Bleary-eyed Friday Posting

My brain hates my body. My brain continually slaps my body around, asking it, "Who's your cortex?! Who's your CORTEX?!" and putting cigarettes out on my body's forehead. The worst bullying comes at night, when, for no reason at all, my bullying brain decides that two or three hours of sleep is plenty for him, and if it's good enough for him, why should he have to sit in the dark while that goldbricking body attempts to recharge? So at 1:30 a.m. or so, my brain becomes the Sergeant Carter to my body's Gomer Pyle. "Up and at 'em, ladies! Moveitmoveitmoveit! We're burning darkness!"

If my body asks for mercy, this is how my brain responds.


Lying in bed trying to go back to sleep doesn't help. That just makes my brain madder and jumpier. So I'm on Facebook at 1 a.m. this morning taking tests to see what "Andy Griffith Show" character I am (Andy), what kind of performer I am in bed (fabulous), and what my IQ is (over 140, if you believe an online test with typographical errors. The same kind of test that calculated what 80s band I was, and concluded that I was the soft rock Beach Boys. Because the Beach Boys were really the quintessential 80s band, and because the neverending stream of Drive-by Truckers, Wrinkle Neck Mules, Webb Wilder, Dan Baird, etc. is a sure sign of a soft rock addict).

I said all that to say that I'm still groggy, and this post will most likely set new records for lameness. I'm fully prepared to refund the full admission price, if you'll just send me a copy of your ticket.

Gonna set new records for randomness, too, because I'm going from my insomnia to an inverted swastika on an old comic book. (No, I don't have a segue, either.) I've been following Golden Age Comic Book Stories in my Google Reader for the last couple of months, and I love it more than peas, to steal a line from a friend of mine. Lots and lots of creepy, interesting, lurid comic book covers, and sometimes whole comic books, as well as other goodness. And while it's never a dull scan, this picture from yesterday made mandible meet hardwood when I saw it.


Not the picture itself, which is retro-cool but not shocking. Check out the insignia just below the title. Yep, that's a swastika, aka, "The Symbol of Good Magazine Reading."

Now, I'm aware that Hitler didn't invent the swastika, and I'm also aware that the swastika on this comic is laid out differently than the Nazi's swastika was. But I never knew that a swastika was a symbol of good magazine reading. Anybody out there have any insight into this?

Until Monday, here's hoping your life is just one long Saturday night, as BR5-49 put it.