Extra Evil - Pamela Isley's World

Today’s Fortune: Praise Gaia.

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Newsreel

The IOC cashed this round’s checks.

Iran and Israel shouted outside the bar, shirtless.

Twitter’s trajectory continued.

COVID rocked its comeback tour.

Ukraine bet on black.

New research says wine’s not a vitamin.

Today's Mood

War Journal

Expensive Evil is back like nuclear tension. Wait, what? Can something else be back? I’ll delete Expensive Evil to avoid that. It’s a decent offer: the nonfiction is excellent, and hilarious, and helps me eat food. The first third’s free, so you can read along even if you don’t care about my food.

I’m flexible. Let’s talk about this.

You know, I sucked at breaking. And “Dennard Dayle” fit “D-Day,” an alias miles ahead of my ability. So I get Rachel “Raygun” Gunn. And I get laughing, or being a little sad. But the purist ire’s alien to me.

Dumbfuckery is integral to every Olympic event. Bribes. Gaffes. Traditional cheating. Hangovers. Bigotry. Chemical cheating. Graft. Nepotism. Creative cheating. Pranks. Bad calls. Bionic cheating. That business with the hammer. If there isn’t at least one Bizzaro-world story, you’re not in the game.

I was an angry kid.

Today I’m better known for robot zen/Joker cackling/art school moping, but I was a really angry kid. The reasons aren’t deep. I’m more interested in the effects.

It made thinking cloudier. Good choices impossible. Life darker. Naturally, I got angrier.

Memories that worry me in the days of rage. We can’t all be angry kids.

This Simple Magic writeup on Chris Cole’s domestic battery habit stuck with me. It’s not a yuck-em-up, unlike most of what my brain clings to. Instead, there’s a warning about media ecosystems melting, or not existing in the first place. And what slips through the cracks.

The timing’s extra grim: my first love, controllers, could be doing better. Gaming press’ old guard died this summer, followed by the new guard. There’s no guard. You’ve got IGN subsidiaries or YouTube, and you can count YouTube’s collective IQ on your fingers. Rough times for a niche that produces Chris Coles in bulk.

Democracy can work: Poison Ivy is the official Bat-Tournament champion, and our unofficial mascot. I don’t make the rules, legions of plants do.

You guys have excellent taste. Naturally.

The Present

My nonfiction series lives. [Expensive Evil]

Let’s talk about dolls. And dolls. And dolls. [1900HOTDOG]

I wonder what Cuomo’s excuses would’ve looked like. [Exclusive Evil]

The Christmas angle fades fast. [1900HOTDOG]

Cool kids love Everything Abridged. [My Book]

The Past

Here’s the first (and free) Expensive Evil entry.

The Future

I’m torn between two Expensive Evil prompts, but the comedy gods should light the way soon. I haven’t done the prank prints yet, due to…a lack of exterior pressure, honestly. I should move on that.

Not Brought to You By

Subway garbage is driving me insane. We need some garbage with charm. Trash with spirit.

Vintage comics it is.

Admittedly, this time I’m more interested in the product than the ad. The ad is nothing. Creatively, it’s not worth grading. But the product—PR shots sold as fan candids—grabs me. A fine way to mine your stalkers. Unless it’s really paparazzi slush. Then I hope the lawsuit wasn’t too heavy.

Creativity: Candid!
Persuasion: Pop!
Sanity: Sensational!

One Sentence Reviews

Baby Assassins: Peak Recessioncore. (4.5/5)

Ong-Bak: I wish I could watch it for the first time again. (5/5)

Shoulder Injury: Far too clingy. (1/5)

Open Question

…What a weird road. Extra thanks to everyone that read before I was good. Let’s keep going.

Signing off

Thanks for reading Extra Evil, the newsletter taking over Arkham. Share it to seduce Batman.