Really, I believe every day should be a cheery saturday morning with that peculiar anticipatory tingle wondering what wild wacky adventures await for the rest of the weekend. Not like dreary sunday evenings awaiting the beginning of a new work week :P
Since Charming Calvin's down for the count nursing the encroaching hints of a coming infection, I'm left to my own devices today. Not sure what brought him down but a few late hours of violently crashing into numerous inconsequential
Of course I ( or else my evil alter ego Saint Wicked who appears after midnight ) just loved watching things getting blown up though I think poor impressionable Scrappy Shep must have gotten quite a scare.
Shep : You seem to like the game.
Paul : Nah. They should have a game where we could run over glitzy blond princesses carrying little purse chihuahuas and old ladies pushing baby prams.
Shep : OMG.
Paul : Whatever. See how they run. Then splat. Bwahahahaha.
Hmm.. guess he isn't coming to my clinic anytime soon.
No burning tires and breaking windcsreens for me today but I do have a bunch of graphic novels to keep me entertained. Now now, for all the high-brow bibliotheques out there who are probably sneering down their noses, don't look down on graphic novels. Comic books have grown up from the amateurish picture books of yesteryear and these days as an alternative media, graphic novels are downright intense and gritty, shockingly ground-breaking and going places that most mainstream media would probably never touch with a ten-foot-pole.
Like Vertigo's DMZ. Imagine New York City as demilitarized zone with the United States embroiled in a civil war post 9/11. Then imagine what you'll do if you're ( or rather Matt Roth, the photojournalist protagonist ) trapped in that violent, desperate no man's land where ordinary citizens would kill for a bottle of fresh water. Think equal parts Escape From New York, Fallujah and New Orleans right after Katrina blew in.
War is hell. And the DMZ certainly pulls no punches in revealing the island of Manhattan as a smouldering husk, riddled with bullets and reduced to rubble, populated by cynical rag-tag survivors who have carved the remaining bombed-out boroughs into militant enclaves.
Not all gloom, doom and won-ton destruction though since people still live, work and breathe in the war-torn zone but you'll have to read it to see.