The Sunday Hangover with Warren Ellis

I look forward to seeing you here in San Diego

(The Gaslamp is as fake as can be but we need something here to get the tourists drinkin and wasting money )

pikahyper, sounds like you need more "Historic" pubs.

just say they are haunted/ celeb hangouts, and the aptly dim will flock in to them


and, yet again, another excellent Sunday Hangover.

Indeed I shall have your prose, on thursday.
Hell or high water.

Hey! The Native Americans built our Gaslamp District with great pride before we raped them and took it for ourselves, buddy.

with a little smarts, and possibly a lot of flagrant law-breaking and violence, Tuesday may be the ticket.

three months-worth in a day? for England? is that actually rain, or is it just a giant block of water suspended from clouds? you didn't happen to see some robed, bearded git with a big wooden boat and a pension for bestiality who thinks there really is a god, did you?

and by "great pride" we mean "horrendous whip marks."

Sunday morning and Warren Ellis has me thinking about rain and hair loss. It never rains here near Las Vegas. The climate is such that you could wrap yourself in cling wrap and, within one hour of outside exposure to the sun, you would truly know what a dick feels like in a freshly used condom that has yet to be shedded. Furthermore, it makes you wonder what it would be like to shed that newly applied skin and, in the current state of salted dampness, roll around in the red mud until you had an even thicker skin of baked mud. I have often wanted to try that because adobe dwellings seem so cool and maybe that would actually allow us to move about outdoors during the day with some sense of climate comfort. Besides, I think it would give me a hugh stiffy to further lathe mud onto in some form of howling glee. After a week, I think I would be into some serious prayers for rain or, at least, three silicon showgirls chasing me with a gushing water hose. On the other hand, after two weeks, maybe we could chisel what has become a body mold in half and make castings for some art project or another to rot with the rest of the art projects in the black widow and cockroach infested garage. Hmmm...

As for real rain, it's not going to happen here. You could chant and pray for weeks or until you dried out so much that one of the clever desert dwellers stretched you out and used you for a sun shade. Rain is a cause for mass celebration in these parts and when it comes, even for the shortest moment, I usually strip down to my underwear and run around in it like an eight year old boy usually shouting something like, "Give it to me baby" or "Hell, fuckin' yeah!" Nevermind the locals, it just feels that orgasmic. I must admit that I have never thought of Ballard or Dick during such occasions. Mostly, I start thinking about that mud thing again but then I remember that I have three dogs pooping in our back yard and the idea seems less savory. Maybe I could jump in my car and dash out to find some clean earth but I suspect the rain would be gone by time I reached such an area. Some day I may fence in one portion of the yard just for mud related frolicking but it will have to wait until fall. Until then, I have only the cool shower to look forward to....the glorious shrine of avocado...the water massage of God! !!! All of which leads me back to the subject of hair...

Warren, do you save your fleeting hair? I do. There's a little white basin glued to the tiled wall where I collect the relics that wash off of me and make their way down the drain of passing youth. Thankfully, they're usually barred from passing by the silvered cross amulet that protects the doorway to the land of final truth. I scoop the relics out that have gathered there, begging for safe passage, with deft fingers now and then. I haven't decided whether to offer them to the rain gods in vain or include them in yet another art project. However, I must confess that all the textures and interweaving fibers do sometimes make me think of the universe, Humanities 101 & 102, and even you, Mr. Ennis, and Mr. Moorcock. Add a few bits of insect appendages, rounding clots of soap, and globs of semen and I could swear this new creation will indeed take on a life of its own. If I was more industrious, I might even be inclined to write a comic about it but, for now, I just consider the implications of the life amassing in the pearly soap dish. Or, should I say the life passing? Yes, life passing as noted by the growing collection of discarded bits of me. Sort of like Goldblum in Cronenberg's version of "The Fly". Maybe now I understand why you are weeping but I suggest that you move away from the dumpster before you get seriously pissed on. And, now that the coffee is gone, I think I should get moving too....

Yes, a broken shithole is the current state of things. However, if it wasn't busted what in the world would you write about?

old peop0le trapped on a bus? i smell blockbuster!

Ah, yes. Silly typos

Warren you brighten my Mondays.

but what would the British moan about if we didn't have such stupid wetaher all the time. We'd be at a loss for conversation, if day after day was the same old thing.

I've always wondered whether the British would be so depressed and miserable if it was sunny all the time? no doubt we'd all start complaining about the sun instead . What is it that makes us all so inherently anti social in public places I wonder? I was on the train coming home from Huddersfield (which seems to consist of one shopping centre so good they built it 3 or 4 times) when someone started asking me about Motorhead pointing to the shirt I was wearing, this never happens on a train in the UK you don't talk to people you just don't 'cause that's just madness isn't it? You can always spot the foreigners and tourists 'cause they're usually smiling and look happy that they don't have to put up with the monsoon season we seem to be having now. I was thinking of maybe going to London but since I have neither a canoe or gills I think that will have to wait for another time. My humble home nearly flooded the other week and I saw pictures of car parks with submerged cars and very smug looking ducks happily swimming about with a look that said "Take that you talking monkey bastards". Happy times.

the weather is usually one of the first conversation topics every morning in the office i work in

we do, as then it's too hot