The All-New Foblog

Announcement: Fob Officially Sanctions Weed

2011-01-14T10:07:00.000-08:00

Dearest Fobs and Fofobs (Friends of Fob):

If you have not been reading official Fob Weed's blog, you should. And not just because by posting this I improve my chances of winning The Little Thumper. Because reading The Weed will improve your life.

So says

Mr. Fob

Newly Reorganized Fob East Bay Meets

2010-09-28T21:20:00.000-07:00

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Tonight, I, Theric, met with new Fobs Kelly Ann and Riley and read topnotch prose and poetry. (Other members of FEB include Jane Dough and Petra, neither of whom came tonight.)

This event seems worthy of commemoration.

Consider it hereby commemorated.

Tyler Chadwick on the Fob Bible

2010-02-16T12:24:00.001-08:00

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Tyler Chadwick is presenting a paper on The Fob Bible at the AML Conference, February 27, at UVU. Go if you can.

(link)

New Bible Review

2010-01-29T22:15:00.001-08:00

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Next to Richard Cracroft, Mormondom ain't got a more revered reviewer than Jeffrey Needle (and he's not even Mormon!). He didn't like my Balaam play, but he loved the rest of the Bible, especially Ginsberg's "Moses und Aron" (though he does ask a question I've been meaning to for a long time: what's with that title, anyway?).

The review

Note: with this post, the All-New Foblog now has as many posts as the old Foblog has.

Award season: The Fob Bible

2009-12-04T10:13:00.001-08:00

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So The Fob Bible is on eligibility lists for the Whitney Awards, which I'm surprised by since I didn't think it qualified, but hey! awesome! prizes!

(Thanks to TB, incidentally, for noticing this.)

So. I encourage everyone who likes the ole bible (free samples) to throw it a nomination.

Go here, entire your own info, then paste in this salient information:

Thanks!

Last Saturday Petra Was Married

2009-09-25T23:01:00.000-07:00

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And the food was really good. Her dress was cool and men threw her in a blanket. I got sick that evening and never got around to posting about it, but it was cool. Sorry you missed it.

Unofficial FEB Partification

2009-08-16T23:30:00.000-07:00

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Theric and Lady Steed welcomed Petra and Melyngoch and Tolkers to their home this fine evening in celebration of delicious food. As is typical, the visitors were roped into playing baseball by the irrepressible Big O and Large S. Little Lord Steed mostly slept.

We had a deeelightful time. I was so happy to see Mel again after all these many long years and it'd been a year for Tolkers also and I hadn't seen Petra since she's been splitting her time between Communist prisons and men (cf).

Anyway, I didn't get any pictures of the exciting stuff, but I did get this, which is about as fobular as can be imagined:

A Joke Told By FoxyJ's Mom That Melyngoch Will Appreciate

2009-07-19T08:28:00.000-07:00

An aging Indian* finding himself incapable of physically expressing his love for his wife visited the medicine man.

"Yes, I can help you," said the medicine man. And then he proceeded to administer his medicines and chant his chants. When he was done, he gave the man the following instructions: "When you need things to work, simply say, 'One two three.' And then when you're ready to be done, say, 'One two three four,' and you'll be done."

So the man went home to his wife, gave her a big kiss, and cheerfully said, "One two three!"

His wife frowned and asked, "What's the one two three for?"

Moral of the story: Never end a sentence with a preposition, lest you end up with a dangling participle.

*I'm not sure why it needs to be an Indian, but she got this joke from Star Valley, Wyoming, so perhaps that explains it.

Omnipresent Ben

2009-06-26T17:08:00.000-07:00

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Ben's everywhere this weekend with two of his Fob Bible stories released on popular blogs for discussion. If you haven't read these stories before, do now. If you have, stop by to help get the conversation going.

Abraham's Purgatory

The Changing of the God

Our first review

2009-06-16T11:44:00.001-07:00

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The first half of Tyler Chadwick's beautiful review of The Fob Bible is up.

Second paragraph:

The Fob Bible

Ssee me at AMV today:

2009-06-11T09:45:00.001-07:00

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“Our Refined Heavenly Home”

Deep Thoughts with Melyngoch

2009-06-09T20:11:00.000-07:00

Said during tonight's eFob:

"Orgies are prime dna-acquisition opportunities."

Fob Bible Release Party LIVE

2009-05-29T10:55:00.001-07:00

Don't forget to stop by here and say hi sometime after 6PDT tonight!

&amp;lt;a href="http://www.coveritlive.com/mobile.php?option=com_mobile&amp;amp;amp;task=viewaltcast&amp;amp;amp;altcast_code=faa87f3a89"&amp;gt;Fob Bible Release Party LIVE!&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt;

And most importantly, don't forget to order your own copy of the Fob Bible!

Fob Bible Release Party Liveblogging Test Run

2009-05-23T20:52:00.000-07:00

Release Party Test Run

Check this out:

2009-04-28T19:03:00.000-07:00

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You're here too.

Plain and Precious Parts

2009-04-06T11:40:00.000-07:00

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Plain and Precious Parts is now available for online reading, free download, and on Kindle for a buck. Links at http://peculiarpages.com.

On eFob

2009-03-03T08:58:00.000-08:00

And so it has come to a head; we must capitalize It, must make It a force beyond the general.

We may say, charmingly, that this is the third age of the Fob, that we have entered with all the messy democracy of our millennia into that final journey; the abnegation of self. There was, indeed, always something self-consciously Buddhist about our blogging, a nirvana of nattering. It was only a matter of time before that web was stitched together with our electronic thread, only a question of dimension to frame our holy conversation. We were half cyborg when we met already, there was only that decision to be made. Like messy democracies everywhere (e-verywhere), we must now take dictation to get things done.

All hail, beloved dictationer: first look to the e-mote in your own eye.

To speak of the letter e is to prate at paradigmatics, to question God. For do we not make it a game to see how long we can write without that pivotal Vowel, not count it success to well-spell a novel without it?

Thrice in this sentence. Thrice.

This, then, our good news, this our God-spelling: deity is less potent, under glass. But still, inevitable: crawling at the end of the sentence, the silent e smites the precedent sound, rounds out the plasma ow. What is then the use of questioning, if the line of punching remains the same?

The death of poets lies in punditry: wherein is the breath-e of life.

Mark them, then, the heads of our movement. Witness how they stand at the corners of continents and make domestic disasters beautiful. Behold, they meet without meeting, worlds without sight, worlds without body. And yet there is some sense that the animal still holds sway, that there are hungers and exhaustions untroubled by our desire to e-produce. We sleep, we wake, we feed, and yet we flatten to make it whole.

Make It whole. Turn It capital. It is the third age of the Fob. May It not be the last, so we e-pray.

We're like a band

2009-02-09T09:18:00.000-08:00

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We drift apart, we break up, we get back together, there are rumors we'll be bringing something new out, those rumors prove unfounded, we hold jam sessions, some people don't hear, rumors of hurt feelings, the tour gets repostponed, rumors of the original lineup, the Wikipedia talk page erupts in arguments over what the legit member list is, founding members make contradictory statements to the press, someone breaks a guitar. Et cetera.

For you young Mormons out there

2009-01-28T23:28:00.001-08:00

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This.

2009-01-16T08:49:00.001-08:00

Just an explanation. I wrote something on this blog instead of my own and then tried, in my lame and ineffective techno-idiot way, to move it to mine which I later, because of some cosmic miracle, was able to do, but only after I actually deleted it completely from this blog and thought I'd lost it forever. So...if you use Google Reader--and thank the heavens for Google Reader because that's where I found what I'd thought I lost--it appears on The All-New Foblog in Google Reader but not on the actual blog itself. So there. Easy explanation, right?

So you're not crazy. It isn't here anymore.

Wrapping up a whirlwind tour

2009-01-15T16:58:00.000-08:00

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I thought you might all be interest in knowing that you have been taught.

In my zippyzipfast eight-day teach of Greek Myth and the Bible and their echoes in modern literature, I have used, among other works, the following:

Mr Fob:

"Abraham's Purgatory (for our discussion of Abraham and Isaac)
Melyngoch:

"Deus ex Machina (part of the test)
Tolkers:

eg:

Adam

Highlights from the first-ever vFob (beta)

2009-01-14T11:57:00.000-08:00

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Yesterday, we beta-tested New! vFob technology, ie, the future. Here are some highlights:

Herr Fob: Okay, should we rock paper scissors?

Theric: How?

Herr Fob: We can all type rock, paper, or scissors at the same time, when I say...
Rock

Tolkien Boy: scissors

Theric: Oh. I wasn't looking.
Crap.
I suck.

Tolkien Boy: Or, your'e paper.
So, it's a tie.

Theric: Rock
(I used a random number generator)

Tolkien Boy: OKay, I'm last

Theric: Sorry, Tolkien Boy

Tolkien Boy: You two slug it out
I'm not

Theric: rock

Herr Fob has left

Theric: Where'd Herr Fob go?

Tolkien Boy: sigh
I knew this would be difficult

7:39 PM Herr Fob has joined

Theric: Naturally.

Herr Fob: I can't hear you.

Tolkien Boy: Hear me?

Theric: Who, you?

Herr Fob: Now I can hear you. That was weird.
What happened with the rock paper scissors? I got cut off about then.

Theric: We were tied.
I already did my second, so you go.

Herr Fob: rock

Theric: tie

Herr Fob: rock

Theric: paper

Herr Fob: You win

Herr Fob: I have the naked woman open and am ready to start reading.

Theric: I really don't know what's best. That sounds like a fine plan.

Tolkien Boy: Are we all on Naked Woman?

Theric: Yes.

Herr Fob: Yes.

Tolkien Boy: I'm done reading.

Herr Fob: I'm not, but you two can begin talking if you want

Theric: Go for it.

Tolkien Boy: I wanted a whiff of corruption about the woman.
As sex is, right?

Theric: Allegedly.

Herr Fob: I don't mind that she's not scary ahead of time

Theric: Well, nakedness is also supposed to be a symbol of innocence, right? I think I'm looking for an ambivalence: is she naked because she is a venus flytrap or because she is innocent.

Tolkien Boy: But you haven't made her ambivalent, you've made her funny.
For example, the rainbow brite T-shirt

Theric: I can see the funny in it.

I really want yall's opinion on the jumprope rhyme.

Tolkien Boy: Oh, I liked that quite a bit

Theric: I'm trying to get a grip on the problems with the naked woman.

Theric: So what are your objections?

Tolkien Boy: Just wanted to make sure I was speaking alone.
Theric, response?

Theric: I was just scanning the doc.

Herr Fob: Can you see my edits?

Tolkien Boy: Or mine?

Theric: no

Tolkien Boy: A scene of "I'm more mature than you" would probably work.
Theric: "I'm more mature" might do it.

Herr Fob: I agree

Theric: Tolkien Boy?

Tolkien Boy: I don't think that would be a good/important thing to do, actually.
Because I don't think that's the fundamental difficulty.

Theric: What do you perceive that worry to be?

Herr Fob: Naked women.

Tolkien Boy: At the moment, I suppose adulthood.
But that seems so tame. I expect different from you.

Theric: I think adulthood only seems prosaic to us. The other girls start wearing their barrettes. Why? They want a piece of that power.

Tolkien Boy: I suggest, though, that your readers are going to be adults.

Theric: Well, yeah. I guess.

Herr Fob: But the characters aren't.

Theric: Can you imagine workshopping this with 10yrolds?

Herr Fob: That's why I'm here--to be the 10yrold

Theric: I have that problem with this sort of thing. I'm most interested in uncertainty, but uncertainty has an uncertain destination.

Herr Fob: I'm uncertain about that.

Tolkien Boy: Yes. And the genre of your piece is screaming "it's scary to grow up and be adult and have orgasms". It just doesn't really deliver that.

Herr Fob: Shouldn't it be "it's exciting to grow up and be adult and have orgasms"?

Tolkien Boy: No, scary. That's the genre.

Theric: I can't believe you guys. I though you at least wouldn't see a naked lady and think "sex"----

Tolkien Boy: Porn is the exciting one.

Tolkien Boy: Right. "Her breasts, not contained by her rainbow brite T-shirt..."
We're gay. Not oblivious.

Herr Fob: I'm oblivious.
But naked=sex, regardless.

Tolkien Boy: Remaining questions, Theric?
It's just something to pay attention to. He knows what he did.

Herr Fob: ANd I hope he's ashamed.

Theric: Meatloaf joke doesn't work?

Tolkien Boy: Nope
Didn't get it.

Herr Fob: Totally not.
Still don't.

Tolkien Boy: Still don't.

Theric: Man. I always have jokes like that.

Tolkien Boy: Care to explain?

Herr Fob: We love you anyway.

Theric: Lunch lady serves principal meatloaf; He says "Smells like summer vacation"; Haha.

Tolkien Boy: I read it, I just didn't get it.

Herr Fob: Ha. (Doesn't deserve a second one.)

Theric: Yeah, my first comment disappeared too. It's a good method but a little sketchy at times.

Herr Fob: Anyway.
I'm listening.

Theric: Okay, I'm ready.
Actually, I liked (sometimes) responding to Tolkien Boy. (He's fast.)

Herr Fob: He is.

Theric: I mean I liked responding to Tolkien Boy sometimes.
Not all the time.
Not like I ignored him the other times.
Nevermind.

Tolkien Boy: Huh?
Why don't you like me?

Theric: I'm sorry you had to hear it this way.
:(
Man, chat is tough!

Tolkien Boy: Why? You don't like me. What do you care how I hear it?
Okay, what's going on?
Are we talking about Herr Fob?
Yet?

Herr Fob: Yes.

Tolkien Boy: (sometimes)?

Theric: Who knows.

Tolkien Boy: Responding?

Herr Fob: But haven't started.
I'm waiting.

Tolkien Boy: Theric?

Theric: My first comment isn't helpful:

Herr Fob: Patiently, I might add.

Tolkien Boy: Your diction shades into biblical from time to time.
Especially at the ends of speeches/conversations.

Herr Fob: Okay, I'll keep an eye on that.

Theric: The recap helped a lot.
Tolkien Boy: This was your comment?
Keep going.

Theric: Oh, okay. Sorry. I'm easily distracted when there's more story left to read.
I don't have any large, overarching comments, probably because this is just part of a larger whole.

Herr Fob: Understandable.

Tolkien Boy: Or incestous?

Theric: !

Tolkien Boy: I just wanted to see if I could spell it still.

Herr Fob: It should be truly friendly.

Theric: Ah, he's the gay guy. (needed that stereotype help)

Herr Fob: Everyone is the gay guy in this story.

Tolkien Boy: SOmething you might want to watch, actually.

Theric: Yeah, that's a good point. I felt like he was older mostly.

Herr Fob: Okay.

Theric: If it's the first time we meet him, maybe some visual cues? Besides the boyish smile, I mean. George Clooney has a boyish smile. It doesn't really indicate age.
Herr Fob: Will do.

Theric: The passive-aggression implied in the "nice" sister was compelling. I'll want to see that gun used before the curtain closes.

Herr Fob: Will do.

Tolkien Boy: Kind of a ratcheting up of dangerous liasions, so to speak?

Herr Fob: She's not a ho.

Tolkien Boy: Theric, share your thoughts about the action segment.

Herr Fob: Did you read the action segment?

Tolkien Boy: Oh, you didn't?

Theric: I'm halfway through it. It's off to a good start.

Herr Fob: I didn't.

Theric: Shall I excuse myself?
Go finish?

Herr Fob: But I'm happy to hear your thoughts.

Theric: I'm happy to. I'm almost done.

Herr Fob: If Tolkien Boy did, then I suppose we should all be on the same page.

Theric: I'll be back then. Carry on.

Tolkien Boy: No, I'm just curious. I don't read action scenes, and this one seemed--I'm not sure how to say it. As if the thought of the action were happening before the action, if that makes sense?

Herr Fob: Good question. Q: What does "shift here" mean?
YOu mean her flying off?

Tolkien Boy: Yes. GOes back to their relationship. IF my sister just flew away, I'd be flabbergasted.

Herr Fob: That's a valid concern, but honestly I don't think about audience so much when I'm writing.
I'll worry about it later if I need to.

Tolkien Boy: I won't squelch the creatie you.
creative
sorry
I'm on the floor and can't type well.
Well, as I say, I never write action.
Nothing ever happens in my stories.
Which is why Theric is so invaluable to you.

Herr Fob: Are you at home?

Tolkien Boy: No, I'm in my office.

Herr Fob: Yuck.
(for you, not because of you)
I would never say such a thing.

Tolkien Boy: what purpose do the fights serve, do you think?

Herr Fob: The specific fights or fights in general?

Tolkien Boy: the fights in your story.

Herr Fob: What purpose do you think they serve?

Tolkien Boy: I asked you first.

Herr Fob: But I'm the author--I'm supposed to shut up and listen.

Tolkien Boy: We've never behaved that way and we're hardly going to start now.

Herr Fob: (letting you win this one...)

Tolkien Boy: Or we can let Theric tell us about his observations.

Herr Fob: I would like the fights to provide a challenge

Tolkien Boy: So, character development?

Herr Fob: Ideally, yes.

Theric: I've observed that if you let Dark Chocolate covered Chile Spiced dried Mangos sit in your desk for three months they sort of lose their zing.

Tolkien Boy: They're about her character, not about what's happening.

Herr Fob: Loss of zing'll do that to you.

Theric: I think they're having that effect; they're putting her deeper into a mire that she'll have to work out from later.

Tolkien Boy: Which is great, but it puts you in opposition to your genre.

Theric: I disagree.

Tolkien Boy: So, you say it's more narrative, Theric?
I will concede to Theric's observation.
As I don't write action.

Theric: I mean, I agree with it's against the popular idea of superhero stories, but my favorite one's are thought-heavy.
Define "narrative"

Tolkien Boy: A story
often told by one or more narrators.

Theric: But it seems like you're saying action is in opposition to narrative?

Tolkien Boy: I'm saying that it seems like the action is more about character development than story development.

Theric: I.E. plot development?

Tolkien Boy: sigh
yes

Theric: I think that's a good thing.

Herr Fob: Is there a concern that plot is missing from this chapter?

Theric: But I'm almost always character-centered.
(Or at least I think I am.)

Herr Fob: She's just a conversational narrator, talking to the ether.

Tolkien Boy: sometimes it seemed very meta-narrator
so maybe something to think about

Herr Fob: Will do.

Theric: Sometimes it didn't work for me too, but usually it was okay.

Tolkien Boy: Good development throughout.

Herr Fob: Thank you.

Theric: I mean, really, all first-person narration is inherently unrealistic.

Tolkien Boy: True enough.

Herr Fob: Especially first-person present tense

Tolkien Boy: I wrote some of those. They were great.

Theric: I'm waiting to learn more about his motivations. I don't get him yet. It's not a problem, I just don't know what to make of him yet.

Tolkien Boy: He's gay.

Herr Fob: Isn't everyone?

Theric: Apparently.

Tolkien Boy: But one of those attractive angry gays
quae cum itae sint
Any further questions?

Herr Fob: Nope.

Tolkien Boy: Beef.

Theric: Haha!

Tolkien Boy: ANd women can kind of shift in and out of it.

Theric: Luckies.

Tolkien Boy: Being more led by their emotions, you know.

Herr Fob: It's more fluid with them.

Theric: Or gross, depending on how you read it.
Ew.

Tolkien Boy: Depending.
Men depend.
Women are fluid

Theric: Okay, I think i've said my fill.

Herr Fob: Your mom is fluid.

Theric: I'm ready.

Herr Fob has left

Tolkien Boy: For what reason(s)?

Theric: It seems to me that.....
Here's a polygamy metaphor:
Most people thought that those horny Mormon men wanted multiple wives to sate their appetites.
I don't think its sexual , but what is it? Some sort of concentration-camp bonding? I'm not sure.
It works, but it's heavy with questions.
But I don't think that's a problem for something of this length,
(What the beck happened to Herr Fob?)

Herr Fob has joined

Theric: Ah

Tolkien Boy: Welcome back.

Herr Fob: Yay, I'm back.
I read it as there is something sexual

Theric: I can accept that. For several reasons. It just wasn't my leading theory.

Herr Fob: They love each other.

Theric: Platonically?

Tolkien Boy: As pets.

Theric: "Love" is getting vaguer on me

Tolkien Boy: Romantic-without-lust? Is that possible?

Theric: Idk

Tolkien Boy: Well, for the purposes of this story, it is.

Theric: Can it be longterm?

Tolkien Boy: Yes.

Theric: So they have the only "helthy" relationship?

Herr Fob: Is it important for you that the reader know it's not sexual?

Tolkien Boy: It doesn't seem too healthy to me.

Theric: Well. Maybe not. But it seems more honest. Ish.

Tolkien Boy: Yes, they at least admit to each other.

Herr Fob: Because you've established that they're hiding someting, and the idea of romance-without-lust is so foreign to most people that I don't think many will get it.

Tolkien Boy: I'm okay with that being part of the question, though.
Because the story is about sex, marriage, and love.

Herr Fob: My biggest question until I got to the end was how these relationships were formed--who was together first.

Tolkien Boy: Which is a good question, relative to the dog concept
who has the real relationship?

Theric: Yes.

Tolkien Boy: why does he need to only be able to get sex from them?

Theric: Sorry, I was referring to something earlier
I'll answer your Q now.

Tolkien Boy: Or whether they're doomed to disaster.

Theric: If Joe doens't "love" them in a meaningful way, but only needs them to get his fix, he will eventually stumble onto another means of penis insertion. But if he can't do that elsewhere (or does "love" in some deeper fashion), then he needs them more permanently.

Tolkien Boy: Oh, I see.
I said that badly.
His love is meant to be portrayed as a more pragmatic than romantic love.

Theric: Well, of course. I just don't really get a sense that he loves them --- I get the sense that he owns them --- which brings me back to my title interpretation.

Tolkien Boy: Yes.

Theric: It may have much to do with my own life experience. Who knows. How did you interpret the title, Herr Fob?

Herr Fob: Hm...
I hadn't given it much thought before reading your interpretations.

Theric: I should;ve asked before the copy and paste

Tolkien Boy: lol

Herr Fob: I think the romance-without-lust thing is very important to this all, and a very interesting idea besides, and you'd do well to establish it more clearly in the story.

Theric: (Off topic: I kept changing my mind: Starbucks or kitchen table?)

Herr Fob: I was picturing Starbucks.

Tolkien Boy: Cafe is stated therein

Herr Fob: Yes.

Theric: You see what a close reader I am.
The eavesdroppers must love them.

Theric: Opening sentence, "they"?

Tolkien Boy: They because they're all dogs.

Theric: Rephrase, pelase?

Herr Fob: But who brought it up?

Theric: Ah. Okay.
Yes, to F's Q.

Tolkien Boy: lol

Herr Fob: Could it be "The subject of dogs came up"?

Theric: Okay., Good.

Herr Fob: Yes, please.

Theric: Yeah, with the "they" thing I'm not sure if that's easily managed. It might be more trouble than it's worth.

Tolkien Boy: I suspect most people will just blip past it.

Herr Fob: I did, but now Theric brought it up and I won't rest until I know who brought it up first.

Theric: Maybe could you have them express their love without a physical touch at the end? That might help remove the sex question some.

Tolkien Boy: Yes, but I need them to ahve something to hide from Joe

Theric: Sic, 'em, Herr Fob!

Herr Fob: Now I'm a dog?

Tolkien Boy: that doesn't look like "friend"

Herr Fob: A secret love note?

Tolkien Boy: Yeah

Theric: I know, I agree. But as a straight guy, handholding a girl is woot! step one, right?

Tolkien Boy: Or balloons

Theric: ha!

Herr Fob: A condom?
Oh wait, no sex.

Tolkien Boy: I believe they call them "bases", oh, straight one

Theric: lol

Theric: Well, handholding's probably like a sacrifice bunt, if you must know.

Tolkien Boy: You think everyone I write is a werewolf. Or a vampire.

Herr Fob: That's becasue they are.

Theric: They're not ?

Tolkien Boy: I'll cut back on the teeth and the smile. I'm always writing horrible scary smiles into my stories.
there'll be something else
birdlike tilt to his head, no doubt. Another favorite of mine

Herr Fob: What if they exchange a "romantic but not sexual look"?

Theric: Yeah. He kind of scared me. I thought he was capable of violence.

Tolkien Boy: Who isn't?

Herr Fob: Perhaps with a footnote to clarify.

Tolkien Boy has left

Theric: "Sort of platonic in a superintimate kind of way."

Herr Fob: The jerk.,

Theric: Yeah, jeez, I just got off a good line, too.

Tolkien Boy has joined

Tolkien Boy: Or a photo of them not having sex.

Theric: lol

Herr Fob: lol

Tolkien Boy: Are we all still here?

Theric: I am.

Herr Fob: Yes.

Theric: Any other Qs?

Tolkien Boy: Good.

Herr Fob: Amen.

Tolkien Boy: Yes.

Theric: rip

Herr Fob: Yes?

Tolkien Boy: But

Theric: I refuse to believe it's bad.

Tolkien Boy: I suspect it's actually pretty good.

Theric: But I'm sympathetic.

Tolkien Boy: I'm just sick to death of it.

Herr Fob: That's understandable.

Tolkien Boy: Well, my coup de grace is her talk with God.

Theric: We're wrangling over type issues, etc.

Tolkien Boy: Our fruit, honey.

Theric: Yes.

Tolkien Boy: It's half yours.

Theric: It's a good one.

Tolkien Boy: I'm a fan of that one.

Theric: Not to leave you out, Herr Fob, or anything, but, well, we're awesome.

Herr Fob: You are.

Tolkien Boy: It's important to me.

Theric: Me too, I hope.

Tolkien Boy: No, that's safely contained.

Theric: adios

Herr Fob: Good luck.

Theric: Run along, sick cowboy.

Tolkien Boy has left

Herr Fob: Good night.

Theric: I'm going to go bruch my teeth.
Er, brush.

Herr Fob has left

Theric has left

CALL TO POETRY

2008-12-03T08:57:00.000-08:00

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I'm serious, people, in case you weren't sure. I want to see your work published in the Mormon literary mags. Trust me when I say they are anxious (desperate) for your submissions. If you want me to do it, I will, in thy name, etc. Just let me.

For the ladies:

2008-11-24T13:17:00.001-08:00

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The world needs you.

Save Segullah, ladies!

Feeling guiltyish

2008-11-21T09:36:00.000-08:00

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I am a writer of Thimprovs & Abstructs. To the layman: I make crap up without forethought.

Then, occasionally, people think I've made logic puzzle or a political commentary and they're enjoying themselves so much I hate to disabuse them of their notion and, who knows, maybe deep down inside it was intentional.

What's the ethical thing to do in this situation, Fobs?

Behold! The Trinity!

2008-10-31T21:02:00.000-07:00

The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman.
Cosmic Boy, Lightning Lad, and Saturn Girl.
Moe, Larry, and Curly.
Star Wars*, Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi.
Red, Yellow, and Blue**.
Germany, Italy, and Japan.
Tom, Steve, and Ted.
Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades.
Earth, Wind, and Fire.
Celestial, Terrestrial, and Telestial.
Monson, Eyring, and Uchtdorf.
United States, Canada, and Mexico.
Simon, Randy, and Paula.
Mr. Fob, Theric, and Queen Zippergut***.

Possible comments include:

Other trinities you can think of.
Peircean analysis.
Compliments on our good looks.

*Yes, I know Episode 4 has its own title, but that wasn't until later.
**Yes, I know that's not the order Peirce puts them in, but it's the order the song puts them in.
***But not necessarily in that order, so as to preserve their secret identities.

Marilyn Brown (update)

2008-09-27T19:35:00.000-07:00

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84. Between printing, binding and shipping, this entryfeeless contest cost me about forty bucks. Plus, they've never picked a comedy before.

What, no one likes sex anymore?

2008-09-17T20:48:00.001-07:00

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I can't figure out why my eros posts attracted so few comments. It's mystifying.

The Marilyn Brown Novel Award

2008-09-17T20:48:00.000-07:00

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I've decided to submit this year (why not?). You all should too.

(link)

Change of plans

2008-09-01T12:27:00.000-07:00

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So my dear friend and expert came over today to help me with my LaTeX problems and he was astounded at their number and magnitude and, although it pained him greatly to say it, he recommended I use Word to typeset the Fob Bible. The certain disadvantages brought by Word will remain, but I think we can overcome or minimize them.

What this means for everyone else, mostly, is that the proofreading job will change. Instead of checking for wonky punctuation, wonky pagination (for instance).

Fun fun fun!

Charlotte and Eugene England Personal Essay Contest Winners Announced

2008-08-28T20:29:00.000-07:00

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Third Place: ($100) "Confessions of a Secular Mormon," by Ryan McIlvain of Florham Park, NJ.

"This essay was a pleasure to read for its voice and its intellectual prowess. I admire it too, because there's an element of sure-footed humor at work here that wins over the audience. But most of all, I was compelled by the close and sharp observations that resonated on both the personal and social levels. If you can imagine a conflation of Will Bagley and David Foster Wallace, you might get a sense of the richness, insight, and intellectual play at work in this piece."
(I look forward to the day when I run across something like this about someone who actually reads this blog.)

On editing

2008-07-25T09:07:00.000-07:00

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I get why editors are paid for this. Editing The Fob Bible is a complicated and involved process. Add to that that I am also the de facto designer and I got decisions up the wazoo. What verse, what image, what order, what, what, what.

Big shoutout to all you editors out there. You're great.

Do you hear the angels singing?

2008-07-23T11:43:00.000-07:00

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Wikisalvation!

Holy crap, you guys have no idea how hard this is

2008-07-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

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It has taken me days (days!) just to get the typesetting program (and ancillary programs) installed and running.

Assuming it's running.

I'm going to take it out for a test drive tomorrow.

Pray for me.

Th'editor-in-chief's to-do list.

2008-07-14T15:37:00.000-07:00

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Text

Illustrations

Design

Typesetting

the entire book

Cover

Publication

&c.

Keep It Bible by Ryan McIlvain

2008-06-20T20:32:00.000-07:00

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(link)

Disgusting

2008-06-10T15:30:00.001-07:00

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Holy crap, you lazy bastards. According to the blog reader to the right, I written eight of our last ten collective posts:

Let's hear your pasty excuses.

Orthodox

2008-04-27T16:46:00.000-07:00

We speak, mincingly, of Names as if we could be bullied into them, as if labels were coercive. We are now on this subject, showing ourselves to be pleasant petulants, mild mendicants, such benign bums. If God could spare a Name for a cup of coffee we would not blush to ask him for it, we are bloodless in our need.

So, we speak of Petra, as if to say here is a subject more pleasant. Beware her: she is everything scrubbed and energetic, as though the maid had left her starched and ready at the foot of our beds, ready for a day at the beach. Her strength is that she does not equivocate, does not shrink from the crystallization of the Naming tongue. Inherency is her gift, and in the beginning, her Logos:

1. Flint. Crackling like sugar pastry, aspark with interest. Cro-Magnon man may have conceived of her such, may have seen in her his own nature, sharpened, the inchoate passion of his genius lasered—the first wobbly wheel, the first ablative absolute. She is, indeed most definite in the ablative: vivo petra, pacem petiverunt.

2. Granite. Iron and gold in rough stone, cemented in cheerful certainty. Do not be deceived, however, that there is no join, no seam. She is made forever flexible by doubt, can stand among the warping winds. Consider, then, the sillies of the field, and know that she toils, grinding step upon step. She is—as all things are—astride eons, but she—unlike all things—plays the Stockholm Syndrome on seconds.

3. Marble, and schist. Everything fine, everything robust, until the world splits at its corners to make room to include her; pebbles and pillars, parkbenches and priories! Queen and Quasimodo, as we all are, as we all are.

Upon these rocks will we build our kingdom. —

(how dangerous that man was! It is no wonder that the Pharisees looked askance: vulpine, ferrety, erminine. No one ever dropped a pun prudishly) —

Queen Zippergut. Judith, draped in golden silks. Upon closer examination we see it is her own blood, not Holofernes’, that enriches the weave. This, the secret of her rule: sympathy. How rare the tenor of this tone, the viol and the harp!—lost but for a few in this country of chatterers. How rare, too, to sway the hearts about you by stringing out your own intestines, a clever sewing of heart to heart to stomach to sex with this living, blood-rich thread. Generations will, with no reluctance of knee, arise and call her blessed.

Ginsberg. Adrift in a sea that stings and swoons and stirs him, he is always more than he seems to be, a cool crag above the slurry. He skims the sour surface, in hunt for the canny Titanic. He will bring her down one day, swamp her with his spirits, and we will watch and say, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” He is our David, our Absalom. We sing in rough iambs that we would God to have died for him, sing we wished to have made complaint to comfort his shaking upon the shifting Jacobean ladder.

Edgy Killer Bunny. Long and leanspeaking, his observation exact, acerbic. The gift of his hands to take the low mean truth of the world and turn it again cuddly and kind, fit for a child’s bed, and a brothel’s. Who does he slay but those soldiers who walk the line between those who are not for us are against us and those who are not against us are for us? The coney, we remind ourselves, is kosher.

Our Lady Jane. Would she have taken the brocades we threw at her as rebuke? Never. Had she seen we crafted for her a silk noose with our critiques? She had. Did she wear these richly-woven tapestries when we bid her to? She did not. She is a simple girl in a white shift, poised eternally with one foot over an open dress. So attired, she could feel each princess-pea lobbed at her, could keep her wary eyes awake. All the better, my dear, to see you with—and eat you with, too.

Weed. To be as noble as a million stalks, to be ever on the edge between Van Gogh's aureate hills and the stickly sweet rank of the unchristened “cool”! Do we dare write the mystery of his life, its utter triumph, its utter misery? Who, we ask you, could bear the register? How the outside world howls to place him, to root him up from his cool green garden with its granite walls! His lesson: Master the Name and the world cannot touch you, cannot break you from the hearth you hallow out of insistence. This, the two-line poem of him—Behold, he is brave. Stand, and bear witness.

Sir Jupiter. If it were enough to be the universe’s greatest sphere, he has not recognized it. The active word of this century, then—privatize. He has a mastery of sale-floor salvation in its genuine article, gracious and granting. To add this nobility to nascence is to be born in Bethlehem, to be shifting and colorful with one red eye. What immortal storm can frame that awful seeing, Blake frets in a dim corner, what dares shrink from the searchlight’s gaze? He is enough, enough, and more than enough to cause our spines to straighten, to still our unrighteous spleen.

It is, perhaps, time to admit that none of us fully new what Men think, what Men want. But we are willing to try, to find, to seek. We can chop liver (an ugly swan, his vital organs strewn upon the board, searching for Caesar’s ides), we can mask cures, we can prate over co-meants. Just this one thing we cannot do, we cannot stay silent, cleaving our lips together.

For—if we were to try, heaven help us—the very stones would cry out.

Orthoprax

2008-04-22T12:04:00.000-07:00

It is difficult to write about the Fob, current or incurrent, partly because the passing of time has shattered some of the sense of solidarity that this website provided (this is, perhaps, simply my perception in being away from the medium for so many months), and partly because I am completely at a loss to define, in tones of symbological cuteness, the new members of Fob. Microsoft Word, which is rapidly supplanting King James as the ruler by which rhetorical brilliance is measured, suggests that “symbological” should be “hymnological”—there is, of course, an argument there, but I suggest that Word content itself with the mash that exists on the Ugly Swan blog and be content. Hymns there aplenty, and see where it gets us.

Where was I?

Ah, yes. Nattering. I want to say that our two new members need their own monikers, but at the moment the process of assignation seems overwhelmingly exhausting. I say this because I suspect that the most easy way to define them is in relation to me—I make this descent into solipsism because (let’s face it) I’m pretty Big Cheese in Ottoro, and anyway I was the point of articulation for their entrance into Fob. (“Point of articulation,” said my theory professor last year, over and over again, shearing the words uncleanly with her concave teeth. You may note that there is a lot of articulation in the word articulation, and a sound of pointing in point. This is theoryspeak; what I’m saying is that I invited my friends to a writing group and that a phrase sounds like what it is. Brilliant in its simplicity, and the man behind the curtain—Foucault, perhaps—takes a bow. Pay no attention to him.) Still, make no mistake—if we insist on a history slapped on a nametag for this new-timed twoesome, as long as we’re willing to allow for an initial lassitude, write one I can.

Canapés. Cannabis. Canopies. Cantaloupes. Can-cans. Cans of soup. Can-do attitudes. Cancers.

Naming is virulent, metastastic. No one—I am being frank, severe, playful—will read this save Mr/Master Fob (and every point of articulation in his progress from this space to that), The Th. That is (is That The Th.? That is The Th.), and me. I am, tonight, simultaneously brilliant and aching—the ligaments in my shoulder crack when I write this, like camera flares, like cereal; calisthenics or percussion. Percussion, doubtlessly—“through the cussing”.

Damn.

Melyngoch is Cerulean, flames on the range (bluer for having heard—against all representations!—a discouraging word; bless her).

Jeph is only what he is not. Write him, then, as not. Lower-case his name; make him mere (not)ation.

Ryan is a stair-railing with no stair, well-sanded pine. It’s the grain that you care about in a bit of wood, the grain and the cut. Almost, he convinces me to be a Christian (but without these chains, these chains).

editorgirl (write small letters large) is always to me a square of fine pink silk, rippled like a patch of healing skin.

***

Ahem. What more could we have done for our vineyard?

1. Play. When it was late in the evening, we should have bartered for five more minutes, for three, for one. We had a shocking disregard for the Rules of Existential Economics; we pinched our pennies. For what? Poetics? No one has yet, says the insomniac sage, written an opus on an early bedtime.

2. Fought. History slots its Greats with fighters; Ivan was Terrible on the field, not the meadow. There is a law written that we may bless the soldier’s sword more than the surgeon’s saw, and the pike more than the plow. Gather ye rose-bloods while you may, and make foray while the sun shines.

3. Struck, and struck often, when the irony was hot.

This business of naming those who will never know they’ve been named. It seems precious somehow, a bit disingenuous. Melnygoch Named me. There is that. Master/ister FOB Named himself, gathered into his name this circle, these other names. Thmazing Theric Named, Named, and Named again—he is also not, but the not is in what you think, his (given) Christian name insufficient for the task, needing fricative to frame it.

He will read this and say I am obscure. And so I am. An oblong, misshapen cure of the cancer of Names.

Tolkien. Boy. Youth of Fantasy. Delusional ingénue.

procussive, adj. Toward the cussing.

Damn.

An important announcement....:

2008-03-24T20:37:00.000-07:00

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A Quorum of Fobs met today at the Thteed household.

Roll Call:

Expected but unfortunately not in attendance was Jane Dough, the third charter member of Fob East Bay.

Before the normal sort of "expected" fobbery and during the bagels, Fob Bible Project Chair and Head Editor Theric officially proposed his schedule for completing the much ballyhooed Fob Bible. As seen above.

The quorum accepted the proposal and it has since been made so.

To explicate:

Again: we want everyone to participate. It is not too late.

Thanonymity

2007-12-17T11:46:00.000-08:00

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It's a time of shifting identities. Some, like Ben, are moving to greater transparency. Some, like Hollywood, are moving to opacity. Me, I'm remaining in a state of stationary visibility.

It wouldn't take an at-all clever person to crack the secret of Thmazing's real-life identity. Can you use Google? Can you read? Can you click? You can figure out who I am. It's not that hard.

I miss my old opacity sometimes, and other times I envy the blatant this-is-me-ness of people who plant their names right up top. I see advantages and disadvantages to both. Behold!

Opacity

everything

Transparency

does

The way I balance this is to have my website be super-transparent, and have it connect to all my blogs. What that does is make thmazing.com my official organ and Thmusings the place where my friends come to visit. By virtue of arriving somewhere without my name obviously attached, you join the in-club, you're hip, you're thawesome.

I've seen the Foblog stats, so I don't know if anyone will ever actually see this post, but I solicit your thoughts on this issue.

Fob East Bay, First Meeting

2007-11-14T21:15:00.000-08:00

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Fob East Bay met for the first time today; charter members Theric and Jane Dough were in attendance with their respective spouses Lady Steed and Data, both of whom proved able critics (Data, for instance, even having that thericonian habit of not being able to spit out just what the heck he's trying to say before first saying what he's not trying to say a good seventy-five times). Mascot Petra was not in attendance, as she was engaged in worship of the Most High God.

This was appropriate as the evening's first selection was one of Theric's contributions to the pending Fob Bible. He received several helpful notes and hopes to post a new version of the tale to Fobfiles sometime tomorrow, Friday at the latest.

Jane Dough brought the opening pages to her new novel for fifteen-year-olds (and their neighbors in age). The amount of insanity and brain trauma present was on par for a fobbian YA novel, so all may rejoice.

Also, for a goodly portion of her reading and the subsequent critique, the Big O was tossing walruses over heads and into laps. Typical.

The next scheduled meeting of Fob East Bay is two weeks from now, less two hours and fifteen minutes.

note: this was not recorded live.

FEB UPDATE

2007-10-26T11:19:00.000-07:00

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The first meeting of Fob East Bay has been postponed till next week.

A Call For Submissions

2007-10-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

When speaking of FOBmatters, we must admit to ourselves that this last summer has been something of a silent one. There have been, we admit, some spatterings of creative output, but they have been slight in the extreme. I think only editorgirl has written something in entirety, but I suspect that the FOBmajority have not seen her brilliance as I have.

I propose that we are not stagnant beings. I believe there has been work out there. Therefore, I make a call that we, as the UFF (United FOB Front) share with each other the things we have been working on this summer. I have been so linguistically lazy that I need another few days to finish up my contribution, but--think about it. The lines of communication have been dead, but they may be revived again.

ALL BOWER TO THE FOBS!

It's been 23 days and I'm posting because I can.

2007-09-28T22:52:00.000-07:00

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That power has been given unto me and I intend to use it. Nothing can stop me. I am typing and no one is crashing through my window on ropes with machine guns to stop me.

I am Theric.

I am posting on the Foblog.

And your opportunity to stop me has passed.

Aiiiiee!!!

2007-09-05T20:01:00.000-07:00

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If Recent Fobbings is gone, how will I know what to do with my time?

A Dilemma

2007-08-06T00:03:00.000-07:00

Gee I hope I spelled that correctly, considering the number of incredibly literate and English-Major-y people who read this. I capitalized that on purpose, by the way.

I don't think I've ever written for this blog, but I figure it's as good a time as any, especially since I'm barely getting anything written on my own.

But that's the point. I'm not writing stuff in my blog, and I've been trying to figure out why. After much self-analysis, I think I've found the reason.

Blogging Self-Consciousness.

Have you ever suffered these symptoms? Mind twitching and fingers itching to express, expostulate, examine, expose--but newly-awakened (and highly unrecognizable) part of the brain screaming "TOO PERSONAL!", leading to (I was going to use the word inevitable here, but after reading a certain blog, decided not to) complete blog-writing shutdown.

Truth is, there's someone who reads my blog that I don't want to have access to my inner, personal thoughts anymore. (Obviously this doesn't apply to the FOBsters.) What's laughable is that I'm not worried about faceless strangers (if there are any) reading some of my deepest angst and most personal emotives. I'm concerned about one, known to me, with whom I no longer desire to share the more private things I'm thinking. It's the need for personal disclosure but the desire for selective personal disclosure. Of course, I may have inadvertantly solved my own problem as that person may read this entry by following the breadcrumb trail of connected blogs. But what's to stop the wrong person from thinking I'm talking about them? These thoughts makes my stomach twist and writhe.

I miss blogging. I miss writing clever entries about the things happening in my life and reading the clever reactions from my clever friends, but I am very concious of not wanting to give away parts of myself to some who store them up as evidence of friendship intimacy that no longer exists.

Do I open a new blog? Make mine invitation only? Do I write bland things for the old one? Forget about the person or persons heretofore referred to and sally forth? Do I sell or give away all that I have, move to a new country, acquire a new name and start all over? Oh, wait. Already done that.

I find it a bizarre and likely, unsolvable dilemma. What would you do?

Help me, Obi-FOBkanobi! You're my only hope.

I Miss My Friend

2007-08-05T21:47:00.000-07:00

Oy vay! Oy vay! She’s gone away,
we’re really in a rut!
It’s been too long since we could say
“Hello, Queen Zippergut!”

Yes, Londonish lyres and Shropshirish shires
are housing her red, stylish cut.
While Fob-friends are fearing their love-light expires
without Queen Zippergut!

She penned female fears in their innocent years,
and never resorted to smut,
which puts her ahead of—well, all of her peers,
that novelist, Queen Zippergut!

She brought chocolate cakes for her Fobbish friends’ sakes,
and garnished it with cashew nut.
And she always forgave all their writing mistakes--
a saint she is, Queen Zippergut!

Yes—oy vay! Oy vay! She’s gone away,
and I will tell you what:
Come back! –and then you'll hear us say,
“We love Queen Zippergut!”

Giving the love to editorgirl

2007-07-26T22:09:00.000-07:00

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So I was thinking that since the rest of us fall short of our Fobby Master in garnering compliments, we ought to buoy each other up. And since editorgirl just called me perfect, I think she deserves to be first.

I should take this opportunity to give her some meaningful compliment about what a clever poet she is and how brilliant her thesis presumably is, but instead I'm going to voice a complaint and call it a compliment:

Have you noticed the image she has connected to her Gmail identity? Man, every time my mouse happens to roll over her name and it pops up I go HOLY SCHMOKES!!! WHO WAS THAT??? Because she looks awesome in that photo.

Lady Steed wants to chop all her hair off.

She should get an editordo, sez me.

Yes, huh.

Can You Name All the Fobs?

2007-07-22T12:11:00.001-07:00

Today's Guest Fobber: Li-Young Lee (filling in for editorigirl)

2007-07-09T09:58:00.000-07:00

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Sad is the man who is asked for a story
and can't come up with one.

His five-year-old son waits in his lap.
Not the same story, Baba. A new one.
The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear.

In a room full of books in a world
of stories, he can recall
not one, and soon, he thinks, the boy
will give up on his father.

Already the man lives far ahead, he sees
the day this boy will go. Don't go!
Hear the alligator story! The angel story once more!
You love the spider story. You laugh at the spider.
Let me tell it!

But the boy is packing his shirts,
he is looking for his keys. Are you a god,
the man screams, that I sit mute before you?
Am I a god that I should never disappoint?

But the boy is here. Please, Baba, a story?
It is an emotional rather than logical equation,
an earthly rather than heavenly one,
which posits that a boy's supplications
and a father's love add up to silence.

It's a terrible, terrible thing that I suddenly need to post, just moments after Tolkers has regaled us and, no doubt, before most of you were regaled

2007-06-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

.

Will your comments make Theric rich? Let's find out!

Nietzsche, On Us

2007-06-26T12:22:00.000-07:00

How strange, that in Las Vegas land
we once combined with murderous will
to lift, like Brute, a knifish hand
against our Master Fob, to kill.

Then see us later--stern, concise:
when Jeph annoyed us by his breath,
we contemplated acts of vice,
together planned his merry death.

By ones, by ones, the tally comes,
each week another Fob-friend gone,
Oh, how the wailing skylark thrums
to see their corpses on the lawn!

How strange that we, of Fobbish band,
should be the authors of our dread!
From pole to pole, across the land,
is howled this message: "FOB IS DEAD!"

¡Synergy! II: Because If Theric Can Recycle Posts Then So Can I

2007-06-11T16:52:00.000-07:00

Seven reasons I'm voting for avocado:

It's so versatile. It can go on crackers, in a salad, in guacamole, and the list goes on and on. (And even if it doesn't, who needs more than those three?)
It counts as one of the 3-5 fruits you should eat every day, and, on account of its greenness, doubles as a vegetable.
All green things are good for you.
Avocado is very similar to abogado, which means "lawyer" in Spanish. Um. Hm. Well. Okay, maybe that's not a good thing. But it's still quite tasty!
It has good cholesterol. I mean really, you have to be pretty darn virtuous to take something as bad as cholesterol and make it into a good thing.
No wars have ever been fought over avocado.
No wars have ever been fought with avocado.

Forget Hillary, Barack, and the Mormon guy--vote avocado in 2008.

¡Synergy!

2007-06-11T15:26:00.000-07:00

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Check it out! I'm synergizing!

About TB and Th.'s Joint Blog

2007-05-29T23:20:00.001-07:00

Really, guys, what would you call it? Well, what's the most important thing you two have in common? Me, of course. You would want the title to proclaim to the world that you are Friends of Ben, and this is your blog. What better title, then, than The Foblog?

Honestly, if anyone should be bothered that no one besides you two posts here, it should be me. Posting on the Foblog, after all, is your way of declaring your friendship and love for me; am I to conclude that I have only two friends? If so, then at least they are two of the finest friends a guy could ask for. Post on, brothers.

Things Theric and Tolkien Boy Said To Me In October of 2002 and March of 2005, Respectively (Because They Whine)

2007-05-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

Theric

.

Observe:

Persons A, B, C and D.  Person A is married to person B; person C is married to person D.  Person B does not figure in to this.  Person A knows both persons C and D (so does person B, incidentally), and is in regular contact with Person C.  However, although he knows both person D and person D's name, the spelling is something of a mystery.  Knowing that apostacy [sic] has occurred over similar confusion in the past, he avoids mentioning this lack of knowledge.  However, in the course of regular exchange of information in conversational settings, person A acquires the needed knowledge without asking through the virtue of patience and clever misdirection.  Genius!




Message Proper:

Saturday at six it is, then.  And you're right--I hadn't thought of it as a factor, but of course your having been here previously will ease your finding it this time.  Of course!  As for bringing stuff, I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but we, at least, will be wearing clothes.  Besides that, you're absolutely off the hook.  If you ahve [sic] some brilliant diversion you've been dying to share with someone, however, please--bring it along.


Tolkien Boy

MAN BEATS PILLOW, FACES JAIL

Provo, UT. A local Provo man has found himself embroiled in what is certain to be a ground-breaking legal proceeding. The case, Pillow vs. Boy, the first in which an inanimate object is the plaintiff, will be heard before the Utah Supreme later this month.

Pillow is suing Boy under charges of abuse and maltreatment. The incident involved in the case arose from a domestic dispute that Tolkien Boy of Ogden, Utah, had with his pillow while living in BYU-approved housing. According to Boy's roommate, Mr. Roommate, on the night in question Boy repeatedly beat his pillow while screaming .

"There were feathers everywhere," quipped Roommate. "I didn't think anyone still had pillows with feathers in them. Dude."

Pillow was admitted to the local hospital and is expected to recover. A spokesman for the family said that they were "shocked, but forgiving."

"Tolkers and his pillow have a long relationship," said the spokesman. "No one wants them to break up over a little thing like this."

Boy himself was unavailable for comment. A press statement issued by his lawyers indicate that an insanity plea will play an important role in their defense to the judge. Meanwhile, pillows across the state have risen up in support of their beleagured sister.

"It's a terrible sadness," said a pillow owned by Master Fob of Orem. "It could have been any one of us. I'm so glad I'm in a stable relationship."

Things Tolkien Boy said to me in May 2006 (the pervert.....)

2007-05-25T18:56:00.000-07:00

.

. . . let me wriggle my way over there . . . mine requires a bend and a reach . . . I'll be in my own room for a little while at least . . . or naked . . . at least we don't have to make professions of love . . . she's lovely, eh? . . . did you ever hear [name removed for privacy] talk about the twinkie of her carnal treasure ? . . . I just seem nice . . . enjoy your night . . . .

In The Vain Hope That People Still Read The Foblog

2007-05-22T16:31:00.000-07:00

Thing said to me in the month of May, 2006:

Theric

Feck it up!

.........twinkie smasher...........

Couldn’t be fecker, if you know what I mean.

That book, however, deserved to be rejected. The rejection of yours is stunning. They obviously do not want us to take them into the new world of publishing success....

Melyngoch

My biographers will no doubt want pin down the precise historic/al moment when for the first and last time, a boy's parent liked me.

Okay, where is your bedroom?

Yo. See you then. (I'll be the one with the big nose.)

From now on, when you think of pesticides, think of Melyngoch.

If you're down with that, I'll let you know when I see you at Poetasters what I'm down with or what is down with me or what downed my mom last night in the back of Peter's car.

Happily Married Straight Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick

I can sympathize, nay, empathize, with that sense of not-knowing.

Mr. Fob

The finger-crossing has commenced.

And Tolkien Boy, who loves me, will sadly not be joining us because he's in Ogden taking advantage of his parents' poor, defenseless insurance provider.

So, how do we guilt Edgy into writing the next chapter? I have all sorts of fun ideas...

Petra

Shall I bring you some yarn as a present? Would you act like a kitten if I brought yarn?

Tolkien Boy, honey, you can tell when someone's masturbating

You're still going to die of skin cancer at age 40.

editorgirl

And now that I have my nightly dose of blasphemy, I'm off to bed. (Okay, really off to grade, but same thing.)

I have to work for a few minutes, but in the meantime, can you zip me a pic of you? Or else I'll have to use the Easter blue-lip pic.

The Marchioness

When we meet again are we going to meet at Master Fob's feet? It just seemed a little uncomfortable to me.

Thank you for teaching me the past tense of swearwords. This knowledge I know will prove invaluable in the future.

I'm just trouncy, not sexy!

Edgy

I'm partial to letting him cry. Besides, it upsets his mom when I do that, and we all know I derive pleasure out of making others upset.

Kinda short. Kinda round. Kinda bald.

Weed

Sounds good to me, chaps.

The Law and the Prophets

2007-05-08T10:22:00.000-07:00

Now, a cat, she may look at a kingdom,
a bird in the bush is worth two,
the prophet is jangling his keychain
and making up morals for you.

For all that is gold is not bitter,
and violets so rarely are blue,
the queens and the muses will prattle
to stitch up his stories for you.

For a purse is an ear in a sow's eye,
under skies where her late children flew,
in this world the elves only wear orange,
and he metes out his morals to you.

To yourself do, as you do to others,
free your soul from the tyrant of "true,"
aristocracy bounded by rhombus
is the gift of his verses to you.

The penny that's spared is still burning,
the frying pan damns up the flue.
The cipher, the psalmist, the husband,
are the cast of his fable to you.

For the rabbits are chaste—in their households,
walls of glass need a rock to pass through,
and Jove and the weeds on the hillock
is the scope of his story to you.

Oh, a cat still may look on a kingdom,
and the song of the caged bird is grim.
And someday, if ever he falters,
you'll sing back your stories to him.

Who is the monkey?

2007-05-03T11:30:00.000-07:00

.

According to James Meffleton over at Cambridge, in any group of five or more, the individuals can be split into animal types:

I've had little difficulty assigning parts to most of us, but no matter how hard I try, I can't fit anyone into the role of monkey. Is it possible we lack a monkey?

Discuss.

If nobody else will, I will.

2007-04-26T09:35:00.000-07:00

.

Ooga booga.

Here, at the End of All Things

2007-04-15T21:31:00.000-07:00

Things said to me by the FOB during last April; they were good times, eh?

Edgy Killer Bunny:

All hail the Brady Bunch!

editorgirl:

This isn't about a boy. . . although that is a book and movie that you should all know and love and if you don't, I'll lend you my next counseling session for you to figure out why not.

Happily Married Straight Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick:

Please do say mean things about me. I know I deserve it.

Marchioness:

I'm curious what the wrath of Master Fob would be like. Chainsaws? Thumbscrews? It sounds bouncy, trouncy, fun, fun, fun to see what would happen.

Master Fob

I had no problem with "she wants to be in love with him." Maybe through some complicated accident she suspects he has something of hers? Maybe she thinks he's a serial killer? Maybe he plays in a band and she digs his music?

As usual, significant and/or meaningless others are welcome.

Melyngoch:

Just use the phrase "always already" and the word "topos" a lot and you'll be fine.

I loved your mom last night AT THE WASH HUT IN THE BACK SEAT OF PETER'S CAR!

Petra:

"I can't believe they're letting such a disorganized person graduate!"

"I should always specify my aversion to touch. I really dislike non-sexual touch."

Weed:

"High Inquisitor is out in full force."

"It's late for pregnant people."

Queen Zippergut:

Hormones, chemical reaction, strange voodoo, fantasies about making out with them, because other girls like the boy and they want to be the chosen one--these are but a paltry smattering of some "reasons" girls do the things they do.

Th.:

I think the word "prick" must've flown through his mind like milk and honey.

I have to tell you, those ads for the new sandwich at Quizno's are keeping me up at night.

No more Nipples

2007-04-12T12:40:00.000-07:00

.

It is everlastingly too late.

Thanks to Master Fob, Tolkien Boy, Sir Jupiter, Edgy Killer Bunny and Nancy Pelosi.

Scenes from FOBoston

2007-04-09T09:47:00.000-07:00

"If there's no orgasms in your paper, well..."

"I think Boston may be the only place on the planet where you can arrive at blue through orange."

"Does anyone know where the Green Dragon is? It's a bah."

"That's Diet Coke--not Coors Light, nor water. Actually, it's somewhere delightfully in-between."

"Jellyfish are destroying the Earth??"

"Everything is trapped in the now. Waa waa waa."

"It's supposed to be lions. Maybe they're inside."

Pahk the Cah in Havahd Yahd

2007-04-05T12:25:00.000-07:00

A formal congratulations is in order for those FOBs attending the We’re Incredibly Talented and Smart as Hell Academic Forum in Boston, MA. May the majority of attendees opt to visit your presentations instead of others and may none of you get stage fright like Alex P. Keaton did on Family Ties (you know, the one where he was on the TV quiz show and blanked).

*It has come to my attention that I inadvertently posted this five minutes after another post. That was purely a coincidence and not meant to invalidate the earlier post nor its author.

More on nipples

2007-04-05T12:20:00.000-07:00

.

1. Nipples are the new broccoli.

2. Last call. Please post whether you downloaded PENny, yea or nay. I think I'll take it off sometime next week.

3. I have two. How many do you have?

4. The nipple came by midnight and left its cushions upon the floor.

---th-

Did Somebody Say Nipple?!

2007-03-27T21:15:00.000-07:00

Stories That Would Sell Better Were Their Titles to Contain the Word Nipple:

Absalom, Absalom! I Mean, Nipple!
All the King’s Nipples
A Handful of Nipples
An American Nipple
Are You There Nipple? It’s Me, Margaret
The Nipples Karamazov
Nipple-22
Canterbury Nipples
A Clockwork Nipple
The Cunning Nipple
Don Quixote de La Pezón (Spanish)
The French Lieutenant’s Nipple
Gone With the Nipple
The Nipples of Wrath
The Great Nipple
The Nipple is A Lonely Hunter
I, Nipple
The Lion, The Nipple and the Wardrobe
Lord of the Nipple (William Golding)
The Lord of the Nipples (J.R.R. Tolkien)
Naked Nipple
Nipple-Eighty-Four
The Old Wives’ Nipple
One Flew Over the Nipple’s Nest
Nipple’s Complaint
The Nipple of Miss Jean Brodie
Tender is the Nipple
Nipplehouse-Five
The Nipple Who Came in From the Cold
Their Eyes Were Watching Nipples
To Kill a Nipple
Wide Sargasso Nipple

A Nipply Census

2007-03-26T17:40:00.000-07:00

.

So. That experiment? I'm just curious if anyone actually downloaded it. Please comment yes or no. This was just an exercise in curiosity, so don't think I'll get mad. I just want to know how likely people are to participate in something like this.

Theric Lives

2007-03-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

I just thought it might be a good idea to mention this little detail.

The Fobs Return to Utah Valley

2007-03-20T20:44:00.000-07:00

editorgirl: So I came home tonight to find Edgy cleaning off my table, making room for shrimp dip and enough carbs to ruin everyone's diets. I'm not sure what he was doing here, but I'd been meaning to clean off that table, so I let him do his thing. And then Saule showed up with rolls and then Dec and Absent-Minded. Thus began the deluge.

Edgy: I was cleaning off the table because I arrived to an empty house (meaning that even editorgirl wasn't here) at 6:20 when I was under the impression that we were to be arriving at 6:00. I must confess that it's an odd feeling to be the first to show up at a party when one is not hosting said party. Regardless, the party got off to a lovely start with said shrimp dip and said rolls and bags and bags of chips and bottles and bottles of soda provided for by editorgirl. Finally, Master Fob and FoxyJ and S-Boogie and Lil Dude showed up. With the Costco pizzas. Yum.

Master Fob: Yum indeed. I feel that we should have killed someone, as we usually do in these group posts, but I'm not sure who we killed. Perhaps Tolkien Boy will fill us in there. He did just say something about killing the dog...

Tolkien Boy: When I was invited to this little soiree, I automatically assumed it was because I have more estrogen than editorgirl and Absent-Minded combined. Well, maybe not combined. This, however, was not borne out by facts, as I came bearing--well, nothing, except for my own sense of obligation. It's a strong sense of obligation, which is what kept me up late at night, and early morning, and--okay, so I didn't sleep last night, but not for any good reasons, as the gosspists of FOB and others will suggest to you. Ambrosia, who is lovely as a redhead, now will speak.

Ambrosia: When Bawb and I slunk in late, the house was packed. We slipped into the kitchen, ashamed of our tardiness and hoping that the fruit pizzas would buy us some forgiveness. Shrimp dip, looking inviting, was on the table. Pizza, equally tempting, on the counter. And tucked neatly beside the fridge was the body. Looked like someone had had a little too much Diet Coke. The pinstriped shirt had a red splotch. Probably just ketchup. I moved back to the table and started loading my plate.

Dec: These people are so weird.

eleka: Having friends in high places finally served me well, as I was given invite to tonight's exclusive FOB party. After spending the requisite 2.5 hours making myself pretty (that being the only way I could imagine holding my own - or, at least, distracting them from my lack of English major rhetoric - with the highly erudite sort sure to be in attendance therein) I sashayed my way into editorgirl's house and found it full of fine individuals whom I hadn't seen in far too long. The scent of Saule's homebaking rolls was a fragrancial delight and the table of waiting delectable-looking goodies that we were ever-more failing to abstain from eating kept reminding us that Tolkien Boy was still MIA. After a quick discussion as to whether or not Tolkien Boy is yet adept enough at using his rather new cell phone to understand how to receive text messages, Edgy took a change and sent TB a rather vehement "Where the hell are you?" inquiry. It worked - soon thereafter, TB sashayed himself in to the party - bedecked in Banana Republic, fantastic jeans, and a most amazing accessory: the man bag. He looked devastatingly hot. In a more idealistic alternative universe, I would have been his. Or, rather, he would have been mine.

Bawb: The food was delicious. I do not believe in fiction.

[cue reality TV result show music of your choice]

editorgirl: Fobs, America has voted. Who will be survive the Return to Happy Valley? Master Fob, you provided Costco pizza and performed a tap routine from "Fob: The Musical." Bawb liked the pizza, but thought the tap routine lacked technique. Edgy Killer Bunny couldn't stop laughing long enough to say anything. America has voted--Master Fob, for today, you are safe.

Tolkien Boy, you beat everyone in two rounds of anagrams. I thought you were patronizing. And you were. Eleka commented that you were very well dressed. America voted--and we'll find out what they have to say after the break.

A

2007-03-20T20:43:00.000-07:00

Fobséance

2007-03-19T08:27:00.000-07:00

.

Theric: Huh? Did I hear something? From over here in the great beyond where I was so recently and unfairly sent?

Master Fob: If I'm channeling the dead you then shouldn't we be logged in under my name?

Th: Hey.... That's right.... I can't believe you killed me for my Blogger account. Haven't you heard these things are free?

MF: Yes, but wouldn't you kill to be able to post on Thmazing's Thmusings?

Th: I see your point. SO what--did you just dredge me up from Eternal Rest to gloat?

MF: Yes. And I'm done now.

Th: Oh. Well. Um. Enjoy your drive?

MF: Thank you. Hey, did it occur to you that I can make you say whatever I want just by typing my own words after Th:?

Th: Wow, you're a genius! No wonder I've always secretly wished I were you.

MF: Yes, well, most people do.

Th: Help! Help! I'm possessed by a corporeal being!!!!!

MF: I have nothing to say to that.

Th: You wouldn't. I know your kind. Peter was telling me all about your ilk. Nefertiti too. She's nice. She gave me this nice little welcome basket. They have great fruit here.

MF: Well, that's a relief. I was worried there wouldn't be any fruits in heaven.

Th: I don't get it.

[pause]

Th: Hello?

[pause]

Th: Can I go back now?

[pause]

Th: Master Fob?

[pause]

Th: This is ridiculous. I liked things so much better when you were dead!

MF: Well, if that's how you feel then I'll just go now. See you later.

Th: Wait! No! You don't know what it's like here! I have no internet access! I was only kidding, Ben--only kidding! Don't go! Nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Theric is Dead

2007-03-16T12:25:00.000-07:00

Let this be a lesson to all you who threaten to start your own branch of Fob with real writers.

Fobbing Nipples

2007-03-15T20:44:00.000-07:00

.

This post is an experiment. Might work, might not. Don't know. And this story is both a good one and a bad one to test on. Bad because it's kind of long. Good because its name is "Perky Erect Nipples."

I am not proud to have written a story called "Perky Erect Nipples." I'm still not quite sure how it happened. The title and first paragraph just came to me one morning and I thought they were funny so I wrote them down. I figured the story would max out at about 1000 words (maybe 4000) and would be a chuckly little thing to stick in the corner of some collection in about twenty years. But then it just kept growing and growing and growing and growing. Then I mentioned to Tolkers that I was working on it and he wanted to read it so I had to finish it and rewrite it so he could. Then he gave me good advice and so I've been rewriting and rewriting again and now I've spent uncountable hours on something I would not even have said aloud twelve years ago.

"Perky Erect Nipples," indeed!

Anyway, I wrote it and I would like feedback and that's where the experiment comes in. I'm going to link to a temporary copy of the .doc of "PENny" and any reader of the Foblog--Fob or not, Ottarian or not--may download it and then come here to the comments section (or email me using the email address listed on Thmusings) and give me the brutal truth.

(Example: "Writing a story with such a title is evil and I hate you!")

(The more brutal the more better.)

Before we go on, here's the first page, so you can decide whether you even dare take the first steps in participation:

I should clear up right from the get-go—so no one gets the wrong idea coming into this—that Perky Erect Nipples is the name of my cat. My brother was staying with me for a couple weeks when I bought myself a fluffy, gray kitten and he was the one who suggested the name (Penny) that I eventually went with. Then, when he was passing through town six months later, he told me that the Pen in Penny stood for Perky Erect Nipples. He laughed and laughed and laughed and I punched him in the mouth.

My brother and I have kind of an antagonistic relationship and I don’t know why. It didn’t start till we were both adults. In fact, in high school it was him—the younger Lynch—who was considered “the mature one.” But now he’s got this juvenile sense of humor and moves around the country staying with old friends and new girls and generally making a fool of himself. But he is my brother.

Sometimes I catch myself calling Penny Perky so I guess the meaning of the P-E-N has sunk in. It doesn’t matter so much here, in Indiana, but I could never have a cat named Perky or Penny back home in Oregon.

It’s coming up on my fifteenth high school reunion. I probably won’t go, even though I’d like to this time. Because if I did, I might meet this girl I once knew. Penny.

My brother didn’t know Penny, I don’t think, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t thinking of her when he suggested the name—but I was definitely thinking of her when I punched him in the mouth.

Now. Before you start calling for the redemption of Theric, more disclosure:

Isaac is not being entirely correct in claiming that the title could only possibly refer to his cat.

He is, in fact, quite wrong.

So to further guide anyone considering the morality of helping Theric out, behold!

Theric's Concordance/Checksheet of Dirty Words
to Be Found in "Perky Erect Nipples"
for the Warning of Potential Readers
and the Attraction of Casual Googlers

01-----banana
02-----bathroom
05-----bed/bedroom
03-----beer
04-----behind
05-----biology
01-----bitch
04-----bleed/bleeding/blood
01-----boobs
02-----bouncing
01-----box
04-----bra
13-----breast/breasts
13-----butt/butterflies/butterfly/butterscotch/button/butts/unbuttoned
04-----cheap
05-----chest
01-----clumsy
02-----coed/coeds
05-----coffee
03-----crap/crappy
01-----crotch
05-----dammit/damn
03-----desperate
04-----dirt/dirty
17-----drink/drinker/drinking/drunk
06-----erect
01-----fake
01-----fantasies
01-----fetal
01-----fluffy
01-----fob
03-----grabbed
10-----hell/hellos
01-----hostess
07-----hotel/hotels/motel
05-----invitation/inviting/uninviting
05-----kiss/kisses/kissing
01-----latex
03-----lips
11-----long/longer
04-----luscious
12-----nipple/nipples
05-----pants
03-----pathetic
02-----peak
14-----perky
07-----pink
02-----roommate/roommates
04-----scream/screamed/screaming
04-----sex/sexy
15-----shirt/shirts/tshirt/undershirt
01-----shit
01-----sins
04-----skin
01-----slut
03-----soft/softly
01-----squid
02-----stains
01-----stalker
02-----suck/sucks
02-----sugar
01-----toilet
03-----tongue
10-----touch/touched/touching/untouchable/untouched
01-----toys
01-----transparent
01-----virgin
03-----wet
10-----wine/wino
06-----yes

Consider yourself warned.

Love,

Theric

In (Advance) Praise of Sir Jupiter

2007-03-14T22:01:00.000-07:00

If ever Fobly troopiter
the analyists should snoopiter,
they'll claim as super-dupiter
our clever friend Sir Jupiter.

To beaurocratic hoopiter
we know he'll never stoopiter:
no, he is no cyborg bloopiter
no, not our friend Sir Jupiter.

He's kind as Betty Boopiter!
If you should catch the croupiter,
he'd make you chicken soupiter--
that's how he is, Sir Jupiter.

Whenever Fob souls droopiter,
his cheer he does not coopiter,
(nor yet his jokes on poopiter)
our cheery friend Sir Jupiter.

He keeps us in the loopiter,
his caring is no dupiter,
yes, say it with a whoopiter--
we praise our friend Sir Jupiter!

In Praise of Weed

2007-03-08T21:49:00.000-08:00

While in these strange existences, when troubled lives we lead,
despairing of our happiness, a cheerful soul we need—
a friendly, warm, and loving look, an optimistic creed,
we need an anti-pessimist! We need, in short, the Weed!

When all our little fantasies, like Catherine’s, start to bleed,
he offers to us soothing balms, if we his words will heed.
‘Tis wisdom to his kindly wit our attitudes to cede;
‘tis wisdom, too, to hail his name! All praise the clever Weed!

He is our fellow-traveller! And, like a mighty steed,
he bears us from low-lying lands where cares and troubles breed.
And like the ancient sower, in us he plants his seed
of mustard (genus: Dijon). So, thank our friend the Weed!

Without his careful minist’ring, we’d be left in our greed,
like fishes in a barrel or cats by grim dogs treed.
And so we raise a toast to you, of non-fermented mead,
for all you do and all you are. All hail the mighty Weed!

rumors

2007-03-05T20:51:00.000-08:00

Let's imagine that the Lost and Forgotten might possibly be coming back to the Homeland for a brief visit.

Should we fob during that brief period? For old times' sake?

Fob Mar 1

2007-03-01T21:50:00.000-08:00

I'd like to say, first of all, that though this is published under the name "Weed" this is a communal effort.

And I've been told that I need to provide a brief introduction of myself because there is many a Fob who doesn't know me. I teach English and history to seventh graders, and I'm here in Seattle studying to be a therapist. I go into shock at anything having to do with collision with bodies. I have a scar on my chin that I got when I fell in the bathtub as a one-year-old. My left eye is uncorrectably legally blind. And, done.

Hi! My name is Tolkien Boy. I live in a constant state of paranoia about my many obligations. For example, I often am given the obligation to record the minutes of FOB. FOB minutes, while being fun to record, are often so difficult in their scope and emotional content that it gives me ulcer pains when I think of the great responsibility laid upon me.

Speaking of "laid," Master Fob indicates that his next work will be a tour de force which exposes the worlds of superheroEs and religious zealots alike in a stunning work reminiscent of Dan Brown in his least egregious moments. He rose to brilliant heights of narrative excellence, including the unprecedented dialogue snippet: "..." Tolkien Boy was greatly impressed, as well, by his appropriation of a certain soon-to-be-divorced celebrity (Thom Cruz) into his cult, which apparently includes both gerontophilism (the love of old people) and cluckbuckcluckism (the unusual treatment of chickens, viz a viz sacrifice). Weed (aforementioned) proposed a reenactment of said rites: the motion was voted down two to three (Tolkien Boy pulled in his imaginary friends Juan and Cindy to help close the deal).

Hi, I'm Master Fob. You may remember me from such Foblog posts as "Fob June 18th" and "The Twelve Fobs of Christmas." Neither of those told you about Tolkien Boy's latest masterpiece, though, which is a gripping tale of babies left on doorsteps and Mormons with unending supplies of diapers and in which it is okay, after all, to speak of liking Karen Carpenter, but only if it is an innocent child that does so.

Nor do those posts, fabulous as they are, detail the latest installment of Weed's epic fantasy about paper-eaters, Harper Collins, and his cousin Harper Lee. But surely they are, at least the one that is Fob minutes, as obscure to anyone who wasn't actually there as this one is.

And, just so you know, I have a scar on my forehead and a birthmark on my butt that is not as aesthetically pleasing as the one on my thigh. And now I will let Weed tell you all about Sir Jupiter's contribution to Fob tonight.

In closing, Sir Jupiter is dead to us. Until he comes back. And then he'll, perhaps, favor us with a selection. But until that time, we mourn. Deeply. Because of the death. And because Tolkien Boy just talked about getting naked and smearing himself in paste.

P.S. (from Tolkien Boy) What does P.S. mean?
P.S. Bye.

→→→Tools →[use me]

2007-02-28T18:51:00.000-08:00

.

I just found a cool new useful thingamabobber a nd thought I would share. A long with it is a nother I found a while a go. (New rule: no word may start with A except A itself. Deal with it.)

1. Duotrope's Digest

2. Tangent Online

Free Bonus!

Exhaustive list of reputable rags!

Exhaustive list of, er, other rags!

→→→Tools
→[use me]

In Praise of Sir Jupiter

2007-02-27T17:19:00.000-08:00

Boys go to Sir Jupiter
To get more stupider
And all the girls too
Or so I've heard.

In Praise of Thmighty Theric

2007-02-25T20:09:00.000-08:00

Thmighty is Theric; yes, thmighty is he,
thever and thever we'll praise him, you see.
From thheadland to valley, from thmountain to sea,
thenuthiasts gather to sound this decree:
thmighty is Theric. Yes, thmighty is he.

Tharticles he writes have a passion and grace
and thintricate working, like letter-sprung lace.
Though thmisandrists may gather his works to efface,
not one spot of his works can they find to therase.
(And, on top of all this, he has a nice thface.)

The thtories he writes are both clever and pure,
the thort of good writing we know will endure.
His thtylings of thentences have their allure,
and thalso his diction! His thtalents can blur
the fine thline between genius and the thobscure.

So, hail thawesome Theric! His writing so crisp
on many a thubject, on sparities disp,
remind us there’s thnothing, not even a wisp,
in writing that isn’t improved with a thlisp.

Leave Them in Their Packaging!

2007-02-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

Thanks to a recent FOB gathering in which I came across Master Fob's librarian action figure as well as recent episodes of hearkening back to adventures I had during my teenage years with my Mozart, Jesus Christ and Captain Picard action figures (Lord only knows how I turned out to be halfway functional)...I decided that one way I can contribute to the ongoing needs of FOB is to release action figures of its own key players.

Sadly, of course, is that while everyone else attends FOB for the express purpose of honing their written skills to gain prominence in the academic community, I am busy wondering how I can better my rudimentary writing skills AND exploit my current situation for money.

So here it is, a new line of action figures set to be released in spring 2007:

Introducing Master Fob! Watch as he transforms from a mild-mannered father and librarian by day to a superhero who "flashes and slashes" by night! Powers include confusing his opponent with innuendo or demoralizing him/her (but most likely a him, because… c’mon… fighting a chick?) with a barrage of “your mom” jokes. Accessories—including family figures like Foxxy J, S-Boogie and Little Dood as well as Master Fob's Justice Fobcave and Dream House playset—are all sold separately.

The Fobcave playset feels strangely empty without the presence of...Captain Weed! Fighting the forces of darkness regularly, he’s even brave enough to willingly enter a room of pubescent 8th graders on a daily basis! Captain Weed’s main power is dispensing homespun, folksy wisdom while demolishing any evildoer in his path! Each figure is quite limber and even possesses agile plastic fingers to do that weird fold/crease thing that will keep sheets of paper together! Accessories include the not-always-popular and seldom-seen Stapler ($250), sold separately.

Finally, we have Action Tolkien Boy! He comes dressed as Edward Devere, the 17th Earl of Oxford who was well placed in the court of Elizabeth and revered by the crown heads of Europe! Why, it's well-argued that Action Tolkien Boy was the real author of Shakespeare's plays and sonnets! He writes, and he's got a great fencing arm...oh, and he embodies that enigmatic sadness that was prevalent among late renaissance intellectuals and courtesans! He costs only $18 complete!

Order today!

FOB February 15

2007-02-18T23:03:00.001-08:00

Master Fob’s shortened story, a young man in a car,
who wondered if gayness his mission would mar.
Sir Jupiter told of creatures from not-distant star
discussing how humans make food beyond par.
Tolkien Boy wrote of men in a strange wedded bliss
who wondered if fatherhood compared to this.
While Weed, who worried he might be remiss
nevertheless had good cause FOB to miss.

Your Mom's FOB...

2007-02-11T11:48:00.001-08:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Extremely Short Poems, in Which FOB Names Are Coupled With Rhyming Epithets, the Significance of Which Is Both Deep and Obscure

2007-02-08T21:45:00.000-08:00

Master Fob:
a purple daub.

Thmazing Theric:
a pagan cleric.

Jeph:
a treble clef.

Tolkien Boy:
dark green bok choy.

Queen Zippergut:
a quonset hut.

The Marchioness:
Elizabethan dress.

Weed:
a mustard seed.

Melyngoch:
a raven flock.

editorgirl:
an ancient pearl.

Sir Jupiter:
a coat of fur.

Straight Happily Married Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick:
an ice pick.

Edgy Killer Bunny:
a stack of money.

Petra:
the Metra.

FOB February 1

2007-02-04T13:16:00.000-08:00

Today's FOB Post is brought to you by the letters E, N, P, and S, and by the letter 1.

EPISODE ONE: Weed Monster and the letter S.

Weed Monster: Hello, everyone! Today I'd like to introduce my good friend the letter S. (To offstage) C'mon out, don't be shy...(large letter S enters, hissing sibilantly) The letter S has helped me write a story--hey! Story starts with S! (The S bows, still hissing) Some other things that start with S--hey! Some and start also start with S! So does--wait, so does so! Whew! And here I thought it would be difficult to find something that started--hey, I did it again!

(applause)

Weed Monster: So, as you can see--hee hee--S is a very important letter! Let's hear it for the scrumptious, sarcastic, amazing S!

(wild applause)

Weed Monster: (Noticing the S is still hissing) Hey, we're done here. You don't have to keep hissing.

S (over the hissing): Yes, I do--you knocked me off the bookcase and I'm leaking.

Weed Monster (rushing the S offstage): And that's the S! Thank you, thank you!

EPISODE TWO: Sir Jupiter Monster, Master Fob Monster, and the letter N. Master Fob and Sir Jupiter are sitting next to each other, comparing feet.

Master Fob Monster: I'm much bigger than you are.

Sir Jupiter Monster: Size doesn't matter.

Master Fob Monster: Your mom's size doesn't matter.

Sir Jupiter Monster: I sized your mom's matter.

Master Fob Monster: I matted your mom's size.

Sir Jupiter Monster: I seized your mom's mat.

Master Fob Monster: I made accurate measurements of your mother's subatomic constructive structure.

Sir Jupiter Monster: Oh, man--I got nothing. With a big fat capital N.
...
...
...

EPISODE THREE: Master Fob Monster, Weed Monster, and the letter E and the number 1. Master Fob Monster and Weed Monster are doodling on a large piece of butcher paper.

Master Fob Monster (making a scribbled approximation of a chubby forty-year-old man). Old men are sexy.

Weed Monster (drawing a 1): This is the letter 1. It's an important part of the chant, "We're #1!"

Master Fob Monster (drawing an E): I find gerontophilism Exciting.

Weed Monster: No one ever thinks, though, that you can't really say "We're #1" because only one person can be number one at a time.

Master Fob Monster: Also Excruciating.

Weed Monster: Perhaps people who think they're #1 will spend most of their time talking about themselves, you think?

Master Fob Monster: And Enlightening. But only when I think about it. Which I don't, honest.

Weed Monster: My #1 beats your E.

Master Fob Monster: My old man's stronger than your stupid #1.

Weed Monster: Your mom's stronger than my stupid--wait.

Master Fob Monster: Ha.

EPISODE FOUR: Tolkien Boy Monster and the letter P.

Tolkien Boy Monster: Hello, everybody! Today I'd like to tell you about one of my favorite letters, the letter P. The P really helps us out when we want to say the word plagiarism, which means "the unauthorized use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one's own original work." In other words, plagiarism is what happens when someone too stupid to come up with their own ideas steals someone else's, and no matter how brilliant it may have seemed to the author at the time, they're really just copying because they're stupid and can't tell a copyright from a copy machine, and if you know anyone who does it--even if they're a good friend--you should trot them out to be shot because heaven knows we don't need more derivative works squirming around in the world like so much maggots, and--

--

--I'm sorry, where was I? Oh, yes. The letter P. A wonderful letter, really. Trust me.

Synchronized punctuation (dress rehearsal)

2007-01-30T12:30:00.000-08:00

.

......................................
??????????????????????????????????????
??????????????...........?????????????
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!----!!!!!!!!!!!!!
{}{}{{][][][}{][}{}[{}}[{}}[}{[]}[{}[]
#@..................!!!!!!!/!/!/!/!/!/
????!!!!????!!!!????!!!!????!!!!????!!
-------------------------------------)
(------------------------------------

Alas

2007-01-26T18:23:00.001-08:00

.

I have learned nothing.

Foblimericks (now with added FOB)

2007-01-23T23:13:00.000-08:00

Sir Jupiter told of a man vying
a beautiful chick to be lying.
But--not even the sages
in US Weekly pages
could know that the man would be dying!

Tolkien Boy slyly derailed us
with superheroes. How they regaled us!
But unless he corrects
this absence of sex,
oh! How the fellow has failed us!

Master Fob--well, what can we say?
He's always been sort of "that way."
It's not so much the bangles,
but, yes, the hard angles
that help us to know that he's gay.

Weed knows that pure elocution
can often be cause for confusion.
Abstinence, that's the thing,
so he neglected to bring
any writing, to gain absolution.

I would just like to point out

2007-01-21T18:45:00.000-08:00

that Edgy's most recent post is currently at the top of the "Recent Fobbings" sidebar thingee. Apparently this is important to him.

Fob Minutes 1/18/07

2007-01-21T14:09:00.000-08:00

(Just the highlights.)

Weed forgot his fobbery in a Taco Bell in Tukwila. He spent the evening in shame.
Sir Jupiter apologized.
Baby Weed and Baby Fob flirted.
Sir Jupiter apologized.
Mrs. Weed was the only one to laugh at Master Fob's oh-so-clever jokes. Master Fob is considering inviting her to replace her husband in the Fob pantheon.
Sir Jupiter apologized.
Sir Jupiter suggested that Master Fob sprinkle Foxy J throughout. Master Fob ensured everyone that he had already intended to do so.
Sir Jupiter apologized.
Tolkien Boy's story stopped suddenly before the superhero and the superhenchman got to know each other. All were disappointed and look forward to reading the climax next time.
Sir Jupiter ended the night with an apology.

Where have all the Fobs gone?

2007-01-20T23:40:00.000-08:00

I was blog jumping tonight (this morning) and found myself on the old Foblog, reading "minutes" from the great summer of Fobbing. And then I returned to this so-called "new and improved" Foblog, and while I was happy to read the 12 Fobs of Christmas once again, I wondered what had happened to all my fellow Fobs. Allow me to hypothesize.

Master Fob got lost in the stacks.
Theric decided to take his "Thou Shalt Publish" speech on the road. He's playing Mississippi this week.
Jeph is dead. (That one was easy.)
Tolkien Boy quit grad school and is auditioning to be a munchkin in the stage version of Master Fob's Oz novel.
Queen Zippergut is having sex. Again.
The Marchioness found a time machine and sped off to the 1800s in search of her Mr. Darcy.
Weed got beat up on the playground.
Melyngoch hitched a ride with the Marchioness and is now being courted by Beowulf.
editorgirl. . . oh wait. I'm here.
Sir Jupiter is in orbit.
Straight Happily Married Friend of Gay Ex-Boyfriend Chick is petitioning for a better pseudonym.
Edgy Killer Bunny is buried under the stack of books that got tired of waiting on his nightstand.
And faithful Petra, our mascot? She's become the world's most famous mascot and now considers herself too busy for the likes of us.

That was fun. But I miss you. Come back.

The Illustrated Fobs of Christmas

2007-01-06T21:22:00.000-08:00

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me

Twelve Santas kissing,

Eleven teachers teaching,

Ten stalkers stalking,

Nine alpha entries,

Eight Mormons cussing,

Seven shoulders winging,

Six maids unmarried,

FIVE GAY SEX SCENES!

Four times a-fobbed,

Three Moral Peeps,

Two Costco cakes,

And a starling in Tehachapi.

FOB January 4

2007-01-06T08:47:00.000-08:00

FOB Meeting, January 4th 2006

MEETING MINUTES

In Attendance:
Master Fob, President
Tolkien Boy, Vice-President
Weed, Secretary
Sir Jupiter, Master-At-Arms

8:30 pm Arrival of President, Vice-President, and Master-at-Arms to Secretary's home. Embrassos all around. Master-at-Arms effusively praises Secretary's decor--in response, the Secretary runs to the bathroom for some urgent "business."
8:45 pm Reading of Master-at-Arms's work entitled "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," followed by rigorous debate over the meaning of the phrase "consenting adults." The proper insertion but improper use of various female hygiene products was reviewed. Vice-President takes exception to the phrase "he brusquely declared" in relation to an apparent game of patty-cake in the text. Master-at Arms promises to revise his story, claiming he will "flesh out the mother to make the climax more satisfying."
9:30 pm Reading of President's first essay chapter, in which the President describes himself in terms of various superheros. Rumination of what the President would look like in spandex followed, with the Secretary excusing himself to the bathroom for some more urgent "business." President takes takes time to tell Master-at-Arms and Vice-President about real-life story involving his manhood--or, rather, his lack thereof. Master-at-Arms didn't hear much of the story, however, as he was still giggling over one of President's supervillians with the cute epithet "The Exhibitionist" who exposed himself to his victims before he killed them--or, as President put it, "He flashes and then slashes!"
10:15 pm Reading of the Secretary's short chapter, which bore the Vice-President-appointed title "Somewhere South of Us, I Think," which speaks of a mother's desire for her young son to see her native land. Vice-President gaffed concerning the sub-equatorial South American nation mentioned in the text and was subjected to geographically-motivated scorn. The issue of children extending from their parents' paternal trunks was raised, but Master-at-Arms ended the debate with the confession that he has done a lot of pulsating in his day.
11:00 pm Vice-President reads story concerning a middle-aged woman and a half-man, half-goat monstrosity. Much speaking of bestiality follows. The Master-at-Arms makes snide comparison of Vice-President's writing to that of Dan Brown. Frank exchange of ideas between
Vice-President and Master-at-Arms. Master-at-Arms is speedily thrust down to Hell, but not before making snide comments about how Anna Karenina's literary success preempts any other story from utilizing a railroad station as a setting.
12:00 pm Break-up of the Fobs, with many promises for future literary exploits. Vice-President excuses himself to the bathroom for some urgent "business." Business completed, embrassos all round.

NOTES FOR NEXT MEETING:

Define "acrid." Use it in a sentence.
If Robin and Batman have something going on--and no one has ever said they don't--then can you use them as an archetype of the perfect mentor/boy relationship? Wouldn't someone like Plato and Socrates be a better choice? Discuss.
What's the first thing you would notice if you walked in on a rape scene? Would it change if one of the parties was Santa Claus? Show your work.
Get naked and jump into a blackberry bramble. Make notes of where you bleed (if at all) and how much you bleed. Write your answers in cubic liters.

The All-New Foblog!

2007-01-06T08:37:00.000-08:00

(Until the old one gets fixed.)

Twelfth Fob

2007-01-05T12:34:00.000-08:00

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Twelve Santas kissing*,
Eleven teachers teaching,
Ten stalkers stalking,
Nine alpha entries,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
FIVE GAY SEX SCENES!
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

*No, silly, not each other. They were kissing your mom, inducing a heart attack in your father. Don't you read the news?

Eleventh Fob

2007-01-04T12:34:00.000-08:00

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Eleven teachers teaching*,
Ten stalkers stalking,
Nine alpha entries,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
FIVE GAY SEX SCENES!
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

*In a non-pedophiliac sort of way.

Tenth Fob

2007-01-03T12:34:00.000-08:00

On the tenth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Ten stalkers stalking,
Nine alpha entries,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
FIVE GAY SEX SCENES!
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

Ninth Fob

2007-01-02T12:33:00.000-08:00

On the ninth day of Christmas,
My true fob sent to me
Nine alpha entries*,
Eight Mormons cussing,
Seven shoulders winging,
Six maids unmarried,
FIVE GAY SEX SCENES!
Four times a-fobbed,
Three Moral Peeps,
Two Costco cakes,
And a starling in Tehachapi.

*This is giving the Ninth Fob the benefit of the doubt, assuming a ninth one is coming shortly.