Green Arrow's journal of crime fighting and goatee maintenance.

I've been thwarting evil doers for quite sometime now. I'm really into music, The Office, and vintage pornography.

Monday, August 30, 2004

road rash

after nearly a week, i have returned (semi) triumphant. one vintage loveseat that looks as though it belongs under dr. honeybear's ass, one ottoman, a bit tattered, but who could pass up burgundy pleather with faux brass fittings, and one of those rattan bowl shaped swingy things i love so well. as i've said, they're a bit mid-90's, but i don't give a fuck. plus, i made off with a bonus linda rondstadt poster completely gratis from a flea market just outside reno.

while i was away, i discovered that me and bat's room in the watchtower had been irreparably besmyrched, even more so than when bruce drops a power dump (on purpose, by the way) during re-runs of the courtship of eddie's father. hawk and dove, the incestual duo, apparently crashed there during my hiatus. hawk left empty pbr cans everywhere, and i'm pretty sure dove spilled a five gallon bucket of gay all over my side of the bathroom. when i confronted him about it, he responded by saying that all he did "was re-organize my moisturizers by aloe content and that i must be the gay one since i took a cross-country junket to by vintage furniture." as i see it, it all comes down the size of one's bikini-cut exterior codpiece. and that, little man, is mine.

as i eased along america's highways in my sweet-ass jetta, i was continuously bombarded by stares of feminine longing that seemed to say "ollie, you adonis of an archer, won't you pull that beast over and sling me some ding-dong?" i finally gave in to one girl's longing. she was a nubile young redhead with obviously exquisite taste. when i stepped out of my ride, she simply said something derogatory about my choice of tunes (which, at the moment, was either abba's dancing queen or rick springfield's greatest hits. it's only one song, but there's an extended dance mix.) and sped off. but i totally could have gotten some.

i also learned that i hate watching fat people eat.

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

papazan chair i could have?

i'm taking a road trip. not the fun, bonding-filled kind that hal and i took eons ago. no, i'm going cross-country in my '98 jetta, attempting to find furniture and furnishings for my new apartment, and to stop off in cleveland to go beering with these guys.

i'm not speaking to batman at the moment (with whom i share a bathroom during our shifts at the jla watchtower), so this super-spat has driven me to find a bigger apartment in star city, since i'll be spending less time in the watchtower. what i'm getting at here is, i won't be posting for the next few days. i just need to get away, to experience the open road and the wind in my goatee again. (also, the little slut operators at ikea no longer take my orders because of an incident that they should've well gotten over by now.) so, i need furniture. cool furniture. trendy furniture at ROCK BOTTOM PRICES.

to think, all this is because bats won't 'courtesy flush' when he decides to take the slam of the century when i'm doing my pilates.

on another note, dr. fate sent me a link to the incredible hulk's blog. apparently, hawkeye (my effeminate purple doppleganger) is talking shit about the emerald archer. well, hawkeye, i guess i'd be a pederast and career-masturbator if this were my mom too.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

request granted

ok, so this is for the guy who posted a comment to my last entry. ask and ye shall receive, kiddies.

1. the history of j'onn's oreo obsession started when he watched the movie Rounders, where matt damon is a semi-pro poker whiz and john malkovich plays a russian mafioso-cum-poker hustler who eats oreos compulsively at the poker table. j'onn thought this was, as he said, "wicked badass." i must also note that j'onn has a history of imitating malkovich behaviours, such as drilling a hole into his own head after seeing 'Being John Malkovich.' lantern and i agreed that he missed the movie's point completely.

2. if you want to know how i feel about hawkman, here goes. he's been pretty pissy with me since he found out about the whole debacle, which was in no way my fault. i just showed captain atom how to set up a domain name. then, he accused me of being a lush and foppish dandy besides, just because i use product in my hair (both facial and otherwise.) the coup d'gras came when he told bullseye that i use a bronzer lotion, which i use to help give my muscles definition. so, in return for that, hawkman, here you go.

-for some reason, the blog won't let me make this link work, so i'll do it the ugly way. wizardworld2003/hawkman.htm

haha. bitch.

there are no words

will someone PLEASE commit a crime in star city worthy of my attention? i am so bored. so bored, in fact, that tonight i got drunk off green stripe and jacked around on craiglist. i have to stop doing this because i find items in the employment section like this.

Monday, August 23, 2004

i'm no judy garland, but

if you are gay and bored, please do not alleviate your boredom by becoming gay and dressed like me. there is already an instance of this below, and people keep sending me these links and it has to stop. if you want to dress up like me, don't. there is no occasion where this is acceptable. especially in the above link. velour? FUCKING VELOUR? have i ever worn velour? maybe he wasn't going for my look, though. after all, the Velvetine Butt Dart would strike fear in the hearts of evil-doers.

Sunday, August 22, 2004


my new AIM is oqgreenarrow. aim me if you're bored. maybe i'll be bored too.

hands off my stuff!

someone in the watchtower has been playing my guitar. i'm not saying that i suspect anyone in particular, but i saw robin thumbing through a canned heat fakebook. that little elfin-shod fucker better respect the 71 telecaster custom.

some little bastard was trying to pry open a newpaper machine on porter ave. this afternoon. i took it pretty easy on him. i gave him a couple of lumps and a stern lecture about ripping off small-fry shit like that. don't waste my time. i missed a clinique sample sale because of this.

also, if you're reading this APACHE CHIEF, stop drunk-dialing me. if i gave a shit about you, i would stage an intervention. your real name is leland. you're not apache, but rather a quarter mestizo. and i will not go into the roofing business with you and your brother-in-law.

Saturday, August 21, 2004

the dude abides

slow out tonight. nobody even tried to rob huang's liquors on clayton and 3rd.

while i was there, however, i did pick up a fifth of johnnie walker and some hurricane mix for flash. he talks tough shit, but he's a total lightweight. he also tries to hide the fact that he drinks that smirnoff twist stuff when he thinks no one's around.

after that, i basically got drunk with hawkman and watched the big lebowski again. he's kind of an emo drunk though.


so, aquaman has been hinting that i might need to change up the goatee a little. he says that goatees are out of style and i look a bond villain or a registered sex offender with it. i told him that i kept quiet while he went through that whole hulk hogan-mullet-thing a while back, and that he lives under the ocean and consequently does not have his finger on pulse of metro fashion.

i did a little research and discovered that my signature goat is not, in fact, called the "arrow swerve," but rather the "van dyke," which is a silly name for the arrow swerve. so i'm thinking of making a change. at the moment, it's a toss up between the soul patch and the isaac asimov chinstrap.

if you have any suggestions, let me know. i'd like to get to prove aquanet wrong for once.


ok, so the martian manhunter made fun of me when i said i might change my name to OllieG. it's not like i'd wear fubu and goggles and stuff, i just thought it would be funny and maybe i'd get a letter from madonna. so i pointed out the connotations of 'manhunter' and he got pretty pissed. now he and the flash keep calling me 'green asshole' and even made a hurtful poem using the little poetry-word-piece-thingies that stick on the fridge in the jla watchtower. i'm gonna get drunk and listen to lucero.


oh. my. fucking. god.

evil do-ers beware

star city smells like piss in the summer. the only thing that gets me thru my daily rooftop patrols is the new wilco album on my ipod.


i've been thinking about switching it out with neko case or something, cuz i keep catching myself daydreaming about jeff tweedy. the first obstacle to good crime fighting is suppressing masturbatory fantasies about quirky little men.

anyway, i've decided to keep this blog in the hopes that leonard cohen or loretta lynn will see it and come to star city on tour and give my good friend oliver queen some tickets or maybe a vip pass and then need rescuing from thugs in the general backstage loading/unloading area and then witness my bad-assitude and want to talk me.