Fill My Trophy Case

It's pretty clear that Randall Flagg, (a.k.a. the Walkin' Dude, The Dark Man, The Ageless Stranger, That Guy from Law & Order) has won the Twitterized version of The Stand. Oh, most of humanity may still be walking around given that the Trips is about as infectious as lice attempting to colonize Phil Collins' head.

"I can feel it comin' out my hair tonight, Oh Rooo...gain."

Nonetheless, I won. The others were simply too boring and unimaginative to hike their way to Boulder. Even @MotherAbigail -- who I begrudgingly admit was somewhat entertaining -- has threw in her Tucks Medicated towels and was last seen playing backup vocals for a few gospel music acts.

Play this backwards and you'll hear them sing "I like big butts ..."

And I won despite me losing The Stand Poll some months back. Which goes to show you -- evil is sexy. Sexy like filet mignon tips wrapped in bacon sexy. Like a girl in a pink mini mowing the lawn in this damn commercial..... And since I am evil, I am also sexy. Although, the popular opinion is my mullet is really what tips me over into the sexy territory. Evil is just a bonus.

It's been much delayed, but this calls for a celebration. And since I'm not really into a Kool & The Gang influenced Holiday Inn wedding reception-like dance party, and since 1999 is 10 years gone now, I'm going to have to find another way to celebrate this milestone (other than the agonizing diseased deaths of 99.9% of the surface population).

"We're lookin' for nuthin' but a good time..."

So, I have installed a massive trophy case in my Caeser's Palace penthouse that will be used for all the congratulatory trinkets you will send me over the course of 2010.

It's fairly simple. Whatever you're good at doing -- hobby, arts, crafts, creatively tasteful photos found in magazines men read for the articles (really), etc. -- dedicate one to me and mail or email to my agent. My agent will then forward these trinkets to my trophy case in Vegas. I will update my followers regularly with the genuflections I receive.

Still confused? Blonde? A multilevel marketing bot? Let me give you some examples of great honorariums:

• YouTube video genuflections, describing in detail how Randall Flagg's presense has changed your life for the better (or worse, makes no differnece to me). A good example can be seen here.
• My Naughty, Naughty writers can send me signed copies of their published works or draft an original story to me for publication in www.SomeObscureFanFicSiteNoOneEverReads.com.
• Sculptures, art work, macrame', homemade knitted socks or sweaters, etc.
• Autographed pictures of youreself with mullets. Prominent placement will be given to creativity and boob size.
• Bottles of wine or liquor. No need to sign those.
• Plush toys or random memorialized trinkets obtained from your hard-earned quarters in those claw machines at Fudruckers.

As I stated earlier, my agent will be collecting such trinkets here on in. For correct mailing and/or email address, contact dirkthedaringinatl@yahoo.com. Dirk will then give you further instructions on how to send me such worshipful idols, depending on the item.

Here's your chance, boys and girls. Your chance to take one of my many, but limited, seats upon high and the benefits bestowed therein. I eagerly look forward to your honors. If you don't, then be ready for repeated nightmares of Carrie Prejean's sex tape with my face superimposed until you do participate.

Do you now see the impact of my power? And my mullet?

Let's face it, I am one of the greatest power beasts on Twitter today. I've also been described as "epic," "sexy," "spellbinding" and "A heartwarming adventure for the whole family." This isn't my opinion. Many respected critics have echoed these remarks, including the most recent issue of Better Homes and Garden magazine....

"Randall Flagg (@VegasWalkinDude) has single-handedly transformed Twitter from a sad venue for celebrity worship and multilevel losers into a social medium with him at the center, in which all Twitterverse revolves. Crass, funny, and deeply insightful, Flagg is a shining beacon atop Caeser's Palace in Vegas in the wasteland of Twitter..." - Llaf L. Draggan, editor.

Needless to say, in barely a year in my Twitter experiment, I have made more impact in this world than Tiny Tim's vast repertoire of emotionally relevant tunes.

He strayed knee deep in the floors. Six feet under the flowers actually.

As such, my many minions have endeavored to give me proper respect and worship on a regular basis, from numerous glorifying Follow Fridays to #whyIfollowflagg Wednesdays...which reminds me. It's Wednesday. Hold a sec while I tweet this....

Okay. I'm back.

While I appreciate...well, actually, expect...the praise and honor of those who follow me, there are a few who go above and beyond. And one in particular has created ... well, let's just say this shall be the new National Anthem once the flu does its dirty work effectively.

So, without more preamble, I introduce to you Flagg's tribute by @Alexisaslut.

Okay, men, clean up the drool and shut those gaping maws. Girls, don't be jealous. There are many ways you may honor me without the sexual adoration bestowed upon me by Ms. Alex.

Awwww...You shouldn't have.

As for @Alexisaslut, who now sits upon high, we have something special. Not only is she ... umm ... made for baby bearin', but she's French! I mean, she's FREAKIN' FRENCH?! Come on, people, how many of you haven't secretly dreamed of being smothered by honey-sweet French beauties whispering sweet nothings in your ear that when translated are probably quotes from the Microsoft Vista users manual?

Oui, oui! De C-drive Register Can Be Accesssed Riiiight Dowwwwn Heeeere.

She even wrote a long tome on her bloggie thing that, I think, complements me and sings me praises. Hard to tell though. Here's an excerpt:

C' was without counting on Vegas Walkin Dude, which l' does not hear obviously this ear. Animated d' a will to reverse l' order restored at the end of film, the VWD decided to carry out the revolution on Twitter and to see which d' between him or Mother Abigaël would have the most faithful. L' idea is already amusing in oneself, but it l' is d' as much more than that which hides under the mule of VWD has a real talent of pastiche and an art of the counterpart that l' one also finds by traversing his blog.

I believe that was clear enough. And in truth, I couldn't have said it better mayself. In summary, I hide under a mule and I'm very good at counterparting on my blog. 'Nuff said, don't you think?

Perfect Protection from Nuclear fallout.
Now in mass production.

Might as well post something...

Quite honestly, I have nothing to say. Which is NOT to say what I will say is not important. Or unimportant. Or importantless. Or...whatever.

I'm bored. And Clue loses its engaging appeal when played alone.

It's Professor Plum in the Library with a Gatling Gun. Coz I said so, beotch!

So, in these moments of lucid clarity coupled with the stifling elusiveness of absolutely nothing to do and no one to see, I do one of three things:

• Disturb my many followers by showing them Rorschach blots and asking them with threatening undertones what they see.

The correct answer is Al Pacino's nose hair.

• Explore J.J. Abhrams' New York penthouse for clues to the mystery behind Lost and Fringe.

Found the answer in his fridge. Hidden behind three fake websites and ketchup.

• Continue to hone my theory of the virtues of boredom.

The last item is what I want to chat about today because it may just revolutionize modern Western philosophy and eschatology. And perhaps even proctology, but we'll leave that one open for debate.

To me, boredom is the root of everything. It is the essence of creation and of action. And it balances your bile and humors to promote rationality and justice while you're chained in a cave staring at shadow people on the walls, hoping for glimpses of the naughty naughty. Just like scrambled Cinemax.

It's a breast! Wait. No. It's a penis! Wait. Nope.

This is because it's the nature of all things to resist stagnation. Boredom draws one into action. And in that action, something is created. For instance, I'm fairly certain it was the collective boredom of the Greeks that produced vast amounts of pottery porn. And I'm also fairly certain that a thousand years from now, humans will find shreds of Barely Legal and Fetish Times in museums as well.

Yes, this is real. No, he's not circumcised.

I would wager to say that reality itself was birthed from absolute boredom. Think about it. God's sitting around in this black, shapeless void. Not much to do. And reruns of Parker Lewis Can't Lose just don't cut it after the 10th viewing. So God, now slumping into a unmitigated depression, decides to end it all, so he goes to his stove, turns on the gas and lets it filter throughout the void. Then, after downing a gazillion bottles of moonshine, he strikes the match. BOOM! Existence commences. Of course God is eternal and immortal, so his version of ending it was to create Earth and and dinosaurs and people and Big Macs and the questionable popularity of Miley Cyrus.

Which leads to me. I'm bored. The last time I was bored, I traveled the East Coast, visiting every Karaoke bar I encountered to sing my rendition of "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina." This time, I have rewritten The Stand out of sheer boredom. And out of sheer boredom the rest of The Stand cast has raised the white flag in its quest to kill me and begun to freebase CheezWiz.

So, that's it. That's my philosophy. Kant ain't got nothing on me.

And if you're particularly bored at the moment, feel free to make me a Manwich.

Since you're already pregnant with the Antichrist @yenta78 get in the kitchen and get cooking. And take off your shoes.

Surviving the Apocalypse: The ideal Survivor!

Some of you may recall the little quiz I labored to make to predict your chances of surviving the apocalypse. Not many of you took it. Your loss. Coz, honestly, you're lazy. I say this because the rest of The Stand cast actually still have followers. By now, I wanted them to be lonely voices in the void that is filled with bot followers.

Alas, I still want my minions to survive...any potential eventuality. Not that I'm really expecting anything other than mass casualties as a result of H1N1, but still, you never know. There are sooo many possible ways the world could end...

Instead of letting all of you perish at the hands of mutant frogs or iridescent-clad New World Order storm troopers, I will outline exactly what you need to make it through to the end.


Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse make a New Year's Resolution to lose weight. And add a midget to their ranks.

• What is the best outfit a post-apocalyptic survivor should wear?

Of all the choices (Latex gimp wear; toga robes and dirty rags; football padding; iridescent body suits), the football pads are the best. They may only provide marginal protection against projectile radiated flea seed, the pads to add girth and intimidation to the wearer -- like peacock feathers.

That's right! Don't mess with me, beotch!

• What is the best mode of transportation through a radioactive wasteland?

Of the choices (stripped down buggy; motorcycle; bicycle helicopter; lower torso tank treads) the obvious choice are the tank treads. New realities beget new inventions and this one tops the cake. Combining mad genius with ubercoolness, the torso tank tred is the single best mode of transportation in a barbaric universe. Just ask Patrick Reynolds.

By grafting the tank treads to your torso, a New World warrior can easily traverse the environment. Even better, your legs can now double as a weapon. Being mugged by a half-breed? Simply run over the turd while growling, "You shouldn't have crossed this road, chicken!" The treads also instill terror to your opponent.
"Roll Tide this, asswipe!"
You see a hapless virgin surrounded by comet zombies? Simply roll into the fray shouting, "By the power of my beastly tank treads, I HAVE THE POWER!" There are a few disadvantages to be sure: It's hard to climb stairs, you lose your penis, and finding that mad scientist to perform the operation is a little tricky -- unless you're in Malaysia. Still, small problems compared to absolute awesomeness.

• Who is your best friend and companion in a Roland Emmerich inspired world?

Your choices: Midget; AI computer; Dog; Woman; Chuck Norris. The answer: Midget.

It's a mystery why midgets are as loyal and handy as they are, but traveling a scarred landscape with a midget is like finding a can opener in the canned food aisle in the rubble of a Krogers. Of course, in today's world, it's inappropriate to call them midgets.

This is just sheer awesomeness

Instead, being sensitive, we refer to them as little people or elves. After the apocalypse, no such political correctness is afforded these genetic anomalies. Perhaps this is why they are so loyal and are willing to jump in front of a bulldozer outfitted with metal spikes to save your ass.

As for Chuck Norris, well, he is the apocalypse. So kinda defeats the purpose.

• What is the best weapon to tote around in hell-on-earth?

Choices were a sword, shotgun, pistol, rocket launcher or scifi beam weapon thingie.

The old adage of never bring a knife to a gunfight just doesn't hold true in this New World. If you chose this, you are a wise survivor and will last well into old age -- or at least until Michael Dudikoff shurikens you in the face. A sword's advantages are numerous: It never runs out of ammo, is easy to care for, and is unmatched in stealth before and after the kill.

The American Ninja: Punching his way into 80's obscurity.

Plus, everyone knows once your hand grasps the hilt, you automatically gain ninja superpowers -- or magically transform into a giant lion robot. Either one is cool.

• You see a buxom slave girl surrounded by mutant frog men ready to breed more amphibihumans. What do you do?

Just forget about her. Seriously. Women are more trouble than their worth in the post-apocalyptic world. You'll have a difficult enough time surviving without the walking mammary target attracting every warrior wannabe from here to Thunderdome.

Plus, let's face it. Even in a world covered with ash and ice and radiation, she'll still ask you if her ass is too big. The answer is always no, by the way.

Don't freakin' ask.

• You have infiltrated the evil lair of the 70's Abba Tribute army. You see the powerful Xanadu machine, in which whoever controls, controls the world. What do you do?

It's the place that nobody dared to go...except you, you daring adventurer. Most of the choices involved you destroying the machine. Actually, that's wrong. You join that damn army! ABBA?! Oh hell yes! At the least you crank it up to 11 -- coz 11 is just one more better than 10.

• You see Ernest Borgnine. What do you do?

Never, and I mean never, kill Ernest Borgnine. That man has survived more Apocalypses than Michael Jackson had plastic surgery. Wait, Michael's dead? Are you serious? Is Ernest Borgnine dead? Oh shit...

This is the face of doom! All he's missing is the mullet.

...he's not dead? Oh, thank heavens! That would have just sucked for the human race. I mean it. Borgnine is a veritable depository of survivalist knowledge -- and he drives around in a cool taxicab.

• What is the ideal hair style after the apocalypse?

A mullet. As though there'd be another answer. Seriously, if you didn't get this one, then get out of Vegas now. This isn't even a question. I just threw that one in as a moron test.

• After years of sweat, toil, violence and blood, you discover a secret paradise, a veritable Garden of Eden. What do you do?

You may be tempted to frolic forevermore in Paradise. You may go back into the wasteland looking for survivors to take with you. You may even decide instead to find Disneyland.

But there's really only one answer here. Stand at the entrance, take in its beauty and grandeur -- and then burn the f&#ing place down! Why, you ask, would I ever do such a thing, especially after so many bleak years dodging mutant dominatrix queens (I believe you'll find them at DragonCon and ComicCon)?

Larry Flint finds God. Again.
And lots and lots of Apples.

Because The Garden of Eden is the source of all that has occurred. It is the singularity of all sin. Think about it. Without the Garden, there'd be no Eve. Without the Garden, there'd be no apple. Without the Garden, there wouldn't be 18,374,552 men named Adam in the White Pages.

Sin wouldn't exist. Evil wouldn't exist. I wouldn't ex....hey, wait a minute. Am I shooting myself in the foot here?

Surviving the Apocalypse: The Quiz

What is the likelihood you will be doing the Electric Slide with yours truly after the rest of the world sneezes to death?

How about you find out?

Let it not be said that I don't know how to have a good time. I do. I and my followers have such a good time that you can find us on a ceiling. Dancing. And changing lightbulbs (my followers, not me).

Dear Randall, You So Burn that Ceiling Down! - Lionel

Still, such techno-eschatology requires one to know just the right things to do to survive the initial culling. Sure, there's FluBuddyTM or fallout shelters or L. Ron Hubbard's sailors hat beachside villa replica, but most of these are temporary precautions, a way to prolong the inevitable and delay the mortal coil's shuffleboard ...uh...shuffle.

"What's that, Harold? Soylent Green for dinner again?!"

True survivors, though, will have the intimate know-how to lead a prosperous life forged in a wasteland of post-modern Americana. As the ultimate in apocalyptic evil, it's safe to say I have a fairly good idea of what it takes to be a Brave New World Warrior (other than declaring eternal devotion to me). I've spent years of scholarly education on the subject, studying such how-to survival classics as "2019: After the Fall of New York," "Hell Comes to Frogtown," "The Day After," and "Warriors of Some Cool Sounding Post-Apocalyptic Nomicker."

And I've collected all my knowledge and passed the savings on to you. Take this quiz and find out how likely you will survive a world run by Flaggocare.

In a few days, I will describe the composite of an optimal survivalist for everyone to see and study. Remember, knowledge is power. And power is something to be cherished, like steaming hot bowls of wheat germ mush while watching a Family Ties marathon. Oh so healthy and funny. In the meantime, take this quiz to see, if the world just happened to end today, how you would fare.

Guess which cast members still has a career?

How...the hell...could I lose?

Damn purists.

Ever since Peter Jackson grasped the turgid girth that was the Lord of the Rings saga, audiences have come to expect -- nay they've demanded -- that movie translations remain true to the books from which they're based. This is poppycock! I mean, would we have such celluloid classics as "The Cat in the Hat" (Mike Myers movie) or "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" if the directors slavishly adhered to the source material?

Kids, how do you stop inappropriate touching?

But, alas, true adaptations are what the peoples want. And what the peoples want, they sometimes get, assuming assistant producers and marketing executives stay the hell out of the studio.

Which leads me to this harsh reality. I lost The Stand Poll. For this, I blame the purists.

To recap, this poll was designed to let you, the many fans of Stephen Speilbe...I mean, Stephen King's "The Stand," finally get their say as to how the novel ends. As we all know, King made a grave error. Instead of the bomb harmlessly going off in the back water, unpopulated city of Boulder, he instead mistakenly triggered it along the Vegas strip while I was MC-ing the greatest show on earth (it was the only show on earth at the moment).

So, I die in a Michael Bay wet dream and those bland good guys inherit some freakin' farm out in Montana.

Michael Bay masturbates to this. I shit you not.

My modest proposal was to alter the ending of the novel in the Twitterverse. That's right! Actually allow my followers and supporters to demand that The Walkin' Dude succeed and live on to rule all In-And-Out Burgers along the West Coast. Them damn good burgers, by the way.

If I had won, I would have started a petition that would have been sent to the King himself demanding that he capitulate and endorse my victory on Twitter.

In short, I could have revolutionized the literary world and changed what has been perhaps the most integral novel to American culture since Bronson Pinchot solidified the arch-type of the pseudo-homosexual fish out of water in the critically acclaimed series "Perfect Strangers."

Unfortunately, these dreams of mine shall not be.

Let's review the results, shall we?

http://www.misterpoll.com/polls/440355/results

As you can see, the majority of voters just want to keep The Stand's plot exactly the same. They have no imagination. No vision. No guts to forge a brave new world where mullets rule and all IRS employees must lace every conversation with titillating sexual innuendo like, "That's right, baby. We can amortize your Quicken all night long."

A glimpse inside an IRS Auditor's rape fantasies.

I suppose there's comfort in this. After all, it's not like these misguided fools are suggesting that I be killed off for personal reason. Leave that to the 14 cadave...I mean voters...who chose to say I jumped the shark. This attitude was best summarized by this coward:

"Damn it, Flagg.. if only you'd been less of an insufferable ass to me, I could have really liked you. Mayhap next time will be different," - Anonymous, Fat and Lonely in Denver.

There were also nine people who didn't have a clue as to who I am, but could probably recite every flavor combination of Slurpee possible (just so you know, there are 341,832 flavor combinations possible, including BazzaBerryBlueBlend).

Of course there's the 116 of you great, genius minds who desired for me to stick around, either because you love my mullet, or due to outright fear that I would forever cast a scarlett #unfollowfriday on you. Either choice was appropriate. But the motivation to vote for me was genuine, as summarized in this comment:

"Randall should live!!!!!!!!! Long live @VegasWalkinDude! Not only is he evil, but he makes me laugh," - @Tinhuviel, Phd. CCIM, MENSA Chair, Knighted Queen's Order of the Guards, Medal of Honor winner - three times.

Well, now all we have left to do, dear readers, is wait. Wait for those boring near-do-wells who are role playing The Stand like a collection of high school drama buffoons to get to Vegas and play out their damned story arch. At which point, of course, the rosey palm of God is supposed to descend and detonate the warhead before Jack Bauer can rescue me.

"Dear God. Can you bring my puppy, Spot, back to life? Amen," Casey Varnett, Age 7.

And per the deal, your beloved @VegasWalkinDude will cease to Twitter forever and ever.

Until then, dear Twitters, I shall continue to snark, belittle and generally remark about your legs and breasts until the final Stand comes about.

Hey! It's 2 a.m. Time for some of those enjoyable Billy Mays infomercials I love so muc...WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S DEAD?! Is this another of those damned Twitter lies....

The Stand Twitter Poll!

Should The Walkin Dude Be Obliterated in Vegas?

As many of you know, there's a poll taking place on Twitter involving the cast of The Stand (search #thestandpoll). Please take the time to answer it. My life depends on it.

The question boils down to this: Should Randall Flagg (a.k.a. The Walkin' Dude, The Ageless Stranger, Russell Farraday, Walter O'Dimm) be obliterated in the Las Vegas nuclear explosion as outlined in Stephen King's The Stand.

Or should The Stand's bleak, terrible and pointless ending be altered to reflect a more positive change on Twitter, and the @VegasWalkinDude live on forever...snarking your tweets.

The deal is this: If the vote goes my way, then I shall continue as I have. If not, then @VegasWalkinDude's account shall be silenced forevermore. If I win, I shall draft a petition to Mr. Stephen King which will demand he endorse the alterations to his novel on Twitter.

You can see, this vote is critical, not only for literary history as we know it...but for my mullet.

So, without further ado, here's the link to the poll:

http://www.misterpoll.com/polls/440355

Ongoing results will be tracked here:

http://www.misterpoll.com/polls/440355/results

And if so inclined, you may leave worshipful messages to me here:

http://www.misterpoll.com/forums/200638