So I was watching "Fellowship of the Ring" again...

and it gets to the point where Frodo's been stabbed by the badasses in black and he's all "ooh I'm hurt wahwahwah" and then Liv Tyler comes along and runs away (like a girl, natch) with the wee one. She's looking foxy in her elf-ears and semi-transparent clothes and a light goes off in my head. Wasn't she pregnant recently? And didn't she say that she'd pose naked after she had the baby? The answers, of course, are yes and yes.

Time to pay the piper, sweetheart.

Moving along...

Not a whole lot up with your beloved Imperator. I had gradschool orientation a few days ago. And it felt really, really weird. It's been four years since I was in school, and a lot of the people in my program are of the super-motivated variety. As most of you know, I am not one of those people. Then they start sounding off about how they went to Columbia and Stanford and so on. And then I feel like someone with a blazer is going to take me aside (they always wear blazers...fuckers) and say: "Mr. Caesar, I'm sure you understand we find this very embarassing, but it seems there's been a bit of a mistake. You actually should not be here and I'm afraid these two burly gentlemen with barcodes tattoed on their necks will have to 'escort' you off the property. Oh, and we're keeping your money too. Ta!" That feeling makes me want to set something on fire.

The day of my wedding approaches evermore close. That's a bright light in an otherwise pretty dim corner of the world. NonScarlett GF will arrive in all her glory, goats will be sacrificied, and linens will be bought. Speaking of linens, should anyone be of a mind to buy something as a contribution to NonScarlett GF's dowry, may I suggest something from here (bwo boing boing). I haven't passed this by the future missus yet, but I have a feeling she'd approve. And that feeling also makes me want to set something on fire.

Revisiting this earlier post: Fox has fucked me again. Not only do they have a show starring Carrot Top's less endearing cousin, they moved the best program to grace broadcast television in many many years to Monday night. Why is that so bad? Because Monday night is the ONLY NIGHT OF THE WEEK I HAVE CLASS. Maybe the memo about the world stopping and starting at my convenience got lost. But you and I know that's not what happened. Rupert Murdoch thinks I'll just bend over and take it like a prag in gen-pop. That's why I'm saying this now: I'll see you in Thunderdome, motherfucker. You know the rule. Two men enter, one man leaves. Seriously, I need to get tivo or something.

And Natalie Portman has a mohawk. She hasn't been this hot since she was ten years old. As Dennis Leary said, "I'm going to hell for that bit...and you're all coming with me."

Finally, here's a few bits of goodness from screenhead:

• Commercial adveritizing as it should be.
• A LOTR remix that one could put on European radio and absolutely no one on the continent would think you are making a joke.
• Finally, a flash-animation retelling of Star Wars Episode IV. Words can't accurately describe this one, but suffice it to say I have a huge kill-boner right now.

That is all.

I find your lack of deodorant disturbing

It's now a week since I returned from the Old World. I had a very nice time, to say the least, in various Germanic and Slavic countries with NonScarlett GF. I got twelve stamps in my passport, which makes me much more excited than it should. And I've been to a hot spring in Hungary, a first for me.

I can say without reservation Hungarian is the strangest language I've ever heard. Normally, when I go to a country that doesn't speak English like God intended, there are at least a few words that are familiar. Not so in Hungary. Even pronunciation is a complete mystery. For example, we passed through a village that the sign describes as "Becsehely Ujmajor" (with a peculiar umlaut or two thrown in). Now, to my mind, that would probably be pronounced "betchyahelly oomayor" or something. However, I can guarantee you it is not. It probably sounds like "reginald weatherbottom the third." You think I'm joking.

Another thing I noticed: Hungarians tend to be, shall we say, a stocky people. Not fat, just... broad.

Otherwise, most of our time was spent with NonScarlett GF's folks in North Croatia. No trips to the coast this year, so no eurotitties to be seen. However, a few young lasses at the previously mentioned hot spring were wearing thongs, so that was okay. They didn't really have the goods to pull off that particular piece of swimwear, but "A" for effort.

Soon after I got back, I posted pics from the trip to my flickr page. In my infinite wisdom, I posted the highest resolution pictures I could, and since I have a free account, that totaled five. In an attempt to fortify these meager photographic scraps, I deleted the huge pictures, hoping to replace them with a larger quantity of relatively smaller pictures. Alas, it was not to be. Once you've maxed out your free monthly uploads, they're gone for good. So now there's one picture from the trip on there, and the rest will have to wait. But next month, oh the wonders you will see! They include the pizzeria of the DEVIL and a town called "bitch."

I suppose the big news is that sometime next month NonScarlett GF is coming to our United States so that she and I can be married on the first of October. So if any of you think you really deserve an invitation, send the relevant details to the e-mail address in the blogger profile.

And many belated congratulations and salutations to Briantologist and his special lady friend on their new addition. I hear they go great with barbecue sauce.