pink triangle on her sleeve let me know the truth

Roy'’s been kidnapped again. Huzzah. He gets his ass kicked by Slade, fucks up big with the Outsiders, and now he disappears from the smoking rubble of a bank. I raised that kid better than that.

Anyway, so yesterday I went into Mia’'s room to bitch at her for not cleaning out the lint trap on the dryer (AGAIN) after she used it. She'’s laying on her bed reading a very dog-eared copy of The Love Songs of Sappho. Huh. Well, I just assumed that this is the time in a young girl'’s life when she considers such things.

Me: So, uh, how'’s the book?

Her: It’s okay, I guess.

Me: Well, if you’re into the Sapphic mode, you should pick up some Catullus.

Her: I’'ll tell Connor.

Me: ?

Her: It’s his. I borrowed it from him. It’s kinda hard to read, cuz he’'s underlined a bunch of stuff and wrote all in the margins.

Oh. Goddamn.

I haven’t been this confused since I coached Power Girl’s softball team. I thought, “ya know, just because they'’re all, you know, doesn'’t mean they’'re all, you know.” Turns out, yeah. It did. I went home and listened to Weezer’'s "Pink Triangle"” on repeat for 45 minutes and got drunk on Rheingold.

...

who took my last goddamn newcastle?

ollie vs. george hamilton

during mia's one allotted hour on the internet per day (see a previous post for the trouble caused by a panamanian colonel and a poor understanding of rudimentary global economics), she stumbled across this. why the hell is my face so goddamn tan, while the rest of my body is roughly the same shade as the inside of an undercooked salmon filet? plus, where the fuck are my pants? "i modified the costume when i was a kid?" in order to, what, make me look a gay cabaret star? thanks, chefee831.

in watchtower news, the JSA stopped by for a weekend training session. they may very well be the most irritating fuckers known to man. that little black kid and his lil' john cd's at all hours (WHAT!), the atom smasher sneezing and accidentally growing to 25 feet tall and breaking the chandelier in the ball room, and hourman doing coke off of any flat surface in the watchtower (what did you think was in that hourglass, sand?) made the weekend pass slower than the nbc version of the office (which, by the way, is the most ill-conceived idea since t.j. hooker. it's far too british to ever be translatable).

super drinkin' buddies are GO!

well, thank fuck that hal jordan's on his way back. i shit you not, that man could pound some brews. it'll be nice to have someone in the tower who can drink like his nuts have dropped. kyle rayner drinks that smirnoff ice shit and gets drunk off of three of them. i like the kid, but he's yet to learn what it means to be a leaguer. AN OLD-SCHOOL LEAGUER, mind you. when hal gets back, maybe we'll take him out for a night of debauchery. the little boy could use some PBR and pullin' ho's. maybe we'll even tell him about the time we yanked diana's bra and took shots of jager out of it till we chundered.

btw, this for you HAWKMAN: the next time you criticize my taste in contemporary lit, i kick your ass. crystal? i mean, there i am, reading irvine welsh's filth, and mr. double-pep-nip comes in and starts lecturing me about moral degeneracy. i ken degenerates. i've given more jakeys a seein' tae than you ever have, silly wee lassie. (if you don't get the dialect, then you're a GOP fanny-licker like carter.)

Back from vacation

So it's been a while. I've been internet-less for a while. To make a long story short, I had to jerk the ethernet hub out of the house after I caught Mia IM'ing a Panamanian colonel nude photos of herself. After I explained the Panamanian-to-US Dollar exchange rate, she seemed to lose interest. However, one can never be too sure.

It's been a bit slow after the whole "Jean Loring goes apeshit and kills everyfuckingbody to get her husband back when dinner and hummer would do" thing. It seems that Bruce, with his not-so-subtle capitalist machinations, sub-contracted the JLA out to run security for the Inauguration. He claims that it's due to our bills, but several of us suspect that it's because of the First Lady's striking resemblance to a certain arch-nemesis. It seems we're in the red due to the enormous expense incurred by Captain Atom and 4 of his old Army buddies getting drunk on Beast Ice and trashing the Watchtower. He has, of course, been reprimanded. Unfortunately, being a radioactive mass with a buzz cut is not, as it turns out, that profitable; thus, he cannot repay the costs himself. Fucker.

Anyway, look for more frequent updates now that Mia is off IM probation.

at leeast it ain't the herp.

well, mia has the hivvies. and despite what wonder woman says, with all her feminist "all men are rapist in their own little way" rhetoric, i have never stuck it in her or anyone under 19 before (that malaysian prostitute SWORE she was legal, even in malaysia). mia probably got the hiv from the costa rican lt. colonel who offered to buy her from me during our vacation in cancun (apparently the exchange rate is one 16-year-old girl endowed with the perkiest of bossoms equals 15 gallons of third-world insecticide). anyway, it's not my problem, and connor's a monk, so we're probably good on this one. (however, it will be kinda icky to watch her wither and die from the inside out like an over-nuked hot pocket.)

btw, hawkman, if you're gonna rock the shirtless thing, at least shave your enormous pepperoni nipples. there's a fine line between overt masculinity and sasquatch-esque hirsuteness.

funerals and foghat

as a few of you have noted, i have indeed been away for awhile. and sam, my dear, sweet sam, it has unfortunately been due to that identity crisis thing. i had to go to sue's funeral, a formal occassion which required no less than 3 hours of goatee-grooming, my best, least-soiled pair of tights and a new feather for my cap, which those identity crisis guys drew way too small. then i had to go off chasing dr. light, which as it turns out didn't do it anyway. this caused some complications, primarily that i got the shit kicked outta me by slade. (CAVEAT: i don't care what ralph dibney says, i do not have a bald spot. he's just jealous. plus, he's been drinking a lot lately.)

but i'm back with few stories to tell.

first, carter has totally started shaving his chest. he came in one day and acted like nothing was different, though it was frightfully noticeable that it no longer looked as though he had glued a roadkill to his chest. he insisted that he had not, in fact, waxed his pecs even after the second-day stubble was showing. clark suggested that maybe it was time for hawkman to actually invest in a shirt. second, diana finally had it out with atom for always picking her shoulder to sit on during meetings. i mean, it was pretty obvious that was looking right at those puppies the whole time. my god, who know's where the hell else he's been.

also, the latest chapter in the roommate from hell saga: bats has taken up the guitar. i promptly pointed out that everyone plays guitar and he should take up the viola or the oboe if he wants to be unique, but no, i have to endure "enter sandman" and the ubiquitous "stairway" at all hours. fortunately, dr. fate called earlier and we're going to have a beer later. i could use one after listening to bruce practice the solo in foghat's "fool for the city" for the last 3 hours.