Tom & Dinosaur Hand

Howdy all...here's another great Tom & Dinosaur Hand movie review!

Tom: Dinosaur Hand, did you have a nice Thanksgiving?
Dinosaur Hand: I remember something about a wine glass...?
Tom: Ah...yes. And the turkey and stuffing?
DH: Hiccup.
Tom: This week we watched The Island on DVD.
DH: Yes! OMG! Did you, can you, and the...Holy s***! ...oh gosh, aspirin please.
Tom: I think what you're trying to say is, a lot of action, car chases with
DH: death and destruction, bone crunching, buildings collapsing, flying jet skis, murder, punching, judo kicks, future stuff and more future stuff, Steve Buscemi, Scarlet Johansson—ooh--gunfire and tasers and lasers and outrage and intrigue and cover-up and...
Tom: Do you still need that aspirin?
DH: breath in, breath out.
Tom: My first reaction was..'oh no, another Micheal Bay film.' You know, all action action action. Blah. He directs a lot like John Wu. Not a whole lot of substance, just explosions and flying kicks and punches.
DH: Woo woo!
Tom: Other than a few incredibly impossible sequences I thought this was a pretty good film. I liked the future views—set about 50 years into the future-- and there was a car chase scene that was pretty awesome.
DH: Can you say train wheels?
Toby: woof. Woof woof woof. DH: No, train wheels, like this: tah ray na...
Tom: Dino, he can't pronounce 'train wheels', he's a dog.
DH: You didn't say we were gonna have a guest reviewer!
Tom: He just wandered in; don't worry, you aren't being replaced.
DH: *sigh of relief*
Toby: woof (can I have a froot loop?)

empty amphibious threats of the mushmeat kind

I do recall the
carbon dated frog
with a Greek lisp,
a prehensile velvet tongue
enveloped in a sweet
gravy fog of smarm.

In those days
of reverse sneezing--
systematic in lung
re-inflation to overcapacity--
we'd choose between
the lesser of
two reptiles,
the greater being elevated
to an obnoxious height
and often unobtainable;
this being the frog
with the forked tongue,
'it speaketh ill of thee
in closet quarters.'

In the blue corner then
the red cormorant
with repercussions
dressed in polypropylene
gave thanks and waived
all right to divine intervention,
instead serving up a hail Mary,
countered by an all enveloping
plague of minionites--
a horde of tiny,tailed tadpoles.

Humming scales the scarlet
seabird formulated a
punting committee coalescing
in a stalemate...
...and a reeking fury,
a scandalous
slurry of foul candorisms.
Retirement covered the
seditious frog's tracks
and to the back-end
of the future myth and rumor
unite,
giving way to feral fraud
and fellowship.

Thus we
break fast and consume
massive quantities.
Gather all and
say you tales of woe
and joice anew,
for the carbon dated frog
is away this day
unto you and say
'Hey! Let sleeping frogs lie.'

unapproachable

my pixels embellished for free

with Peruvian ornamentation

in hindsight gives me the willies.

Not because of the steaming coffee cup

or the llama or the menacing toothy

grin or piranha swarming.

It's not the stone wall terracing,

not the blood soaked steps

of looming temples.

Jaguars, verdant canyon rapids,

the ponchos, cushma

and petticoats.

Perhaps the endless chain

of mountains or the volcanoes

that whisper to the clouds,

but no, it is the color

of the countryside,

of the flora and the fauna

and the people and their dress.

It is faces,

in the smiles.

It is mine to see, to touch

to behold, but to have it

is to walk on the moon

and is chilling and

not advised for any

beyond those dwelling

in the areas between--a

subcutanian mist driven

abode inneroutside the realm

of fear or elation.

Beware the graft and

Machu Picchu receptor

plug downloads, cilia

enhancements, as the

rampant dendrite

despoiler shall

encumber

and will

shut

you

up

.

Theme Thursday, A Late Cinquain ending?

Coming
Into my wits
The pieces start to click
The knife wound in my side was mute,
Pain quit.

Nowhere

Was Jack to be,

He'd meshed inside you see

It's plain to know he always was

Part me.

This house

I stumbled on

I'd lost my way within

A Dante's home where I would pay

My sin.

Now my
Guarded secret
My other half interred
Was working to break free of me
Alert.

Fireflies
Buzz around me
They led me to a hole
A passageway to who knows where,
My soul?

Before /I scramble out/
I reach up to my right/
From there I take a jar contains/
One eye.

I'm Jack/
I say to I /
And now this house I know;/
It's where I've brought my souvenirs/
For show.

Somewhere
A stranger stands
Not knowing what her fate
Or that her Jack is lurking near--
I'm late!

....is this the horrible ending, or just a mistake? For past episodes look under 'cinquain' over to the right on the sometin' sometin' sidebar. Or >click<

Tom & Dinosaur Hand Review 3 Movies!

Reviews on: Mama Mia, Milk, and Meet the Robinson's.

Dinosaur Hand: Is it an all M's Movie Matinee?
Tom: Clever, but no; just a coincidence.
DH: There are no coincidences...huh, huh?
Tom: Anyway, stopped at the library and picked up these three movies--I remember seeing them all advertised, and their trailers looked pretty good. Also, Milk was highly praised by critics and by fellow bloggers, well one that I remember.
DH: Chocolate.
Tom: Huh?
DH: I highly praise chocolate milk.
Tom: The movie Milk is about the gay struggle during the 70's.
DH: Sure, with all the really bad music is was hard to be happy, fer sure.
Tom: You know, Dino, i was just a kid during the 70's, and i never zoned in on all the civil rights stuff; gays, blacks, women's rights, Vietnam, even anti-semitism. I was eating saltines and was blissfully unaware.
DH: Cookies are better. With milk.
Tom: So this type of movie is a great boon for my generation. I liked one line Milk used in a debate, something like this: 'if it were true that children emulated their teachers, then there'd be a hell of a lot more nuns running around.' Revealing and thought provoking...movies like this help people see beyond their own sheltered lives and invite us to walk in other's shoes.
DH: eh, that leaves me out. I don't even get to turn doorknobs. Fooie.

Tom: Did you like Meet the Robinson's?
DH: It was very colorful. There was a dinosaur, briefly.
Tom: Our copy skipped at the last chapter. We watched the whole thing and missed the ending.
DH: eh, whatever.

Tom: What about Mama Mia?
DH: Singing and dancing, jive turkey, do the hustle, woo woo woo. Moving and a groovin', show me some skin, bro. Woo ha ha!
Tom: This movie musical was upbeat and set around Abba songs, which are for the most part very recognisable and infectious.
DH: So is a rash.
Tom: You've never seen Meryl Streep like this, people. I consider her maybe the best actress of our time, and in this she was way over the top...but it's a musical, so I guess that's good!
DH: Which one was she?
Tom: Dino, she was the lead female!
DH: Mama Mia! No one told me!
Tom: There was no Mama Mia; that was just one of the songs, dufus.
DH: She married Chef Boy R Dee.

Tom: Out of the three I would definitely recommend Milk...
DH: ...just skip the kissing parts.

photo credit: therumour1988's photostream/flickr

um...Theme Thursday, sorry.

DandyLynn's photostream, flickr

*ring ring*
'hello'
'hi, this is FRFC, Bob speaking! Are you having a good day?!!!'
'Hello, yeah; it's OK. Thanks.'
'Well hi, then! Just wanted to drop in and give you a heads up on our new Fund Raising campaign....I knew you'd want to get in on this right away!'
'Uhh...'
'Sure, it's Bob. Have you got your checkbook out?'
'...I smell dinner...'
'FRFC is a great charity...it's on Billy Bob's top ten list. Oprah too!'
'So, uh, what's this FR, uhm, etcetera stand for, again?'
'Yes, sure; it's Fund raising for chicks...you know? It's a great cause.'
'For chicks? What the hell! I'm not giving my money to some chick I don't know anything about! Next thing you'll be soliciting for dudes! Outragious!'
'No, no! Hey, not chicks. I mean not girl chicks, babes, you know--not chicks like that!'
'What?'
'No, Bob wouldn't try to scam you for hot babes, chicks, you know!'
'Oh. Sorry.'
'FRFC is for chicks..you know baby chickens. Homeless little yellow fluffy baby chickens.'
'Oh.'
'Yeah'
'Oh; man, that is sad. Those poor baby chickens!'
'I'll send you some literature, man. Some pictures of your potential chick adoptee.'
'oh, yeah. I need a picture (sob) And i'm writing you a check for twelve thousand dollars! (sob).
'This chick will thank you forever. You are a true American hero!'
'OK, thank you for bringing this to my attention. (ding) Oop, kitchen timer, gotta go.'
'Thanks, man...enjoy your meal tonight.'
'Thank you, Bob; baked chicken with mashed potatoes. Goodnight!'

Johnny Boy Cobalt photostream, flcikr

Bring it on, old cold Winter!

My heart is turning grey with memories of winters past.

......a leaf, flush red, holding its last breath, straining for one last go...
...while the miscreants frolic in a silver maple cast-offs.

...can we learn from nature that death is just passage to another life?
While it can be harsh and unforgiving, sometimes brutally raw...There is a strange beauty in the circle of life.






....der.

ancient Chinese secrets

...so now i can't get
to Omegaworld,
Coffee Messiah, or
the Ancient Sword...
so i'm really hoping to get
this old Compaq switched
out for a newer model later
this week:
until then here's a
silly new bit
and some old doodles. Happy Sunday!

fix up your fixer-upper,

tend to that dromedary's drip,

imbibe daily in dastardly devices,

count your blessing heartily--

but don't drop dainty donuts.

These tidbits gathered from a wee birdy,

a bifurcating biennially binging

blue-footed booby.

Becoming indoctrinated to a self sacrificing

salad of sea bass

one must profess prolifically in spades,

sans sporks, regrettably forgoing prophylactics

for latex-free, syntax-free,

expletive-free condiments.

Actually, a blue balloon ballad becomes you,

so sing out loud, singularly, and

sock standerbys who stoically stare

at your pants--

with a pathetic pink poodle,

as well as peeled whole canned leeches.

Let lazy lactating larches lose leaves

while yellowing llamas yodel

meaningful Mendelian melodies to me:

Xow Chow Xi,

ex Xeroxing exchanger,

Keeper of Ancient Chinese Secret!

coming up roses

The Torpedo Revolution is upon us;

Coming up the lane is a box truck

Filled to the brimming lip

With a pancake contraption's

Excess...

Moronites--a faction, a sliver,

a falling out from the Brotherhood

of Ill Conceived Notions--

are dishing out ladelfuls

with an unearthly zeal

reserved usually for lambasted pirates

and golly girls in polka dot pajamas.

The Moronite porcelain sleeves hamper agility

while decorated in fleur de lis heavy

with cross to bearing decals.

They pack a pretty punch--

cherry flavored actually,

encased in finned canisters

dynamically polished for speedy airflow,

all the better to

percussionate the fringe-yakkers into

a pre-ordained funk.

The rationale of Moronites deem the tactic

worthy, thus forcing normality

into groggy inaction and reinforcing

tattooed porcelain sleeves into

retroactive positions:

Springy, podunctive and beyond.

Beware, then, and best of luck

fitting into your mortar jumpsuits,

engineered in the sixties

when the national robustness

measured under the radius of

Dirk Masterful's hat size.

Better to cower amongst

clover and broker peace with the rabbits

then face the Moronites,

and their mothers,

and the babies with incisors that rotate on bicycle chains built for two.

matt coats' photostream/flickr