priligy generico



‘So I see from your resumé that you worked for the Walt Disney Company…’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘…And that you were…’ he glanced at the paper, ‘a “personality artist and character interpreter.”‘



‘I performed as a costumed entertainer, working as a Disney personality.’

‘Oh!’ the man nodded. ‘I see. And you were…?’


‘I’m sorry?’

‘I played Goofy.’

‘Goofy how? You mean you were funny or strange or—?’

‘No, sir. I mean I played Goofy. The character of Goofy.’

‘Goofy… That dog creature…’


He leant back in his chair. ‘Doing what, exactly?’

‘Well, primarily it was all pantomime because Goofy doesn’t really, you know, talk that much or anything. Or at least they preferred that we not speak. Mostly I would feign surprise at people making a good shot at shuffleboard—’


‘On the cruise. It was a Disney Cruise ship.’


‘And so when someone made a score I would raise my hands – like this – and then clasp the side of the plastic head – like this, but, you know, my real head is a lot smaller so you don’t get the full effect – and then act like I was surprised they did so well.’

‘I see.’

‘Other times, it would kind of depend on the situation, I would be scolding – sort of like this, shaking my giant fingers at them in an exaggerated sort of way with one hand on my hip and bobbing my head from side to side– and sometimes I would pretend to laugh, you know, holding my chest – like so – and kind of bobbing around. “Ha ha ha!”‘

‘And would you make that face?’


‘That face. Would you actually make that face when you were doing it?’

‘Well, that’s sort of part of the whole idea of personality artist. Even if they couldn’t see my actual face, making faces inside the head would help motivate me and I think it showed in my characterisations.’

‘And you never spoke to people?’

‘Well, I mean, I would tell people where the restrooms were if they asked…’

‘And so,’ the man shook his head, glancing over the resumé again, ‘this was your primary source of income?’

‘During cruise season, yes. Sometimes I would work the park, Disney World mostly, during peak periods, and other times I would do side jobs at Chuck E Cheese.’


‘The mouse.’


‘The big mouse who greets you—’

‘Yeah, I’ve never actually been to a Chuck E Cheese so… Tell me, Mister Comfrey… What exactly do you think qualifies you for a position here at Lockheed Martin?’

Promises, Promises

A little over a year ago, whilst in the process of transferring this blog from its previous location, I spent a great deal of time clearing away the old detritus of dead links and so on – all the inevitable and irrelevant bits which tend to pile up over time – as well as fixing and reformatting every post I’d made since this whole mess began oh so long ago. In order to keep track of my progress, which, as you may well imagine, was incredibly labour intensive, I catalogued each entry in a Word document. In doing so, I realised there were some topics on which I’d promised to post additional information and then, very like Richard C Hoagland, founder of The Enterprise Mission, recipient of an Angstrom Medal, former science advisor to CBS News and Walter Cronkite, author of The Monuments of Mars, co-creator of the ‘Pioneer Plaque,’ originator of the ‘Europa Proposal,’  and principal investigator of The Enterprise Mission, never actually followed up with anything.

Although I neither typically nor historically make resolutions for new years, I will, however, vow to begin to make good on those earlier promises. Because I know how important these things are to the two of you. It’s why you come back year after year and stare endlessly at the same posts and think, Useless twat.

This means the long alluded-to Coffeehouse tale will at last be told eventually, the epic next chapter of That’ll Do Pig will occur at some point, and then some other things as well.


I mean it.


In the fullness of time…

Brief Nerdity

Friday afternoon my work-wife, Rachel, preparing to take her lunch break, asked me how I was planning to spend Christmas. I told her I had a date with a 6-pack of high quality beer and some Doctor Who.

‘You are so strange,’ she shook her head slowly.

‘Strange?’ I was mystified. ‘Matt Smith is going to regenerate into Peter Capaldi! That’s a cultural imperative! It’s compulsory!’

‘You know that nobody else watches the weird things you watch,’ she said. ‘That’s why you’re still single.’

‘No,’ I countered. ‘There are a lot of reasons I’m single, or so I’m lead to believe by the other women I know, but watching Doctor Who is certainly not one of them. At least not that I’m aware of.’

Just then a middle aged couple approached our work area, enquiring as to the location of the spray paints. I directed them to the aisle and asked what sort of project they were working on. The woman looked slightly embarrassed and waved a hand absently in the air.

‘Oh it’s just a bookcase for our daughter,’ she laughed. ‘A surprise gift for Christmas.’

‘It’s got to be the right blue colour,’ added her husband, staring at his iPhone screen. ‘But we’re not sure which one to pick.’

‘Unfortunately,’ I told them, ‘you’re going to be limited to a fairly small amount of choices in the spray paint.’

‘Oh no, the woman said. ‘The spray paint is for the sign above the door.’

‘I see.’

‘It’s silly, really.’ The woman laughed nervously. ‘We’re building something from a TV programme and it has to be very specific.’

I tilted my head. ‘You’re building a TARDIS.’

The woman’s eyes flew open and her husband looked up from his cell phone. ‘How did you know?’ he asked.

‘Sign above the door made out of Perspex, box a specific shade of blue,’ I explained. ‘All seems very Doctor Who to me.’

‘Oh, thank god!’ the woman laughed. ‘I thought I was going to sound like an idiot if I had to explain it.’

‘I don’t suppose you know the right colour blue,’ the husband asked.

‘Pantone 2955c,’ I said.

They looked at each other and then back at me. I thought the woman was about to cry. ‘I’m so glad we met you!’

For the better part of the next hour, the couple and I pored over details of the TARDIS, both exterior and interior, once they’d determined that it was Matt Smith’s TARDIS they wanted to replicate. We discussed the 50th anniversary episode, the film An Adventure in Space and Time, the surprise of seeing John Hurt as a previously unknown Doctor, the anticipation of the Christmas special and the regeneration, all whilst picking colour selections from our samples and matching them to images brought up on our individual cell phones.

As they left, Rachel was just returning to the desk from her lunch break.

‘You just got done helping them?’ she baulked, as if the very notion of spending more than 5 minutes with a customer was unheard of.

‘Yep,’ I said. ‘We had to pick out TARDIS colours.’

‘Tar-what colours?’

‘They were Doctor Who fans and wanted to build a TARDIS bookcase.’

‘I have no idea what the hell you’re even talking about right now,’ she said.

‘And that’s how I win.’

Everything Is Proceeding Almost As I Have Sort of Foreseen

I think the final transition to the WordPress site is now, as Emperor Palpatine would say, complete. Good, good. You read that in his voice.

It was a much more painstaking process than I’d originally imagined it would be, and I’ve spent the last three months going through each post – from the very start, all 400+ of them – correcting formatting issues (such as sentences being broken and scattered randomly), locating and replacing large portions of text which inexplicably went missing in the file transfer process, fixing links (I hope), and deleting a handful of non-relevant or TypePad-specific posts which no longer served a useful purpose. Most painstaking of all was meticulously replacing every single image I’ve ever posted, and in some cases re-creating them altogether. What no-one really tells you about switching blog hosts is that just because images appear to have moved from one platform to another along with all the text, they may not have done.

This, of course, was an unwelcome surprise.

TypePad, it seems, keep your images filed in a hidden folder to which you – on the user end – have no ability to access. Unless you send them a request for a backup file, which they may or may not get around to answering. And once an image is uploaded with a post, a link is created to that hidden file. And when you move things to a different blog host, those image links still point to the hidden TypePad file of your hard work you can’t access. That means when you finally delete your old blog, you break those links and, naturally, your images will disappear.

Thankfully I save virtually everything and created a secondary backup folder of all my images and animations. But the labour and time involved in reloading, reediting, and/or reproducing every fucking image from 2007 to the present was, to put it mildly, a absolute nightmare. Especially when it came to the multi-part ‘review’ of Dark Mission, my mini-novel called Is That Lipstick On the Doll’s Head? (now found in the Ex Luna category). I very nearly wept at the sheer volume of images I had to contend with in that series, never mind the fact that the colour scheme of my original blog (white type on a black background) was giving me fits to correct and adjust for this site.

But it’s all fixed now.

I think.

If not, I’m certain one of you two will let me know as we move ahead with this now more or less fully operational blog…