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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZRsxm7Gc3k
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Dec 7, 2013 19:27
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I was rereading Pat's blog looking for what I could have sworn was a very long, very funny description of Ray coming over and dancing with him and Rod, but I couldn't find it. Am I just imagining this, or is it secretly in some other blog? Also, I've always been puzzled by this one Roast Beef one where he's buying a dildo. I could never figure out the context. Is it just him buying a dildo? Is it a prequel to the Perky Pervert arc?
How Wonderful! fucked around with this message at 20:03 on Dec 7, 2013 |
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Dec 7, 2013 20:00
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Archyduke posted:Also, I've always been puzzled by this one Roast Beef one where he's buying a dildo. I could never figure out the context. Is it just him buying a dildo? Is it a prequel to the Perky Pervert arc? quote:Jesus why does it got to be so hard to get anyone an anniversary present in this town. Man am I all steamed up.
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Dec 7, 2013 20:23
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Archyduke posted:I was rereading Pat's blog looking for what I could have sworn was a very long, very funny description of Ray coming over and dancing with him and Rod, but I couldn't find it. Am I just imagining this, or is it secretly in some other blog? I had the same question as you a few months ago, another goon found it on the Penny Arcade forums of all places. I'll just post it here for posterity: Soy You Think You Can Dance by Pat Reynolds Well, I was having a little fun last night, and I came up with an idea that made Rod and me laugh. It’ll make you laugh, too. Sure, it’s based on popular culture, which is always a losing bet, but I think for now it’s ok to put it out there. Not everything I write needs to be kept for the ages (although I am sure future scholars will be able to extrapolate anthropological value from this). There is a television show called, “So You Think You Can Dance.” Rod and I, I hate to admit, watch it on a weekly basis. The base appeal is obviously that it, like most popular television, allows us to act as judge and jury over those who are more wealthy and more attractive. Also, everyone can tell at a primal level if Jeverson or Bainicca is “on” during a particular routine, but my personal deep background in swing dancing makes it all the more interesting to me and those who watch with me. Any dolt can tell who has “it” and who doesn’t right away, but on top of that, if you have my knowledge, or access to it, you can see who’s actually been paying attention during their lessons, and who’s just phoning it in because their agent got them the gig and their career is otherwise on life support. Well, why let the big networks have all the fun? Rod and I thought it would be a great idea to host our own version of the show, on local cable. I got a legal pad, he mixed himself a big Fernet-cucumber spritzer, and pretty soon we had the outline—as well as a sizable guest list—firmly in place. “Soy You Think You Can Dance” was born! (“Oh, it’ll be a scream!” Rod shrieked. I am not a big fan of faggy overspeak, but it did put a little wind in my sails to hear his enthusiasm.) The premise serves a bit of an agenda, I will admit. In this program, our guests are paired with vegan dance professionals (or yogi, in some cases), and their lumbering, beast-swollen, unctuous physicalities are brought into sharp contrast with those of their more healthful partners. The program would be sponsored by my new line of agave-agar macerated Anachazi berry “Soothies™,” a nutrio-negative, guiltless, spoonable room-temperature treat that comes with a sachet of hand-mellowed Kordacha pistils. Win-win. Time to do a few dry runs. As I would be serving as head judge, I couldn’t just dance with Rod, so I recused myself and called on my dumb old friend Ray, as he has modest physical abilities and is typically not doing anything of importance. I told him we were throwing our own dance contest show and, prima donna that he is, he agreed to come right over and cut a rug. Sure, he’d be dancing with Rod, but that hardly matters to a dancer of skill. Rod does, in fact, do everything I do but backwards and, yes, often in heels. He did on my birthday, anyway. Ray came over and quickly surveilled the situation. “Where the women at?” he asked. “I ain’t just gonna moonwalk while you turn kale into weak clear bones, yo.” “You’ll be dancing with Rod,” I replied, ticking a few items off on my clipboard. “Don’t worry, you’ll lead. He follows like a shadow.” “We’re dude-dancin’? You didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout that on the phone, hoss. You sure you ain’t just mad at me, in some kind of way?” “There will be women that you can smell and ogle, Ray,” I assured him. “Don’t worry. This idea is very new and we didn’t want to lose steam while we waited around for females to get ready.” He paused at this. “Good thinkin’,” he then said. “You tell some woman she’s gonna be on TV, she’s gonna be in the bathroom for two weeks pluckin’ god knows what from god knows where, and when she comes out, she’s only gonna seem like three bucks nicer.” “Exactly. So, do you have a musical preference for your practice number?” “Drop the needle on Fat Bottom Girls, G, and I’ll take your eyes to heaven,” he said, pretending to slap a fat-bottomed girl, and then fluttering his hands to the sky. “You know I don’t have any Queen, Ray. How about something else.” “Well, you dig on Fela Kuti?” I have to admit, I do have a tiny bit of pop music in my collection, and Fela Kuti is one of the rare allowances. However, I more enjoy his music intentionally, rather than out of any genuine joy that it creates for me. It just seems responsible to own some. I put the album on, started the turntable, and Fela Kuti’s “Zombie” began to make its way through the speakers. Ray began working a strut in a tight backwards circle, his arms crossed, his mouth open in a wide smile, and Rod fanned into the room wearing his latest favorite kimono (the tacky one with the hibiscus print obimakura that is anything but slimming). You could tell that Ray didn’t really want to engage him, but Rod fell into his arms like water and worked his remarkable energy off of him in such a smooth way that you could tell Ray’s inhibitions were melting. Ray did, I admit, develop a repartee of some pretty clever energies of his own, and they clearly understood one another. At the end of the six minute song, Rod squealed and skipped off to change into a fresh kimono while Ray did a victory moonwalk around the room. “Come on, Pat!” he yelled, clapping above his head as he continued to moonwalk, now in a figure-eight. “Join a brother!” I put the needle down once again and took the challenge. I’d wear him out, and prove my concept. We engaged, and then I spun a 15/12-step Geithner’s Arabesque around his stationary Roger Rabbit (ugh, please) and met him dead in the eye with a perfectly stuck heel-toe finial. Ray was undaunted, and had yet to break a sweat. “You know, Pat,” he laughed, “If you had some thumpin’ aftermarket titties, I’d suck ‘em!” He was trying to put me off my game with “field talk.” I’d have none of it. I spun three rat-a-tat pirouettes (Salzburg modified, right lead, 270-270-180), stuck the finish with perfect balance, and pointed directly at his face, my other hand holding the back of my head. He made a silly grin and “comedy farted.” God, the omnivorous. How they can summon such things up on demand. How we suffer them. In response to my carefully-studied and precise steps, he performed a move that can best be described as “lying down on one’s chest and cavorting like a leaping dolphin.” It seemed to derive from the cardboard floors of the hip-hop sidewalks and abandoned parking lots. When he was done, he clapped his heels a few times—with his hands behind his back—and then, with surprising agility, launched himself backward onto his feet. His energy only seemed to grow with this successful move. I could not let it go un-bested, though at this point my old knee injury was starting to sear like a mentholated rug burn and my strength was flagging a little (had the protein index in Tana and Jimruth’s carrot-rubacha bars gone down due to some fluctuation in the sun patterns over their plant beds?). I prepared to launch into my best swaggering Harlem coat check quad-step, but then he began clapping in syncopated Brazilian half-beats, which distracted me. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then made my first quad box, doffing an imaginary fedora and handing it to the coat check girl, to whom I winked. I even mimed that I didn’t want gum. Despite the quality of my choreography, he kept clapping, and screwed up my rhythm to the point where I had to save the routine with a little low-knee off-time dénouement. It was elegant, but obviously a pit stop rather than a victory lap. I excused myself to the kitchen for a Brita, and he kept on dancing. He was thumping around so hard I thought he’d tear the carpet and loosen the floorboards. I nearly yelled at him, but held my head and found composure at the last second. While I was recovering with spirits of ammonia and some highly dilute agave, Rod came in and felt my forehead. “You’re so clammy, baby,” he said. “You really should sit down.” I told him I was having none of it, but then he checked my pulse (he has a friend who’s a phlebotomist, and I’ve seen them practice together) and found that I was dangerously “under.” He immediately went to the cupboard above the bean spices and grabbed my sucro-gluactin tablets, which we reserve for emergencies. Within moments of swallowing them, I was feeling a little more stable, and my left eye stopped twitching. I also ate five peanuts, as a precaution. Rod guided me to the bedroom, and I must admit, I did keep my hand against the wall the whole way to ensure my balance. He tucked me in, velcroed the blackout curtains, and set the white noise machine to “waterfall,” my personal favorite and one that I can only use when he’s not around (he says it brings back unhappy memories of a different time). I had just nestled into a blissful pre-sleep state when they started playing the Fela Kuti again and dancing together. The whole house shook with the weight of them, and it seemed to go on for hours. Through the bedroom door I could hear Ray call Rod his “sister from another mister,” and Rod moan something about ordering chicken marsala for two (this was followed by what I can only deduce was a high-five). This gave me the pique and I rolled over angrily, which made my left arm fall asleep. As I was stretching it out and mentally composing a strongly-worded email to Tana and Jimruth about their quality control, I drifted off into a fitful resting-state and awoke two hours later to the sounds of silverware clinking against plates in the dining room. I’m going to start over with Soy You Think You Can Dance tomorrow, when I can have Glacier Bee from The Yoga Chalet serve as Ray’s dance partner. My chakras are just too out of alignment right now for me to continue; I’ll attack the project with full prana after I find an alternative alternative energy bar.
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Dec 7, 2013 21:14
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I...don't really know how I feel about that. Are you sure Onstad wrote that? It isn't fanfiction?
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Dec 7, 2013 22:07
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It's so perfectly Pat. "I also ate five peanuts, as a precaution."
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Dec 7, 2013 22:09
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The only way that Pat blog would be better is if it had been a mini-arc. Certainly long enough to be. I like the reference to Ray's underground street dancing background. I also like the Pat blog where he's complaining about Cornelius insulting Rod in his Spice Channel captioning.
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Dec 7, 2013 22:21
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I just think Ray talking about sucking on Pats aftermarket breasts just..not really Ray. but you know, that's just, like, my opinion man.
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Dec 7, 2013 22:27
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Johnny Aztec posted:I just think Ray talking about sucking on Pats aftermarket breasts just..not really Ray. Yeah totally not Ray, he'd never get mad rutty with a social worker after seeing her whale tail.
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Dec 7, 2013 22:28
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Johnny Aztec posted:I...don't really know how I feel about that. Are you sure Onstad wrote that? It isn't fanfiction?  Maybe it was some subscriber–only bonus? Otherwise its ~canonicity~ would appear to be in doubt!
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Dec 7, 2013 23:11
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Fallom posted:Yeah totally not Ray, he'd never get mad rutty with a social worker after seeing her whale tail. We will just have to agree to disagree. Everyone has their own perception of Ray and cast in their head. I just see a fairly huge difference between Ray charming the pants off a lady(and then wearing a crown as he wrote about it in his diary) and Ray expressing his desire to suckle on Pat's (currently nonexistent) man-titties. Yes, I know Ray was making a joke, but it just seems..off. Of course, I could rationalize it easily by just assuming Ray was fairly drunk and having an offday to begin with.
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Dec 7, 2013 23:48
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Johnny Aztec posted:We will just have to agree to disagree. Everyone has their own perception of Ray and cast in their head. Ray's clumsiness at being a breast man is well established. loving hell Ray.
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Dec 8, 2013 00:27
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Ugly In The Morning posted:Pat's is the best, and I'm not just saying that because I think he'd sue anyone saying otherwise for slander. The tale of Pat's many failed business attempts is the best. How many times does his vegan smartfood bar nearly get completed before he pisses off the workers and has to hire an entirely new crew?
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Dec 8, 2013 01:11
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I think Roast Beef said it best: " Being Ray's best friend is like watching a never-ending film loop of a kid riding his bike into a telephone pole"
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Dec 8, 2013 01:13
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OK so I'm just getting into Achewood and read this storyline: http://www.achewood.com/index.php?date=03302010 gently caress I don't know if it was supposed to but it tore me to shreds.
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Dec 8, 2013 01:51
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prezbuluskey posted:OK so I'm just getting into Achewood and read this storyline:  The obituaries in this police blotter from five years earlier usually get me for similar reasons.
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Dec 8, 2013 02:58
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prezbuluskey posted:OK so I'm just getting into Achewood and read this storyline: Not knowing that Onstad would eventually get his poo poo together again, the end of that particular story arc would have been a really good place to end Achewood.
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Dec 8, 2013 03:04
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MMAgCh posted:Home, she ees...la grande illusion. She a time, no a place...an' you time here was over. Yeah as a twenty-something-moving-away-from-home for work guy it hit me way too hard. It's weird because usually when a webcomic or anything similar has a sad issue they usually sugarcoat it or have an underlying positive message, this was sort of brutal. I guess it did have an ok message towards the end of it about growing up? I'm not sure. Those are pretty rough as well. I thought it was all fun and games but no
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Dec 8, 2013 03:05
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I was actually visiting my mother when that storyline took place, no joke. My visit wasn't traumatizing like Philippe's, I was already in my 30s and well-removed from my childhood homes, but damned if Papa's speech didn't get me right there. Still does. It's eloquent melancholy.
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Dec 8, 2013 03:41
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Howard Beale posted:I was actually visiting my mother when that storyline took place, no joke. My visit wasn't traumatizing like Philippe's, I was already in my 30s and well-removed from my childhood homes, but damned if Papa's speech didn't get me right there. Still does. It's eloquent melancholy. Melancholy was the proper word I was searchin for. Showed the comic to my roommate. He cried. poo poo's getting strange.
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Dec 8, 2013 03:47
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prezbuluskey posted:Melancholy was the proper word I was searchin for. Showed the comic to my roommate. He cried. poo poo's getting strange. You know why your roommate cried? Because he has a soul. That poo poo was a total gutpunch.
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Dec 8, 2013 04:13
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prezbuluskey posted:Melancholy was the proper word I was searchin for. Showed the comic to my roommate. He cried. poo poo's getting strange.
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Dec 8, 2013 04:42
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Just wait until you have a kid of your own, knowing full well that you're simply perpetuating the cycle. But still doing your damnedest to make it the most positive experience for them that you ever possibly could, thereby making this sort of realization even harder for them in the future. All this because a tiny cartoon otter reflects a bit of your own innocence, and he misses the hell out of his mom's pork chops.
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Dec 8, 2013 04:44
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Fillerbunny posted:Just wait until you have a kid of your own, knowing full well that you're simply perpetuating the cycle. But still doing your damnedest to make it the most positive experience for them that you ever possibly could, thereby making this sort of realization even harder for them in the future. Your mom is just dreaming about the day in the future when she can retire to China. Now if we work really hard at it and learn Chinese, maybe we can go and visit her someday?
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Dec 8, 2013 05:06
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prezbuluskey posted:Yeah as a twenty-something-moving-away-from-home for work guy it hit me way too hard. It's weird because usually when a webcomic or anything similar has a sad issue they usually sugarcoat it or have an underlying positive message, this was sort of brutal.
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Dec 8, 2013 15:24
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I remember when I came to that same realization. I went to take a walk around the neighborhood I grew up in 15 years after I had moved away. I started off nostalgic, but everything was off. This house has new siding, the church on the corner has built a huge new addition, this house cut the mimosa trees down, etc. All a little dispiriting, but the last straw was when I spotted a VHS tape in the ditch, half-covered with pinestraw. When I looked at it, it was an all-anal porno tape. I finally understood what the phrase "you can't go home again" actually means.
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Dec 8, 2013 18:12
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It seems having a lovely place with lovely people as a childhood neighborhood has its merits. Everytime I go back, yep, same shithole, just as I remember it. It actually feels better now, with a sort of twisted nostalgia. I guess everything evens out in the end. Or maybe I get hit twice as hard when my mother finally decides to move. Or dies.
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Dec 8, 2013 18:41
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As a samurai meditates on death so do nerds meditate on change.
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Dec 8, 2013 22:10
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It's still really painful to reach the end of that arc. Because I always click one too far and start the high school story.
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Dec 8, 2013 23:47
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MMAgCh posted:I hope that right afterwards you showed him the strip where Lyle pukes so hard it makes a football go three feet. I spiraled it by the way. That doesn't just happen by not caring.
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Dec 8, 2013 23:55
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The best part of that amazing strip is that Lyle sees a football on the floor and thinks "Oh HELL yes!".
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Dec 9, 2013 08:48
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the high school arc isnt bad it just became horrifying because of how long the updates took, if you read it now it doesnt seem nearly so drawn out and creepy.
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Dec 9, 2013 17:55
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FirstPersonShitter posted:the high school arc isnt bad it just became horrifying because of how long the updates took, if you read it now it doesnt seem nearly so drawn out and creepy. Yeah, to be truthful when I re-read it not all that long ago, it really didn't seem any more or less creepy than any of the other disturbing/weird Achewood arcs that preceded it. Plus it did give us Mayner and Lurquilla. 
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Dec 9, 2013 18:53
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I just reread the high school arc today and it is pretty drat creepy in a way that, say, Cartilage Head isn't. Probably because it's such a deep look into what it's actually like in Nice Pete's mind. Also features one of Roast Beef's surprising moments of competence in times of crisis which if you think about it shouldn't be very surprising because Roast Beef is if nothing else a dude who has experience with adversity.
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Dec 9, 2013 19:36
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My Lovely Horse posted:I just reread the high school arc today and it is pretty drat creepy in a way that, say, Cartilage Head isn't. Probably because it's such a deep look into what it's actually like in Nice Pete's mind. See, for my money, this strip is far more disturbing of a look into Nice Pete's mindset than the "Fast Times at Achewood High" arc was.
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Dec 9, 2013 19:59
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Sydney Bottocks posted:See, for my money, this strip is far more disturbing of a look into Nice Pete's mindset than the "Fast Times at Achewood High" arc was. I knew which page that was gonna be before I clicked the link. That is THE Nice Pete strip.
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Dec 10, 2013 02:15
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Dodgeball posted:I knew which page that was gonna be before I clicked the link. That is THE Nice Pete strip. But it's important to know where he comes from.
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Dec 10, 2013 02:24
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FirstPersonShitter posted:the high school arc isnt bad it just became horrifying because of how long the updates took, if you read it now it doesnt seem nearly so drawn out and creepy. it's pretty creepy to feature a predatory gay man using the imminence of death as a means to non-consensual sex. Just, in my opinion.
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Dec 10, 2013 02:51
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Oh uh, ahem.
Rev. Bleech_ fucked around with this message at 03:38 on Dec 10, 2013 |
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Dec 10, 2013 03:33
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Van Dis posted:it's pretty creepy to feature a predatory gay man using the imminence of death as a means to non-consensual sex. Just, in my opinion. Pretty sure it was supposed to come off as creepy.
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Dec 10, 2013 03:40
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