Rev. Blood's Favorite Breathers

As I wander the earth -- in eternal pain, natch -- I run across humans that I salivate over find especially stimulating. Here is one I saw just the other day, and as you can see, she is a fine specimen. Gazing fondly at her image, I ask myself the question: "Mila, honey, have you had some work?"

Rev. Blood's Words of Wisdom: October 23, 2009

Never give a zombie an even break.  Make it as ragged and drawn out as you can.

Rev. Blood's Words of Wisdom: October 22, 2009

Overheard in a comment stream:

Sinners roasting o'er an open fire,
Satan nipping at your nose.
Yuletide drunks being hung by a choir
And folks disembowling eskimoes.

Ah, Christmas . . . only 64 days away!

Reverend Blood Goes to the Movies: Zombieland

Sneaking into a theater just ain't what it used to be.  It used to be that it had danger, romance, and just the teensiest bit of erotic pull.  You'd get your buddies to create a diversion, or you'd cook up some half-assed story about how your friends are just inside, and they accidentally took your ticket in with them, and hope that the ticket-taker is amused enough by the bald-faced lie to let you pass.

But now that I'm dead, it's not a challenge anymore.  I can go anywhere I want, and that includes the toniest monuments to the movie arts, right on down to the grungiest porn palaces, where you stick to the seats -- not to mention the guy next to you -- and don't dare go to the bathroom.  Not that I have to go to the bathroom anymore, but sometimes I visit them for old time's sake.  Like I do those porn palaces.

A couple of Fridays ago, I went to the premiere of Zombieland, at the Orpheus -- sorry that's Orpheum -- Theater in Baltimore.  It was packed, of course, but it was no problem:  being incorporeal has it's privileges.  I just chose the prettiest girl in the house and nestled in on her lap.  Of course, being incorporeal has it's disadvantages as well:  I couldn't feel a thing.

Good Evening.

Good eeeve-ning.  (Or something like that ... I hate all that spooky-ass shit.)  I am the Right Reverend Blood, recently deceased and just ever-so-less recently defrocked from Our Lady of Perpetual Befuddlement Episcopalian Church.  The two incidents -- the defrocking and the deceasing -- are not unrelated, but I'm not going to go into that right now.  It's kind of a sordid tale, and besides, I want to present as good a front as possible.  Never know when the big ... whatever She/He/It is ... upstairs will have a change of heart.  She's -- I'll call her "She" just for convenience -- She's kind of flighty that way.

No, this first post is just to introduce the place and tell you something about me.  And the first thing to remember is that I hate this crap.  Blogging, that is.  I hate it.  It's generally accomplished by myopic, overweight dweebs with coke-bottle-thick glasses, who can't get a date because their acne has flared up.  Either that or soulless corporate drones, hiding from their bosses at work, pretending to be sixteen-year-old girls.  (Ever noticed how many blogs are written by somebody named "Mandy"?)

I hate blogging, and wouldn't come anywhere near WordSpot or BlogPress except for one little, tiny thing: I have to do it.  And not in some candy-assed, fulfills-some-deep-seated-need way either: She is making me do it as part of that eternal torment thing. It's my punishment for ... well, let's just say that it's a punishment and leave it at that.

Point is, She Who Must Be Obeyed is making me do this. I could no more get out of it than a mackerel-snapper could defy the Pope, and believe me when I say I've tried.  The first time it cost me my pinky finger and the next, well ... let's just say I'm glad I don't have to use that anymore.  After that I learned my lesson, and sit down regular as clockwork to tap out a post.  Truthfully, She doesn't seem to care what it is, just as long as it is.  Though She has given me some vague guidelines: "As you haunt the earth, you are doomed to chronicle it" or some such shit.  But I know She's just fucking with me.  She does that, you know.

So ... here are the results.  I still don't know how the posts get from my Pentium 2 (the afterlife is pretty low-tech) to the internet, or when or even if they'll show up in this space for you, dear reader, to look at.  But do me a favor and read this stuff, ok?   Maybe if you do She'll reduce my sentence for good behavior, or maybe not: She can be a little, how shall we say it, arbitrary.  Just read the Old Testament, if you don't believe me.