Vote or Die

Usual drill: only two things written be me in today's Weekly. Go four Sean Burns reviews down and you'll find me blathering on about The Machinist, where you can decide what's more disconcerting: Christian Bale's 63 lb. weight drop of Jennifer Jason Leigh not hamming up the place. Also: Rep.

I'm going to try to keep this thing going, but, at least for the next month, that will be rough. See, I'm now gainfully employed. Today, I started full-time work as a temp, which means free time will be devoted to writing up stuff for work, which is not only my passion, but will undoubtedly be my sanity since I'm little more than a filing lackey (who doesn't get smoke breaks -- not that I know of, anyway). In between these, as well as countless papercuts, I'm also toying around with the sadistic idea of taking part in a novel-writing competition. The gimmick is that everyone must write 50,000 words (roughly 175 pages) during the entire month of November. The winner: anyone who meets the word quota! Whimsical, no doubt, but I've been meaning to write this novella that's been richocheting around my head and, since I live by deadlines, it seems the best course of action. I'll try and write as often as possible.

For now, I leave you with this: the same exact joke has been put forth by both The Onion (ninth one down) and the returning episode of South Park. Also, probably some dudes with bongs or some shit.