Thomas Galvin
Purveyor of Fine Pulp Fiction

Triquetra
keep at it until you get lucky. -Joe Konrath

This Week on the Web brings us tales of a modern Samurai badass, a Wonder Woman mockup, Hunger Games news, Lightsaber Badminton, pole dancing for Jesus, and more!

Continue reading »

This was done by a church, as as a former pew-sitter, I can’t even begin to tell you how hilariously accurate it is.

Permalink via North Point Media and Vimeo.

My neighbors got a dog.

Now, I’m a cat guy. Cat’s are sneaky and quiet and just a little bit evil, and every once in a while you catch them looking at you like they’re weighing the fact that you bring them food with the fact that they hate you and want to eat your soul, and they’re not sure whether or not they should smother you in your sleep. So they’re a lot like me, is what I’m saying. Anyway, I’m a cat guy, but I don’t exactly have anything against dogs.

Except when you take your dog out at five in the bleeding morning, right under my bedroom window. And, of course, my neighbor isn’t all bleary-eyed and wanting to crawl back in bed and die. No, he’s a morning person. “Who’s a good dog? You’re a good dog! That’s right! Yes you is! Yes you is!” He’s like the Tony Robins of the dog world. Awaken the Canus Maximus within you. And then there’s this jangling, which I guess is him scratching the thing and rattling the collar.

He leaves the dog tied up on the side of his house, on a thirty foot rope. Our houses are about fifteen feet apart. My lawn is not littered with dog crap, and I woke up this morning to find that he had begun excavating the foundation of my house. I think he was trying to get into my basement.

I don’t like talking to people, so I’m not looking forward to having to ask my neighbor, “hey, asshat, could you please keep your dog from relieving itself on, and then digging a crater in, my yard? Oh, and could you shut the goddamn hell up until the sun has finished rising?” So instead of talking to him, I think I’m just going to buy some rat poison.

Of course, after I’ve killed him, I’m still going to have to figure out what to do with the dog.

Richard Blumenthal.

For those of you who (wisely) don’t keep up on national politics, Richard Blumenthal is a dick. Specifically, he’s the Democratic nominee for a Connecticut US Senate seat. He’s suffering some controversy as of late, due to some slight misstatements he’s made to the press.

Oh, no, wait, he said he fought in Vietnam, when in fact he didn’t.

Now, I don’t have the best memory in the world. Sometimes I forget where I put my keys. Every once in a while I’ll get up and go into the kitchen, and totally forget why I went in there. But I’m pretty sure I’d remember fighting in a goddamn war.

Seriously, how in the nine fires can you make a mistake like that? “Yeah, man, The Nam was hell. My whole platoon got taken out by a bunch of VCs, and I was held as a prisoner of war. Left to rot in a pit filled with my own filth, tortured. Then, when I got back home, this small town sheriff gave me grief, triggered a flashback. I blew up the whole damn town, man. Oh, wait, that was Rambo Ha ha, my bad! Vote for me!”

The best part is that he apparently figured no one would bother to check. Which I guess sort of makes sense. When you tell a lie that big, a lot of people are just going to accept it. I mean, you wouldn’t think people would be crazy enough to lie about being in Vietnam, would you?

Also, everyone that’s covering this story? Stop calling what Blumenthal said a “mistake” or a “misstatement.” It’s a lie. He’s a liar, who told a lie.

Which makes him perfectly qualified to be a politician, actually.

The BP Oil Spill.

These asshats have basically destroyed the Gulf. At the same time, they’re making enough profits in one week to pay for the cleanup. They are, of course, trying to legally limit their liability. Because god forbid that a corporation be held responsible for something in America.

Their efforts to stop the spill have so far amounted to “drop a cup on it,” and “stick a straw in it.” Now they’re talking about filling the hole with golf balls. Bloody hell.

Sarah Palin, of course, says that Obama is in BP’s pocket, and that’s why he hasn’t taken action. Yes, professional oil exec fellator Sarah Palin said that. “Drill Baby Drill” chanter Sarah Palin said that.

Sarah, do us all a favor: stay out of business you don’t understand, and focus on what you’re good at, like preventing teenage pregnancy.

Welcome to a very special Health Care Reform edition of Things That Make Me Angry! I know TTMMA have been few and far between, but the vote that took place last night has pushed me over the edge, and it’s time to resurrect the internet’s favorite venom-filled diatribe by a guy named Thomas.

In November, I voted for Barack Obama, the first time I had ever cast a vote for a Democratic candidate. I was taken in by his promises of “hope” and “change,” and his optimistic, “yes we can” attitude. But now… now I’m wondering, did I make a mistake?

Health Care Reform was to be the crown jewel in Obama’s, um, crown. But what we got last night just doesn’t measure up to what I was promised. For instance:

32 Million More Insured Americans
I am shocked – shocked – by the number of people who will now have access to affordable, life-saving medical care. Have you ever been to a doctor, Mr. President? Not one of those fancy-smancy Naval doctors you see now, but a real, civilian doctor? Apparently not, because if you had, you would know how long you have to wait to actually get an appointment. And now you’re telling me I may have to wait even longer while a poor person – a poor person, for god’s sake! – receives attention that could save their life? I am aghast. What about my needs? What about my elective procedures? What about my minor pains, Mr. President?

Public Funding for Abortion
Where is it, Mr. President? I was promised a veritable river of fetuses, streaming toward your black throne. (Note to readers: you do know about the President’s black throne, right? It’s the one carved from obsidian and charred human bones. We tried to talk him out of it, but he said something about “so it was written, and so must it be,” and then stated doodling “666” on his notebook.) But I was appalled to learn that not only does this bill not provide for public funding of abortion, but you actually intend to sign an executive order prohibiting the use of federal funds to pay for an abortion. Won’t you think of the children, Mr. President? The delicious, delicious children?

Socialism
It’s a well-known secret that you’re both a Communist and a Fascist, Mr. President, and we, your supporters, were hopeful that Health Care Reform would finally start America down the path to a glorious Red dawn. But what is this I see? Insurance will still be provided by publicly traded companies? Health care will still be offered by private corporations? Where’s the government takeover? What happened to socializing one-third of the US economy? This was our golden moment, Mr. President, our greatest opportunity yet to drive a stake through the heart of capitalism, but did you seize the moment? Sadly, no.

Budget Deficits
One of our key goals, of course, is the bankrupting of America, and Health Care Reform was a key component of this plan. I was positively giddy at the thought of trillion-dollar wastes of money that didn’t involve sending soldiers into a desert. But the non-partisan Congressional Budget Office now estimates that your bill will save $138 billion over the next ten years, and $1.2 trillion in the decade after that. Billions, even trillions of dollars in savings, Mr. President? How could you? It’s almost as if you were trying to undo the damage done to our economy over the past decade.

Death Panels
I could let all of this slide, if you’d just come through on this one point. I was promised by one of today’s greatest political minds that you would be establishing government boards that would decide whether or not someone was a productive enough member of society to be allowed to live, and I was obviously thrilled with the thought of one day sitting on such an august committee. I know lots of people who are wasting our precious oxygen, and I nearly leapt for joy when I was told that we could start weeding these folks out. Grandma is shovel-ready, Mr. President, and so is the guy who keeps microwaving fish in the office kitchen! But now I find that you’re actually expanding medical coverage to people to whom it would have previously been denied. What is this bait-and-switch, Mr. President? We were promised rationed care and death panels, but we received nearly the exact opposite. This is worse than the Christmas when I got a Go-Bot instead of a Transformer. Thank you for opening old wounds, Mr. President. Thank you very much.

Last night, the following cryptic message emerged from the National Weather Service:

OMG WTF

WTF IS THAT ON THE RADAR?

OMG WTF WERE ALL GONNA DIE.

After that, silence. All attempts to contact the NWS have met with failure.

This morning, though the sky was gray and the wind cold, no one could point to anything particularly amiss. Still, there was an unmistakeable sense of foreboding. The eerie stillness. The furtive movement of the animals. The three car pile-up outside of my office this morning. It’s as if nature knows what’s coming.

And then a rescue team returned from the NWS. They found the compound empty, but this image was burning on all of the monitors:

Paralyzing Blizzard? We here in the North have another name for this phenomenon:

Snowpocalypse

The end is upon us, friends, but if you are dilligent – and lucky – you may just be able to survive. Begin by following these steps:

1. Stay Off the Roads

For the love of God, don’t drive during the Snowpocalypse. People in New York can’t drive during the summer, and you expect them to be competent when there are twelve inches of icy death on the roads? Not on your life. New York drivers are a simple lot, and they spook easily.

The typical reaction to snow is something like this: “Wow, this is just like sledding when I was a kid! I bet it’d be even funner if I was doing 70! Wheee!” Crash, death, woe

Or: “Hey, I wonder what would happen if I jerk my wheel erratically right now?” Crash, death, woe

Or: “Oh my, it is ever so frightful out. I must drive slowly and carefully. Alas! I have pressed the gas when I meant to press the brake!” Crash, death, woe

Sensing a pattern?

2. Stock Up On Essentials

Since you aren’t going to be able to travel, it’s important that you have all of life’s necessities on hand for the duration of the Snowpocalypse.

Now, you might be tempted to buy lots of bottled water, but that would be an amateur’s mistake. It’s a little-known fact that snow is actually very cold water, and heating it up readily yields all the water you can drink. That’s science!

No, what you really want to focus on are canned goods and ammo. The canned goods are for eating. The ammo is for, well…

3. Form a Raiding Party

I travel a lot, and one thing I’ve learned is that no matter how carefully you pack, you’re going to forget something. The same is true when you’re preparing for armageddon. Sure, you’re stocked up on bacon and laden down with toothpaste, but you forgot to buy extra toilet paper, didn’t you? Yeah, that’s right, you did.

In kinder, simpler times, one could simply run to the store to purchase these overlooked items. But in this cold new world, it’s survival of the fittest, and to the winner goes the spoils. It’s time to find your inner Viking.

Bonus points if your inner Viking listens to techno.

My extensive research has led me to believe that the Viking style of combat involves large quantities of alcohol, public nudity, and broadswords. Feel free to mix these in whatever quantities you are most comfortable with.

Since you won’t be able to drive, you’re going to have to strike close to home. Your former neighbors – there’s no room for sentiment in the Cold Times – are ideal targets. Get yourself hopped up on mead, work yourself into a frenzy, take whatever you can, and burn the rest as a warning to all who would dare stand in your way.

As a bonus, your former neighbors can be burned for heat once you run out of fuel.

4. Defend Your Territory

You won’t be the only one burning and pillaging your way across the arctic tundra; other survival minded souls will be eager to take what you have rightfully stolen, and you’re going to have to take steps to defend yourself.

Since the men will be busy with the raping and the looting, this means arming the womenfolk back at home.

That’s just about right.

the Grinch
Thomas hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn’t screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

And what happened then…?
Well…in Who-ville they say
That Thomas’s small heart
Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light
And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!
And he… HE HIMSELF…!
Thomas carved the roast beast!

Merry Christmas!

A friend of mine shared these a few hours ago. I’m not generally into YouTube surfing, but these… there’s just no words to describe them. This is the greatest example of distilled, impotent rage in the history of the internet. You have to watch these. Trust me, it’s worth every second.

Part 1: Stephen Loses His WoW Account

I don’t generally go in for the whole “demonic possession” thing, but this kid makes me reconsider. Also, the way he gets naked is almost like a magic trick.

Part 1.5 The Aftermath: Squirrel Boy’s Revenge

The elusive arboreal emo boy.

Part 2: Stephen Suffers Betrayal

How do you deal with someone’s betrayal in Halo? Murder, infanticide, and cannibalism, of course.

Part 3: Stephen Hates His Truck

I love how he just calmly wanders out with a baseball bat, and goes to town. He even takes a swing at his father. And his magic nudity powers resurface: the camera cuts away to Mommy Dearest, for like half a second, and when Stephen is back on the screen, most of his clothes are gone. This is amazing.

Part 4: Stephen Rocks Out

Stephen teaches us that smashing your guitar on the stage is significantly harder than Slash would have you believe. Also, he’s preemptively naked in this one.

Part 5: Stephen v. The Microwave

What do you do when the microwave doesn’t cook fast enough? If you said “throw it out the back door and smash it with a rock,” well, you scare me as much as Stephen does. Though in his defense, he did wait whole seven minutes.

Part 6: Stephen’s Grandmother

She has the Paddle of Doom waiting next to her chair. She’s obviously seen Stephen in action before. I’m particularly pleased that she didn’t even bother to unpack her bags. She must have said to herself, “this little freak is going to drive me out of the house before the first commercial break, I might as well be ready to travel.” Though Stephen does win points for keeping his clothes on this time.

Part 6: Stephen v. The Vacuum Cleaner v. The Dog

This is probably the pinnacle of Stephen’s destructive tendencies. He starts out slow, but then he starts swinging the vacuum like his father’s recently deceased guitar, and the magic begins to happen. Also, have no idea what he did to piss off the dog, but I’m so happy that he did it.

These have got to be fake. They have got to be. There’s no way someone with that much anger has made it that far in life. He would have had a stroke in the womb. “Why am I floating in amniotic fluid! Oh my God, get that freaking ultrasound out of my face! Why do you hate me! Someone get me some clothes so I can take them off!”

I got home, happily fed and ready to dive back into my writing, but foolishly said to myself “well, let’s just see what’s happening on Facebook, first.”

What’s happening? Kanye-gate.

My entire news feed, the entire thing, can pretty much be summed up “Kanye West is a douche bag.”

Now, I have no idea who Kanye West is, or why he should be compared to a feminine hygiene product, so I asked my faithful Facebook and Twitter friends what, exactly, the hell was going on.

Turns out, this is what’s going on. Some girl named Taylor Swift won a statue of an astronaut for some video she made, and Kanye “I’m a Douche Bag” West jumped up on stage, grabbed the microphone from her, and said that Beyonce should have won. Swift, who I now love purely out of sympathy, just stood there, at a complete loss as to what to do.

But I’m more pissed off at the fact that I now have writer’s block, because I’ve spent the last half an hour reading about this idiot. Tell me, how exactly am I supposed to draft a scene where a nice girl is convincingly devoured by a creature from hell, when all I can think about is some douche bag from “da hood,” whose operating theme seems to be “black people rule, and the rest of y’all can go to hell”?

I can’t, that’s how. So, instead, I’m going to do a little free-writing. And my topic: some little-known Kanye West facts. Feel free to add your own in the comments.

1. Kanye West is a douche bag.

2. Kanye West wouldn’t know good music if it stalked him down a dark alley, hit him over the head, and stole his “fat beats” right out of his wallet.

3. (via Matt Burdell): Thomas Galvin does not care about Kanye West. (via Thomas Galvin): This makes Kanye West irrelevant, and possibly imaginary.

4. (via Wikipedia): Kanye Omari West (pronounced /ˈkɑːnjeɪ/; born June 8, 1977)[1] is an asshole who’s mad because he’s black and thinks only black people, particularly him, should ever benefit from anything and everything.

5 . (via Wikipedia, thirty seconds later): Kanye Omari West (pronounced /ˈkɑːnjeɪ/; born June 8, 1977)[1] is a controversial, self-concerned American rapper, record producer, author, and singer, and major asshole.

6. Kanye West causes cancer. In cancer victims, he causes more cancer.

7. Kanye West has a metal plate in his chin. Rumors that this was due to a tragic tea-bagging incident cannot be confirmed at this time.

8. Kanye West was born in Atlanta, GA, and moved to Chicago, Il. at the age of three. Both cities blame the other for how he turned out.

9. Kanye West is the self-proclaimed savior of hip-hop. Attempts to get him publicly executed, like a proper savior, have sadly been unsuccessful.

10. Kanye West only became interested in Lady Gaga after learning (s)he might be a hermaphrodite.

Here’s an example of the kinds of conversations you have when you’re a z-list internet blogger:

Friend: Hahaha! You know how you’re always saying that you hate kids, and would make like the worst father in the world since this guy? [ed. Yes, my friends and I do talk in HTML; it’s a developer thing.]

Thomas: Yeah?

Friend: Haha, there’s this facebook group called “Let’s Sterilize Thomas!” You should totally join!

Thomas: Um, did you actually look at that group?

Friend: No, why?

Thomas: Just click the link.

Friend: Okay… clicky

Thomas: waits for it.

Friend: …WTF? That’s… your picture. [ed. We talk in common Internet abbreviations, also. I know a girl that says “El Oh El” instead of laughing.]

Thomas: Yep.

Friend: This… this group… is about you? Like, really about you, specifically?

Thomas: Yep.

Friend: There’s an internet site dedicated to making sure you never have children?

Thomas: Yep.

Friend: …I don’t even… that’s just… what?

Thomas: Welcome to my life, friend. Welcome to my life.

So that was kind of cool. The ensuing discussion about the various anatomical modifications that could be made to achieve the group’s purpose, on the other hand, was pretty much the verbal equivalent of “bad touch, do not want.”

The description:
We all know him and love him, but as loyal friends we must do what is right and protect Thomas and the future of our earth from himself.

The latest news:
In a recent interview with Mr. Galvin, he said “I am fully aware of the fact that I am completely unqualified to care for, raise, or influence the development of a child. Or a dog, for that matter.” Clearly, there is hope in the prevention of spawn.

The next upcoming event:
The Intervention and Forceful Enrollment of Thomas Galvin into a Monastery

The group:
Let’s Sterilize Thomas!