cigarettes and tap it on a hard surface before opening it in that white trash ritual you learned osmotically from the losers in your loserville arrondisement and take a long drag from a Marlboro and turn your head up to exhale dramatically, cupping the cigarette military style like some enlisted loser. And get lost. Just clear the fuck out, OK? You bore me and irritate me, and we grownups would prefer to be left alone for a few minutes. Look, here's five bucks. Take it, God. And just go. Get out of here. Fuck off.

Inside: watching "Everest"

Whenever I'm going to post something about Cory Doctorow, which happens from time to time, I get this thing stuck in my head, the ol' movie Tora! Tora! Tora!, which I'll bet few of y'all have even heard of, much lest remember. I can't say "Cory", I have to say "Cory! Cory! Cory!"

Which then gets me thinking of the stock phrase Marsha ! Marsha! Marsha!.

Anywho, my ol pal Cory is in town for this deal and we're gonna hang out for an hour down at the coffe shop. If you have any quexions you would like me to put to the esteemed zeitgeitian, speak in comments.

27 years today.

If you check out the view from this webcam any time in the recent future when it's light out, you'll see Vineyard Haven Harbor (formerly known as Holmes Hole), with the Gannon & Benjamin boatyard in the foreground.

If you had checked out that webcam yesterday you would have seen what looked like a conclave of ancient veterans of Woodstock, along with their kids and grandkids. Among the throng Yours Truly and Dear Wife. Details below the fold.

George Bush has AIDS.

Which he got from gay sex.

I'm not the first to say it, but here among us friends I wanted to say it for the record. So that when it becomes official, like Rock Hudson, I can say I told you so. My gaydar goes off the scales for GWB, and I'm not even gay (unless you count that thing with Brian Leslie when I was eight years old, but I don't think that counts. . .  maybe I should write about that sometime. . .)

As a nanoscopically famous author, I get the occasional bit of fan mail. I got an email this morning (to the "mail@mywebsite" address) that just tickled me pink.  I've put it beneath the fold.

1955 Chevrolet two-tone Bel-Air ragtop with AM radio pushbuttons set to W-A-Beatles-C, Cousin Brucie, New York. With a V-8 engine rebuilt by me and my grandfather, the legendary "Pop" (Yes, that Pop) in my father's garage, summer of 1968.

Game. Set. Match.

We can stop now, unless you want to wrestle over second place.

Blix, please give us another meme. This one has now been been retired.

Did you ever notice when you are driving across the United States of America how your mind drifts to history of the great peoples and the little peoples? The great peoples of course are in history books and DVDs that you can purchase down at the Plauge Mill Mall. But the little people are of course in your glove box. Your car has a thermostat problem forty miles south of Lafayette Indiana and your conveyance becomes cold, oh so cold. It is a little Nash Rambler. It begings to snow. Inside your car I mean!

Did you ever notice that?

From the brilliant post on the OpenLaszlo project blog (man, that is a well-written blog entry! Wonder if there was a ghost writer involved?)

We are extremely pleased and proud to announce that OpenLaszlo 4.0 is now available. This is the first official release of the new multi-runtime edition of OpenLaszlo, complete with a native browser DHTML (”ajax”) runtime, a heavily revamped Flash (7, 8, 9) runtime, and much more. With OpenLaszlo 4.0, you can compile source LZX applications for any supported target with a single mouse click.