The Book Club of the Apocalypse

Dear Silver Bat (and friends, all),

As this is the last year of our existence (not even a full year. Time's a ticking!), I think it's best that we become as cultured as possible so that, when that eventful day is upon us, we can take it in stride rather than poop ourselves (oh, I mean, "defecate") with fear. That said, isn't it about time that we created a common connection betwixt our two worlds (friends, all included) with a book club to end all book clubs? I believe yes. And so you believe yes.
But what book could be the opener to this club? What great work of literary might could possibly be worthy of the BCA (Book Club of the Apocalypse, duh)? I submit the following, along with my review, as our first work:

I DO NOT GET IT!

And so it begins,

CL

The Future...OF OUR FUTURE!

Bat of Silver,

So here's an article I wrote that they'll never publish.

In regards to the article,"USU club swim team powered by passion," I would like to point out a troubling fact. The future is upon us. What John Henry learned by having his heart explode, we can learn less painfully. That is, the age of men (and ladyfolk) powered by passion is over. It's time to make the upgrade to steam power.
BYU and U of U have already made the switch, and their swimmers are annihilating everyone who dares oppose them. It helps that they are swimming in an endless fuel source (because water becomes steam when you heat it, according to Wikipedia and also common sense and also my mom, who is always right).

This...is the future.

What USU doesn't yet realize is that the true power of mankind (or ladyfolkkind) rests in its ability to innovate, thus overcoming its own weakness and prolonging its mortality a day or so more until the inevitable occurs and we die, miserable, sad, and alone.

But, on that note, look how unmiserable, unsad, and unalone we would all be with our Steampunk friends!

Lung Cancer? Not possible if you're smoking steam!

We will never outswim a dolphin with passion alone, but with steam-powered jets and a well-placed harpoon, we have a chance. The same goes for these other swim teams. Folks, I am not a fit man. But even I, steampunked out with turbines and a monocle (because they all wear monocles, look it up), could destroy Michael Phelps in a 50 meter butterfly sprint.

These things burn your ears like crazy, but it's worth it because they are the most pimp.

The point I'm getting at here is that the days of the strong heart and will to win are over. It's time we start looking to the future of swimming and of civilization. Steam power is that future.

The Beginnings of a Wonderful War

Dear Silver Bat,

Here's an editorial response that I wrote and that the University almost published. I quote, "We'll publish it if nothing else comes in." Enjoy.

In regards to the article "Biggest Loser returns to campus," I would like to state that the rumors are false and that my former roommate, Brad, has not in fact returned. Call it misinformation or wayward gossip, but he remains at BYU, seeking out his dreams of becoming the biggest loser of all time.
It is understandable that you may think you recognized him on campus as there is another anemic ginger who can be seen prowling about campus, searching for unwilling victims to tell all about his blossoming career in the music industry. But this boy is in no way comparable to my former roommate, whose very presence sucks the coolness out of a room. 

"I wish I wasn't such a loser...BUT I AM!"

The once and future king of lame was in town several weeks ago, which explains the recent lack of extreme motocross and heavy metal around town. But the lasting malaise of his visit should not be misconstrued as his presence when it is only the lingering echoes of a wasted life.
If he does return for an extended period, there will be a flash of puce light on the southern horizon and the sound of New Wave music rising up over the homes of Logan's people. You will know when the biggest loser has returned by the sudden smell of sadness and bad eggs in the air and a twinge in your left thigh that will make you remember your worst birthday party (the one where Jenny blew out your candles and Artie pushed you off the trampoline).

"Maybe if I artsy up my photo, friends will follow!"

(They will not)

As for now, and the foreseeable future, there is no looming threat. Rest easy, citizens of Logan. I will let you know the information as it comes in.  

Any sightings should be e-mailed directly to me under the subject heading: "DOOD!!!1! Chump alert!!"

Thank you for your cooperation.

That face can mean only one thing: He has realized that he will be forever alone and is about to burst into tears.

In conclusion, you are a loser. Your move.

Sincerely and with love,

CL

Edgar: An Intimate Poe'trait

Dearest Silver Bat,

This is a true story.

I was in a restaurant down in Park City on Saturday with some pals. We were eating (What?! I KNOW!) and conversing (NOT POSSIBLE! I THOUGHT SO TOO!!!!!!) over a hot meal when suddenly, all of a sudden, all sudden like, in struts that celeb of all celebs. Luckily for you, I snapped a Poe-to (that's a photo of Poe, ingrate)!

As you know, his new film, "Cats and Dogs: A Love Story," is showing down at Sundance this year and--wait, you thought he was dead? Ha! Silly, silly bat.  No, E.A. Poe lives eternally off the tears of kittens and the lethargy of frat boys (literally, one hour spent playing Call of Duty 5: Wombat Rising equals thirty minutes of extra life for Mr. Poe).

Moving on, I went over to say hello and we had ourselves a civilized conversation. It went as follows:

POE: Ah, yes. Refill my water, Waiter-Bot.

ME: Right away, sir!

Eventually, after I brought him his food and suggested the Molten Mudslide for dessert (it's a volcano in your mouth!), I explained to him that I was not in fact a server at that establishment but an avid fan of his work. With a grin that would warm the hearts of a thousand white supremacists, he raised his glass to me and said, "The check, please."

I returned to his table, check in hand, to find that he had disappeared (like a Will-o-the-Wisp!) into the thinnest of air (we were pretty high up on the mountain). But he had left behind a napkin, upon which he had written this Poe-m:

The food was awful,
The service, worse.
You should probably fire that shifty-eyed kid.
Seriously.


Bat, we hit it off, Eddie and I. I'm not afraid to say that he's probably my new best friend.

Sincerely,

CL

The Truth of My Whereabouts

Oh most crimson of all Lizards!

GLORY!  I have arrived at last. And oh what a journey it has been, a very big and very epic journey.  It was so crazy I have blacked most of it out of my memory to preserve any future happiness from being diminished by its greatness.  YOU HAVE NO IDEA!  But for the sake of enlightenment I will attempt to piece together the foggy memories of these past few months.

It all starts with a face, or skin rather.  As you well know my skin is fairly reflective, so reflective in fact that I have been used as a light card in some student films. Because of this uber-shine property I decided to grow out hair on my face to reduce my shine to a level that could be comprehended by the human eye. I found much success.

For the Beard Loves YOU!!!!!

For years all was well until the fateful day I discovered my brain was applying for a transfer to BYU, a school filled with hairless candy-coated creatures they call "cougars" (this is confusing, because based on TV culture I thought cougars were something different all together,  my desire to see Cougar Town has diminished from slightly-curious to cut-out-my-eyes). Despite the best effort of my darkness, the brain somehow won out and I set out on what was sure to be a semi-bland adventure in human experimentation. After months of mental preparation and crying, I decided it was time to destroy the mane that God had granted.  I would shortly learn that this would be a drastic mistake.



You see it had been so long since my face had been infected with the shiny (if you remember correctly, whilst I was a humble missionary I caught a rare face-light related illness that made me absorb light for about a year) that I completely forgot about the potential repercussions.  And sure enough, just as I realized the threat I had become, a giant space craft fell out of the sky, the blinded pilot screaming as he burned in the wreckage.  

I am the best at drawing space things

Things get a little bit very blurry for a few days.  I remember a black toaster, and a hand covered in strawberry jello, also I think I remember seeing a rabbit that could only walk in reverse, but could roll in what ever direction it wanted.  I named it Chadrick.  Try as I might, I can't piece together exactly what happened during that time, but my memory starts to come back together after I had become a captive of the Merztri empire in their galactic battle with the far inferior planets run by the Phfph collective. 


Oh Lizard, I am ashamed to say that I was forced to take part in many a horrible activity in this bloody war.  In the case of the poor planet 5@, a high intensity laser was amplified and reflected off my face.  The power of the laser was so great that the whole planet lasted only 16 minutes.  This seems like a short period of time in the long run, but feels like ages when it's spent with a laser on your face.  This was one event of many my friend.  I was used like a flash grenade a few times, occasionally used to help soldiers see around corners, and after the war slowed down I spent a substantial amount of time employed as a mirror in a Merztri beauty salon.



Thinks go dark again.  I think I lived in a crate for a while, then I think there was some sort of incident involving a poorly time investment takeover of the bridge that was over me to make room for apartment complexes.  Whatever the reason, I found myself placed back on earth somewhere in the Asian ish regions. There I met Bayarmaa, a Mongol witch doctor of sorts that taught me to control  my facial shine through mediation and drug abuse.  I believe the home made narcotics are mostly to blame for the continual memory lapses.  



Some what around the month of 9 I was able to sell Bayarmaa to a visiting Sheik in exchange for safe passage back to the states.  She was very upset with me, which I can understand, but at the same time... I can’t.

I should design clothing. For realz yo.

So I ended up back in Provo land, which is about as close to earth as a man in my situation could hope for.  There is still more to this story, but it will have to wait.  Fringe is calling me.  And I am a slave to its beautiful beautyness. ness.


So till next time, Remember kids

yes.

SB

In an Endless Sea of Gumdrops: The Year 2012

Bat of Gleaming Silver,

Poem time!

Yearly, little bears are born,
And in the summer, sheep are shorn,
And when the moon is full of corn,
The sheep and bears shall toot the horn.

I call that poem: Stupid.

Let me tell you about the New Year:

In 2012, there will be four babies born that are exactly identical. They will be born to an angry Haitian woman named Gabby who will shout and yowl the whole time she's giving birth. Something about...epidural?...blah blah blah.

In 2012, there will be an airplane that flies so high, it will discover a layer of clouds upon which very light people live. They will be very friendly and open to our visit and we will slaughter them MERCILESSLY to harvest their cotton candy. But...they have none. We will immediately forget that it ever happened. BECAUSE "JERSEY SHORE: SNOOKI GETS BREAST IMPLANTS AKA TRASHBAGS" WILL BE ON!!

In 2012, there will be a new president voted in. He will rule with an iron foot because we are unworthy to be touched by his marble fist. His name will be Gregory Yum-Yum, and his reign will be one of absolute fear. He will rule for a record fourteen years because he will KILL ALL RIVALS. It will be a dark day for us as the constitution goes the way of the dodo and all steak is banned...Also, he will be president of the local yacht club, not the United States. Guess I should have clarified.

In 2012, there will be a weapon built. And it will be most sweet. And sweet is used in the vernacular (Ex. Cool! Awesome! Boss! Sick! Ill! Under The Weather!) and also it is used to mean sweet as in sugarific (this word is a mixture of sugar and terrific...and fickle). Because the weapon, of course, will turn all water into gumdrops creating, as in the title--THE VERY TITLE--of this post, an Endless Sea of Gumdrops. We will all swim in it and it will be more delicious than the sweet, sweet death that overtakes us after we slip into a diabetic coma. WHICH WE WILL.

In 2012, all the world will watch as a cute lil' puppy chases its tail for a record forty-seven minutes. We will not realize that the video is on a thirty-second loop. WE HAVE ALL BEEN TRICKED!

COMMERCIAL BREAK

Wow! The year...[2012]...sure sounds wacky! You should buy a car! Because spending is the BEST. THE BEST! THE BEST! It's the best.

BACK TO THE PROGRAM

In 2012, I will own a chain of restaurants that serve one item and one item only: Napkins...made of human skin. I will call it, NAPSKINS. People will enter, expecting food. The novelty of NAPSKINS will draw them in. They'll feel weird if they don't eat them (it's a restaurant). They will eat. They will turn into slobbering cannibals. I will turn a profit in the first quarter, but after that the business will pretty much be sunk.

In 2012, you will wear a hat that you will name Reginald. This is because you have no friends. The hat will one day leave you for a larger head. But it will leave a parting gift...a band of acne circling your head. And each time you pop a zit on that band, you will cry as you remember Reginald, and you will cry because each zit is filled with LAVA.

In 2012, everyone will try walking on their hands for a day, but it won't be for them. One man, Hampton Fitzwilliam, will continue doing it because he thinks it will attract ladies. Good call, Hampton. Because your kneecaps are much more appealing than your awful face.

In 2012, the world will not end. But your's will.

A poem:

Upset tummy?
I'm so sorry.
I hope you will,
Be well tomorry!
........................
Watch your back.


THE END

Sincerely,

CL

A List of Things I Want for Christmas

Silverest Bat,

These are some dandy items I (no need to tell you who I am in parentheses, so I'll just skip that) would love to receive as gifts this super-fine Christmas:

1 head of a sheik. Minor sheik, major sheik, I don't really care (I don't actually understand sheik hierarchy).

2 phantom rug mites that are always lurking...somewhere...nearby...

3 real, REAL, jumping jacks. It would make me chuckle to watch you try.

4 unwed ferrets so that they can understand the pains of a sorrowful bachelor and also make a sweet pair of gloves when I'm tired of them.

5 rockin' laser rifles for blasting holes in stuff, up to and including the moon. But not our moon. I mean Io. So get scopes on those.

6 elephant tusks made of PURE GOLD. This will require you to find the legendary golden elephant and then clone him three times (because we can't kill the original one! Then NO ONE will get golden tusks).

7 hot peppers grown to spell my name. I know it isn't the growing season, but I figure you can get it done. I trust you.

8 pencils for gnawing. Don't get those fake wood ones because they taste awful.

9 gun-toting orphans. But make sure they don't know how to use the guns. Their frustration will only make them more adorable.

10 LIVE RATS for stomping purposes.

11 finger bones from a freaky skeleton. And I will know if one of the bones is a toe or a rib, so don't try anything stupid.

12 badly burnt pineapples so that I can bite into one and hate you for ruining twelve good pineapples.

This concludes my wish list. Get on it.

CL