Please welcome…

It’s been a long time since I’ve had any guests here at Fizzy Thoughts, so today I’d like to welcome Cthulhu.

cthulhu 300x224 Please welcome...

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Softdrink: Howdy Cthulhu. May I call you Cthulhu?

Cthulhu: No, you may call me Great Old One.

SD: Ooops, so sorry Great Old One. Moving on…you’ve been around awhile, but you seem to have a limited cult following. Why is that?

C (GOO): I attribute it to that hack writer, H.P. Lovecraft. Have you ever tried to read that shit he churned out? It’s practically incomprehensible. He’s single-handedly ruined my reputation.

SD: So. Not a Lovecraft fan, huh? Can you recommend some authors or books that you do like?

C (GOO): Well, you know, it’s hard to go wrong with Poe. The Tale-Tell Heart is a personal favorite. For something more modern, Gaiman is good. I’d recommend American Gods. And I, Cthulhu…that’s a 5 star read. And of course, there’s always the Necronomicon, although it can be hard to find a copy. Oh, and yours truly has an important cameo in Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters.

SD: I gotta say, you’re notorious for conjuring up images of evil and terror. But you’re surprisingly easy to talk to.

C (GOO): Well, I do like bookish chat. Satan and Dracula and Darth Vader and I get together every full moon for our book club, Bookish Baddies. This month we’ll be discussing Pride and Prejudice…the original, not that zombified version. You should join us, it’s a hoot. And bring that goat of yours, too.

SD: Oh, wow, um, thanks for the invite. But you know, I’m not a P&P fan.

C (GOO): Well then, you’ll have something in common with the Dark Lord – he couldn’t stand it, either.

SD: Besides book club, what else have you been up to lately? Got any exciting plans you’d like to share?

C (GOO): Well, I’ve abandoned my plans for immediate world domination. This drop in reading is distressing…I’m just not interested in ruling a world of non-readers. So for now, Cthulhu fhtagn.

SD: Oh yes, your motto. Tell me, which translation do you prefer? Cthulhu waits, or Cthulhu dreams?

C (GOO):: Dreams, definitely. It’s so much more evocative, don’t you think?

SD: I agree. Well, I’ll let you get back to your books. Thanks for stopping by and chatting.

C(GOO): You are most welcome. See you at book club.

 

A Sunday Salon song

TSSbadge11 A Sunday Salon song

The other night on Twitter, a bunch of us were being silly (what else is new), debating the attractiveness of Peeta and Gale from The Hunger Games. Chris from book-a-rama admitted she hadn’t yet read the books, but she was willing to be bribed into joining a team. I offered a song in exchange for her eternal devotion to Team Gale. Chris, I’ll be looking for your pro-Gale post soon.

And because my verses are a little off, this is meant to be sung to the tune of “Be My Baby,” by The Ronettes.

Last night on Twitter you said you’d join Team Gale
So order the book now and have it sent airmail
I’m writing this song for you
Chris book-a-rama, yes you
If you read it you’ll see
Why Gale is the guy for me
So won’t you please

(Read it read it right now) Read The Hunger Games
(You must read it Chris) So you’ll join Team Gale
(Read it read it right now) Read Hunger Games now
(You must read it Chris) Ooh, ohh, ohh, oh

It’ll make you happy, baby
Just wait and see
With every page turned you’ll agree
You’re no Peeta devotee
Since last night on Twitter
Our goal is to make Team Peeta bitter
So don’t be a quitter
In the name of all that’s holy
Oh won’t you please

(Read it read it right now) Read The Hunger Games
(You must read it Chris) So you’ll join Team Gale
(Read it read it right now) Read Hunger Games now
(You must read it Chris) Ooh, ohh, ohh, oh

So come on and please
(Read it read it right now) Read The Hunger Games
(You must read it Chris) So you’ll join Team Gale
(Read it read it right now) Read Hunger Games now
(You must read it Chris) Ooh, ohh, ohh, oh

(Read it read it right now) Read The Hunger Games
(You must read it Chris) So you’ll join Team Gale
(Read it read it right now) Read Hunger Games now
(You must read it Chris) Ooh, ohh, ohh, oh

 

Ain’t Too Proud to Bed

tree bed

Some necessary backstory:

Yesterday on Twitter Trish of Hey Lady wasn’t too proud to beg…for an ARC from a Scholastic rep by the name of Tyler. Thing is, Trish was so excited that she hit the d instead of g, resulting in her public announcement that she wasn’t too proud to bed.

Hilarity ensued. Or so it appears…unfortunately I missed all the fun (at Trish’s expense). However, I somehow got nominated to write the commemorative song. Luckily, Dawn (my partner in parodying crime) supplied me with the start of the chorus.

Before we get to the song, though, a bit more backstory. Last night on Twitter, in a show of support for her fellow redhead, Rebecca (from The Book Lady’s Blog) reiterated her willingness to throw her panties at John Irving. Which is all it took for her to get added to the song.

And then she double dog dared me to work Millie and Billy into the song. You may have read about Millie and Billy…they’re pretty famous. Billy might have a little crush on Millie. We’re not sure about Millie, as she always seems to be asleep. Someday, when they’re both awake, we’ll get them together for a little chat.

Anyways, back to the song. Picture The Temptations singing Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.  And while my version might be a little awkward, I guarantee it’ll sound better if you belt it out…

We know they want to read it,
‘Cause they tweet so shamelessly
Those redheads will say and do almost anything
They don’t mind, they’re whorin’ for books with glee

Ain’t too proud to bed, Trish Hey Lady
She’s hot for Tyler, don’t you know
Ain’t too proud to toss panties, that Book Lady
She wants John Irving, watch her throw

Now I heard a readin’ girl,
Is a shameless girl, with no sense of pride
Don’t tell Dave and Bob ‘bout the other guys,
They’ll start weepin’ at the antics of their bookish brides

Ain’t too proud to bed, Trish Hey Lady
She’s hot for Tyler, don’t you know
Ain’t too proud to toss panties, that Book Lady
She wants John Irving, watch her throw

If they have to ring the doorbell
All night and day just to meet an author and parlez
They love their books, like Billy loves Millie
Because these two aren’t afraid of how they’re silly

Ain’t too proud to bed, Trish Hey Lady
She’s hot for Tyler, don’t you know
Ain’t too proud to toss panties, that Book Lady
She wants John Irving, watch her throw

Now they’ve got a love so deep in the pits of their hearts
And each day it grows more and more
They’re not ashamed to beg and plead for more books
Even if pleadin’ means they’re total book whores

Ain’t too proud to bed, Trish Hey Lady
She’s hot for Tyler, don’t you know
Ain’t too proud to toss panties, that Book Lady
She wants John Irving, watch her throw
 

More spammy goodness

I have recently discovered a love for spam that has some basis in reality.  Here is the latest delivery found in my inbox.

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Dearest,

I am writing this mail to you with tears and sorrow from my heart. My name is Miss. Zhara Kipkalya Kones, 17yrs old female and I held from Kenya. My father was the former Kenyan road Minister. He and Assistant Minister of Home Affairs Lorna Laboso had been on board the Cessna 210, which was headed to Kericho and crashed in a remote area called Kajong’a, in western Kenya. The plane crashed on the Tuesday 10th, June, 2008. 

After the burial of my father, my step mother and uncle conspired and sold my father’s properties to an Italian expatriate which they shared the money among themselves and live nothing for me. One faithful morning, I opened my father’s briefcase and found out the documents which he have deposited huge amount of money in one bank in Abidjan, Cote d’Ivoire with my name as the next of kin. 

(blah, blah, blah, please help, please send money, etc…)

Awaiting your urgent and positive response. Please do keep this only to your self. I beg you not to disclose it till i come over because I am afraid of my wicked stepmother who has threatened to kill me and have the money.

Sincerely yours,
Zhara Kipkalya Kones

********************

Kipkalya Kones really did exist (he even has a wikipedia page), he really was the Kenyan Minister of Roads (cool job title, btw) and he really did die in a plane crash. I’m not too sure about the wicked stepmother, though.  Seems to me someone has been watching a little too much Cinderella.

Make that someones.  Unfortunately for Zhara,, her elder sister seems to be using the same sob story. Oh, and so is her other sister.  How many times do I have to remind you spammers…originality!!

 

Like a Reader

BBAW Celebrate Books Like a Reader

In honor of BBAW, which kicks off tomorrow, I have composed (and I use that word verrrrry loosely) yet another special-occasion song.  Don’t tell Madonna, but you need to sing this to the tune of Like a Virgin (which, by the way, is a song I’ve always loathed).  Why this song, you ask?  Because way back when I started this madness of altering songs, Lisa over at Books on the Brain, suggested “Like a Reader” as a potential song.  So thanks to Lisa for the inspiration, and also to Word Lily, Colleen (who really needs to join the rest of the world and get a blog!) and SuziQOregon for responding to my tweet asking for one syllable words describing how books make you feel (rapt, whole and glad), thereby helping me through the second verse.

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Like a Reader

I wandered through the shopping mall
Stopped to take a look
Didn’t know how empty my shelves were
‘Til I saw Book

I was rapt, and entranced
All I knew, was I must accrue
Book, you made me whole
Yeah, you made me whole
That’s why I love you

Like a reader
Enthralled by every word
Like a reader
When a book calls
I’m a nerd

Gonna read you all night long, Book
Boredom is fading fast
I sit in my chair and hope
That my eyes can last

Your cover shines, and those lines
Make me dream, you sweep me away
As I turn the page
Oh, I’m so in awe
By all you convey

Like a reader
Enthralled by every word
Like a reader
When a book calls
I’m a nerd

Oooh, oooh, oooh

Your cover shines, and those lines
I’ll be yours beyond Chapter Nine
‘Cause you made me read
Yeah, you made me read
‘Til the very end

Like a reader
Enthralled by every word
Like a reader
When a book calls
I’m a nerd

Like a reader, ooh, ooh
Like a reader
Always wanting more
When I hold you, and your spine creaks, and I love you

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Ooh, booky
I wish I had more time
To sit down and read you

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Happy BBAW everyone!  Enjoy the week!!

 

Ho Ho Ho

santa Ho Ho Ho

Evidently most of you have been naughty, because Santa did not get very many letters from you all. However, he did really enjoy the ones he did receive.

He wanted me to give a shout out to Eva for the treats, and the water for the reindeer (much appreciated). Also, to Dawn for the cheese…Santa says it’s nice to see something different after 349 billion cookies. Ti, Santa says not to worry…no coal in your stocking. And he’s looking forward to his stop at your house this evening, as he’s got some presents for the kids. Sarah, Santa says Mrs. Claus is a big Emily Dickinson fan, and he’s impressed by your scholarly diligence. Jo-Jo, Santa is verrrrrrrry impressed with your charitable efforts and he wishes you a very Merry Christmas. And Veens, Santa very much enjoyed meeting you, and visiting India!

Finally, beastmomma, Santa is so happy you made it home safely for the holidays. He says you are always invited for the holidays. In fact, he’d like to invite you to pick out your book!

That’s right, the winner of the very first “write a letter to Santa contest” is beastmomma. Woo-hoo! No need to decide right away what book you’d like, but if you’d let me know sometime in the next week, that would be just spiffy. And if you could email me with your address, that would be even spiffier. For the others mentioned above (Eva, Dawn, Ti, Sarah, Jo-Jo and Veens), I’ll send you a book from the book closet, if there is anything you are interested in. First come, first serve, though…so check the comments before you lay claim to a book. Thanks to everyone for being silly with me!

As for the rest of you, well, there’s a whole new year coming up. Plenty of time to be nice and work on your letter to Santa!

Happy Holidays!

elmo and zoe christmas Ho Ho Ho
 

Word

The other day Chartroose referred to me as the notorious softdrink. I told her I felt like a rapper. I was thinking Notorious S had a certain ring to it, although after I thought about it some more (yes, I need a life) Notorious F.I.Z. sounds even better. Then I decided I needed a song. Unfortunately, I have no musical ability, and my poetic skills are missing in action, too. Luckily, the internet was there for me. I went searching for some rap lyrics that sounded familiar and that I could ummmm, personalize…yeah, that’s the word. So, I present to you…

Notorious F.I.Z, as inspired by Eminem*:

Hi!
My name is (what?)
My name is (who?)
My name is (chika-chika) Softdrink
Hi!
My name is (ha?)
My name is (what?)
My name is (chika-chika) Softdrink

Excuse me?
Can I have the attention of the class, for one second?

Hi kids, do you like reading books?
Wanna see me try to rap? Take a look.
Wanna copy me and do exactly like I did?
End up wearin’ glasses over your eyelids?
My brain’s dead weight.
I’m tryin’ to set my words straight, but I can’t figure out
which author I wanna imitate.
Chartroose said “Softdrink, you an asshat**.”
“Don’t be like Doprah. Don’t read that.”
Since I was a kid I’ve been a bookworm
Don’t wanna play, I’d rather read about wheatgerm
Stayed up late, but not on a date
I had to read one more page
Tellin’ me to turn off the light just sent me into a rage
I take a look and read a book
Faster than Snoop Dogg
I write a review on my blog.

My English teacher wanted me to read plays in junior high.
The only problem was,
It didn’t fly ‘cause Will was too dry.
All I remember is a merchant
Man that play is really ancient.
Today I took a little detour
Into the bookstore
Flashed the cashier my discount card
Found some new authors, hopefully no blowhards.
I’m currently reading Klosterman
He talks about tribute bands, when basketballs change hands
Wonder if he dances the can-can.

I just found out my mom reads more books than I do.
Wait, that’s not true.
I told her I’d grow up to be a famous author.
Write a book about lunch ladies, and name it after her
She said thank you.
You know you read too much when the doctor thinks he’s clever
Tells you your eyesight’s no better
How come I can’t see any of the letters?
It’s quite the bummer
But this verse is over.

Stop the tape!
This kid needs a book.
Don’t just stand there, take a look
In the bookstore
Or the library by the shore.
What to read next? I can barely decide.
I just read Eggers,
Dare me to deride?
All my life I’ve been sleep deprived.
I stay up late, I won’t be denied.
My palms are always holding a book
I’d rather stay in my PJ’s in my reading nook.
I squint when I look
into the distance
Too many years reading, for instance.
I lay awake dreaming up new endings
‘Cause I don’t like some of the author’s renderings
And by the way, I know I’m bad
I can’t rhyme
It makes me sad.

*This is no way an endorsement of Eminem and rap lyrics, which I generally find to be misogynistic, homophobic, demeaning crap.

**Chartroose didn’t really call me an asshat. Other people, yes. Me, no.

 

Because it’s Halloween, Chartroose and Jack are hosting a H.P. Lovecraft short story contest. I had never read a Lovecraft story (and I doubt I ever will again), but I’m always up for a challenge. So I did a little homework and I choose the story Nyarlathotep to plagiarize imitate honor. Seriously…there’s not much originality going on in my story. I pretty much kept the structure of the story and changed words as needed. It is totally intended to be a ridiculous spoof, as I fully recognize my inability to write a story on my own. I would suggest reading the original first, so you can fully appreciate the mood I was going for.

And I’d like to thank Chartroose for acting as my muse.

**********************************************************************

Chartroose

Chartroose… the unrivaled book blogger… Softdrink is the last… Softdrink will tell Google Reader…

I do not recall precisely when it began, but it was neither yesterday nor tomorrow. The blogosphere was abysmal. To a universal canon of drear and dolorous posts was added a voice of unparalleled power; a voice near yet far, such a blogger as may be imagined only in the most nightmarish of nightmares. I recall that book bloggers were gallavanting about with a feeling of ennui, and a general sense of malaise enveloped feed readers everywhere. There were whispers of an upstart, of a prophecy told on Wordpress and spread to Blogger and LiveJournal. A furtive comment here and there told of a blogger both fierce and fiercesome. There were IMs and emails exchanged warning of the advent of one such had never been seen or read before. Posts hinted of what might come, yet no one was able to express the fear and doom and gloom that had fallen upon the internets. Worms and viruses were rampant and infiltrated the most secure of systems. The blue screen of death destroyed thousands of computers. Bloggers huddled at their desks imagining the dark time ahead. Everyone felt that the world of book reviews had passed from their control into the grasp of this unknown typist.

And it was then that Chartroose came out of the bookstore. Who she was, none could tell, but she was bookish and looked like a librarian. The book bloggers knelt when they saw her, yet none could say why. She said she had risen up out of the mire of her to be read pile, and that she had heard messages from authors not yet published. Into this community of bloggers came Chartroose, snarky, sly, and snide, always buying strange books of obscurity and obfuscation and brainwashing other bloggers into reading them. She spoke much of Geek Love and Lovecraft and gave giveaways of such magnificence, which sent her readers away slobbering and slavering, and speechless, yet which swelled her fame to exceeding magnitude. Bloggers advised one another to read Bloody Hell It’s a Book Barrage, and shuddered. And where Chartroose went, comments were left, and the blogosphere resounded with the screams of readers. Never before had the demonic screeches been such a public problem; now the comment moderators almost wished they could forbid posting in the small hours.

I remember when Chartroose came to my blog. I had witnessed the comments left elsewhere and was strangely compelled by the dark wisdom shared by Chartroose. The comments were alluring and I was drawn into the mystical archives of Bloody Hell. My friends had said the posts were both fearsome and beauteous, and I would read of books my mind could not fathom. None but Chartroose dared to read Geek Love and Henry Orient. I heard it hinted that Chartroose knew Mother Goose and Cookie Monster, legendary creatures no one save Chartroose had ever beheld.

It was a dark and stormy night when I went through the wind and the rain with the maddening crowds to lay my eyes upon the mystery that was Chartroose. We forged through the stacks of the library and into the misty room, not even stopping at New Releases. I saw Cookie and Elmo and Muppets galore peering out over the crowd. I saw fairy tale creatures leap to life from the pages of their books. I saw the crowd battling with disbelief and fear and immense awe. I saw Chartroose. She drove us out of the library, down the winding, jagged stairs into the wet, dry, crowded, empty streets. I screamed that she could not delete my blog, I would never stop blogging, and others lent their voice to my hue and cry. We vowed that we would overcome.

I am convinced we felt something emerge from the slimy depths of the sewer. It herded us back into the library, which was lit only by the bluish glow emitted by the computer screens. We took our places at the carrels and began to type. I noticed one man’s fingers had become talons, with long wickedly pointed nails that impeded not his rhythmic, sonorous, monotonous tapping upon the keyboard. Another man, awash in the murky aura of his computer, disintegrated into dusty motes of nothingness. Myself, I was able to sneak furtively, stealthily away, until I stood alone at the circulation desk, accompanied only by the lingering wails of vanquished readers and bloggers.

Mind numbingly vacuous, heart-stoppingly heart rending, only the readers that were will know. Books held in appendages that are no longer hands, gazed upon by orbs that are no longer eyes. Beyond the libraries lurk ghosts of authors not read, writers not published. Through this wasteland of the blogosphere the muffled crinkling of pages and echoes of the clackity-clack of keyboards; the muttered recitations of Stoker and Poe and Gaiman; and the catatonic blog-oyles whose voice is now Chartroose.