Hoof-prints in the Butter

I was on my way to work this morning when I was stopped by a red light. Looking over to the van next to me, I noticed the van's business name written on the door:

"Centaur Exterminators"

I suddenly had a vision of going into the kitchen for a glass of water late at night. Turning on the light, I surprise the herd of centaurs who are nibbling away at the chocolate cake I'd left out on the countertop. With the thunderous clattering of hooves, they scatter and flee under the refrigerator, leaving me with no option but lay out Black Flag brand "Centaur Hotels" until I could contact the Orkin man in the morning.

Could We Please Stop Schtuping the Werewolves?

Yesterday's Penny Arcade touches on a personal peeve of mine. Someone turned me on to Laurell K. Hamilton's "Anita Blake" series back in college. For the first several books, I really enjoyed the world she had created and the series became a not-so-guilty pleasure for me.

Then the schtuping began.

I haven't picked up any of the Anita Blake books (and quickly fled Hamilton's sister series involving fornicating faerie folk) since about 2004. While I wouldn't consider myself a prude when it comes to wanton displays of sexuality, I did find myself thinking: "Would you all stop screwing and move the plot along, please?" more than once in the later books.

I agree with the unnamed individual who offers advice to Tycho in the strip. The first few books were pretty good. Just bail when they start reading like, oh say, The Hitchhiking Step-daughter.

BTJM