Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald was born on July 24, 1900, and was the original quintessential irrepressible flapper of the times. Her life was a tumultuous roller coaster of good times and high drama, sailing high, young and beautiful, and then crashing into an insane asylum that burned to the ground with her still inside when she was about forty seven years old.
Not only did she inspire F. Scott Fitzgerald’s entire literary career, she was also the inspiration for a video game series I have never played: the Legend of Zelda. I can only imagine that it revolves around F. Scott Linkgerald wandering around a warped and terrifying fantasyland, trying to locate the eight pieces of her sanity, which she smashed to pieces due to some prophesy or something. There are villains who also resemble F. Scott and a lot of confusing social situations involving elixirs of booze and bathtub gin.
I have drawn Princess Zelda in honor of all of this.
It’s summertime. It has been summertime for a good long while now, actually, but here in Kentucky the full force of summer hadn’t hit me until fairly recently. It must be said that I generally die during the summer time of year. The blistering heat and suffocating humidity do me no favors, and the harsh rays of the earth’s yellow sun give me freckles and a tan. How can I be “Amandoll, Undead Creature of the Night” if I am sporting a healthy tan? I cannot be, that’s how.
I am a girl who enjoys clinging to the silver lining, however, and fortunately I can come up with two things I enjoy about summer: soft serve ice cream cones from locally owned dairy shacks, and grape soda. Grape soda is probably a tasty treat all year long, but I do not thirst for it until the temperatures reach 90F (32C) and above, which actually is a temperature it still can reach in the autumnal months. It is also better when there is a drought on, because walking down alley ways behind businesses while a fine dust blows in your eyes is the PERFECT time to be sipping from a cold and slender glass bottle of that purple wonder elixir.
Previously, I had been under the mistaken impression that all grape drinks were created more or less the same. How many differences could there be in a product that contained soda water, purple color, and sweetener? Well, actually I don’t really know myself, so I have decided to conduct a Consumer Report for the world to reference as a resource. I am going to select a small variety of grape drink beverages and test them against the horrible summer heat. I will grade them on Flavor, Mouthfeel, Thirst Quench, Packaging, and Arbitrary Impressions. There will be technical jargon bandied about, and an air of scientific study will be apparent. So put on your eye goggles, sneer enthusiasts, because I’m going Purple Drank Sippin’!
What would summer be without a playlist of summer jams? Music is an important part of a complete, balanced summertime, and we wouldn’t be caught DEAD without a soundtrack for our memories. Strap on your headphones or nail in your earbuds, whatever your preference, install Spotify if you haven’t already, and listen along with us. Then, in the future, any time you hear any of these songs, you can think fondly of us at Sneer Campaign, and how swell we were to try to make the summer of 2017 a brighter place for you and the whole wide world.
We love you.
Welcome back to our monthly comic series, Doofus and Darling. If you had Highlights for Children magazine when you were young, you’ve seen Goofus and Gallant. If not, it probably doesn’t matter anyway.
The sad life story of Nikola Tesla is one almost everyone knows. A brilliant genius mind too good for this world, his kind altruistic intentions were continually thwarted by jealous capitalists who were bloodthirsty cutthroat money making greedmonsters who would stop at nothing to create monopolies on inventions, THOMAS EDISON. I’M LOOKING AT YOU.
Born on July 10, 1856, in modern day Croatia, Nikola emigrated to the United States in 1884 and continued inventing and being plagued by setbacks. He gave us alternating current electricity and Tesla Coils, among other things (I’m not writing a book report here — do your own research), so he wasn’t a long string of failures or anything. But the end of his life seemed to be a struggle with unpaid bills, relative obscurity, and dying all alone.
Welcome to my long overdue review of a movie called Dirty Girl! Welcome! Please feel welcome! I just sat down and thought to myself, “Hey what should I do next?” I have like a thousand things that I am behind on. Some things, heck, I am like two years behind on them. Where does the time go? As I perused my List of Burdens that are slowly sapping my will to live — and I look at this list somewhat frequently, and I lament. I lament at how I have all of these responsibilities to other people, or, I guess sometimes you can call them “promises” or maybe even “paid commissions” and I think about how when they are finished, I will be free at last to live my life and gosh that’ll be the day, and then I go and take a nap or something. But not anymore! Not today!
I think it has been mentioned before that I am a terrible movie-watcher. The silliest things bug me and if I am bugged like twice in a film, I get more and more hateful about it all. By the end, if I sit through the whole thing, I have created a mountain of anger out of pretty much nothing at all and I will have a rant if anyone lets me. I am ridiculously hard to please when it comes to films, especially, and I want you to know that upfront, in case you have actually come to this review wanting an unbiased opinion. I am SO biased, so read everything from here on out imagining that I am a hate-filled shrew who can find no joy in any aspect of living.
We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers.
I’m not sure if I actually have “social anxiety,” or if I just have anxious times while out and about, or if maybe I had it once, and am doing better now. But very definitely for a while this was a very serious concern of mine. Ever since I was a child and saw TV’s Bloopers and Practical Jokes, starring that dream team of Dick Clark and Ed McMahon, I became horrified by the idea that people would film pranks and then air them on television for the viewing public to see. Later, there have been plenty of other such shows, some meaner than others, and of course now there is YouTube and I’m even going to include improv groups who like to make “magic” in the form of awkward public scenes. Shudder.
I’m aware that I think legally, for the most part, they have people sign release forms to be displayed on television. But I am not sure what YouTube does to protect the average kid from being the target of such. Probably nothing. Look! I’m talking myself right back into having this as a strong irrational fear again! I know that this is statistically remote, but oh god, the horror. It is enough to make me never want to leave the house again. I can trust no one.
Any time a new animal friend enters my life, I find myself considering what name would suit it. I don’t mean that I take fifteen minutes before settling on the forever-name. I mean I draw up charts and make lists and say each word hundreds of times. I consult numerology and tea leaves and the phases of the moon. I read baby name books and dictionaries and look at the shapes of clouds hoping that one will inspire me suitably.
Perhaps many of you think I am going overboard when it comes to this sort of thing, but I used to stress over naming my Sims, too, so this is how seriously I take names! A pet will live out its entire lifespan (which it will obviously be spending entirely with you, responsible pet owner), so the name is crucial. You will be saying this word repeatedly, and eventually, engraving it on a little stone monument to mark its place in a pet cemetery. It’s the most important thing to this animal, after food, water, shelter, and pettings.
I may idealize chickens. My grandparents had some when I was very young, and I have no negative memories associated with that time and apparently that’s all it takes for me to form an opinion that will never, ever change. But I can’t be wrong about this because clearly, all chickens are wonderful.
Now that we have the Sneer HQ, there has been talk of maybe getting a few hens for the back yard. They could help us garden, I assume, and provide us with breakfast supplies. At the very least, there is a nearby park and community garden that has chickens on the premises, so I can visit them and listen to their inquisitive clucking as they ask who I am and why I am not throwing feed their way.Continue reading
Our cats are tricksters, escape artists, bold, too smart or too stupid. This is not to say that our cats are different than other cats. They are all pretty much the same. They are less like pets and more like shiftless roommates, forever late on the rent and refusing to clean up after themselves. We provide illustrated guides to them, once monthly.