Archer's Goon!

Note: this should be pronounced "Air-chr's mow-thur-foe-kng gee-ewn." Diana Wynne Jones invented the Endless in 1984. I was three and Neil Gaiman was twenty-four, still doing journalism. I'd love to ask him if he's READ the thing, but as much as I love him I suspect he'd lie. From where do we get the idea that imitation is a sin? The Lord Himself said that there is no new thing under the sun, and I surmise that He was right. Only the form changes. Had I ought to become a genre painter? Right now I could probably create a really mean depiction of the Hungry Ghosts.

Give me a keyword and I am confident that I can make the web yield up its secrets. In the morning I might argue that this is a menial skill, but at present I will insist that it requires real God-given talent. A combination of linguistics and semantics and perhaps psychohistory. As a challenge I will give you what I was given (by a co-worker): "Man, that girl whose name is Hope always makes me think of a comic book character. But oh my god I just couldn't be induced for love or money to tell you who the fuck I'm talking about. There might be a curse involved?" Frustrating, but in the end I am able to ferret out what was meant to be a secret. Go me!

Let me also say this. Think of me what you will, but the Black Canary is fucking hot. I wonder why I find classic 1950s-style curled hair and a penchant for corsets inherently, irresistibly attractive?

At work today, the following quotes.

"Well, I'm not going to pussyfoot around..."
"What the hell is pussyfoot?"
"It sounds like a disease..."

"Ach, I've got a bad case of the pussyfoot!"
"Ewww...."

There is a Seussian pink fish in my room. When I got home from work and saw it I suspected it was some kind of fetus.

I will confess to occasionally cheating on my "current music" category, for rhetorical effect. Am I a bad person for doing that?