Assorted bullshit about video games, language, music, and some other unabashedly personal shit. And maybe some stuff that's kind of funny? I don't know. I just don't fucking know, alright? Would you give me a fucking break? Jesus, Mom.
You can also find me:
I also write Britishisms, a blog about moving to the US, and Tuneage, a music blog I co-founded. I curate Give Me Something to Read. I started Word Journal, and I occasionally contribute to The Small Picture.
nostrich at quisby dot net
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Every morning, before even the sun has risen, he wakes up before you, he dons his cape — though on Sundays he does not don anything at all — and he heads to the kitchen. What he does in there is a mystery to everyone but himself.
He is a superhero. Nobody knows how he got his powers — some claim he was bitten by a failed military experiment as a child, some claim he was born this way, some insist he’s hiding a wife that does all the dirty work for him, and some claim he is nothing more than a British immigrant. The truth is: nobody knows for sure.
His super power?
He makes perfect pancakes.
He scoffs at the likes of Batman and Superman. Crime fighting? What-the-fuck-ever, Clark Kent, any chump can catch a crook. Can Batman bake? Fuck no he can’t. The world doesn’t need another crime fighting superhero with a troubled childhood. The world needs pancakes.
So tomorrow, the next day, and for as long as necessary, he will rise in the darkness of dawn, he will don his cape — unless it’s a sunday — and he will bake the most perfect fucking pancakes you ever saw.
You may know him as Richard. You may even know him as nostrich. He prefers the moniker…
Pancake Guy
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