thinklesswritemore

[thinklesswritemore]

So, there I am, standing in the kitchen, making myself a glass of squash. I glance at the label.

"Orange and mango", it says, "selected by Sainsbury's".

I feel something brewing inside my brain. I know what's coming but it's far too late to stop it. I find myself desperately scanning the bottle for another word to fixate on but it's of little use. There it is, second largest word on the bottle: Mango. My eyes are locked on those five letters, the memory of an unbearably catchy tune forcing its way forward, desperate to be heard.

Less than a second later, a ditty by a certain Mr. Weebl is looping relentlessly inside my head.

Attempting to sleep shall be fun tonight.

[thinklesswritemore]

Every damn night.

No matter how tired I am (and today I find myself really quite tired, hence waffle tacked onto a reblog instead of a proper post), no matter how early I go to bed (I consider anything before around midnight to be early), no matter how hard I try to shut out the rest of the world (it seems the harder I try the less successful I am), eventually I know that I will look over at my alarm clock just in time to see the dull, greenish glow emanating from the display advance just one more minute, and that minute means it is now far too late for any amount of sleep I could possibly get to be enough.

Some nights, when the maximum amount of sleep I could get before my alarm sounded to start my day be no more than two or three hours, I'd think to my self "the hell with this! I am wide awake, and I may as well remain so!".

Of course, within minutes of having thought this particular thought my eyelids would suddenly be at their heaviest and I'd crash into a dreamless sleep that did little to rest me, and before I knew it my alarm would be setting about my eardrums with its relentless buzzing and I'd be feeling far worse than if I had stayed awake.

Ho hum.

Original Poster: kecky

[thinklesswritemore]

If get out of jail free cards really existed but you were only allowed one in your lifetime how would you use it?

You could hold onto it for when times got really tough, knock over a bank and live comfortably for the rest of your life.

Or perhaps you would elect to take a much darker path, and do something utterly heinous just because you could, knowing you'd never have to face any consequences.

Just an odd conundrum that popped into my head while I was in the bathroom looking for cotton buds. Thought I'd share.

[thinklesswritemore]

Seasons Fleeting

Every year, usually around the beginning of January, once the effects of Christmas have worn off, I start getting really worked up about summer. I'm fed up of the constant rain, the lack of anything to do and the general feeling of "here we go again" that comes as standard with the beginning of a new year. "Summer shall be fun this year", I always think to myself, "I shall frolic on the beach, have big, bombastic barbecues and generally lounge the long, balmy, summer nights away". Then, inevitably, we have a week or two of sun sometime in May, followed by it promptly chucking it down for around three months solid. September rolls around, and, faced with going back to work (another thing that evokes that special "Groundhog Day" feeling), I start looking forward to winter. I begin to fantasise about crisp, cold mornings, wandering leisurely around town, window shopping in preparation for Christmas, wrapped up warm in coat, hat and scarf, and drinking hot chocolate from one of those special takeaway cups, resplendent in red with that snowflake pattern that only appear for the last two months of the year. And then it rains for three more months. And Christmas fails to live up to the hype. And then it's January again. Rinse and repeat.

[thinklesswritemore]

Deathwash

Almost every morning starts the same way for me; I get up, spend about five minutes dithering around the bathroom waiting for my vision to clear, brush my teeth, and take a shower.

Most days this all happens without event, but sometimes, just sometimes, if I'm especially tired and spend too long staring down at my feet, I find myself wondering how long it'll be until my bathtub finally kills me.

Now, I'm not as paranoid as I'm making myself sound - my bathtub has a bumpy area at the end with the plug-hole to facilitate grip. The problem is that my shower-head was installed at the wrong end of the tub (or the tub was installed back-to-front - whichever you prefer). This means that when you take a shower you're standing at the shiny, slippery, plasticky, non-bumpy end of the tub, and by the time the water is running and shampoo runoff is forming a thin, soapy layer on the floor of the tub it can get quite dangerous.

I've never done myself any serious harm - at least not yet - but I've certainly done my fair share of sliding around, sometimes even when getting into the tub if the floor is still slick with water from its last use, and, for someone as clumsy as me, I count the fact that I'm still alive as nothing short of a miracle.

It's during these moments of contemplation (or sometimes the moments following a slip) that I think about how many ways the tub could actually kill me. I could fall out of it face first and break my neck. I could brain myself on a tap. Even if a fall doesn't kill me there's plenty of potential for many a nasty fate.

Sometimes I'll drift even further and think about all the other things that could have brought an abrupt end my pitiful existence over the years. Once, an aerosol deodorant canister that had been thrown into a bonfire burst, sending a large ball of twisted metal and flames whistling mere inches past my face. Then there was the time I almost fell out of a roller-coaster. It was one of those types with an overhead restraint and a little belt that clicked into the bottom of it. Halfway around the first corkscrew the belt popped out and the restraint shot upward. I can't say for certain if it would have shot up enough to allow me to slide out of it the moment we leveled off, but I'm glad to say that I was able to grab it, pull it back down over myself and put the belt back in so I never had to find out. One time I blew up a toilet in France.

I'm surprised I didn't quickly become a gibbering wreck, but then again I used to jump off the school roof for fun when I was a youngster so obviously I was enough of a daredevil to let these things slip by me. Of course, these days I find myself so overly cautious of everything that I'm surprised I ever get anything done, but that's a story for another time.

So, anyway, the bathtub.

I can't work out why nothing's ever been done about it; it's been like that for the best part of 24 years and could be cured with a simple mat, but it seems slipping is rare enough an occurrence that nobody really thinks about it long enough to bother fixing it. Maybe I should start having baths instead. Drowning seems far less likely.

[thinklesswritemore]

Well, Fancy That

I thought I'd get an early start on my Hallowe'en costume this year. I realise I'm getting too old to get kitted out in fancy dress and go out on the town, and for the most part I don't participate any more, but Hallowe'en is different as everybody is doing it so I feel far less of a tit. I've had a couple of ideas already so it made sense to at least start rounding various costume elements up.

The past couple of years I've ended up somewhat disappointed with my choice in costume, partly due to the last-minute nature of their creation and partly due to them not really fitting well into the overall spooky theme of the occasion. For example, last year I went as venerable douchebag Captain Hammer from Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog - great for fulfilling my own nerdy fantasies but not so good in terms of being recognisable. The year before that I was Roger Rabbit, a costume that was slightly better received but suffered due to it being an incredibly last-minute contingency costume, for which I spent the best part of two hours carefully crafting my own set of fluffy bunny ears, and then a rushed five minutes throwing on a white, long-sleeved t-shirt and a red pair of dungarees.

The best thing about the idea I've had this year (which I refuse to reveal in case it doesn't go to plan and I end up as yet another sodding zombie) is that I knew where to find all the various components. Or at least I thought I did. One of the items I require is a relatively simple suit. Well, a specific style of suit, but a suit nonetheless. I had seen this very suit available in Matalan sometime earlier this year - quite cheaply, too - and it would have been perfect... except that it's disappeared without trace.

I keep forgetting how fickle the world of fashion is, and how once a line of clothing has had its run, it can get completely discontinued with nothing even remotely similar to replace it. I've scoured a few websites but so far anything which seems suitable is well out of my price range. Several hundred pounds out of my price range, in some cases.

I'm almost tempted to just plump for one suit that I found on eBay - the only problem being that I have no idea if it'll fit me (my size has changed rather drastically since I last bought proper, fitted clothing, but possibly not quite enough to fit this particular suit) and the auction ends in just a few hours so I've little hope of even finding a real-world size equivalent to try for fit before rushing home to put my bid in.

It is possible that a suit like this would be suitable for various other occasions, so it may be worth me spending the extra cash and coming out away with something half-decent, but my brain refuses to allow me to blow huge amounts of cash on what is essentially little more than children playing dress-up.

Maybe I should just plan to stay in instead and hand out sprouts to trick-or-treaters.

[thinklesswritemore]

This is all that remains of my once-mighty badge collection.

When I was a youngster I had a denim jacket that was covered almost entirely in pin badges. I think badges were the first thing that I ever really collected, even if only by default as my parents kept buying them for me to add to the jacket. Even so, as the collection grew so did my desire to add to it, and soon I was adding any old badges to it just to see how much of the denim I could make disappear. It got to a point where every step I took was accompanied by a distinct clinking, like a bin-bag brimming with bottle caps.

Eventually, of course, I outgrew the jacket, and didn't end up replacing it for several years. When I finally did get myself a new denim jacket, most of the badges had been misplaced or thrown away. Birthday badges, for example, are only really relevant for one day of your entire life, and many of the other badges featured pop-culture icons that I had since outgrown (when I was a teen I felt I had outgrown them, at least; as I've gotten older I have discovered that I am far more susceptible to the pull of nostalgia).

I still picked up the odd badge here and there; mostly promotional charity ones found at supermarket checkouts and on the counter in banks. Some are souvenirs from places where a badge was the only trinket I felt I was able to afford, and many of the rest are just freebies from magazines and events that I haven't the heart to dispose of.

Recently I've started adding badges to the strap of my messenger bag - just a few small ones depicting pop culture icons that I feel have had an impact on me in some way. I don't think I'll ever again achieve the magnificence of that denim jacket though.

[thinklesswritemore]

I really don't have the energy to come up with anything interesting or even coherent today, so instead here's a crude rendering of a stegosaurus I did a while back. The original idea was to blatantly rip off this but have my dinosaur be Spanish in an attempt to help me learn that particular language. Of course, learning Spanish got pushed way down the list of things that needed doing, in no small part due to the fact that I was unlikely to be traveling to Spain any time soon, so unfortunately my little stegosaurus (I believe he was to be called "Javier") never made it any further than this sketch.

[thinklesswritemore]

Seven things it took me far too long to realise:

That "Miles Prower", Tails' full name in the Sonic the Hedgehog games, was a play on the words "miles per hour". Just what the "that" was that Meatloaf claimed he wouldn't do for love. That I'd been tying my shoes incorrectly all these years. No, really - see this video for details. That The Mask pulls a condom from his pocket during a scene in the 1994 movie of the same name. That in a different scene in the same movie, two characters got car tail pipes forcibly inserted into their bottoms (I'd always thought that they'd been impaled, which is actually far more gruesome but made more sense to me). The meaning behind the now infamous "Finger Prints" gag in Animaniacs. That Nickelback are shit (I figured this out sometime in my late teens, but that was still after liking them for the better part of five years. I feel unclean).

[thinklesswritemore]

pro-Portion-ate

I'm sure most of you are familiar with the little boxes that appear on food packaging listing nutritional information. They usually get broken down into two catagories; information per hundred grams and information per portion. Today I bought a bar of Lindt Creations Caramel after hearing about it from friends. I was skimming the info on the packet and noticed the nutritional info box. The bar was one hundred grams and a portion was listed as twenty-five grams - one quarter of the bar. It seemed straightforward enough, until I realised that the bar consisted of ten squares of chocolate. That meant that Lindt considered a portion to be two and a half squares. Now, this may seem trivial to you but it's the type of thing that really rustles my jimmies. Who the hell is going to eat half a square? It'd be fiddly enough trying to bite off half of a block of regular Dairy Milk or Galaxy, but a square of chocolate filled with oozing caramel? No, chances are you'll either eat two or three. Call me a glutton if you will, but two would probably be less than satisfying, so chances are I'd go for the three, and as there are ten squares that means I'd get three portions and one square left over. What bugs me about it is that it means that Lindt either didn't think it through hard enough to realise they'd be giving you an uneven number of portions, or they chose twenty-five grams in an attempt to keep the number of calories listed per portion low in an attempt to appeal to those trying to watch their intake. It could have been fixed so easily, too - why choose a design that features ten squares? They'd probably have you believe that through various focus groups and other market research it was revealed that this particular size and shape piece was the most appealing, but you know what? Bollocks the market research. With something as simple as a change in the mould they use to cast the bar in they could have made the same hundred gram bar come in four rows of three squares. That way they keep their twenty-five gram portion size and it means people don't have to muck about trying to either eat half a square or figure out how much impact that extra piece is going to have on their diet. Maybe you think I'm just being pernickety, and perhaps I am, but I see this happening far too often these days, and I see absolutely no good reason for it. There. End rant. I need some chocolate.

[thinklesswritemore]

A Confession

I'm aware that some of you will judge me for this. However, I've given it a lot of thought and I've decided that I don't care. It's part of who I am. I've learned to accept it and if you don't like it, well, that's your business. Okay, here goes. I like Val Kilmer best as Batman. Before you close your browser and set fire to your PC, allow me to offer some explanation: Firstly, this doesn't mean that I think Batman Forever is the best Batman movie (it is my second favourite of the original quadrilogy but that's by the by), nor does it mean that I in any way dislike the recent Nolan films. It just means that, so far, I think Val Kilmer gave the best performance in a live action Caped Crusader movie (and specifically live action - yes, of course I like Kevin Conroy as Batman but I consider that a whole different kettle of fish). Kilmer's Batman is what I'd want him to be if he existed in our reality - strong and imposing, with a voice that sounds authoritative and intelligent without coming across as psychotic (Bale, I'm looking at you). The innocent should have no need to fear Batman; only those who would do wrong. If you were being mugged and were rescued by Kilmer's Batman you could happily cheer him on, knowing that you were safe and those who would harm you will meet swift justice. If you happened to be a resident of Nolan's Gotham and found yourself in a similar predicament, then between the sound of breaking bones and Bale's incoherent barking you would not only be left uncertain as to whether or not the mugger had survived, but you may also find yourself wondering if it is going to hurt when the armour-clad rodent-man who fell from the sky begins to eat your face. Furthermore, I think that if you could somehow take Kilmer from the set of Forever and drop him off in Begins (a reminder: I'm still talking about the performance alone here -  I don't want to hear any complaints regarding Bat-Nipples or some of the sillier gadgets from the 90s), it would still work. Put Bale one of the Schumacher movies, however, and they'd get even more surreal. This is, of course, only the opinion of one man. Chances are the vast majority of you who read this will disagree. Who knows, seeing as the Batman franchise will of course live on once the dust left by The Dark Knight Rises settles, perhaps one day even I'll be one of you. For now though, while I may rarely watch Batman Forever, and even when I do I'll enjoy it for very different reasons compared to the Nolan trilogy, Kilmer is Batman for me, and I don't care who knows it.

[thinklesswritemore]

After a Fashion

I have a horrible time buying clothes. The minute I set foot in a clothes shop I get incredibly self-conscious, balking at the idea of someone watching and judging me with every garment I dare to glance at. I still prioritise comfort over style, of course, and half the time I am bewildered by current fashions and trends anyway, but recently I've been finding myself wanting to try my hardest to look presentable. See, even on here I can't say "look good". The mere idea of declaring myself as "looking good" leaves me in a state of blind panic that I'm open to being mentally torn down by anyone with even the tiniest fraction more style than me for daring to even consider, no matter how fleetingly, that I could even come close to something resembling "looking good". I usually prefer to go clothes shopping with other people, that way I can get the opinion of (or at least shift the blame to) someone other than myself. It's far easier and less painful to change into a potential purchase, draw back the curtain of the changing cubicle, pull my go-to "?" face and get a simple yes or a no, thus allowing me to get back into my own clothes as quickly as possible. When by myself I need to take my time, allowing myself to spend a bit of time in each garment, checking the fit and trying to see myself from as many angles as possible. If it's something like a jacket that can be tried on right there on the shop floor then I endeavour to find the quietest corner containing a mirror (something which is becoming more and more difficult as time goes by, as shops seem to want to torture me by cutting down on mirrors and putting what few they do have in the most open space in the building, usually close to the women's section [leading to yet another paranoia that, given the androgynous nature of much of today's fashion, I'll pick up and consider a garment intended for women by mistake]). Once I find a mirror I then end up playing an odd game with myself where I try to analyse said garment as much as possible in as short a time as possible. Ideally I'd be able to take as long as I feel I need to, deliberating the pros and cons, weighing the item up against other, similar things I may have had my eye on, but the longer I stand in front of a mirror, the more my panicked mind tells me that other people are starting to judge me. "Look at this wanker", they think to themselves, "he's been checking himself out in that mirror for a full five minutes now". If there's one thing that terrifies me more than the thought of people judging me for how I look it's the thought of people judging me for being too concerned with how I look. The idea of someone thinking of me as vain makes me cringe so violently I fear I may tear something. Of course, the more I worry about people noticing me the more squirrely I get, leading to me getting far more noticeable. The cycle begins. Changing rooms are no better; as far as my self-conscious mind is concerned, the attendant outside is sat there, nothing better to do than wonder just what the hell is taking me so long, especially when I then emerge, after what is probably only a few minutes but to me feels like far longer than it would take to be branded some kind of deviant, having decided to not make any purchases after all. I am fully aware this is all in my head, of course. I'm not crazy. Well, I mean, all evidence suggests that I am, but at least I'm able to mostly keep it to myself. It all boils down to confidence in the end, and I'm also painfully aware that I possess very little. One day perhaps I'll be in a situation where I can stride into a shop, select absolutely whatever I feel like off the rack, and everyone will immediately think it suits me simply because my demeanour decrees that it shall.  Today is not that day. Neither is tomorrow, when I plan to go looking for jeans.

[thinklesswritemore]

The Lesser of two Orvilles.

Is there nothing I won't attempt in a blind panic?

Recently I've put my name forward for a live, ten minute comedy slot hosted by some acquaintances of mine. It's something I wanted to do since those same acquaintances put on their first comedy show last year, and I've been compiling material throughout this past year. However, now I've actually committed to it, I've started looking over my material and am suddenly under the impression that some of it isn't funny, some of it isn't coherent and a not insignificant amount isn't funny or coherent.

It's not exactly rare for me to start doubting myself the minute I actually commit to something, but just to be on the safe side I've started wracking my brain in an attempt to come up with alternatives. What has been the only thing that has stuck so far?

Ventriloquism.

I've never even so much as attempted to throw my voice in the past, let alone felt I possessed enough skill to perform in front of an audience. However, so far the material is flowing freely and seems to be of a decent enough quality to pass muster, so for now I'm hoping that the material will come first and I can teach myself how to actually do it over the course of this month.

I give myself a week before I give up, burn my clothes on a beach and fake my own death just to save face.

[thinklesswritemore]

There are many games I've planned to play, some of which have been on my list for some time now. However, I find myself unable to start anything new until I finish a game I've been playing on my iPad for over a month now, a game which ceased to be fun a good couple of weeks ago.

The game is called Dark Meadow, and it started off well: The aim of the game is to prowl the darkened corridors of an abandoned hospital, searching for gold and jewels which you use to purchase equipment to help fend off the legion of demonic entities you discover as you progress. Also, in certain rooms you can find documents revealing pieces of a story, a puzzle to be put together by the reader as you don't receive them in any particular order.

So, what's the problem? Well, at this point there is only one boss remaining for me to fight but he, for now at least, is nigh invulnerable. The game has an incredibly steep difficulty curve, which doesn't seem to serve so much as a challenge for the player but rather as a way to convince the player to spend real-world cash on weapons, health packs and level-increasing gems. The game itself was free, but cold hard cash is required if you want speedy access to equipment. Even though in-game money is plentiful, much of the kit can only be purchased with tokens known as Sun Coins. You can receive sun coins from killing monsters, but it takes a lot of time to rack up enough for even the cheapest of items, let alone the game-changing weapons necessary to fight some of the tougher battles.

I can't really blame the game designers for wanting to make their money, but I always feel this is a rather crappy way to go about it, as instead of enjoying myself hacking and slashing my way to victory, I end up trawling the same corridors, day-in-day-out, grinding away in order to level up and gain enough gold for better equipment. Perhaps I should have quit a while ago, but seeing as I am so close to completing it, and considering how much time I feel I've already invested in it I'll be damned if I give up now.

[thinklesswritemore]

Giftwrapping - A Beginner's Guide

Step One: Dig out your wrapping paper. There must be some around here somewhere. Step Two: Discover that the only piece of birthday-themed wrapping paper you have left is far too small for the item you wish to wrap. Settle for the least Christmassy Christmas paper you can find. Step Three: Lay out your wrapping paper on a flat surface. Chances are it'll be far too big for the table so you'll try to do it on the floor. Carpets are not a good surface for this but you're already past caring. Step Four: Lay out the item you wish to wrap on the paper and gauge how big a piece you'll need to cut. Step Five: Cut your wrapping paper, trying not to shred it as you keep adjusting the scissors in a vain attempt to keep as straight as possible. Step Six: Cut some strips of Sellotape and stick them somewhere accessible such as a nearby table or the back of your hand. Step Seven: Discard any tape which has folded over and stuck to itself. Cut more strips to replace them. Step Eight: Begin to pull the wrapping paper around the item as tightly as you can, realising that the ends don't meet after all. Pull a little harder and end up ripping the cheap and flimsy paper on a sharp corner. Step Nine: Cut some more paper, this time allowing an extra inch or so wiggle room. Step Ten: Realise that this time you have far too much paper but don't want to risk trimming it for fear of a repeat of step eight. Instead, keep pulling the paper around the item and tape it wherever you can, realising it's now far too loose but you don't want to waste any more paper. Step Eleven: Wish you'd bought gift bags instead. Step Twelve: Begin to fold in the corners of the paper at one end. Gather the folded corners into a point and pull this up over the edge of the item. Step Thirteen: Attempt to tuck in the edges of the corner still showing the white underside. Apply Sellotape liberally to keep the bulky mess in place. Step Fourteen: Gently mop sweat from brow. Step Fifteen: Remove tape from eyelid. Step Sixteen: Turn the gift around and repeat steps twelve and thirteen for the other end. Step Seventeen: Decide that paper money in a card will be a perfectly acceptable substitute next year. Step Eighteen: Attach gift tags/bows with any left over Sellotape. Step Nineteen: Realise you've several eyelashes missing from earlier Sellotape incident. Step Twenty: Hand gift to recipient and experience the warm tingle of rising bile as they tear apart in seconds what it's taken you the better part of an hour to do.

[thinklesswritemore]

At least I'm not bald...

I'm never completely satisfied with my hairstyle. No matter what I want to do with it I always end up playing it safe and getting the same cut. I can't really visualise what a certain style might look like on me, so I'm always in fear of getting it wrong and looking like a pillock. If I trusted hairdressers I'd wander in and ask them to lend me their expertise, giving them free reign to do whatever they thought would suit me. However, I'm never sure that they won't confuse "what would suit me" with "what is currently popular", especially after one hairdresser several years ago tried to convince me to let her give me a sort of patchy skunk cut that was all the rage in the world of professional rugby for some inexplicable reason. Yesterday I decided to be a bit more adventurous. I took down a picture of a style I wanted to try and gave it to the hairdresser. I almost changed my mind when she took a look at it and said "Oh, like a quiff?" - I'd never thought of it as even vaguely quiffy until now. Is that what this was? Had I been blind to this particular hairstyle's quiff-like properties? Quiffs don't really sound very me. I hesitated for a moment, but decided to go ahead with it. My hair was just about long enough that if I ended up not liking it I still had enough wiggle room to have it trimmed down to my regular style. A few spritzes from a water bottle, a few snips, a quick buzz with the clippers to clean up and I was ready to be styled. My hairdresser filled her hands with mousse and started applying it. Okay, I thought, I've not really used mousse before but I can pick up a can if that's what it takes. Then the hairdryer came out. Soon my hair was a voluminous mess atop my head. I hope she didn't register the fear in my eyes. I had no desire to look like a mousy dandelion. Then a wax was applied, pulling and twisting and shaping until, to my surprise, it resembled the picture I had given her at the start. My faith in hairdressers was restored, but my faith in my ability to recreate this style at home was shattered into tiny pieces. Even though she had done it in around five minutes, it looked like it required skill, effort and the ability to see angles of my own head I could only achieve with a complex system of mirrors. Sure enough, when I tried to recreate the style this morning I looked more like I had attempted to style my hair by covering it in product and repeatedly headbutting a mountain lion. The mousse I used felt sticky, my blowdrying abilities leave something to be desired as it wilted the moment I stepped outside, and the wax I put on top didn't so much give it texture and definition as give me the look of a man whose hair was trying to escape his own head. I picked up a couple of different products on the way home from work today, and I'm hoping that I might be able to get the results I want with a bit of practice, but I'm expecting it to take a while, and in the meantime I have to leave the house each day looking like a man who licks wall outlets for fun.

[thinklesswritemore]

I love a good mashup. Some of the most creative things I've seen on the internet are the results of a collision between two elements of popular culture that I absolutely love. I'd seen this particular idea floating around in a few forms, from tweets to Photoshops to actual dialogue in a comic, but to my surprise it seemed that no one had attempted to create this particular piece.

For those not in the know, the hammer is Mjolnir, weapon of choice for Thor, Norse God of Thunder. This particular design comes from the Marvel universe, as seen in Thor's eponymous cinematic debut and more recently The Avengers. The rest of the piece comes from the emblem of Captain Hammer, a Joss Whedon creation portrayed by Nathan Fillion in Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog.

Two hours' work and 33 layers combine to make this tribute. I'm tempted to put it on a t-shirt.