How I Killed Your Donation Drive

I don’t want to do this, but I don’t see a way around it either.

When How I Killed Your Master started, John and I figured we would split the costs 50/50. That hasn’t quite worked out. John came across a fantastic opportunity with another comic project he was shopping around and he’s got to focus on getting that done because there’s contracts and schedules and all that jazz. It should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, I completely support that decision. Hell, I helped him lock down the artist for it. And I’ll help him get the word out when it’s done ’cause it’s pretty damned cool.

But in the meantime I’m paying for 100% of HIKYM‘s production. This would be manageable were it not for the costs associated with moving across country! Which I am! Or, rather, up it. Anyway, the move has thrown a Southern Monkey Style wrench into the budget.

If you enjoy How I Killed Your Master, please show your support by pitching in a couple bucks so we can keep it going without any more hiccups.

DONATION LINK REMOVED BECAUSE HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS ARE NUTS

If we reach a monthly goal of $500, we’ll release some bonus material or a wallpaper like this one or something for the whole world to enjoy. Or at least that subsection of the world which visits nuklearpower.com. Screw those other jerks. Do they even use deodorant? I don’t think so either.


Buncha nerds

Here’s this week’s episode of Nerdy Show. Do yourself a favor and check out the links and not the behind the scenes pictures. We’re as ugly on the outside as we are on the inside.

In other news, Darkplace is so good it makes me angry.


It’s that time again…

1. One inch of one of my shoelaces. Specifically, the very middle of one of the loops. This is remarkable because they were the last pair of shoes in the house to be untouched by Charlie’s shoestring obsessions because they’re kept in the closet…which he opened while I slept. Do not leave your shoes in my home. They are not safe here!


Torchlight – a lifehack

I discovered something this weekend. Let me share it with you.

Do not buy Torchlight. It will consume you. I mean it. The person you used to be will be dead. It will be crushed, ground up, and torn apart by the gnashing teeth of Torchlight. Your mashed remains will undergo alchemical transformation in the great belly of Torchlight. All that was real and true and alive about you; the dauntless essence of your human spirit; the untouchable center of your being that knows love and joy and hope, all of that which once made a full if slightly ugly human will be destroyed. It will be transformed into a toxic sludge that fuels Torchlight’s hideous eternal unlife. And when it’s drawn out the final ounces of vitality from the pulp of your being, it will leave your remains — unrecognizable, desiccated — in a ditch filled with the mangled lifeless wretches of those who came before you.

And you will lie there. Not quite dead but not quite alive. A mockery. The world will grow dim as you’re slowly buried in the bodies of others. You will reach out to the machine, the monster that did this to you, and in a voice like two gravestones scraping together you will say, “More Torchlight.”


On the Road

In an effort to prove the iPhone was worth something without a signal or wi-fi, I kept notes of our adventure across the Italian countryside. Here they are for your enjoyment in chronological order.

Paul Blart Mall Cop without sound is like Paul Blart Mall Cop with sound. Terrible.

Mall Cop, I would give you the Xtreme Sports Gang. I really would. But the skateboard guy? Really? A skateboard?

Milan is make out city. Like, not even subtle. Just BLAM 30-second throat spelunking in the middle of the street just like it was not, actually, the middle of the street.

This trip marks the first time I have ever seen Scott drink coffee without complaining about how awful it is.

This child who speaks German is the most unwholesome thing I have personally experienced.

Italian Hugh Jackman runs this hotel.

Milan is also smoke city. Someone should tell them it’s not the 1940s anymore.

Spanish John Cusack is at the table next to us.

Horse tastes better than cow.

Everyone here is thin. The people who are not thin are thinner than our thin people. The people who are fat are tourists.

Early morning construction = no sleep followed by burst water main = no shower. Excellent way to start a convention appearance!

Italians do not believe in free wi-fi.

Italian birds dig my American shoes.

Turns out liver is wonderful with pasta.

Never drive in Italy. Never park in Lucca.

The waiter is Bruce Springstein. I shit you not.

This kid. This kid is a hard blinker. Like the blink itself is a surprise that he must flinch away from with an additional double blink. Life must be exhausting for this kid.

Do not have sex with Dan (poo shower and pretzel butt)

You know how you’ve joked about being taken somewhere to be killed? You have to take it back unless you were being driven up a mountain on a twisting dirt road with no rails or room for oncoming traffic and nothing but blind 180 degree turns in a van too large for the road by an Italian who is just chipper and tipsy enough that everything he says sounds like a very sincere threat.

We will sleep in a monastery tonight if Michele does not kill us first.

The nuns are very nice.

If you sucked all of the sound out of the world it would not be as quiet as it is here.

Our rooms are actual monastic cells!

Oppressively quiet.

Maybe there’s a TV in that cabinet.

🙁

I cannot say this is the most uncomfortable bed in the world but only because it’s identical to every other bed in this place.

Italians are very open about nose picking.

There are only designer glasses in Italy.

Never turn back on Dan (poo shower/pretzel butt)

Turns out boar is also delicious. Still a horse man though.

Milan may be a fashionable town, but you go to comic shows to catch the real cutting edge. This just in: mullets are the new black.

Some outfits are inappropriate in all climates.

Tuna sauce is much better than its own name would have you believe.

Autogrill is everything that’s wrong with America.

In Italy, emergency lights mean “Whatever I’m doing, it’s legal.”

There are two things you can have with every meal in Italy. Wine and Nutella.

VERY open about nose picking.

“Sip it till its rancid.” I don’t even remember the context.

This obnoxious NYC lady and her moron elderly parents who (after what is now a 10 minute argument) cannot grasp that the dollar and Euro do not convert 1-for-1 are so dumb it makes me ashamed to be an American abroad.

The Biggest Loser: getting people to cry so they’ll stop eating their feelings?

Hotel for Dogs. They would have to show this to an audience that would literally die if it walked out.

Kind of wish I had an emergency exit row…

Nothing about this movie makes sense. Let’s try it with sound.

Big mistake.

James Burke, your audiobook will save me from the Hotel for Dogs.