Tuesday, May 25, 2010

A Hollywood Exec Calls Up Alan Alda

Aldy! Long time! I know! I know!

I know!

So, I guess you probably have some idea of why I’m calling…

No, I’m talking a whole new series!

I realize, you’ve done very well. We all loved West Wing’s last season. Best season of the show! That live debate episode! I was tingling! But you don’t want to be stuck doing that Mr. Wizard show on PBS forever, do you? And how many friggin’ memoirs do you have left in you? Let’s talk TV drama!

No, it won’t be nostalgic, and we won’t be talking some Vietnam allegorical-metaphorical ten years after the fact B.S. either. We’ll be talking about Korea, now!

Now! The kids want it hot and fresh, like sushi.

Okay, cold and fresh. But fresh! With “Over There” and “Army Wives” we at least had a year’s lead-in time. We’ve got to get cooking on this! Kim Jong is effin’ crazy! I’ve got some helvagood writers on this, but I need Hawkeye on board to give us the green light.


Okay, so Hawkeye’s an old man...

Retired. Retired! Still gets the ladies, but he’s never gotten over the trauma of Korea.

Right, I don’t think he’d be military, so we’ve got to get ol’ Hawkeye in the area when the war breaks out, when he meets Trapper John Jr. and Colonel Potter III. Meanwhile Frank Burns is working for North Korea!

I know about Larry. I was at his funeral. We’re in talks with Jackie Earle Haley. I know.  So they’re all in Japan when the first nuke goes off…

Well, there’d better be nukes! We’re looking for HBO, Showtime!

I mean heaven forbid! Maybe just a very-special episode. I mean, think of the triage scenes!

Yes! Heaven forbid! I realize you’re a pacifist! No one wants to capitalize on tragedy, but if it happens, and let’s face it, Kim Jong is one crazy as bat-shit motherfucker! If it goes nuclear we want to be there to tell it like it is! You know, like the saying goes, television drama is the first draft of history.

What’s the difference?

Aldy? Hello? God damn it!

God damn it! Pick up!

Peaches! I don’t think we’re gonna get Alda. We’ll try to rope him in for a torch-passing scene in the premiere. Get me Dane Cook. Tell him he’s going to be the next Dr. Hawkeye Pierce!

--Dan Kilian


323 Days of Summer: DVD Review

Monday, May 24, 2010

The Invention of the Weekend

Grelgar looked up from his stone bowl of walnut meats. Seven coarse-cloth sacks of unshelled walnuts were stacked in the corner of his hut. A reed basket of shelled walnuts sagged and drooped a few feet from where he sat with a cracking stone in one hand.

After he finished as many walnuts as his bowl would hold, he would put the meats in the basket. Then he would get a fresh bowl of unshelled walnuts and start over. Mingall would come and take the reed basket every day or so, and leave behind bread and fish.

Three days after Grelgar turned 23 (although he did not mark the anniversary, being ignorant of his date of birth), Mingall came to collect the walnuts. Grelgar was lying on a collection of dried reeds and straw, sleeping.

"Where are the walnuts?" asked Mingall.

Grelgar, groggy from drinking, muttered, "Fuck the walnuts, Mingall. And fuck you. Come back in a couple days."

And so the weekend was born.

--Steve Kilian

Heavy Metal Magazine Cover Discussion Panel

Shit Sherlock

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Simon and Guildenstern

He found himself a peripheral player.  A witness, who had seen nothing. A waiter. Wait and see. Wait and see.


He saw nothing.

He did nothing.

There was no one to contact. Don't call us we'll call you, only we won't call you.

Rosecrans and Guildenstern Are Dead. Only they're not dead yet, they're still on the boat holding the letter sealed in the envelope. Was he Rosencrans or was he Guildenstern? Probably Guildenstern, knowing his luck. Open the envelope Guildenstern! Don't betray Hamlet! He's crazy! He's going to swap the letter, and you're going to die! But, no, he wasn't Guildenstern, he was some fourth friend of them all. Even Guildenstern had a Guildenstern.

He opened his mail. Junk mail in weak disguise. Catalogs in pamphlet form. He returned his Netflix immediately, unwatched, just so he could get something nice in the mail.

He checked his e-mail. He read the news online. He could do his job, but he had to wait for the key detail.

Vladimir and Estragon waiting for Godot. Vladimir and Guildenstern. Simon and Garfunkle on a Paul Simon solo tour. Slip Sliding Away.

Slip Sliding Away.

Even if you get no nearer to your destination you're still slip sliding away.

--Dan Kilian

He Left His Heart in Scan Francisco


Tuesday, May 18, 2010


Skullhead ran to the pyramid, the wind whistling through his eye-sockets. The high priest was anointing the human sacrifice as the drummers laid down a slow, hypnotic beat. The High Priest lifted his dagger to the sun on the horizon, in the ceremonial fashion. Skullhead bounded up the pyramid steps.

“Do not sacrifice this one! He belongs to me!”

All but the high priest averted their gaze from Skullhead’s monstrous visage. The priest brought his dagger to his side, but did not sheathe it.

“Why would you take our sacrifice?”

“He belongs to me!”

“It will anger the Gods!”

“I am a god. You will anger me.”

This was a point of contention. Skullhead often claimed to be a god, but many thought him a demon or monster, or some other creature. Still, it was well known that Skullhead could bring calamity and death with the force and unforgiving nature of a God. So while some doubted his cosmic nature, the end result was the same. Skull head smiled, “Do you wish to challenge my desire?”

The High Priest lowered his head. “You may take the boy.” He summoned three lower priests to his side. Two he directed to untie the boy, and he plunged the dagger into the third priest’s heart.

Skullhead and the boy descended the pyramid and went into the woods, as the skies darkened. They went to the cave where Skullhead lived. It was filled with jewels, gold, and human bones. The boy looked at Skullhead.

“Why did you save me?”

“You are to be my High Priest.”

“Then you are a God?”

“I will be a god to you. I will show you your first miracle now.” He handed the boy a knife. “Cut off your face, and that hood of skin that hides your skull.”

The boy lifted the blade with shaking hands, and began to cut.

Skullhead seemed to smile, but he always looked that way.

--Dan Kilian

I Sell Sea Shells


Monday, May 17, 2010

Turn It Up Lyrics, Chords and MP3

01 Turn It Up

E          C         D         A                                             2X INTRO

Give me a strip and I’ll plug

All warmed up now it’s time to begin

Take to the hills because we’re the invaders

Burning up the oil sucking down the generators

E                                              A                                 8x?

Turn it up! (Turn it up!) Turn it up! (Turn it up!)

More light! (Turn it up!) Louder! (Turn it up!)

More Power! (Power!) More Power! (Power!)

More Power! (Power!) More Power! (Power!)


INTRUMENTAL                                                     8x?

E          C         D         A                                             1X INSTRU

Hot food in the microwave

I couldn’t live in any other age

Not too clear, not too clean

But dear God you’ve got to love the machines!

E                                              A                                 8x?

Turn it up! (Turn it up!) Turn it up! (Turn it up!)

More light! (Turn it up!) Louder! (Turn it up!)

More Power! (Power!) More Power! (Power!)

More Power! (Power!) More Power! (Power!)


INTRUMENTAL                                                     8x?


Written by Dan Kilian

Performed by The Ks

Slap My Name On This War by Barack Obama

No Other Place

Friday, May 14, 2010

The Monitor vs. The Minotaur

Merrimack ahoy! Merrimack ahoy!

Hard ballast to the stern! Rig the flypole!  We’ll show those blimey Confederates! The blockade shall hold! Blockade the hold!

Aye aye!

Mizzen the main-shaft!

Captain, there’s a monster on deck!



What ’tis it?

Seems to be half man, half bull!

’Tis a Minotaur! Avast!

He’s goring our crew!

Dive! Dive! All stations dive!

Aye aye! Ho the portswallow! Jib the swain! Dive! Dive!

Did we lose him?

I espy him not.

Sharkman ahoy!


’Tis a man with a shark’s head and front-fins! And he’s coming right for the mizzen!

An underwater Minotaur!

Begging your pardon, Captain, but is a half-shark-half-man truly a Minotaur, or is that nomenclature confined to the half-man-half-bull of Myth? Is he some other species of chimerical creature?

Truly, I know not. If we had not been attacked so recently by a classic variety of Minotaur, I might not have so readily used that term. Let us call him a Manshark.

Aye. Also, I should have also reminded you that this boat is not a submergible vessel, merely an ironclad ship. We’re taking on a good deal of water, being under the surface like this.

You’re a good First Mate! Yes, in light of that, and the Sharkman…

I believe you’d used the term Manshark.

And in light of the Manshark, we should surface.

Surface! Surface! All hands to the giblets!

Aye aye! Aye aye!

Damage report!

Several of the crew have drowned, many been gored, or devoured by the Manshark.

Sir, I’m going to have to belay that moniker. Sharkman is the better name.

Sharkman it is! Crew! Sharkman is the name! Sharkman!

Aye aye! Aye aye!

Hold steady at the beacon!

How shall we overcome these monsters?

Perhaps we shan’t have to! Avast! The Sharkman and the Minotaur are fighting each other!

This is truly a bloody war. Brother against brother. Sharkman against Minotaur.

And I had thought they would be working together, half-beasts that they are.

It must have just been a coincidence that they both appeared so soon apart. Anyway, the jolly Scotsman awaits. Jibble the stirfry.

Jibble the stirfry!

Aye aye! Aye aye!

--Dan Kilian

2012 Minutes of Mayhem

Greek Fishermen

Thursday, May 13, 2010

The Knife Never Bites Its Own Handle

--Dan Kilian

I believe the original Persian saying (used recently in a speech at the International Conference on Nuclear Disarmament in Washington by Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad)  is "A knife will never cut its own handle" but when I wrote it on the dry-erase board at work (the origin of many  of these works) I like the Anthropomorphism (or is it theriomorphism?) of the word "bite."

He’s Herman Van Rompuy

Twitter vs. Facebook

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Old Dylan on Young Dylan

--Dan Kilian

Compare this to the previous "Young Dylan on Old Dylan." Note how old dominates young, and comes into clearer focus.

Our Greatest Hits, Yolks Semi-Intact

I Can’t Get It Together mP3, Words and Chords

Friday, May 7, 2010

Developments On the Sea Floor

British Petroleum has stated that sea-floor robots are being deployed in an attempt to stop the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.  What they haven't stated is that the robots were not developed by BP or any other terrestrial nation.  Photographic evidence (see attached) indicates that the robots already existed, a separate culture under the sea.

--Steve Kilian


The Tipsy Parson: November 3 2009

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Alien In The Woods

The process I use to make this collage is very painstaking, though I doubt the work shows.

--Dan Kilian

Avatarred and Feathered

The House of Wrongs

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Gilgarius' Sword

Gilgarius the Titan was killed in battle against the Lutharc swarm that once inhabited the swampland wastes to the east of our mighty lands.  It took hundreds of those cowardly wretches to ensnare him in their nets, and no less than ten days of hurling spears and firing barbed and poisoned arrows into that Hero's body before he succumbed.  Even as he fell he crushed a dozen Lutharcs beneath his back.  When the deed was done a thousand of the tribesmen lay dead in pieces in the blood-soaked marsh.

The leader of the Lutharc clan claimed Gilgarius' sword as plunder.  To his warriors he left the rest of their enemy's weapons and great rings, each of which could serve as a circlet around their misshapen heads.  Such a quantity of metal would make them rich among their kind.  The tribeswomen used flint axes to hack apart the leather armor and boots to make tents for their kind, marveling at workmanship far beyond their primitive means.

The sword was dragged away behind a team of seven of the web-footed herd beasts that the Lutharc used as both steeds and cattle.  The great blade carved a furrow through the foul earth, and it is said that the trees that sprouted up in its wake stood twice as tall and straighter than any of that land.  It is told that the guard of the sword was formed from two elephant tusks shod with hammered steel.  The pommel was a cluster of cow skulls embedded in amber that had been fired to crystalline strength.  The handle was wrapped in stout hempen ropes that had been plundered from the Mengraal raiders' great warship Cuttleworm.

The blade itself had been forged in one piece twenty feet long, a hand-span thick at its middle and tapering to a keen edge on both sides, forked for the last four feet of its length.  Runes had been etched in the blood-gutters that ran from ricasso to tip.  The ancient blade had been pitted with the caustic bile of wyvern and wyrm, and those pits had been filled with human bone and scalp.  Thousands upon thousands had been cut down by this weapon wielded by Gilgarius and his father before him.

And so it was a great loss to our kingdom that the Lutharc chieftain died of lung-fungus after having secreted his treasure deep in his darkened holdings.  His tribe followed him into their shallow graves during the three-winter blight, and the whereabouts of the sword were forgotten.  But now, when our southern shores are gnawed by Longsea serpents and their blond riders, when Calphax and Riddoban have fallen to their torches and the people of those fair cities to their axes, surely now it is time to find my father's sword.

And so I march east, the last of the Titans, though war lies to the south.

--Steve Kilian

Stephen Hawking Contemplates The Void

Abandoned Halloween Costume Ideas

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Shirtman At Large

You caught that amateur terrorist, but you didn’t catch me. No, I didn’t have anything to do with the car-bomb in Times Square, but I did look around suspiciously, and I did take off my shirt.

Just a hot day? Hardly. Taking off my shirt was part of my nefarious plan. I will take off my shirt at will, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!

For I am Shirtman!

Yes, there’s nothing illegal with doffing one’s outer layers, is there? But I made sure to look around, not out of guilt, but out of guile. Those little looks, sure to be recorded, signaled my evil intentions. For I don’t take off my shirt innocently, I take it off in the spirit of evil! How do you know it is evil? Because I look around. The snake eats its tail.

Sure, there’s no harm in taking off a shirt, especially with another shirt underneath it. But by looking around and signaling my evil, the action becomes evil. The fact that there is no impact merely makes the evil more pure.

Of course it goes deeper than that. This is Shirtman you contemplate, fools. Did you ever consider that there might be yet another shirt, under the shirt I revealed? And perhaps another under that! I am actually a very thin and sweaty man. A very thin, sweaty and evil man.

So go on, revel that you eluded the obvious danger. Celebrate the capture of a madman. Laugh and sing, for as sure as sweaty skin causes ring-around-the-collar, beneath your supposed safety danger lurks, like a shirt under a shirt (under another shirt, under yet another shirt). You will never be safe!

I, Shirtman, the Bartholomew Cubbins of shirts, unshirt myself, looking around, dooming you to a world of malicious shirt-shedding! Fools! You are all doomed!

Even if a hero rises to challenge me, he shall fail. For I have more than shirts! I have a vest! I have a windbreaker! I can take them all off, layers and layers of devastation!

Your end is coming. It is a shirt thing! You get it? A vicious and evil pun, the hallmark of super-villains since the dawn of time! I join the pantheon. When the first caveman who ever wrapped himself in a dead animal skin first looked around and then flung his animal cloak to the ground, I was there! I will always be here! Looking around and taking off shirts! HA HA HA HA HAHA HAHA HA!

I remain at large! Actually I start out at extra-large, and then work my way down to large, and then, inexorably towards medium.


--A haunting message delivered via T-shirt cannon to Dan Kilian from Shirtman

Batman vs. The Taliban

Project Run For Your Lives