Author: Casey Moriarty

Casey Moriarty cannot be represented under a human similitude. He has been perceived by mortals as an actor, writer, special effects make-up artist, danseur, sailor and blacksmith. Legend has it he was borne across space and time to Midgard on a raft of cuddly hamsters.

Sharking Bad (Part 5)

FADE IN on the BLACK-AND-WHITE image of dirty sewage water. SOMBER MUSIC would be playing if this was a film or television drama, but it’s a work of prose so you just have to picture it in your head. Use your IMAGINATION. God, TV has ruined you- anyway it’s sewer water and it’s gross. 

From the murky blackness of runny human refuse, a small glow begins to illuminate a faint blue light. A humming LIGHT SABER floats by in the dirty sewage water.

TITLE CARD: SIX MONTHS EARLIER

Splinter and Raph stepped out of the junkyard wherein they had left the shattered body of the incredibly dead and hastily buried fox henchman. Shark Horse  will soon come by and devour this body – which you as an avid reader know but they don’t know (because they can’t read this story since they’re in it, who do you suppose is reading the story that you are in? What if they just skip to the end where you die? Oh, shit, spoilers) – and now the duo were seeking a way to do away with the wicked Sonic the Cholo.

“We need to find Sonic the Cholo,” Raph said, “We should track him down to wherever his uncle is.”

“His uncle?” Splinter asked.speedygonzales-1280x600

“‘Speedy’ Gonzalez. He used to be the fastest mouse in Old Mexico. That was before a mouse trap snapped his spine,” said Raph, “He was trying to steal some cheese.”

“That’s what he gets for trying to steal jobs from Americans,” Splinter said. (more…)

Beyonce: Formation (Live Show 2016)

It’s jarring, occasionally, to be reminded how a) un-hip, and b) white, I am, but I welcome it as a dose of reality in my otherwise complacent world. I went to see the Beyonce: Formation World Tour’s stop at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena this past Saturday (May 14th, 2016) and among other things noted that, in the culturally diverse nexus of Southern California that spawned me, I’m about as white as Moby-Dick attacking the North Pole as Benedict Cumberbatch simultaneously ejaculates a blizzard of Hostess Snowballs at it.

What I mean to say is, I’m not really the target audience here; I don’t really know Beyonce’s work, I’m not even remotely qualified to comment on any kind of music, and I don’t think any of her black feminist anthems were written with me in mind. I know this article is listed under ‘reviews’ but I’m just not really qualified to write one. If you’re looking for actual insightful comments on the performance, please click the ‘back’ button and go somewhere else, you have reached this page in error. 342F01C600000578-0-image-a-71_1463304213536 (more…)

Sir Percival (A Medieval Murder Mystery)

It was not long after daybreak on a Wednesday morning when Sir Percival Windsor-Brimble rose to his feet at the conclusion of the morning mass. A frosty wind swept through the great hall of the ancient church, causing Sir Percival’s hairs to stand on end as he folded up the cushioned kneeler and slipped his Bible back into the holder on the darkly stained wooden pew. The solemn hymn came to an end, and the congregation began to shuffle out. cathedral

As he made his way past the ornate Holy Doors and out into the open, Sir Percival noted the grey skies and light mist that sat in the November air. There was much to accomplish today, the worst of which of course would be the accursed dance practice King Daerik expected all Knights of the Realm to undertake. Sir Percival was no longer the nimble young man he had been, and now in his forties felt every ache and creak in his bones even as he still outfought men half his age during weapons training.

war-horse.jpgWeapons training was a dreadful bore, and as for dance, fi on it! If it had been proper Sir Percival would have wished a pox upon King Daerik for ordering mandatory dance lessons for every Knight of the Realm and yet it was not proper and so Sir Percival merely endured his torture with a caustic grin. No, weapons and dance were not what brought meaning to Sir Percival’s days. Nor was it in particular his goodwife Prunella Windsor-Brimble, née Pickle-Dickens, whose presence behind him he ignored as he briskly made his way out of the great church. Nor was it his equally disappointing eldest boy, Lemuel, soon to be a squire in his own right, nor his tedious daughter Cordelia, whose modest looks and unassuming personality lead Sir Percival to fear he’d never marry her off. No; the true apple of this old knight’s eye was his horse, Balius the Bold, and it was horsemanship training with Balius that afforded Sir Percival his best joy in life. Balius was neither a nimble nor powerful horse – although he had been something of a warrior in his youth – but he traced his lineage to a long line of feared steeds going back all the way to Alexander the Great’s horse Bucephalus. More than this, he was a loyal mount; loyal to his master, loyal to his King, and above all loyal to his Lord (the Lord of all horses being Horse-Jesus, who had trotted on the Earth thousands of years before human Jesus, but around the same time as Shark Jesus).
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RIP Alan Rickman, master of the dramatic pause

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Speaking as both a film nerd and aficionado of the craft of acting, I was devastated to hear of the loss of Alan Rickman today. It hasn’t been a good few weeks; the world just lost Bowie, and Lemmy, both huge heroes of mine, too; but Rickman was the only one where I felt compelled to write something down.

For my money, no actor in the world was better than him at delivering lines.

His sonorous voice was lovely to listen to, but where he really brought skill into the craft was his ability to time perfectly everything he said. With this he could mine humor or pathos from the simplest one-liners in a way that always had me enraptured. I can’t think of any other actor who was better at it, personally.

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A Star Wars Carol, Episode VIII: In Which The Bad Raccoon Finally Watches The Force Awakens

Conotocaurious, the Bad Raccoon, The Slayer of Lindelof and Raper of Josh Trank, sat eating his feelings in his local luxury cinema. He had ordered a $14 slice of tuxedo cheesecake and was devouring it without regard for price even as the credits rolled on the newest entry in the multi-billion dollar Star Wars franchise. Conotocaurious had just watched The Force Awakens. 

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That’s this movie

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