Showing posts with label parody. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parody. Show all posts

Thursday, June 20, 2019

Good Omens and Bad Parodies....

For those who don't know, Amazon Prime has a series based on the unlikely friendship between a fussy angel and a relaxed demon, carved from the pages of the book Good Omens by Terri Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.  Some folks lacking the capacity to discern the difference between imaginative satire and theology, created a petition asking for the six hour series to be removed from Netflix.  The problem for those poor unfortunate souls is, it's on Amazon, not Netflix.  Now the producer, Neil Gaiman asked that people not inform those petitioners of their error. 

My own take on the matter is, watch if you wish. It's not perfect, and I suspect the book is far funnier, but satire is always difficult to translate. I watched it. I enjoyed it, the same way I might enjoy a regular soda. It was tastey, but I wouldn't want a steady diet.  That being said, my own response to the nonsense is as follows...


Oh the Demon and the Angel can be friends....oh the Demon and the Angel can be friends. 
They both wait for the Anti-Christ 
in a three card Monty Baby Heist 
oh the Demon and the Angel can be friends....

I'd like to say a few words for Demon Crowley. 
He drives a 1926 Black Bentley. 
His Cat Eyes are serene
as he blasts his vintage Queen 
and keeps a secret stash of water holy. 

Oh the Demon and the Angel can be friends
Until the petitioners at Netflix bring about their end
Some who scream blasphemy
and the witchfinder commits adultery
but the Angel and the Demon, they are friends. 



I'd like to say a few words about Aziraphale the angel
issued a flaming sword and a body, 
His book shop went up in flames
Along the river Thames 
but kept Heaven and Hell from being shoddy...


Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Twilight of my Career as a Romantic Novelist

Having endured one book of the Twilight series and meandered around the local book store looking at scores and scores of Vampire and Werewolf and Zombie romances designed to quench the thirst for netherworld relationships in tweens and teens and people who should know better, I have come to a few conclusions about the modern literary world at least with respect to this sort of purchase.  Forgive me if you love the stuff, my internal snark needed some exercise.

10) Readers want an other worldly romance.  Whether the mysterious man is from New Zealand, Bermuda or the third dimension, the male must carry with him in the very air, a whiff of the unknown, the powerful, the culturally greater that comes from anywhere but here.  With the world wide web, the wide world is no longer as exotic as it once was.  Hence, writers must craft a whole host of new places and cultures to create that spicy otherness so necessary for the romance novella of today.

9) Sex, whether desired or achieved, is passionate, defining, all consuming and beyond.  Like the Greek myths of yore, the sparkling experience of those singular moments whether in Wicked or in Bridges of Madison County, have permanent marks on the women who experience them.  Every sacrifice, gift, memory, joy and act of devotion by any other human, man, woman or child pales in comparison and nothing that comes afterwards compares either.  It's sort of a one shot deal.  But apparently, what a one shot. 

8)  Money is never an issue.  Even if it was before, it isn't now.  Careers are reworked to be dashing and more viable and important as a result of the defining relationship. (Bridget Jones)  Cars that were troublesome and difficult become a source of humor and intimacy and then eventually get replaced by the largess of the lover either anonymously or as a farewell romantic gesture sort of thing.  I broke up with a guy once.  I got a good bye and I know we'll still be friends letter.  No car, not even a hot wheel. Maybe you have to be undead to do that sort of stuff.

7) Girls don't actually have to do anything, they can just emote across the page and the men apparently find this irresistible.   I knew women like this in graduate school.  They seem perpetually puzzled when men weren't sniffing at them like felines under the spell of catnip.  Speaking as a grown woman, ewwwwww. 

6) School like money and work serves only as a backdrop for painting in character traits about the feme fatale and the prospective hottie hunky.  The formula works similar to a Bond movie.  If the woman likes science, the audience or reader thinks "Oh, she is smart."  If the woman is painting, the reader/audience understands, she is a talented artist on the cusp of being something great.   If the lady quotes Shakespeare or plays a cello, her gifts speak to the hero's soul, piercing his carefully protected psyche with her earnest love of beauty.   No actual tests of scholarship, study, craft or art need be created, it's simply implied.  Once the eyes meet and everything that was empty suddenly isn't, the environment becomes empathetic with the protagonist heroine.  The weather and the moors collaborate to become a physical mood ring for the reader just in case anyone was unclear on what was happening internally.  

5) Every romance needs a subplot and usually it's a threat to the romance itself.  A protective father, a jealous ex, a needy family, Dr. Van Helsig, whathaveyou, has to prevent the defining moment of passion from happening too soon. That something will be framed somewhere between misguided and out and out diabolical.  Evil vampires and angry Capulets are cut from the same cloth.  The hero and heroine will prove their worth to each other via triumphing over these exterior obstacles while revealing internal desirable traits to each other in momentary spurts of creativity, courage, pluck and determination.  Of course the persuing enemies of the romance will eventually wind up thwarted by a combination of the couple's skills.

4) Guys have companions, fellow friends and an understanding family.  The girl usually comes alone or with a family with issues which squelch her true beauty and being.  The man and his family become her world, her dowry, her source of all meaning.  The girlfriends that were once inseparable, become backdrop to be given short shrift.  The family receives her pink slip from the indentured servitude she suffered under their demands.  Sure these characters may complain and even wind up conspiring with angry mobs or vampires ratting out the romantic duo in a fit of peevish revenge or mistaken parental protectiveness, but their secondary status is a permanent consequence of the relationship.

3)  The Rule of Three: one girl, two guys.  One she is fated to marry, one she loves or one she should love and another who compels her beyond her brain's capacity to reason to ignore everyone and everything else.  The guys verbally spar, one up in courtship and eventually physically fight.  The outcome is only in doubt in the dim bulbed heroine's brain. After all, she only emotes, she doesn't actually think.   Team Jacob Team Edward....Guys....Bella?  She's not all that.  

2) Romantic fight. You knew this was coming right? I mean, it can't be pure lovey dovey all the time. To have passion, one must have conflict that simmers, smolders, sparks and smokes. So we have the opposites attract scenario and the great philosophical exposition of opposing values that must be reconciled for the couple to endure. It's very dramatic and usually involves prejudices that must be torn down and misperceptions that can be easily explained away if one or the other would simply listen and the fateful final decision that sends one suitor packing unless they come back to exact revenge in which case packing takes on a whole new meaning. It is usually consummated in either the ground breaking sex or the ground breaking break up or ground breaking tragic death like in Titanic.


1) And the number one truth I've uncovered from thumbing through the various tomes available for your reading pleasure this summer:  I'm doomed as a romantic novelist.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Tales of a Rodeo Rookie

Despite growing up in Southeast Texas, I had never been to a rodeo until I was a reasonably mature adult. I say that I was mature because I couldn’t age into any new privileges for the next 45 years or so. At any rate, my husband’s company was having a social at the National Rodeo Show and we had tickets. My husband, being a Yankee, presumed I would know my way about a cow. I hadn’t the heart to tell him my knowledge of live stock ended at the grocery counter.

We got to the rodeo and there were great foods all everywhere, but somehow it felt a bit cruel to walk about eating a cheeseburger with so many cows and bulls around. I couldn’t help thinking they might get mad you know, and they're a might bigger than me. Strolling through the open stalls full of lightly secured 1500 lb. beasts was also unnerving, especially given the number of greenhorns like myself pretending not to be greenhorns by patting the cows and talking about what type they were. I was impressed until I realized all they've done is read the 4H tag.

Going into this sort of a culture can become a cult experience. With being surrounded by cowboys and cowgirls, ranchers and farmers, it’s hard not to want to fit in and belong. We walked into the auction room to watch the selling off of a prize bull. I tried to comprehend what it is that the pros see that I didn't –only to discover my husband had momentary insanity and was considering a bid on said beast. “He can live at your Uncle’s ranch. It’s an investment. Wouldn’t you like to own a cow? You’re a Texan.” Fortunately for me, someone else upped the bid and I was able to break him free of the siren call of the auctioneer before a big black Angus prize breeder came up. I wasn’t sure I’d have had a prayer of not owning a bull if we hadn’t left.

Entering the main arena for the rodeo events, I realized I was a classic rock kind of gal stuck in a Country Western world and that the most current CW hit I could name was “Achy Breaky Heart.” Seeing a guy dipping Skoal confirmed the city slicker genes in me and also made me wish I hadn't eaten the chili.

Finally, it was time for the roping and the riding. Some girls came out and did barrel racing. I did pair barrel racing as a kid, once. After knocking over all three barrels in both my runs, the next year I was relegated to play horse musical chairs in the kid riding festival at camp –the event for all the “non-riders” in the group. Watching the junior rodeo members, I found it ironic that these parents voluntarily allowed their children that they won't let ride bikes without helmets, run out to wrestle cows. One had to hope the whole family bought into this rodeo thing. I’d hate to imagine explaining to Grandmother why Johnny got a broken collar bone if she didn’t understand the cowboy culture. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WAS RUN OVER BY A COW?”

After the junior rodeo, the adults took over. I understand why a cowboy in days past would need to be able to rope cattle, break a horse, even barrel race, but the physical need for strapping a rope on a 1000 lb angry brute with large horns that can kill you eluded me. The only other sport that comes close to this sort of willful battle between man and beast where the beast has the advantage is snake charming, and again, I’m at a loss as to why anyone would willingly chose to do this.

Still, watching the skill of these men and women as they lassoed calves and tied them up using the rope in less than a minute, I had to marvel. I started to feel sorry for the calves who after being thrown to the grown and roped, would be herded back to the pens for auction and possible slaughter. Then, I remembered how much I liked steak.

Retribution was coming though, as a maverick red calf gave one of the rodeo contestants serious trouble. He ran out of the lasso and then when the cowboy was off his horse, charged. He bit the guy before the rodeo clowns were able to lead the creature back to the pens. One could just imagine him speaking to the other calves, leading the conspiracy against us, their captors. “Just you wait fellahs, the big one over there ate a burger just now, and I’m fairly certain Uncle Leo had mad cow disease.”

Friday, March 21, 2008

Fiddler at Work

Inspired by my husband and his new work toy...with apologies to lovers of "Matchmaker Matchmaker everywhere..."

Blackberry, Blackberry
Filter my spam.
Don’t make me check
At three a.m.

Blackberry, Blackberry
Leave me alone
For I’m in my bed
At Home.

I know you’re convenient and easy.
I know you’re efficient for work.
I know you improve productivity
But I find you more of a chore than a perk!

Blackberry, Blackberry
Wherever I go
The boss asks about work
And I can’t say no.

Blackberry, Blackberry
You’re like a great eye
A Corporate
merciless spy.

I’ve tried fleeing from you by camping
I’ve tried hiding on the deep ocean blue.
I’ve even gone to Pennsylvania Dutch country
But found emails there waiting, Four hundred and two.

Blackberry, Blackberry
You’re never off.
You don’t view weekends
As time one can sloth.

Blackberry, Blackberry
Please go away
And give to me
A perfect day

Please Give to me
One day work free
an inefficient work free day!

Have a blessed Good Friday Everyone...
If I were a rich man, I wouldn't blog for free, but there are more poor comics out there, go visit them too at www.humor-blog.com!

Friday, January 11, 2008

Here in Spamelot...X Marks the Spot

By the number of spam letters I get a week, I am quite certain the human population of Abidjab is -45,327. Nearly all of them died under horrific tragic and highly suspicious conditions. The remaining heirs to the residents of this woe be stricken province are bogged down in Probate court because none of these folks had the good sense to create wills.

From all the reports, it seems Abidjab is awash in diamonds, oil, Swiss bank accounts, mansions and unclaimed checks for six+figures waiting to be distributed. By my calculations, and I could be off by a few billion, there's enough surplus to eliminate this Nation's national debt, fund social security for the next seven eons, and eliminate taxes entirely.

These same fated unfortunately deceased exotic people left behind detailed instructions on how to reclaim their many magnificent sources of wealth. It is interesting to note that they knew ahead of time, the government of Abidjab would unjustly seize their assets. It's a bad evil, highly legalistic place that oddly enough, I haven't been able to find on Google Earth or Middle Earth for that matter.

Thankfully, the good souls, Mr. George Davies, Jennifer and Don Simpson, Mr. Adul, and Sir Nigel Righly, some of them lawyers for the dead, others the long lost seventh cousins twice removed or estranged family heirs, have taken upon themselves, to selflessly fight the power. With help, they'll see to it that the executives at the treasury, banks and other corrupt and unfeeling institutions that did these dasterdly deeds and probably bumped them off, do not get to keep their illegal ill gotten windfalls.

And all they need is help from someone caring.

How did they know I was such a kind and understanding person?

Sniff, sniff…It’s so true.

They knew they could trust me with this special secret because my name was whispered on the dying person’s lips. Apparently my family tree has some forks I didn’t know about.

Sure we never met, but he/she, it, they,… were a fan of my blog and knew my kind and understanding heart would leap at the chance to right a wrong and rid the world of a grave injustice while netting a tidy tax free 100K or more on the side.

All I need do is put myself out just a little bit, by providing a bank account, social security number, credit card and a mere handling fee of 10-55K per transaction.

Think of the Good I could Do!

If only I weren’t such a cynical creature.

Leaving a comment is a form of free tipping. But this lets me purchase diet coke and chocolate.

If you sneak my work, No Chocolate for You!