I am your vinyl Grammar Goddess, and I am all right

So someone (read: one of those AGPT mods whom I refuse to publicly acknowledge) linked me to THIS, created by a self-described "grammatically conscientious person who frequents internet forums and YouTube." That right there is a rare breed.

I bring this link to your attention because I think the Alot is a stroke of brilliance, maybe even two strokes, possibly three. And yeah, if I think it's brilliant, you know it really is some kind of fucking brilliant.

To display my reverence for this anthropomorphic snarky genius, I have decided to add a pet Alot to my menagerie. Hopefully Godzilla won't eat it. Or alternately, that it won't eat Toshi. That would be a tragedy of epic food chain proportions, but I suppose it's a risk I'm going to have to take.

You know what else I need to add while I'm at it? A pet Alright. The Alright's name derives from its physical appearance, as all its outward features protrude from the right side, creating a most unusual effect. Witness:



I claim copyright for the Alright, but now it is in your brain (more on that below). The Alright is necessary because, hey, guess what kids? Brace yourselves: there is no such word as "alright."

The proper usage is "all right."

One could make an argument for "allright" as a compound word, if one were sufficiently lubricated by one's beverage of choice and arguing with someone who is not me. Because that compound word argument fails. Think about it: it's not like you start dropping letters out of the middle of other compound words. Why would you do so to alleged compound word allright? I mean, it's not a "balroom" or a "bilboard" or "dicwad," is it? Therefore, citing grammatical precedent, it's not all right to use alright.

And you know, I blame this slipping of standards on The Who. I like The Who, but can't forgive them for coining alright. To prove my point: CLICK HERE. Whoa, cosmic lipsynching fail! Seriously, what were the electic guitars plugged into, a duck's ass? The punters in the background all have very proper "WTF?" looks on their faces, probably because Pete Townsend had clearly not yet perfected his trademark windmill move. Maybe the guitars were plugged into Pete's ass, I don't know.

Anyway, I curse The Who for this non-standard abbreviation. Curse them! Even the American Dictionary, swimming in vernacular tides, decided in 1996 that they might as well acknowledge 'alright' as a wordage. Yeah, well, they suck.

You people, you write what you will. But remember this: every time you use the word 'alright' that Alright up there is going to crawl into your right ear and take a bite out of your brain.

And you know, the Alright's steady chomping away of your brain meats may very well explain the existence of The Squee:



Yeah.

Llama Tales

You've no doubt heard about the llama who showed up for the Bible reading? What, no? Here, read all about it: BORING RELIGIOUS LLAMA STORY HERE.

Yeah, whatever, my llamas don't go in for that. They are, however, known for wandering down to the corner bar and pulling a couple tall cool ones on a Saturday night. And they're more likely to cuss you out (in llama) than they are to quote Scripture. But hey, to each his own.

Right now my llamas are righteously bald.



Yes, I know that is a picture of Righteously Bald Yul Brynner. I happen to think it is more interesting to look at a photo of angry Yul Brynner than it is to look at a pathetic shorn llama. Yul Brynner, he was hot. Llamas, they are not hot...but they make good eats.

Anyway, my llamas were shorn last week so Jiggy could send their fleece to Louisiana. Llamas don't have oil in their hair, see, so their fleece makes the perfect absorbent for catastrophic oil spills. The llamas don't care about being balded so long as they have a few brews handy and access to the latest installment of ROCKET LLAMA. Plus now they will be all comfy cool in the summer heat. We had a neighbor once who used to shave her collie in the summer, and that dog looked like ass without fur. Its ass especially looked like ass, and let me tell you, a collie ass should not be hairless.

But llamas? They're used to getting shorn. And it's for a good cause.

What is not good in any way is this lousy oil spill. WTF, is someone out to destroy New Orleans? I know I'm not the first to articulate that paranoid idea but really, I don't think it's so damned paranoid when you get right to it. The good times we're supposed to be rolling in down there aren't meant to be soaked in crude...or at least not that kind of crude. My outrage covers plenty of political ground because as I see it, there's plenty blame to go around.

Things Need To Be Fixed, that's what I'm saying. And if they aren't fixed soon, I've got surplus stock of llama beans to pass along to the lazy asses what should be doing the fixing. And hey, I'll raise Yul Brynner from the dead to deliver said llama beans while I'm at it. If you thought Righteously Bald Yul Brynner was fierce? Yeah, you don't know fierce until you've messed with Righteously Bald Undead Yul Brynner.

Scary, creepy, and inappropriate musicians

I'm here today to talk to you about musicians.

But first, let's talk about Jimmy Buffett.

I had to start new paragraphs there, because putting "musician" and that man's name in the same one would upset the time-space continuum due to the enormity of the oxymoron it would generate.

That loser Jimmy Buffett! I have it on good authority that he owns a time machine, because how else was he able to steal both the parrot that should rightfully have belonged to me (and fuck you for that, AG) as well as my musical career?

That's right. I wrote Margaritaville, not that loser. All those songs about booze? Yeah, mine. And those songs about pirates? Also me. "Why Don't We Get Drunk" (and Screw)? Okay, that one was Jiggy's, but it was about me. Volcano? Also by me. (See previous post on why volcanoes are awesome. Not that this needs to be elaborated upon because, clearly, they just are.)

That "He Went to Paris" travesty was all Jimmy, though.



He did not, however, steal my sense of style. Obviously. Granted he'd look ridiculous in a black American Girl shirt and a red bandana, but frankly it would be an improvement over the above photo.

So now the truth is out, next time you see Jimmy Buffett wandering around (because really, how could you miss him?), do give him a kick in the shins for me.

Jimmy Buffet is on my mind because I am bothered by not having any living musicians in my Entourage. Not that I'd consider adding him! He just pisses me off, is all. And before you ask, yeah, I'm still working on bringing Warren Cash to life. Be patient: DNA is tricky stuff. Also, my offer still stands for a lifetime Entourage position to any musician who can beat John Mayer out for more awards at the Grammys...or any other contest...or who can kick him in the balls.

So yeah, I've been thinking about musicians. To remedy the Entouragical lack thereof, I have decided to add Voltaire to my Entourage.



I think he'll fit right in. The man has a song called "Zombie Prostitute." You should be able to tell from the title alone that it is pretty much the definition of "scary, creepy, and inappropriate." And that you shouldn't listen to it while your kids are in the room.

Also, his violinist is awesome.

"But AJ," you say, "how does that make him awesome?" You're a fool for asking. Everyone knows that violin/fiddle in modern music is both awesome and under-utilized. Voltaire had the good taste to include violin in his music and to hire a kick-ass violinist.

Ergo, Voltaire is awesome. Photogenic as well. And now, part of my Entourage. Welcome, Voltaire.