My Blog is now entirely about Jet Li

I noticed today that, by far, the most popular blog post I've ever written is the one featuring a shirtless picture of Jet Li. I can only assume that people LOVE to read my writing about this handsome, lithe man. What can I do but give my fans what they want?! My friend spavis recommended I add Ryan Gosling to the mix. So I did.

"Jet Li awoke in a dimly lit room. He was not afraid - he had had his fear bladder removed, long before he had ever become Jet Li. It was his people's way, and not to be questioned.

Still, he was concerned to find that his hands were tied (with rope) and that his body was contorted (also by rope) into a strange position.

'Someone has positioned me like a chair,' he said in perfect unaccented English. He was alone, he did not have to use an accent.

'That was me Ryan Gosling," said Ryan Gosling as he entered the room, sliding down a firepole. He was a celebrity, and rich. He also had a racecar bed, unslept in. Jet Li couldn't see it, but he could tell from Ryan Gosling's swagger that it was probably very comfortable to sleep in his racecar bed.

'Ryan Gosling prease untied me,' said Jet Li. He was embarrassed that Movie Star Ryan Gosling had heard him talk without his accent. He felt shame.

Ryan Gosling laughed and took off two of his shirts. 'Your accent doesn't fool me Movie Star Jet Li. I am still going to make you my chair.'

Jet Li tried to stop this, but he was hypnotized by the sight of Ryan Gosling's abdominal muscles that rippled through his final two remaining shirts. Movie stars often wear four shirts, for safety.

Jet Li knew he could dodge bullets, snakes, and thrown or tossed knives. But he could not avoid the sight of Ryan Gosling's thousand abs.

Ryan Gosling rested his b*tt on Jet Li's back. They were both wearing expensive pants, made by tailors. The pants felt good.

'You are my Cuddlechair Jet Li.' Ryan Gosling sounded self-assured but not arrogant. He had figured many things out, you could tell.

Jet Li had fallen asleep. He had four dreams, none of which he would remember When he woke up Ryan Gosling untied him and they watched some movies together. They decided to be SECRET FRIENDS and celebrated with Movie Star Kisses, which are secret.

Then the storie ended."

The Skyrim Experience, Minute by Minute

My friend Sarah asked on Google Plus whether people had been playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. This was my response, re-posted here out of mad egotism.

I played Skyrim for..... thirty minutes, I think?

Five of those were spent looking around, unable to move, while I listened to generic NPCs talk on a cart.

The next five were spent going into the Skyrim prefs file and manually editing it to try to make the mouse less laggy.

The next five were spent plugging in an XBox controller to manipulate the menus, since the mouse wasn't really cutting it, while trying to figure out which "Jaw Depth" setting would make my Khajiit look most like Roast Beef from Achewood.

Minutes 16-20: Trying to pick stuff up with a 2-stick controller, swearing.

21 - 25: Realizing that every time I want to change my inventory, I have to open the initial "Cross" menu thing, and then select multiple sub menus. Also realizing that, for me at least, the mouse controls in the menus were not especially responsive.

26-29: Spent thinking about whether I really wanted to spend my time wrestling with these viscerally unpleasant controls just to explore a world full of beautiful scenery, indistinct characters, and not-particularly-compelling quests (See also: Oblivion, Morrowind).

30: Uninstalling Skyrim.

Minute 31: Playing Super Meat Boy, sighing contentedly."

12:00 - Come Up With a Title for a Blog that would be a Pun Headline. Write this story, article, what have you based on the headline.

City Experiences 'Rain of Cats and Dogs'
After Animal Shelter Explosion

In what experts are calling a 'potential biohazard', an explosion rocked the North Quincyshire Animal Shelter late last night, spreading the atomized flesh of hundreds of potentially rabid animals across the county.

Radical animal rights advocate group 'Crows Before Crowds' has claimed responsibility for the attack. In a video released this morning by the group, all dressed in anatomically correct crow costumes, group members laid out their mission statement in a vicious manifesto rap.

'You killed our flapping babies/
Now you all got rabies.

Our flow remains the freshest/
Antibiotics are not effective/
It's the virus from Old Yeller/
Look at that frothing feller/
We drop our rhymes like Kanye/
You're all hydrophobic bums, ye."

Rap experts continue to analyze the lyrics for meanings, hidden or otherwise.

In the meantime, men in lab coats have stressed that the public should remain calm and not 'Fuck around panicking and shit.' They then picked up a test tube, peered at it intently, and then said 'Don't be fucking morons.'

This reporter would like to make an editorial comment, urging readers to stay indoors, barricade their windows, and shoot anyone who steps onto their porch, lest the deadly rabies sneak through the mail slot and kill them. Also, he would like a glass of water.

Come over here. Bring me a glass of water.

This? It's just shaving foam. I was shaving.

Come here.

11:00 China

Some people like to say they wouldn't do something for all the tea in China. What's that about? I like tea. I like China. But I don't need a whole country's worth. A cup is enough for me. Why do people need so much tea?

And for that matter, what's up with the Great Wall of China? I've seen walls before. What makes this one so great? Show me a Great Roof of China, maybe I'd be impressed then.

People say China's going to take over the world. That's fine with me, I've never had much use for the world. And the Chinese are efficient - maybe they'd have a good way to distribute all that tea.

Why do they call it Orange Chicken? It's not orange. Or maybe it is - I'm not a color expert. Chicken is pretty good, though, although that's just my opinion. Maybe you don't care for chicken. Someone who told me they didn't like chicken, I'd tell them to take a slow boat to China.

What's that about? Why do they make slow boats? Just take the parts from the fast boats and make them fast. Then build them out of that stuff they make the black boxes in airplanes from.

They probably make them in China.

TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK TICK

12:00 - Tell the story behind the 15th picture of you on facebook

When you're younger, you're desperate to form an identity. To convince yourself that you're part of something larger than yourself, that the connections you've formed with another person aren't just lies. And that's why, almost inevitably, you start naming your social groups.

Because once you've put a name on something, it's real, right? You're not just people hanging out together because no other group would have you... You're a team. There's a bond there.

And that's why this picture exists. Because several of the young men posing there once proudly declared themselves, semi-ironically, to be in a gang. And that gang was called The Ineffective Funk.

I had forgotten the name of the group, until I ran into a former member last month. Makes me feel sad.

Makes me feel old.

INEFFECTIVE FUNK FO' LIFE, YO

11:00 Map out a road trip you'd like to take

Aw, come on, Google. Meet me half way here. It's only 2 light years away...

10:00 - Make a treat of a gift for your friends and blog about it.

My previous post was a subterfuge. You see, my true gift to my friends... WAS THE GIFT OF MYSTERY!

A few hours ago, I hatched a scheme: I would take control of Blog Day by grasping the seat of Blog Day's power: The blog topic box.

It is not easy to steal a box off of a table that 6 people are sitting at, even if they are distracted by typing. The key was in the recruitment of an accomplice, the deft-fingered Andrew Preston. With his help, and just a smidge of subterfuge, the box was stolen away. The fate of Blog Day was in our hands.

Of course, to take control, we must make demands.... and those must be done anonymously, through a proxy. And thus was the Twitter client @BlogDayBox birthed. BlogDayBox quickly began following all of the BlogDay participants, tweeting taunting clues at them. It was a MASTERSTROKE OF DECEPTION only slightly marred by the fact that nobody seemed to notice it was happening.

So I walked into the dining room and asked if anyone else had been followed by this mysterious Twitter fellow. Then everyone accused me of stealing the box and engineering some sort of stupid mystery. After a BRUTAL interrogation, Andrew and I relented, and the box was returned from its hiding place... And a wonderful time was had by all!

But my true gift is this: I call for someone else at today's Blog Day to take the Box. The password to the Twitter account is "blogday". Take it over, hide your treasure, and confound us all with your genius!

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!