A pox upon anyone who would describe this magnificent achievement by artist Neill Cameron as anything other than ABSOLUTELY AWESOME or possibly AWESOMESAUCE or AWESOMENOSITYITS RICKINSELF: an alphagory of awesomeness. It is quite simply manifestly the most magnificent mashup of the millennium.

And look, he takes requests: Facebook, Twitter, or on his blog. Alas, too late for Cthulhu crunking for Cher.
via Neatorama.

Those of you who know me (if only from the Wanted posters on the wall of the Post Office) know that if there’s one thing I love, besides Cthulhu, it’s slam poetry.

What? No, really.

Many are the hours I’ve spent playing and re-playing the CD in Spoken Word Revolution and more even than these are the hours I’ve spent enjoying the poetical stylings of Taylor Mali, full-time schoolteacher, part-time living god of spoken word poetry.

Behold Taylor Mali, on What Teachers Make:

“You see, I have a policy about honesty and ass-kicking, which is: if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.”

Some of us here in the Manoloverse may confess (after the second double Hendricks) to a slight dependency on various social media outlets. Nothing we can’t handle. We can sign out any time. We just choose to have our Twitter Following updates sent to our cellpone, and to sleep with it there beside us on the pillow.

Steve Jobs grant me the serenity to accept
the account settings I cannot change;
the technical chops to change the things I can;
and wisdom to pick a decent password.

Blogging one day at a time;
Tweeting one moment at a time;
Accepting spyware as the pathway to Microsoft updates;
Taking, as Mahir did, this LinkedIn world
as it is, not as I would have it;
a cross between NIN.com and Lolthulhu.com.
Trusting that the guys in IT will make all things right
if I surrender to their obnoxious preference for blocking Blogspot;
That I may be reasonably happy in Second Life
and supremely happy with The Sims
Forever avatar.
Amen.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Some of us are rather fond of our little Facebook pages and so on, to the extent of posting pictures there of not only ourselves but also our unsuspecting families. And this is where Facebook has a problem with us.

Facebook hates boobies.

Now, this may come as news to teenagers and college kids everywhere, or, indeed, to journalists who do their homework, for lo, the boobage of Facebook is verily mountainous, rules or no rules.

So Facebook has decided to take action. Facebook is running around Facebook, deleting pictures of breasts wherever it finds them, and this is where the real problem lies: Facebook is deleting pictures of mothers breastfeeding their babies on the grounds that such pictures are, by definition, “obscene.”

From Time Magazine:

On Dec. 27, some 11,000 protesters held a virtual nurse-in by uploading breast-feeding photos onto their Facebook profiles, and 20 or so women showed up at the company’s headquarters in Palo Alto, Calif., to breast-feed there. By Dec. 30, more than 85,000 members had joined a Facebook group called “Hey, Facebook, breastfeeding is not obscene!”

If you’re not of the persuasion that sees private breastfeeding pictures as obscene, there are a few things you can do to take action. Maria Lavis has some suggestions on her blog:

Annoyed like me? Want to do something?

1. Join this Facebook group/petition: Hey Facebook, nursing is not obscene
   
2. Join this Facebook group/petition: Facebook, do not sell my pictures, I want my rights back!
   
3. Write to Facebook at privacy AT facebook DOT com
   
4. Bug newspapers to write more about this
5. Blog about this
6. Digg this post to show Facebook this is a real issue they need to handle
7. If Facebook doesn’t change, take your and your kids patronage elsewhere

He lurks everywhere!

via Carocat

Well has the eloquent Glinda pointed out the sheer wrongitude of allowing (or, Cthulhu forbid, encouraging) your pre- or barely-pubescent daughter to dress up like some sort of novelty escort on Halloween. Truly, if a courtesan would charge extra for the outfit, it’s not something that should sully a child’s wardrobe or reputation.

Apart from placing one’s foot with unnecessary firmness upon the ground and refusing to buy the “Sienna Miller in St. Tropez” outfit, there are other ways to strike back at a costume industry that seems intent on pandering to the demands of those who routinely use the service of panderers, rather than to the more appropriate requests of concerned parents.

Like this:

If you’re a parent it is presumable, although not biologically required, that you are over the age of consent. If you are over the age of consent, you’re allowed to dress as trashily as you like, yea, even unto the realms inhabited by Paris Hilton, Katie Price, Tara Reid, and other assorted human Bratz dolls.

Do this instead:

From Airchinapilot’s Photobooth at Parade of Lost Souls

If you can’t give up on the urge to shock people, rest assured this may still be achieved while maintaining one’s modesty. The Brits have done transvestitism to death, but what about dressing up as adorable little children?

Say, these ones?

I know these things are mindless, automated random answer generators, but I can’t help but look over my shoulder when I see a result like this:

It’s eerie, I tell ya. Except that last part. This is the costume I’m making for myself this year…a classic? O R’lyeh?

via JudithJane

Welcome to Cthulhu-ville, where the overlords are unspeakable, the architecture is non-Euclidean and the natives are eldritch.

This is the garage sale sign you pass on your way to a playground that looks like this:

And after you’ve take the spawn to the playground you drive home:

(are those bloody handprints? Charming!)

And tuck the tadpoles into bed in an apartment block that looks like this:

Sweet dreams! Fhtagn!

You will recall our tentaclacious Santa Claus, the malign Cthulhu in disguise, picking up some pocket change working a few shifts at the mall. Now it’s time to announce the winner of our caption contest:

Twistie Says:
December 21st, 2007 at 10:28 pm

All I want for Christmas is not to be eaten or driven to madness by Santa. And a red bike.

and now, the virtual presentation of the hypothetical shoes for the imaginary award ceremony.

and yes, I am deeply in love with Giuseppe Zanotti and his beautiful shoes.