Vampire, Werewolf, or Zombie - The New Rules!

Okay. Before we get to the new and improved version of Vampire, Werewolf, or Zombie, I'm getting a little behind on the haiku reviews again, so let me give you a couple. If you're looking for something to read, why not try one of these? Links are in the sidebar.

Bliss

Spooky story, dumb name.
Feels more complete when you read
Rhymes with Witches too.

Note that I'm not saying the title of the book is dumb. It's a classic ghost story, and I really go for that kind of thing. But I know people who would actually name their kid Bliss Inthemorningdew, and THAT is dumb.

Lament

I am a sucker
When it comes to fairy myth
It's made of awesome

Lament gets a star from me. I loved this book. I got it from the library but can't stand the idea that I don't own one. Maggie Stiefvater is twenty different kinds of kewl. And that's all I've got to say about that.

Wolfskin

Shh. It's a secret.
Romancey fantasy is
A guilty pleasure.

More of those later. I've only got about 15 more books to read for the 50 Books in 2009 challenge.

Anyway, I know you're all champing at the bit to hear about the new and improved rules for Vampire, Werewolf, or Zombie. Now, the old rules were simple: I give you three celebrities, you tell me which is the vampire, which is the werewolf, and which is the zombie. But my Twilight parody has become so popular that I've decided to switch it up. This time, we're going to play Merpire, Werething, or Disposable Human.

And we're going to do it with the American Idol judges. I'll even throw in a free Ryan Seacrest, because I'm a giving kind of person. Even if you don't watch the show, or heckle it as is regularly done in the Harris household, you should know who they are: Paula, Randy, Simon, Kara, and Ryan. Gimme your picks for the baby pool lounging merpire, the werething (and what kind of thing they'd turn into), and the disposable human. We'll feed the other two to Zom Cruise.

Things That Make Me Snarf - All Your Base Are Belong To Us

First off, a public service announcement: Proof your Blogger posts! It's important! If I didn't proof mine, you would be reading "Thongs That Make Me Snarf," which is funny but not entirely accurate. Actually, it's not accurate at all.

Anyway, I'd like to revisit a classic Thing That Makes Me Snarf this week. You've probably already seen it, but if not, let me give you a little perspective. This bit is from a computer game, and it helps to prove the importance of hiring a good translator.



It made me think. Because we all know from last week that the aliens have evidently lost interest in bases and are moving on to pants. The aliens posted a comment on The Wonder That Is My Blog informing us that all our pants are belong to them. And then there's the ninja. They steal our socks all the time.

That's when I realized: supernatural creatures are in a conspiracy to make us all nudists.

And yeah, I just called ninjas "supernatural." You want to argue? Slayer ran up a sheer rock face to save me from bees. That's pretty freaking supernatural if you ask me.

What's next? The merpires will come out of the woodwork... er... waterwork and steal our cravats? Is no cravat safe from the insidious merpires?!? And then the demons will take all our lacy petticoats, and the werefairies will take our concert t-shirts, and we'll all have to walk around wearing barrels.

I've decided that I'm going to foil their devious plot by duct taping all of my clothes to my body. Take that, you cravat-coveting merpires!

Worldwide Snoop Dogg

As most of you know, a while back I promoted Scillius Maximus to Scillius Maximus the Great (fo' shizzle). The last time he was over at our house, he quite politely asked me what shizzle meant. I could tell from the look on his face that what he really wanted to say was something more like: "What on EARTH were you thinking?!? Don't you remember that I'm an umpteenth black belt ninja and could kick your ass seven different ways while you stood there blinking and trying to figure out what I just hit you with?"

You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I was assisting with training once, and one of Slayer's students stopped at one point, blinked, and said, "Dude, what did you just hit me with?"

And no, he wasn't chemically altered at the time.

Moving on. I've decided to perform an experiment to prove to Scillius that shizzleness is the universal sign for cool. So first, I give you the creator of all that is shizzle. Yeah, baby. It's Snoop Dogg.

The original lyrics:

Izzle kizzle, fo shizzle.
My nizzle, what you sizzle?
Fo shizzle bizzle, ha ha!

And then, I used Babel Fish to translate those highly creative lyrics. I translated them from English to Dutch. Then I took those Dutch lyrics and translated them into French. From French to German. From German to English. From English to French. From French to Spanish. And finally, from Spanish back to English.

Why? Well, because I was bored. But also because I wanted to prove that the power of shizzle was not lost in translation. Anyway, this is what I ended up with, in what is supposed to be English:

Izzle kizzle, FO seine fishings sifflez
Mon nizzle, that shizzle?
FO bizzleshizzle. Has. It has.

I think I've proven my point.

In the Event of Famousness - Spokespersonocity

Alright. I think most of you are familiar with this by now. In the Event of Famousness is a once-a-month dealio at The Wonder That Is My Blog. The idea is that we're all going to be famous one day, and it's good to plan ahead for that eventuality. So I'm here to help you think about the most important aspects of famousness. Theoretically, this should help us to avoid any underpants-missing, couch-jumping type episodes that we see all too often in celebrityville.

Frankly, once is too often for that kind of thing.

Anywho. This month, we're going to talk about being a spokesperson, because if you're famous enough, you're going to get offers for this kind of thing. First off, it's important to think about the product you're being asked to represent. Does it fit with your image? Does it appeal to your target audience? Don't I sound like a marketing professional who actually knows what she's talking about?

I worked in marketing for five years. I fooled them into thinking that I knew things too, so don't feel bad.

If the product doesn't fit your image, then you really ought to say no. Because really, Preparation H may offer me a million dollars to dress up as the Hemorrhoid Avenger and accost people on the street as a part of their new ad campaign, but it might hurt my Cool Status among teens. (Ya think?) But I'd jump at the chance to represent Zom-B-Gone (Are your work and home lives being constantly interrupted by the undead? Spray Zom-B-Gone on those pesky interlopers and watch as the highly concentrated acid reduces them to a bubbling mess on the floor!) or Capes R Us (Providing capes to superheroes, vampires, and goth flashers since 2008!), because those two companies kind of work with the image that I'm trying to project.

Minus the goth flashers, of course.

Here's your homework, kids. Think it over and tell me: what kinds of products do you plan to represent?

FOOPiness

I'm tentatively scheduled to be a Team Mom for the Batson's spring soccer team. When I heard this, I had a moment of misgiving. My girls were at that particular point in time running around the house screaming, "Zombies! Zombies!" and laughing hysterically.

They're two-and-a-half, in case you haven't caught that. I happen to find that hilarious, but many people probably wouldn't, because they have severe cases of FOOP, otherwise known as foreign object of the posterior, otherwise known as a stick up the bootay.

But then again, I can't possibly be worse than my camp counselor way back when. On an overnight hiking trip, he got us lost in an overgrown vinyard and blew off his eyebrows when he immolated the camp stove, then forced us to pitch tents at the top of a hill in a thunderstorm. We ended up sliding down the hill on sheets of mud. At least no one got torched. Other than his poor eyebrows, of course.

After that, he looked permanently surprised.

Anyway, even if I teach the kids the wonder that is Undead Soccer, I can't possibly be that bad, right?

Why am I asking you? You voluntarily read my blog; you're probably just as bad as I am. And I mean that in a complimentary, FOOP-less way.

Things That Make Me Snarf - My Humps

All that talk about Bob Dole's Humps made me think about this week's Thing That Makes Me Snarf.



I think there should be a whole CD full of remixes of My Humps, because Alanis is on to something there. Of course Bob Dole would be on it. And who wouldn't pay to see Richard Simmons' version? Ozzy Osborne would do a nice expletive-laden take on it. The Batson would argue that no CD would be complete without Billy Idol and his lip curl. And who could forget the Harlem Boys Choir's Humps?

I am going to hell. I'm sure of it.

Also, I feel compelled to point out that, due to overwhelming request (i.e., one person wrote to me), I've changed the comments settings to allow anonymous people without Blogger accounts to have their say. So rock on with your non-Blogger using selves out there.

My Dorsal Fin Belongs to Ward

Yep. You guessed it. Time for more Twilight, Carrie-style.

Ellba returned to sudden awareness, jerking immediately upright with an instinct borne of fear. The last thing she remembered was a figure, rocking in her dizzily remembered perceptions, long and lithe, beautiful ears tapering into elfin tips. But that was impossible.

Cob wasn't a werefairy. She'd been hallucinating.

She looked around at the familiar bedclothes, printed in little cartoon vampires and cutesy ochre guppies. The few posters on the walls, the clock with its plastic fangs on the nightstand, all of them achingly familiar. She was home but couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. And her leg hurt.

As her hand groped at the bandages covering her injured limb, she heard a faint sloshing coming from her carpet. Oh poopie. Her father Harley must have left the tub running again; the whole place was probably soaked. Heedless of her machete-inflicted injuries, she swept her feet off the side of the bed, sliding off the mattress and to her feet with a splash.

Her toes were immersed in cold water up to her ankles, and she stood on a slippery surface.

"Don't be afraid," came a voice out of the dimness below. It was a voice that made her brain stop working correctly, a voice that made it seem really REALLY cool to be bitten, drained of blood, and doomed to an eternity of undeath.

Really, Ward had a future as a recording artist if he ever wanted.

She switched on a light, eager to see his beautiful face once again. And to swoon. Swooning was an art form not easily perfected, and she needed practice. As the ochre light suffused the corners of the room, she saw him there at her feet, his scales sparkling in the energy-saving fluorescents.

"Sparkle sparkle sparkle," Ellba said dreamily.

Ward looked up at her from the baby pool on the floor. "Uh... what?"

"Nothing," she replied, dropping to her knees beside him and throwing her arms around him. "Ward, I missed you so much!"

For a moment, she thought he would finally, finally kiss her; his hands tightened convulsively around her; his fin caressed her knee. He smelled like fish heads and sparkle makeup. It was intoxicating.

But then, he shoved her away roughly to the other end of the pool. Water sloshed over the side, soaking the ochre shag carpeting. There was a moment of silence, and then Harley's heavy feet thundered up the stairs.

"Ell!" he yelled. "Everything okay up there?"

Ellba turned to look at Ward in panic, but the baby pool was empty. That was good. It would be difficult to explain why she was canoodling with a vampiric merman in a baby pool on her bedroom floor.

The baby pool would be tough enough to explain on its own.

Things That Make Me Snarf - Bubba Cola

This week's Thing That Makes Me Snarf comes courtesy of one of my old lunch buddies. And no, he didn't send it to me: he's in it.



Yep. I used to have lunch all the time with the narrator. It was me, him, and Bringerofbrains. We brainstormed sessions of a radio show called "Bill, Dead Guy" together.

And really, you haven't heard anything until you've heard me on a radio show going, "Bill, would you move your hand? You're so NAUGHTY!" and Bill going "BEEEEEEEEEEP," which was his only line of dialogue.

The heart monitor. Flatline. Get it?

Har de har.

So for all you people wondering why on earth I turned out the way I did, it's quite simple. I blame it all on my friends. Slayer's no better. We spent last night's American Idol brainstorming good songs for Bob Dole to sing, since he always refers to himself in the third person. My favorite was "Don't Let The Sun Go Down on Bob Dole." Although "Blame Bob Dole on the Rain" has a nice ring to it, as does "Bob Dole's Hump."

Having said that, I do not want to picture Bob Dole's lovely lady lumps. But I am, and I'm sharing the love with you. Aren't you glad you visited my blog today?

Vampire Evolution 101

I hate Ancient Mummyflash Player. Just wanted to keep you updated.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the evolution of vampires, which is quite honestly true and not at all surprising at the same time. You could argue that vampires don't evolve, since they don't age for god's sake, but I think anyone who says that has their head up their tinky winky. Vampires evolve, and I'll prove it.

I'm sure you could go further back than this, but I'm starting with Nosferatu. This guy had it bad: lumpy bald head, ears so wild and flappy that they put Dumbo to shame, bad dental work. Even his interior decorator was cutting his PCP with Clorox. Poor Nosferatu. He never got the girls.

But then, along came Dracula. (Yeah, I'm skipping some vamps, and I'm going for the film version rather than the book version. If you don't like it, you can revisit the tinky winky in paragraph two. Heh.) Dracula had obviously gotten a stylist, only it was one of those budget stylists who had one good idea and took it to massive extremes. Bad image? Slick back your hair and put on a cape. Having problems getting girls? Slick back your hair and put on a cape.

It worked for Zom Cruise, didn't it? I rest my case.

Skip forward a lot, and you end up with The Lost Boys. They ditched the stylist, traded the capes for motorcycles, and found a cute chick in a sparkly skirt to hang with them. This is arguably the height of vampire evolution, as long as you don't take the Frog brothers into account. Or Corey Haim in the bathtub. Warning: if you think about those things too long, you'll explode. I've done it.

I put myself back together with sticky tack. I'm nothing if not persistent.

But on the other hand, we have the rest of the 80's vampires. For me, they're summarized by a single visual: A man runs, panic in every line of his body. We know there's a bloodsucker after him, that his moments are numbered. And then we see his attacker. It's wearing MC Hammer pants, has hair like Milli Vanilli, and is on roller skates.

It's one of the funniest things I've seen in my life. Don't believe me? Watch Fright Night II. It's in there. And vampiric evolution takes an enormous nosedive. That's worse than the cape and the slicked back hair, if you ask me.

Then we move on to Zom Cruise and his attempts to look menacing. I think long-term readers of The Wonder That Is My Blog know how I feel about that. And for those of you who don't? It makes me snarf milk out my nose.

There! This entry is full of lovely visuals, isn't it?

And then we come to modern day. Edward and his sparkles. (And let's not forget his evil twin, Ward, the vampiric merman.) Sparkle sparkle sparkle.

Now, you may not know this, but I'm actually a statistician. For REAL. And I coded the physical traits of all of these vampires and performed a couple of ANOVAs (I did more than one just for fun), and I've come up with mathematical proof of where vampirism will go next.

So without further ado, I give you the next vampire king:


Sparkle sparkle sparkle.

PINCH me!

How annoying is this? I was going to post a Snarf video today, but my Flash player is non-Flashy today. Slayer's work requires the use of Ancient Mummyflash Player, so he tried installing that but still couldn't get into his employee website. And then I tried to get on YouTube, which requires New Ninja Roboflash Player (it's quick! it's stealthy! it slices and dices, and you get a free Shamwow! with every purchase!). And now YouTube won't work either.

Fergin murphin hummanna hummanna.

That's what I sound like when I swear under my breath.

So I guess you'll have to deal with a little randomness from me today, because it's all I've got.

I think I mentioned that I went back to martial arts training a while back. I do have my green belt, which is no mean feat, but then I took about a million years off to have kids and silly things like that. So for numerous reasons, I decided to go back and do a little review session, since they were working on some of the basic self-defense type things.

Only one problem. I have a snazzy gi to wear to training, and I couldn't find the pants. Which pretty much begs for a story, doesn't it? I'm the pantsless ninja! PINCH me!

Ahem. Maybe not. But the pantsless ninja bit could be really funny. I think I sense another graphic novel idea coming along. Sruble made the mistake of saying that she can teach me to draw. She will rue the day. I can't even draw a crooked line, much less a straight one.

But now that I'm thinking about it, the pantsless ninja needs a little more background. Like why is he pantsless? Was he depantsed by the other ninja in a dojo hazing prank? Were his pants ripped off in a clandestine infiltration into enemy territory? DID ALIENS BEAM UP HIS PANTS?

Because everyone knows that aliens and ninja don't get along. They have a serious lawn flamingo territory war going on.

Okay. This is getting sillier and sillier. I'd better stop before I implode. Or snarf my lungs out my nose. Something bad.

But at least I've still got my pants.

The Weekly(ish) Review

Okay, we're way past due for a list o' haiku reviews and more unnerving ways that people have found my blog. Really, I've got to ask: are you guys just coming up with strange Google searches and clicking on them to amuse me? Because it's working.

First we have the latest haiku reviews:

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell

It's a cool concept
Magi-comic-history
But was WAY too long

A Story of a Girl

Award winning books
Usually aren't my bag
But it was worth it

The Well of Lost Plots

What can I say here?
Jasper Fforde did it again
I snarfed out my nose

Little Brother

Wow. Wow wow wow wow.
Can I give this one ten stars?
It made me feel young.

Seriously, peeps. I devoured this book, and I had that jittery feeling that I used to get when I was a kid and found something earthshakingly new and made of awesome. It's going on my list of top books ever. Read it.

So Yesterday

Sneakers so awesome
That people will kill for them?
I just kept laughing

And last, but not least, ways that people found The Wonder That Is My Blog. And when I say "people," I mean people with issues.

But I can see it's kicking pickup line ninja: What's kicking? The pickup line is kicking? The ninja is kicking? And if you rearrange the syllables in this phrase, you get "But it's kick line ninja, I can see picking up." Which doesn't make any more sense, unfortunately. And if you anagram it, you get: "A cubic eek stinking tis ninja pick lupine"

Nope. There's no use. I will never make sense out of this.

How to make ninja stuff out of duct tape: Well, first you get some ninja stuff, and then you throw out the duct tape. What kind of ninja stuff are we talking about? Is the tape black? Because I have to tell you that using non-black duct tape to make weaponry is against the Code of Ninja Conduct (CONC).

Freak dance pickup lines: Again with the pickup lines! Don't make me anagram you. I'll do it.

eating people as a zombie or a vampire games to play not look at play: Are you sure you don't want to watch zombies and vampires eat people? Are you SURE you want to play? We're not talking live-action playing, are we?

Zombie foot fetish: I wanted to be at the top of the results for "Batman eyebrows," but I'm not so sure about this one. Can you imagine me at a dinner party? "Well, I'm a recognized expert on zombie foot fetishes. Uh guys? Guys? Where'd everyone go?"

How to make a ninja thing with 8 post its: Um... what kind of ninja thing are we talking about here? And what color are the post its? I refer you to the earlier entry about the duct tape for more information.

I mean, really. Am I the only person that this happens to?

More Twilight Parody

Okay. If you missed the last one, you can find it here. This probably won't make sense to you anyway, particularly if you're my husband or Scillius Maximus, but I think it's funny.

And we all know that it's all about me.

Actually, that's not true. I've been getting requests from you bloggy people for some fiction from yours truly. And I'm all about satisfying my adoring fans. Um... you adore me, right? You're not just stalkers, are you?

Now I've given myself a complex...

Ellba watched as the rest of the group meandered down the beach, laughing and shoving each other into the rills of water that wove up the beautiful landscape. She was happy to sit by the fire; a trip like that was disaster for someone like her. So many things to trip on, to fall into, to run into face first. It wasn't a good idea, especially when one was carrying a crossbow, a machete, and twelve shuriken made out of wax paper.

A girl could get hurt.

So she sat by the fire, watching the guttering flames dance in the damp air. It was always damp here, and she hated it. But then again, if it wasn't so wet, Ward wouldn't be able to survive long out of the water. She imagined that it wouldn't be easy being a vampiric merman, but for Ward, it would be worth it.

She looked down the beach at the rows upon rows of jagged rocks running the length of the sand. Ward told her about the rocks. He said they'd been put there on purpose, to keep the vamp-men... the mer-pires... the people like Ward off the beach. This was sacred land. It was also spooky as all get out, and Ellba tightened her grip on the machete.

Unfortunately, Cob picked this particular moment to sneak up on her.

"Boo!" he yelled, and she almost cut her foot off.

She looked down; the cut neatly bissected her ankle. It looked fake, actually, just a long red line running across her pale skin, but then the blood gushed out and the pain hit, and through a haze of agony Ellba had to concede that it was really really real.

Really.

"I'll save you," yelled Cob, snatching the machete away prudently and sweeping her up into his arms.

"No..." she gasped. "By the time you get me to the hospital, I'll be gone... Take me... to the seal display at the zoo."

"I won't," he said, tightening his grip and nearly suffocating her. "Ward and his seal-loving friends can go to hell. I won't let him take you with them."

He looked at her, kissed her tenderly on the brow, and set her down on the sand. "I didn't want you to find out like this, but it's our only hope."

"You mean you're kind of like Obi Wan Kenobi?"

"Not really. I think you're delirious, Ell. No, I'm a were... thing."

"I AM delirious. Look at the pretty ochre sparkles on the water... Sparkle sparkle sparkle."

"Ell, stay with me!" He shook her urgently, and she fixed bleary eyes on his. "Every time I change, I turn into something different. But we'll have to take that chance. I won't let you go, my Ellba. I love you."

Before she could do much more than gape at him (blearily), his figure shimmered and stretched. He let out an agonized howl as his bones rearranged and hair sprouted, agonizingly slow, from unused pores. And when it was over, she looked up at him, at his impossibly increased height, his patrician cheekbones, the delicate ears that tapered up to long and beautiful points.

"I'm the sprightly elf!" he crowed. "PINCH me!"

Ellba fainted.

Tadpoles! Tadpoles is the Winner!

Sorry. Had a Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey moment there.

Anyway, it's time to announce the winners of the Snarfy Subtitle Contest! We had a total of 131 entries, and you really made it difficult for me to pick a winner. I wish I had the cash available to award multiple prizes, but it's just not feasible right now. I hope that you'll keep coming back for future contests so I can share the wealth, if you call $25 and a bunch of random stuff "wealth," which I just did.

So first, I'd like to announce our 10 finalists.

Adrienne: A Wrinkle in Time: Brainy Kid Gets the IT Kicked Out of Him

Hanna Banana: What to Expect When You're Expecting: If You Don't Know How This Ends, Why Did You Get Pregnant?

Jim Danielson: Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: A Tale of Mushrooming Problems

Kiersten: The Scarlet Letter: The "A" Is NOT for Awesome

Kiersten: Treasure Island: Contains No Muppets

Llehn: Waiting For Godot - The Writer's Essential Guide On Waiting To Hear Back from A Literary Agent (which is not a reflection of my personal experience!! - Carrie)

Mariah Irvin: Rumpelstiltskin: Vertically Challenged Man Steals Children for Funsies

Natalie: Jane Eyre: Ugly People CAN Fall In Love, They Just Have To Go Blind First

Paul Michael Murphy: Carrie or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Prom

Whirlochre: Robinson Crusoe — Have Beard, Will Unravel

And after much hair pulling, soda snarfing, and general amusement, I think I'm going to give this one to Kiersten for The Scarlet Letter: The "A" is NOT for Awesome. Because I won't ever be able to read that book without thinking about the new and improved subtitle.

Kiersten, please email me with your mailing address, gift card of choice (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Borders) and a choice of stuffed dudes made by yours truly. You can have a ninja, a vampire, or a zombie. I tried to take a picture of them, but I broke the camera. Seriously. How sad is that?

The random bonus prize goes to Mariah Irvin for mentioning my contest on her blog! Mariah, I'll need your address and choice of vampire, ninja, or zombie too.

I'll be doing another contest in the next couple of months; hope you'll come back.

Baby Maybe?

Yeah, don't jump to conclusions, peepul. I'm not going to announce the arrival of a new lil ninja in our family or anything. Because I know that's what you were thinking.

The other night, Slayer and I were heckling American Idol, and Slayer made a comment that made me snarf Dr. Pepper out my nose. He said, "She looks like the love child of Ronald McDonald and Jessica Rabbit."

See? It's comments like that that make American Idol freaking amusing.

And then I started thinking. What would Ronald and Jessica's baby really look like? It turns out that he'd look remarkably normal. A little twitchy, maybe, but wouldn't you be if your dad looked like that and your mom like that?



So then I thought, "Oh, this is one of those sites where you can't make a baby that looks like a mutated Winston Churchill." And to prove it, I put in two new photos: mine and Richard Simmons. And that's when I was proven wrong once again...



I'll just have to add another item to my Reasons Why I Didn't Marry Richard Simmons list.

Don't forget about the contest! It ends today at noon, and I've been working on one hecka cool prize pack!

Things That Make Me Snarf - I'm a Ninja!

This week's Thing That Makes Me Snarf is rated PG-13, for all you parental units out there.



And I'm very happy to induct Natalie into the (Semi) Secret Order of the Blog Ninja as a thank you for sending me this snarftastic video. Natalie, if you're crazy enough to want to put the badge on your blog (and I know you are), go right ahead. I'm always on the lookout for more videos, peepul. (Soylent yellow is peepul! They fooled us again?!) If you find any good ones, email me and you too could have this semi-snazzy badge. Internetly speaking.

Once again, I'm struck with the urge to be able to draw. Because I think that the world won't last much longer without a graphic novel version of Snow White and the Seven Ninja. I think that I'd be the Dopey-esque ninja: Thumpy Ninja. When we went to train this weekend, I thumped so much on the rolls that you could probably hear me in Canada. Slayer could be Studly Ninja, because hey, he ran up a sheer rock face to save me from killer bees. I dare you to tell me that's not studly. Scillius Maximus is the Shizzle Ninja, fo sho. G-Dil (my god dad-in-law) is the Shimmy Ninja; you ain't seen funny until you've seen his shimmy ninja. My godmother is the Squeaky Ninja. (And how cool is that? Some people get fairy godmothers, but I have an honest-to-goodness ninja godmother. Neiner neiner neiner.) Anyway, she'll be demonstrating technique, and then my kids will come into the room. And she'll go something like, "And that's how you choke the life out of people who try to... OOooooOOOOHH! BABIES!" Tiny T is, obviously, the Tiny Ninja, and her man is the Flippy Ninja.

Which makes seven. Yeah, dudes. I can count and everything. I didn't even use my fingers.

But then the question becomes... who should be Snow White?

Oh, and don't forget about the contest! You have until Thursday afternoon to enter, and competition is fierce. And really, don't you NEED a bookstore gift card and a bunch of random stuff from me? And remember that if you post about the contest, you get entered in a drawing. It'll have good stuff in it; I promise.

10,000 Hitaroonies

I find it difficult to believe that we've already reached 10,000 hits on The Wonder That Is My Blog. There are a few reasons for my surprise:

1. I don't count myself in the tally. Which means that there are 10,000 people out there who also find Richard Simmons and Zom Cruise freaking hilarious. This gives me hope for the world.

2. The Wonder That Is My Blog is only six months old. And it took me about two months to figure out the site meter thingy. Which is really pitiful when you consider that I once taught computer classes to college students.

3. Because I am easily surprised. Not a good characteristic in a ninja, which is why I've had my 8th que green belt for about two years now.

This is a semi-momentous occasion. (Ahem. I tried to come up with a combo of semi and momentous and ended up with sementous, which sounds vaguely pervy. Or is it just me?) In honor of said sementousness (I couldn't resist), here are some of my favorite moments.

My Newest Bestseller: The Ochre One

Holy Scary Eyebrows, Batman!

The Sweater Vest from You-Know-Where

The Worst Pickup Line Ever

I Swear

And if you missed it, please check out this week's contest! There's a giftcard and Wonder That Is My Blog prize pack up for grabs.

The Snarfy Subtitle Contest!

That's right, kids. It's time for the newest Wonder That Is My Blog contest! Woot woot!

(Quick tangent: Every time I see a sentence ending in the word "kids," it makes me think of this comedy bit called 'Fun with Punctuation.' My favorite one is, "It's time to eat, kids!" versus "It's time to eat kids!"

Yeah, guess you had to be there.)

Anyway, here's the contest stuff. This is a Snarfy Subtitle Contest, which you would already know if you'd bothered to read the title of this entry. The point of the contest is to come up with a silly subtitle for an already published book. A couple of examples:

Pride and Prejudice: How Darcy Learned Not to Be a Big Boobiehead

War and Peace: The Reason the Rainforests are Disappearing

And so on. I'm not going to do too many, because then I'll steal all the good ideas.

Post them in the comments of this entry only. This puppy will be open until Thursday March 12th at noon EST. Winners will be posted Friday, and by 'winner' I mean the person that makes me laugh the hardest. If there's a duplicate and I love it, the winner will be the person who posted it first.

So what do you win? The prize, as with the BRAINS contest in December, is a $25 gift card to the book vendor of your choice (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Borders), and a Wonder That Is My Blog prize pack. You can see what was in the last one by visiting BRAINS contest winner Susan Sandmore. Note that the contents of the prize pack aren't going to be exactly the same every time, but consider this a representative sample. Really, it's just a bunch of things that fall into the category of Things That Make Me Snarf.

We're also going to have a mystery bonus prize this time. Mention and link to this contest in your blog and send me an email saying that you did so. I'll enter you in the bonus prize drawing, which is totally random. And mysterious. Terribly mysterious.

Any questions about the contest? Post 'em in the comments or drop me an email. Email makes me feel like I'm popular. Or something.

UPDATE: Yes, multiple entries are allowed. Encouraged, even.

My Newest Bestseller... The Ochre One

I keep getting visits to The Wonder That Is My Blog from people who want vampires and werewolves. Not one. Not the other. Both of them together. The poor zombies are feeling left out, but we'll talk about zombie-related prejudice some other time. Anyway, I'm all about giving the people what they want, so I've decided to drop everything, including eating and sleeping, to write a book for them. It's going to be about this girl, see, and she's in love with a vampire... AND a werewolf. And she'll be stuck between them. And there will be sparkles, because sparkles are kewl.

Uh... what? It's already been done?

Okay. No problem. I can work with this, because if you've read me for a while, you know that I'm the queen of cross-genre. Just look at my Halloween costume ideas. So I'll keep the idea, but I'll mash it up. Instead of just a boring old pointy-toothed vampire, she'll be in love with a vampire-merman.

I know it's a good idea, because the scenes are already forming in my head:

"Aren't you afraid of me?" said Ward, his ochre fin shining ochrely in the beautiful ochre moonlight.

"I'm not," said Ellba, defiantly thrusting her lip out. "You don't scare me."

She floated toward his beautiful figure, watching the lines of tension etch themselves deeper into his lovely face with every inch. But she couldn't help herself. She reached out, one shaking hand moving toward his hair, unable to resist the need to touch him any longer.

"Ellba," he said, backing up hastily. "Get out of the damned pool."

It's going to be a bestseller; I just know it.

The (Semi) Secret Order of the Blog Ninja

Okay, I finally caved. We all know how good I am at resisting temptation. Know how I've been giving all of these imaginary badges out to people? The badges are no longer imaginary.

Bow down before my wack badge designing skilz!

Er... yeah. Anyway, I was calling people Bestish Friendish before, but I've changed things a little. So without further ado, I introduce you to the (Semi) Secret Order of the Blog Ninja! Because really, if you could be my best friend (ish) or you could belong to a secret organization where you get to wear black pajamas and skulk around on rooftops, isn't the choice pretty simple?

Don't worry. I'd be a pajama ninja too.

So far, I think that the members of the (Semi) Secret Order of the Blog Ninja are:

*Scillius Maximus the Great (fo' shizzle), for loaning me his laptop, aka The Beast
*Lady Glamis, for recommending Jasper Fforde
*Hanna Banana, for the intel about the book of crocheted ninjas

The three of you can, if you like, take a copy of the badge and put it on your blog, except for Scillius, who doesn't have one. But anyway, want to join this motley crew and throw virtual shuriken at each other? (Yeah, that's my idea of fun. So what?) I'm always in need of funny videos for Things That Make Me Snarf, silly bits related to Richard Simmons, zombies, ninjas, or some combination thereof, and things like that. So the next time you run into something that you think I'd like, email me. My address is on my profile. If I use it on the blog, you'll be inducted into this group of highly respected and likely very insane people.

Last but not least, have you heard about the fabulous contest over at Market My Words? The winner gets a design for a new website. You should go check it out, but be warned: if you snatch the prize out from under me, it'll be ninja attack time.

Things That Make Me Snarf - Wheel of Fortune Parody

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to this week's Thing That Makes Me Snarf. WARNING: This one contains some seriously objectionable language, enough that it made me question whether I should post it. But it's so bleeping funny that I couldn't resist. Please don't send the ninjas after me.



On a totally unrelated subject: I have a problem. It's an addiction, really, and I've fought through it relentlessly. No twelve step groups exist for this addiction, but they should.

Yarn. I buy way too much yarn.

I have three big bags full of stray yarn, little bits of every color. If I'm not careful, I'll end up being one of those granny ladies who stops random people on the street and gives them doilies. Because that happens all the time, doesn't it?

But luckily, I have Hanna Banana. Hanna saw pictures of little crocheted ninjas and zombies and immediately thought of me. She sent me an email. Hanna deserves one of those little Bestish Friendish badges that I don't know how to make because I am dumb. Anyway, I immediately went out to buy the book.

And lo, it is fabulous. I shall post pictures of my little ninjas and zombies and vampires as soon as they are done. I shall use up my superfluous yarn so that I can clean out the office and hang a bunch of zombie art on the walls. And then, the world will be right again.

So... um... does anyone want a day-glo yellow ninja? Or a fuzzy pink trojan? (Get your mind out of the gutter, people. I'm talking about the warrior, not the prophylactic.) Because that's the only problem with this plan: using up all the yarn is going to result in a series of figures that look like they were crocheted by a granny lady on PCP.

No-Stalgia

Nostalgia should be my middle name. Of course, that's only because Amusing Anecdotes is too long, but still. I'm all about the nostalgia. One of my favorite things to do is sit around and tell funny stories at my own expense. The main reason for this is that I know I won't hit me. I hang around with a bunch of ninjas, you know. If I tell stories at THEIR expense, I may not live to enjoy the rousing laughter of my audience.

But then, every once in a while when I'm telling amusing anecdotes, someone messes with my mojo. They bring up one of those stories that I'd rather not remember. And that's not nostalgia. It's NO-stalgia.

Case in point: We got together with a bunch of friends the weekend before last. And one of the people who was there is... yeesh, I don't know what to call him. He's my godmother's husband, so I guess that makes him my god-dad-in-law. Let's call him G-Dil for short. Which sounds like one of those weenie rap guy names and will probably get me pounded, because G-Dil is a crazy good ninja, but I'm all about sacrificing body parts on the altar of humor. Anyway, we were all sitting around when G-Dil brought up that wilderness rescue course that I took.

Summary of this NO-stalgic anecdote: G-Dil was one of the instructors. There was a rapelling section of the course, where you're supposed to save an imaginary patient who has fallen of a cliff. I fell off the cliff.

Whoopsie.

Yeah, so he brings that up, and it absolutely is snarfworthy, but in one of those NO-stalgic kinds of ways, because it resulted in my having knee surgery on Slayer's birthday. (Instead of singing "Happy Birthday" to him, I think I said something like: "UUUuuunhhh.")

So I retaliated by bringing up the later part of the course, where you're supposed to manufacture a traction splint out of a big laundry basket full of junk. It was THE coolest exercise ever. Unfortunately, I couldn't get around very well because I had a leg brace on. And... er... I ended up planting my foot square in G-Dil's crotch.

Hey, I needed leverage. He didn't bleed out, and that's what's important.

So I think that the moral of this story is not to pull that NO-stalgic thing on me, because I will pulverize your wiggly bits in retaliation.

A Pox Upon You, Short Story!

I blame it all on you.

You know who you are. You short story people out there. You're like Microsoft; if people hang around you all the time, they'll be assimilated. Well, it's my turn now, and I'm not going down without a fight.

Okay, maybe I did get an idea for a short story, and maybe, just maybe I wrote two pages BY HAND in a notebook while I was waiting for the twins to wake up. Then, I realized that I certainly wasn't myself. I've obviously been replaced by a pod person. One of these days, you'll meet me (if you don't happen to know me already), and I'll say, "Hey, dude! You wanna read my short story?"

When that happens, you should run in the opposite direction. Because only Pod Person Carrie would write a short story. And call people "dude." And if you don't run in the opposite direction, I'll probably be ripping my face off and going all crazy alien on your tuckus.

Which probably means that some of you will be staying. You know, because it'll be freaking funny.

I mean, really. What am I thinking? It's not like I don't have enough going on. Between my books, my blog, the whole family thing, and my nefarious plot to take over the world one snarf at a time, my schedule is full. I don't care if the story involves two of my favorite things.

Wanna guess what they are? I'll give you a cookie if you get it right.