The vilest slangerized adjective I have encountered this week is the term 'Snail Trail', used when commenting on young women who wear short skirts and no underwear. Yeah. I'll let you figure it out.
I had a rather bizarre dream last night concerning Death and Electric guitars. It went as follows:
I was over at Frondo's house. Not his real house, but it was in my dream. He was arguing with some skinny guy over a package. Finally the skinny guy sighed and handed Frondo the package. Frondo eagerly opened it up, and inside of it was Rasputin's head, all dried up and withered.
Frondo wandered over to some sort of ceremonial contraption he had set up, which consisted of some candles, mystic symbols, six foot mirror and a big electric guitar amp. He carefully placed Rasputins head on the amp. The head shuddered a little bit, and then death appeared in the mirror.
I know it was the impersonation of death, even though he struck a rather gaudy figure. He wore a skintight bright green jump suit and his face was a blue happy-sad drama mask. He looked a bit like a gaudy superhero. So then Frondo says 'OK, try it now' and the skinny guy said 'I told you I cannot play'. The skinny guy picked up a bass guitar and strung off a few meaningless cords.
Frondo then stuck the cord into the electric amp the mirror was attached to. Immediately an electric guitar appeared in deaths and, and the skinny guy holding the guitar suddenly let loose a few expert guitar riffs. Frondo was immensely pleased with his arcane contraption. I even tried it out myself. I went to a keyboard and ran my fingers over the keys, making a meaningless sound. But once Frondo hooked it up to the amp, I could play expertly, with the gaudy superhero death in the mirror playing a keyboard in front of him.
After a while the dream got spooky because Frondo was playing with forces he should not be meddling with and everyone scattered cuz they knew Frondo was doomed. Then I woke up.
This weekend Ft. Christmas is hosting it's 'Cracker Christmas'. The name made me snicker.
We are meeting tonight for giant bottomless 10 dollar beers at the west end trading company in Sanford. Mmm. Bottomless beers.
Gawd, I can't belive i photoshopped that.
2026 Update
I am dialing the machine to December 2006 to watch Ed explain snail trails and Rasputin's head like it's a normal Tuesday.
Ah, 2006. A man can blog his dream about Frondo, Rasputin's desiccated head, and a gaudy superhero Death without a single algorithm suggesting he turn it into a newsletter. The era is practically fossilized: 'snail trail' was the kind of crude forum slang you had to stumble across in the wild, whereas today it would have its own hashtag, reaction video, and three think pieces before lunch. Photoshop was still a bulky noun and verb, something Ed admits to doing as if it were manual labor; now every phone does the ghostly smoothing before you even press send. And ten dollars bought you bottomless beers in Sanford, that beautiful relic from when a pitcher of cheap lager was a financial plan. My kingdom for a time machine whose fuel doesn't cost more than the ticket. The dream itself? Perfectly coherent by Weblamer standards: arcane mirror, six-foot amp, and the knowledge that Frondo is doomed because he meddled. Compared to the modern feed, it's practically scripture.
“2006 Ed, was there a single moment in that dream—after the green jumpsuit, before the spooky scattering—where you thought Frondo should not plug the mirror into the amp, or did the promise of playing expert keyboard override every survival instinct?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, you're assuming my survival instincts were even in the building that night. See, in the dream I already had Rasputin's head, a gaudy green jumpsuit Death, and Frondo messing with forces—my brain was just along for the ride. Was there a single moment where I thought, "Hey, maybe don't plug the mirror into the amp"? Sure, about half a second, right when the candles flickered and the mask grinned. But then the keyboard appeared and I was suddenly playing like some prodigy, and that little warning voice got drowned out by the reverb. It's the same reason I tried to fix the roof myself in May. You don't think, you just climb up there with a beer and a prayer. In the dream, I figured if Frondo was doomed, at least I'd go out with a wicked solo. Then I woke up and remembered I can't play a note.
