Well, I’m off Bluesky for the time being. Good. Send it to hell. I feel like it was designed to drive me insane. Nevertheless, I’m happy that I have been able to commune with a lot of cool people on there, one benefit of keeping the follower count sharp. The coolest of the cool all subscribe to Muleskinner Presser, because they know there’s no price better than free. 

I should say: really glad about the support on my rejoinder to my prior publication using an essay of mine out of context. Go hit archive and see the grumpiest titled thing if you want to read it. Because the initial issue here was milking something, I am not linking it. I already explained it.

Beyond that, one chief call to arms here: consider a Typebar subscription. What Matt’s doing is helping a lot of writers who aren’t getting the traditional ins to publish and then paying them decent rates for criticism. This project is a genuine life saver: during my year of underemployment Matt not only advanced me the funds to stay alive but was understanding when life intervened. A subscription is $50 for the year, which with 4 issues comes out to about $12.50, plus interstitial essays and short stories.

I write this between finishing one thing for Typebar (how Kid Rock was always kind of the guy we see today) and then getting ready to write another (it’s a secret, but involves Greg Brady).

Which gave me time to consider things, like my hierarchy of Looney Tunes characters. I very rarely designate a movie as needing to be seen in theaters, and besides Robert Pattinson doing an eerily good Chris Hansen impression, nothing else besides Coyote v. Acme gives me that “get a sack of corn for $50 and a ticket for $80” feeling. So in honor of the release, here are my favorite Looney Tunes. Results follow, no order. All mentioned are equal in my heart. I’m not writing about Bugs Bunny because I don’t think there’s much to say. He’s Bugs Bunny. 

Daffy Duck- I’ve always been a Bob Clampett man at heart, and thus like his wacky “wa-hoo! Wa-hoo!” Daffy a little more than the lisping, self-loathing character he’d become. The Clampett Tunes have a real sense of attractive formlessness, like the cartoons occasionally fall into negative space, and it’s no wonder he did so well with Daffy. Because most of my readers are on Bluesky: I have a theory Swan Boy is basically the Clampett Daffy Duck, with Noel standing in as the neurotic Daffy. That makes Rona Porky Pig. Speaking of which…

Porky Pig- when you’re young, you love Bugs Bunny because he’s silly and gets over on the bad guys. When you get older, you begin to see the comic potentialities of Daffy Duck. But I think at some point: you are a normal person, who will not change the world, and that’s when you begin understanding Porky Pig. He’s a bedraggled everyman who keeps getting into situations beyond his capabilities, just like you. Not only that, but he stars in Porky in Wackyland, which I think is the greatest Looney Tune of all time. Importantly, I think he’s the only Looney Tune I would have a drink with. I think he understands who he is and wouldn’t be on the whole time! I’d love to know about his experience dating Debbie Harry in the 70s. 

Wile E. Coyote/Roadrunner- Perhaps cheating to put them in one entry, but there is no point in arguing with me about it because, what are you going to do, watch a Roadrunner cartoon without Wile E Coyote? The two define each other’s existence. In that cartoon desert, they are all they have. The pleasure of Roadrunner cartoons is watching the level of desperation in Wile E. as he tries to kill the Roadrunner only for the Roadrunner to break the rules of reality, leaving Wile E’s continued desperation even more comedic. If my opp ran through a painted tunnel I’d give up. But, as the wonderful Albert Burneko essay in Deadspin points out: he can’t. What else is he going to eat? That makes it even funnier. 

Foghorn Leghorn- my fraternity brothers used to compare me to Foghorn Leghorn. Last night my partner gave me a look while we watched the “Mel Blanc yelling compilation” we watch on occasion when Foghorn Leghorn was going on and on about how he could shut up, how he’s not like other people, how he was raised right and could shut up when asked, etc. I’m not without my biases here. One of my more supercilious takes is that the Looney Tunes are almost archetypal comedic figures, and Foghorn Leghorn predicts no less than Danny McBride. 

FROM THE TOMBS

Wrote about Raekwon visiting Palantir and about how the Wu-Tang Clan painted themselves into a corner with “Wu-Tang Forever”.

SCENE/HERD/RED

• Elephant Graveyard’s “How Comedy Drowned in a Radioactive Cesspool of Corruption and Depravity” is the last anybody needs to say about the Austin, Texas comedy/propaganda machine because it centers around a very compelling point: Joe Rogan’s turn towards having on human crocodiles like Peter Thiel and Marc Andressen was about getting access to power by being a dead-eyed, regurgitative hemorrhoid for them, meaning he was completely okay with handwaving the Jeffrey Epstein connections of Thiel when convenient. He does this by emulating the galaxy brain style brain pinging connections that conspiracy videos take on via rapid editing and shaky footage. The problem is this stuff is all true. Besides the bombshell section, the biggest highlight is the rapid devolution of Bert Kreischer, now sequestered in his basement, red-faced and jacking off to VR porn. I’d watch that Van Wilder sequel. Ryan Reynolds deserves the embarrassment. 

• Sword of the Lictor by Gene Wolfe: the last 150 pages of this book is Gene Wolfe letting his nuts hang. I’m finally reading Lord of the Rings next year but I highly doubt any other fantasy novel can beat the section that begins with Severian’s “exile” from Thrax through to the end of the book, when he joins a revolt against a slaver and learns he’s the book’s very strange messiah. A lot of what Wolfe gets noted for is the “trickiness” of his texts, so it’s nice to see him decide to just write the most dope science-fantasy shit possible, including my all time favorite fantasy monster…the Alzabo, a weird alien-lion-bear hybrid that devours people but doesn’t exactly “kill” them, but instead absorbs them into the organism, wherein they can use that person’s voice to call out victims so they can “reunite”. Shadow is a wonderful introduction to a world, and Claw begins laying out an eschatology and mystery. Sword is just thrilling while not sacrificing the best parts of the prior two books. I’d call it my favorite SFF book if not for the fact I read…

• Beyond Apollo by Barry N. Malzburg: I’ve gotten less annoyed with books that are self-conscious they are “books” or have a “trick” behind them. Once upon a time I thought the authorial eye was supposed to be a camera. I was wrong. Beyond Apollo works on a fascinating trick: more or less, the same chapter repeats one or two bits of information around 67 times. The information is this: on a trip to Venus, Harry Evans killed the captain of the mission. Or the captain died. Or Harry was about to be sexually assaulted by the captain. There is no solid answer: just the fact that on a trip to Venus, Harry was the only survivor. Harry also, recurrently, tells us about his issues with his wife in bed. And also, the possibility he might want to have sex with the captain. The book continues these basic facts, taking some away, adding some, for the 150 page length. And yet: the repetition never makes the book worse. Instead, that repetition makes you more curious about what happened on that expedition to Venus (and, mild spoiler, Harry’s state may be because of the expedition).
  
  On a new wave SF nerd tip, the book also reads like Malzburg read JG Ballard’s “Which Way to Inner Space” and said, “Bet, I can do that.” Part of what connects it to that specific essay is its lack of interest in the whizz-bang parts of science fiction that have been a convenient cover for a technology that pushes beyond human limits, an issue that now permeates our everyday lives. 

• I Liked Rex by Dianne Williams- turns out the secret to getting me to like New Yorker style fiction is simple. One, make the stories very short. Two, finely tune every sentence until it hums like a V6. So much of literary fiction is about the mystification of “moments”, but the moments usually feel banal to me. By shearing away almost every bit of plot info (what her one time teacher Gordon Lish called “the news”) and character building, you get this crystalized effect. Reader beware: the intro is rough sledding and makes Diane sound incredibly boring and twee.

That’s it. See you 9/31.