11:20 pm

Standard Fantasy Names, by Race/Plot Significance

Thought I'd drum up a list of fantasy character names for you all (all meaning less than five people) to use in novels, comics, D&D, or whatever else you please. All of these should be considered public domain and free to use as long as you credit me, the esteemed original author.


Thorg Bullfucker
Grag Smallpackage
Leonard Swordington III
Noh Personalatea
Todd Normalguy
Dude Dudesmith
Biceppio Throwthings


Glethnar Falksssskbrrgvvvv'vv'v
Snidely Plansalot
Evil McVillainname
Skreth Shavestache
Flayer Bagelstein
Dethname Dedguy
Fuckskull Ripcrusher
Igive Upeth
Major Decapitacious
Evil Badman

Side characters:

Dudebro Bestfriend
Wendy Buxomwench
Tits McCoy
Thirdus Wheelus
Plotto Devicio
Leper #3


Treehug Peacemaker
Ya-all kata'araeerarrarraeeeioudeyn
Smu'ugge Assershion
Apostrophe'e Unnecessairey
U'unproenounseahble Clusterphhhhhhhhh-k
Longhair Gnarlydank
Queen Noscope of the Forest Triples
Bowshoot Bushcamper
Grasswind Holeshitter
Jamescamerons Avaat'arr
Nippelle Faanservis


Muchmead Lovebooze
Coolbro Loksmorth
Grug Grog
Beard Masculine
Dorf Morfsdowr
Stonefist Rockhammer
Cap'n Jack
Igneous Hardfuck
Snorl Minersson
Beardsley Donker
Sheila Hairysnatch
Digby Kickaxe
Dirty Dentures
Pintaguinness Stonesworth
Bud Weiser
Pabst Bloorebben
Ore Knot


Norg Bassdrop
Flog Blogdrog
Smash Hitguy
Skmuth Headbang
Broski Bigaxe
Thug Mudlicker
Rim Jobb
Cannen Fodr
Hugehips Liftalot
Stevie Necks
Axel Roads
Pecs Mansmash


Nilbo Naggins
Smallio Shortstuff
Squat Hairyfoot
Juan Reeng

Lizard/Snake/Whatever People:

Reptor Illumernatty
Scaletongue Coldblood
Longtail Slowbrain
Misster Hissworth
Snakey Betrayalater
Forktongue Snagglesnitch
Crush Deathhug
Teeth McCoy
Hiram Hentai III
Boobicus Inexplicablus


Horsedick Stealyogurl
Fabio Majestico
Mord Fustang
Longbow Fasthoof
Mick Foaly
Neighor Sugarlick
Haystack Oatmunch
Painbow Smash
Buckteeth Whinnyninny
Colt Confusedboner
Hunk Horseworth

11:08 pm

Hair Supply

Haircuts are an admission of defeat. Your hair is too long. You can't trim the bangs yourself. It's starting to look like a wild animal has taken up nesting in the thing on top of your head. People ask you if you're going to an 80's reunion party. The beginnings of a mullet are reaching their greasy tendrils down the back of your neck; you've started listening to Air Supply again and cannot stop.


You know it's time. You don't want to give up, but you have to. It all has to end someday. You clutch the phone with a trembling hand as you make an appointment. Your voice drips with defeat. 

"Y-yes. Monday at 12 is good. Thanks."


You hang up the phone. Bury your face in your hands. The end is near.

It's Monday. The hairdresser cheerfully asks if you need a wash. No, lady, c'mon, do I look that dirty? Oh God, maybe I do look that dirty.

"No thanks," you reply, smiling like the weak, quivering lump of failure you are.

Why are they always so cheerful? And sincere? They're not Stepford Wives, but still, you suspect. And they have scissors oh so close to your neck. And your ears! Have they ever cut off someone's ear intentionally? Have they ever done it accidentally? You keep in mind to google that when you get home.

Snip go the scissors as they cut the first lock. "Goodbye, old friend" you whisper mentally. The hairdresser gives you a funny look in the mirror. Maybe you said that out loud.

And now she thinks you're the serial killer. Good going. She still tries to make conversation, though, as they all seem contractually required to do. The same old "So... where do you work"s and "Where do you live"s spoken through chewing gum you've heard a hundred times before. Somehow, with all that practice, you still manage to say something awkward. Maybe you were too busy trying not to stare at them in the mirror, or at least not enough for them to notice.

Oh. They noticed.

You fidget, trying to distract yourself. Wishing you could mind control your phone and do anything to pass this hour-long stretch of 15 minutes. Unfortunately, telekinesis hasn't been invented yet.

So you sit in silent shame as your hard work falls to the floor. It's going to be short; otherwise there's no point going to the hairdresser, is there? But logic has no place in your grief-stricken mind. You're going to have to grow it all out again. For a few painful weeks, you'll be in the no man's land that lies between "military draft/special ed student" and "respectable, professional individual." 

And yet, as you stand up from the comfy 50's lounge chair that seems to exist in every hairdresser, you look at yourself in the mirror and see a new person. A brave, determined person. Someone who could do something with their life. Someone who could be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a movie star--okay, probably not a movie star--or an astronaut, or...

Or someone who could hurry up and pay. That's fine, too.

As you leave the hairdresser's, you feel naked. You can feel the wind on your scalp. You thought that thing was buried forever. At the same time, you feel free. Free of that one hair that kept tickling your neck and no matter how hard you tried, you could never find. Free of the emotional baggage of thinking the elderly are judging you. You like jazz, too, you swear. You're not one of them damn rebel kids, or foreigners, or whoever the octogenarians of today direct their ire to. You're a responsible member of fuckin' society; that's why your entire existence depends upon caffeine to make up for your grossly maladjusted sleep schedule. You go file that report, tiger. File it like a motherfucker.

Yay! I made it through a common social situation! Only infinity more to go!

10:20 pm

Ye Olde Fantasy Poste

Fantasy trilogies are like a road trip. In the beginning, everyone's enthusiastic and happy and ready for adventure. The middle book is like the trip itself, in that it's long, boring, and everybody starts to hate each other by the end. The third book is finally getting to Disneyland; it's all fun and games and excitement... until somebody dies.

Yeah, some are really good, but some feel like the second book is a mostly unnecessary exercise in setting up for the third book. Do we really need 600 pages to announce that the final battle is happening soon? That's like a videogame making you go through a three-hour-long tutorial before it lets you fight anything. There's padding out the length, and then there's the equivalent of Dragon Ball Z's 7000 filler episodes compiled into a book.

"Ah! Our quest to find the one star Dragon Ball has led us to our most dangerous foe yet! 
The immortal Colonel Sanders of the Red Ribbon Army!"
[Evil laughter]
[Ass beating]
"He's too strong!"
[Insert Krillin reaction face/death here]
[Yamcha runs away]
[Goku fixes everything in five minutes]

And don't even get me started on those motherfucking elves. Bunch of sanctimonious wet towels whinging on about nature whilst polishing their bows and refusing to help the heroes until the last goddamn minute--and only then because the nature god, Taurus Fuckskillet, finally told them to get off their pretty little asses and lend a manicured hand. Seriously, they're like the A-Team of getting absolutely nothing done. Supposedly famed for their legendary fighting prowess, but then their precious forest gets burned down and they cry onto their wooden friendship bracelets while getting wrecked by medieval Satan's dire wolf cavalry.

Dwarves are way cooler. They're total bros, and they build some pretty, uh, "interesting" fortresses. I mean, what would you rather do: get smashed with a bunch of underground bros and go out hunting for Orcs at 3 am, or sit solemnly in the Elves' talking circle and discuss the merits of green energy and kale salad? I thought so.

If you're a dwarf (or just spend a lot of time in your basement), you may be able to understand this.

12:07 pm


Have a quote from a food blog

"To be honest, antiperspirants have never made sense to me, since perspiration is one of the great ways for body to get rid of toxins, chemicals and heavy metals. If you are wearing antiperspirants (that are loaded with tons of harsh and toxic chemicals), you are blocking a natural way for your body to cleanse itself."
"Harsh" and "toxic" are words that apply perfectly to the way Axe smells, I'll give you that. Otherwise, I think you need to stop assuming that toxic things are toxic in even the smallest quantities. There is such a thing as a toxicity threshold, you know. Also, if I don't use antiperspirants, how am I supposed to go about my week without smelling like a pickle and blue cheese sandwich by Friday?

"If you are wearing deodorants to neutralize your body smell, it may be time to consider that most body ordors [sic] come from the foods we eat or from the reaction of our body to the food once it is digested. Keep in mind that what you eat in private will show up in public. The smell of foods that you just consumed is trying to get your of your skin [sic] and perspiration is a way for your body to get rid of the toxins and harmful stuff. Instead of hiding what you eat, maybe you should watch your diet and be mindful of what you put in your body."

Well, there's my answer. I'll just start eating only natural, healthy, organic foods like fruit, and I'll never smell bad again!

"Smell that? Like a combination of unwashed socks, sea salt and baby vomit? 
That's the smell of ripening innovation."