Archive for July, 2006


Over 6000 Hits Day!!

dino.jpgWelcome to the party!  It’s a momentous occasion over here at Spaceandtime! Over 6000 hits since inception! Well, the actual occasion may have passed some days ago, so let’s call it “me noticing that I’m over 6000 hits” day.

To celebrate, I’ve put a wicked cool picture of a T-Rex crashing my blog party. Whoa boy! Good luck keeping the noise down now, everybody!  Pour yourself a drink, lean back in your chairs and throw on a copy of “Feelin Hot Hot Hot.” Cause that’s how we roll around here.

Does your blog have over 6000 hits? That’s what I thought. In case you haven’t done the math, 6,000 is half of 12,000, which, in dollars, is enough to buy a Geo. A Geo, everybody! I’m on the fast track now, goddammit.

Granted, according to my blog stats, many of these hits have come from that nude picture of Pamela Anderson I put up a while back (no, I won’t put a link to it, you can look in the”Pop Culture and Media” category for yourselves), but if the internet isn’t driven by perversion, then I don’t want to be a part of it.

There’s some additional celebrating to be done, so invite everybody over for the party of the season!



Things My Brain Makes 6

  • Brain
  • If I were buried alive, I think it might be actually not that bad. I mean, you’d starve and everything, but at least you’d have an OK time thinking about your life, letting memories roll by slowly as you begin to suffocate, and ponder what you’ve done wrong. Let’s face it–if someone’s burying you alive, you must have done something to deserve it. Smarten up, next time.
  • If you won the lottery, would you bother sleeping anymore, or would you just pay someone to hold your eyelids open all night?
  • Some say that Earth is the only planet in the universe that would have all the factors necessary to sustain life (liquid water being one of them), and that due to the small temperature window in which water is at a liquid state, it is very unlikely that another planet would be placed at such an opportune distance from another star. Fair enough. But what if an extra cold planet had an ocean of liquid nitrogen to act as its organic soup, and all the elements in the aliens’ bodies were tailored to that respectively harsher landscape? You know: dense iron stomachs, tungsten eyeballs, and fiber-optic hairs. Just one of those creatures could be killed and used to make and power a whole IT network. It would be like the fur fiasco all over again, but with things that would be decidedly less cute than chinchillas. Continue reading ‘Things My Brain Makes 6’

Colour Inside the Lines! with Jocelyn Quim

Jocelyn QuimChildren, please take your seats. I shan’t be repeating myself twice. It has come to my attention that, while a good number of you are proficient in basic motor skills, an even larger number of you are constantly attempting to stray from the good Christian paths we have carved out for you.

Please, children, turn your eyes to Percy, for instance. Percy, would you please lift up the sheet that henceforth we will loosely refer to as your “drawing”? What’s it entitled? Oh, yes….”Me and My Family Under a Rainbow”. Dear Lord, Percy. Laaaaame.

As bored to tears as I’m sure we all are with the title alone, it is the artistic proficiency of the drawing itself that we shall be scrutinizing.

Now, when we’re critiquing a drawing, it’s important to–I…um…I’m sorry….is that brown in your rainbow, Percy? God Almighty, boy! Have you not heard of a little thing called ROY G. BIV? Wikipedia that shit, Percy. That’s right. No brown in there.

Let us now move on to more detailed criticism. Would that I could say that the following problem applies only to Percy, but sadly, this is emphatically not the case.

Colour inside the lines, children! Nothing separates honest Protestants from a pack of bedouin savages better that the ability to maintain clear, concise outside lines in one’s illustrations, however otherwise flawed they may be.

I suppose the first rule in becoming a proficient line-abiding colourist is not to be born the son of a shoepolish-huffing reprobate. Sorry Clarence; you’ll be behind from the get-go.


When Aliens Invade

What do you do when your president is talking total bullshit?

Add a cringeworthy laugh track.


I’m Here Alright

Oh, I’m here indeed, don’t worry.  Things have been crazy busy with my Spaniard friend Alberto in town visiting, but he’s gone to Miami for a few days, so I’ll have some chances to write in the evenings.

For now, here’s a list of things in nature that are blue:

1.  Blueberry

2.  A bluebird

3.  Some sorts of blue flowers

4.  Uhh…I think that’s it.

Whatever, you guys do better.  Name five blue things in nature.  See?  Not so easy, huh?


Spaceandtime Realist Channel Presents: Ten Things to Do on a Deserted Island


1. Cry

2. Sleep

3. Look for water

4. Flash a mirror fragment into the sky.

5. Starve

6. Burn

7. Despair

8. Panic

9. Lose Control

10. Die

Stay tuned for next week’s: “Where does Fluffy go when he dies?”


Klose, But No Cigar

Sad German BoyAAAAAAAAAAAA-stonishing!!

Not this time, Germany. Not. This. Time. I’m still absolutely reeling from what just happened in Dortmund.

As the precious face of this saddened German child can attest, Germany stops here. Honestly, I never expected it myself. As fiercely excited as I am to see Italy win their games win skill instead of sweat-enducing dramatics, nothing could have prepared me for two glorious last minute goals, with literally just seconds away from facing Germany in shoot-outs (an eventuality in which they would have been seriously mismatched by fate, if history has shown us anything.)

Yes, Klose, as the tournament’s leading scorer, was unable to strike his powerhouse team past Buffon today in Germany. But what a match.

You don’t understand what it’s like to be an Italian fan; the perverse ballet between love and hate, retching and rejoicing. Hatred from all sides; no one who is not of Italian original would ever offer a kind word. Being proudly Italian is a curse, especially when infused with newfound pride after a trip to the homeland like I had been. Finally, oh, God, finally, these last few games we can begin to see them at their full potential, as a powerhouse themselves.

I don’t know what will happen on Sunday against either Portugal or France, but I know I’ll be there (well,Italy! not there, but there in spirit). I’ll be there hoping to God that, now that they’re closer than they’ve been in twelve years to the cup, they won’t get a Roma Tomato stuck in their collective tailpipe.

Thank you FIFA, for showing a poor, sports-hating boy like me, (don’t even mention american footbal, baseball, or hockey to me, I DON’T CARE) what a wonderful place the world can be.


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