Saturday, November 5, 2011

Word of the Day! 11/5/11

三すくみ券/ san sukumi ken [san-sukumi-ken]
1. Japanese. Three-way stand-off.
2. A game played, like the Western Rock-Paper-Scissors, except it represents the stand-off between a slug, snake, toad. Snake beats toad, toad beats slug, slug beats snake; the inevitable life triangle.

EX. I do not understand why slug beats snake in san sukumi ken.

Friday, November 4, 2011

Word of the Day! 11/4/11

blasphemy [blas-fuh-mee]
1. impious utterance or action concerning sacred things.
2. Judaism. the act of cursing or reviling god.
3. Theology. The crime of one assuming for themselves the rights or qualities of a god.
4. irreverent behavior toward anything sacred.

sacrilege [sak-ruh-lij]
1. the violation or profanation of anything sacred or held sacred.
2. an instance of this.
3. the stealing of anything sacred.

EX. I know s*** is blasphemy but this sacrilege is f***ing awesome.


Awkward Zombie is just another video game comic is like saying Hamlet is just another revenge play. (I love both of those things if anyone is asking). I don't remember the exact moment I put Katie Tiedrich's delightful web-comic in my bookmark folder under "EVERYDAY" (I'm an organizational dork who actually bookmarks every single webpage that he looks at and would even possibly conceive of sharing or revisiting AND the EVERYDAY folder is where I put the fifteen or so websites that I check on at least five times a day).

Since I just finished a rather silly rant about my organization, lets talk about Awkward Zombie. I found this web-comic over the summer and, in one setting, read every single page aloud with my friend Zach (seriously if you've never tried reading a comic aloud you're doing something wrong). During the first hundred comics, it focuses a lot of Super Smash Bros. and diversified into covering everything from World of Warcraft to Pokemon to Pikmin to Mass Effect. The cartoon style of Tiedrich is delightful and every panel is stuffed with awesome. I really can't say much more than if you like video games READ THIS COMIC.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Word of the Day! 11/3/11

despondent [dih-spon-duhnt]
1. feeling or showing profound hopelessness, dejection, discouragement, or gloom.

melancholy [mel-uhn-kol-ee]
1. a gloomy state of mind, especially for a prolonged amount of time; depression.
2. sober, thoughtfulness, pensive.
3. Archaic. a. the condition of having too much black bile, considered in ancient and medeivel times to cause glumness and depression.
b. black bile
4. afflicted by, characterized as, or showing melancholy.
5. causing sadness.
6. soberly thoughtful; pensive

EX. Whenever I feel despondent or melancholy, I find the best medicine to be the friendship of others and the completion of some constructive task (from buying something at the store to building a lego kit).



This awesome webcomic from Nathan Staples and Ben Dewey is just awesome. I've just started reading it and it is about a gnome and his companions (trolls and an elf chick) going on an adventure. It is hilarious and awesome, the best mix of good D & D and everything it can get its grubby awesome paws on.
The 10 Most Explosively Masculine Captain Kirk Battle Techniques

Believe it or not, yelling out the name of your opponent is not in this list. But that is only because it transcends being on this list.

To quote myself the other day, "Doctor Who is like the best version of God condensed into a human-like (Timelord-like) body."

 There is about a dozen reasons why this 20 minute sketch is both funny and awesome. It literally points out all the problems with the pre- Russel Davies years Doctor Who series. It undermines some of the sheer ridiculousness of the concepts of time travel, bad guys who don't just kill the hero, and regeneration. Mostly? Stephen Moffat wrote the sketch and it stars Rowan Atkinson, Jonathan Pryce and about five actors who were all rumored to play the Doctor at various points. Fun Fact: Hugh Grant was offered the role of the Doctor and passed it up (he regretted this misstep but I don't).


Wednesday, November 2, 2011


The room is the most impressive film of the last fifty years, drawing on the genius of Orson Welles Citizen Kane and a Sunday School performance of Hamlet performed by a man-creature, a hybrid of Quasimodo and Grimer Wormtongue, and his dopey friends. The man-creature is known as Tommy Wiseau and not only did he star in The Room but did I mention the full credits? 

TOMMY WISEAU's THE ROOM directed by Tommy Wiseau, written by Tommy Wiseau, produced by Tommy Wiseau and, as aforementioned, starring Tommy Wiseau. This enigmatic lusus naturae came onto the scene of film history with his opus about a man named Johnny; Johnny has everything-  a successful career, an apartment in San Francisco, his best friend Mark, his fiance Lisa, a creepy ward Denny, and a birthday approaching- that is until Mark and Lisa betray him! 

The film really is a mystery. I enjoy it immensely for its schmaltzy, abysmal crapulence. Fans of the film come on two sides: The first group, including myself, believe this was intended to be taken seriously and just winded up as one of the best worst films ever made OR the second group, which claims this is a genius film that trolls its audience and is intentionally bad. The second group is wrong. I think. Maybe. Damn, just find a copy of this movie or watch some of these videos.

Oh, and my theory? He made this film so he could get dressed in a tuxedo and throw a football.

I give the film a 5*/5.

Word of the Day! 11/2/11

nunchaku [nuhn-chah-koo] / nunchucks [nun-chuhks]
1. a traditional Okinawan weapon consisting of two sticks connected at their ends with a short chain or rope.

EX. Michelangelo from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles used nunchucks in America but in England, because the weapons are illegal, he used a grappling hook.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Word of the Day! 11/1/11

objection [uhb-jek-shuhn]
1. a reason or argument offered in disagreement, agreement, opposition, refusal, or disapproval.
2. the act of objecting.
3. a ground or cause for objecting.
4. a feeling of disapproval, dislike, or disagreement.

EX. So far there has been little objection to the idea of Phoenix Wright movie, and I am slightly optimistic, despite Japan's record of mediocre films and recent years terrible record of absolutely agonizing video game films.



Tim Curry has a super power. The campiest garbage that film and television has to offer can be saved by Tim Curry's smarmy charisma and fabulous phantasmagoria. From Stephen King's It to Fern Gully, a performance from the kitschy king of camp has saved a cornucopia of corniness from falling into the filthy annuls of nostalgia rather than floating in the cotton candy clouds of cult classic cinema.He is creepy, crawly and completely captivating.

Jilly Murphy's The Worst Witch book series is a predecessor to Harry Potter, even more so than Kimba: The White Lion is a predecessor to Disney The Lion King. It has been made into several spin-off series, a TV series, and, as of this year, the TERRIBLE 1986 MADE FOR TV FILM adaptation has achieved cult classic status just based on the merits of the the video linked above. Check it out and put Halloween behind us.

Monday, October 31, 2011

WEEKLY ROUND-UP! 10/23- 10/29 2011


Oh, how this Benjamin Dewey's grim and proper tales of the tragic and mostly tragic are terrible amusing to my sentiments. Check out his tumblr or his blog.

Eat all the plants and ants, the birds and turds, the cakes and snakes, the slugs and drugs, the gaters and the haters,the bats and the cats in the cradle and the silver spoon, the poodles and noodles, the camels and all the mammals, and always, always eat all the things!

I learned so much from Ren and Stimpy growing up. I hope I wasn't the only one. Or maybe I do. Shrug.

I really have enjoyed my October theme of Who-lloween. It allows me to combine my love of All Hallow's Eve and Time Lords. Last weeks entry reminded us why we are all afraid of the dark.

This was an interesting week for WTF Wednesday that reminded me how Japan is not necessarily the king of kookiness. These totally freaky music videos by Jeremie Perin exploit the horrific and the horrible to create something wholly awesome. Check it out at your own risk.

This weeks Musical Monday allowed me to explore my favorite villain song in Disney history. I think this one stands out because of its incredibly dark and adult themes, mixed with an incredible performance, and just that it is not very over exposed. As a kid, this kind of song's beauty would have escaped me, but now? Its heavenly.



There is something special about Halloween. It could be the soursweet smell of candy corn or the ring of your doorbell with an inevitable, "Trick or Treat!" I believe it is the spirit of embracing the horrific with a laugh. Children, young and old, dress up as the ghastliest of ghouls from poltergeists to politicians or as their favorite characters from Disney Princesses to Doctor Who.

Doctor Who's greatest strength is that, because its a show about an alien and his human companions traveling through time and space, there is no limit to the kind of story that can be told. The best Doctor Who stories involve the strange and terrible monsters that combine the best elements of horror. British parents tell their children how they used to hide behind the couch when the Daleks came on TV but  they lack the same punch. Sure, Daleks are a great match for the Doctor, but it is hard to be scared of them. They're basically a mix between Marvin the Martian, R2 D2 and wasps (What? If wasps could they would "exterminate" every living thing on Earth). The scariest Doctor Who villains are the ones who hold the mystery.

So, to celebrate Halloween I will talk about the scariest monsters of the 9th, 10th and 11th Doctors. This week, we have our last entry for Who-lloween:

Appearances: Series 6 (2011): The Impossible Astronaut TRAILER/ Day of the Moon TRAILER

Powers: These mysterious parasites have several notable abilities. The most potent is that when a person looks away from them, they immediately forget that they saw them. The Silence use this ability to put subliminal messages in the heads of humans through post-hypnotic suggestion. They also have the ability to absorb energy and release it in violet bursts. They have other abilities but not much else is known about them.

Weaknesses: They are quiet, stealthy and cruel creatures BUT can be killed by any means that could kill a human (gun wounds, stabbings etc. are all effective).

Motive: To take over the Earth and to destroy the Doctor. But why? Its a mystery.

Catchphrases: "...You should kill us all on sight!"
"Silence will fall."
"Look behind you."

Word of the Day! 10/31/11

lusus naturae [loo-suhs-nuh-tyoo-ree]
1. freak, monster, or mutant.

EX. "Lusus naturae," Red mumbled into her helmet as she reloaded her rifle, "Demons of the flesh. Things are worse than you feared. This things been to a million planets. It could already be any member of the crew. Be sure to watch Clark. Now, Gran, I'm gonna need you to watch my back. Gran?"


Fantasy Friday

I play Dungeons and Dragons every Friday. That is to say I run a 4th Edition Dungeons & Dragons campaign every Friday set in the country of Beniro. As such I've decided to chronicle the hero's adventures from the perspective of different characters my friends play. Each week and each short chapter I will rotate the perspective so you can get a feel for all the characters. I will try my best to capture my friend's characters and the adventures they go on. I might change some elements but know I do it for the story.

A lot of the art I will be using is not credited, so if you know the artist, tell me and I'll label it appropriately.
CHAPTER 1- Lorafaine 
CHAPTER 2- Aramil
CHAPTER 3 - Ryjac
CHAPTER 4- Lucius
CHAPTER 5- Nadarr
CHAPTER 6- Lora Faine II
CHAPTER 7- Aramil II
Rise of the White Spider
            Lucius missed the laughter. He was happy they had not run afoul of another centipede but a week of tromping down the damp tunnels had dulled everyone’s spirit. Lucius was not entirely unaccustomed to low morale. A warlock, especially a tiefling warlock, furthermore a tiefling warlock with a lot of enemies and machinations against their respective lives, had to develop a sense of humor about the unfortunate and the macabre. He had treaded many fine lines between mania and depression in his journeys through the insane studies of long-dead and long-damned scholars. His heart, mind and soul had been chipped away by beings and substances of every foreseeable dimension. He had suffered in the fiery maw of the Nine Hells, walked past vaults of burning souls and witnessed the inventiveness of a pit fiend’s punishments. He even had to entertain demons for tea. He had taught himself to look back at the long and ever twisting road of his life with a laugh. It came with the territory. Yet, Lucius could find little amusement in the weariness of his new comrades.

            After a week, they all showed small quirks in their demeanor and actions. Lucius heard Lora Faine mumble to herself in a disjointed scramble of elven. Aramil would wander off from the camp fire at night and not return for several hours. He always came back looking intense but without any idea what he was intense about. Their guide, Ryjac kept assuring them with ever more fervency that she knew where they were headed but was not sure how long it would be, “But it surely will not be too many days longer.” The last one to show any signs of cracking, was Sir Nadarr, Lucius reckoning he was too stupid to show conventional signs of fear, the paladin just seemed to grow more and more boisterous and loud. The one thing they all shared was being dreadfully tired. Lucius was just dreadfully bored.

            “Shouldn’t be too much longer,” Ryjac called over her shoulder.

            “Wonderful. Shall we be expecting to arrive in minutes? Or months?” Aramil snapped at her.

            “Days,” Ryjac answered.

            “It’s raining again.”Nadarr said with a deep rumble in his throat.

            Lucius rolled his eyes, his magic flame turning a warm auburn color, as he heard Nadarr announce the weather for the hundredth time. He was not sure how proficient the dragonborn paladin was in predicting the weather and he neither cared.  These announcements did little but annoy Lucius. After all, what use was it to them to know it was raining miles above? Lucius took a breath and his light turned a soft orange color, “Does any one of you know any good stories? I have grown sick of the narration of our progress and the weather?”

            “I might.” Lora Faine said, from behind Lucius.

            “Is it about a talking animal or a princess?” Aramil asked, “Cuz I have never been fond of those kinds of stories.”

            “I like those kindsof stories,” Nadarr called from the back, “Do you have a story like that my fair lady?”

“I hear tell that half-elves are the best story tellers,” Lucius replied, “but I suppose since our half-elf is too busy being a big grump, we will have to make do with the lovely voice of a fair elven maiden.”

“Well, I am not so sure about whether you would like one of my stories,” Lora Faine muttered.

“Please, m’lady. I am sure whatever forgotten lore or epic tale you have would be more than enough to sate our attentions for a few moments?” Nadarr entreated her.

“Well, alright,” She took a breath for a moment, Lucius noting that everyone’s walking seemed to slow down just a little, as Ryjac and Aramil slowed their pace to be closer and better able to hear Lora Faine.

“It’s a bit of a scary story. The story begins in the pine forests between Nohdaria and the Fedlands. There was a humble abode in the woods home to the widow of a huntsman and her seven nearly identical daughters. To help tell them apart when they walked out into the snow to perform chores and work their little farm she had named them all after colors and given them a cloak that matched their name. Though so alike, the girls were all very different in their personalities, and often bickered and fought. The best behaved of them was the smallest of the girls. A responsible but sweet child, they called her Little Violet.

Little Violet was a little thing and, at the age of ten, stood head and shoulder shorter than the other girls. Yet, she acted like an adult, doing more than her part and never quarrelling with her siblings. She cut the wood, looked after the chicken and took the most important job- taking food and the like to their elderly grandmother who lived across the river. She was as tough and unbending as a White Pine.

One day, her mother met a man traveling through their woods. He was a huntsman. He too was a widow and cared for his son, a red haired boy, named Sparrow. The Huntsman and Sparrow were invited to their home. The girls had never met any man besides their late father and were excited to greet them. Little Violet did not like the way the Huntsman looked at her mother or how ill-mannered they were. They did not take off their boots at the door and had tracked snow into the house. She hated wet floors.

At supper that night, the Huntsman told stories of their travel. They had been to the Fedlands and the Feywild. They had hunted displacer beasts and ridden unicorns. The other sisters kept asking questions about the various pieces of fur he wore, the bones and bits on a necklace around his neck and the weapons he carried. The Huntsman noticed Little Violet wasn’t amused by his stories and asked her if she had a question. She looked him over and then asked about the sprig of mistletoe on his hat and the other one pinned to his jacket.

The Huntsman grew grim as he then told Little Violet that it was a special protection against a demon from the North. The demon was called the Garrül.”

“I haven’t heard of that demon?” Lucious interrupted, but paused, and laughed apologetically, “Sorry, please go on.”

“Um, right, as I was saying the Garrül,” Lora Faine took special care to over pronounce the word, “is a special and terrifying monster of the Feywild. It resembles a great black wolf-like creature with a huge mouth filled with yellow teeth and a foul breath but the eyes of a human. The Huntsman continued, Little Violet glaring up at him suspiciously, and told them about the Garrül. The Garrül was never human and cannot make other humans into werewolves. It is a demon from a long dead world and time. It eats humans. It can turn into anyone it’s ever eaten, so it can hide its form, and gobble up unsuspecting victims. The scariest part of it all is it can copy its victims right down to their clothing and memories. The Garrül could take the form of anyone. Once you have seen a Garrül, you are marked for death, and it will hunt you down. It is immortal, cunning and cruel. The only thing that can kill it is mistletoe.

The girls all seemed a bit frightened by the tale but Little Violet just rolled her eyes. She left the table and went out to check on the chickens. She heard someone walking out to the chicken coop but it was not who she expected. It was red-headed Sparrow, the Huntsman’s son. He told her that he did not believe his father’s story either. His father told him the Garrül had eaten his mother but he was sure that his father had just created the boogeyman of a creature to scare him into obeying his word. Every time he disobeyed his father or ran off, his father told him that the Garrül would get him. He had never seen anything like his father described. Little Violet just ignored him and went about her business.

Weeks past and the father-son duo kept visiting the widow and her seven daughters. The Huntsman brought them his quarry and Little Violet’s mother gave them a place to stay. It became obvious that Little Violet’s mother and the Huntsman were in love. She hated it. Even more, she hated how Sparrow kept pestering her. He would follow her around, bring her presents like feathers and flowers, and ask her questions.

When winter came and they had not heard from their grandmother, in weeks, Little Violet volunteered to go visit her and brought along a basket of dried foods and other supplies. As she walked out in the woods in her violet cloak, the Huntsman and Sparrow insisted on tagging along, at least for a while. They claimed to be going across the river, as well, to do some hunting for elk and followed her as she made her way into the woods. She nearly dropped her basket when crossing the river, but Sparrow caught it and put a bundle of herbs in the basket. He explained that they should help her grandmother if she is cold. She smirked when she saw the mistletoe. Soon after crossing the river, she bid them a polite but firm good bye and insisted on visiting her grandmother alone.

When she got to the cabin, she knocked on the door, and heard no response. She knocked harder and heard a rasp of a voice asking her to come inside. She opened the door and saw that her grandmother was in bed, blankets up to her neck, and only a dim fire in the fireplace. She called out, ‘Granny, are you alright?’

‘Yes my dear, please come closer,’ her grandmother called her in, ‘I have a little bit of a cold.’

Little Violet closed the door behind her and took off her boots. She then took off her socks, wet from the river and wiggled her toes. She walked closer and stood in front of the fire for a moment.

‘Little Violet, come here child.’ Her grandmother called again, ‘I wish for you to see me.’

Little Violet came closer to the bed and wrinkled her nose, ‘Granny, are you okay? I smell something strange,’ She could smell the foul stench from the fire place.

            ‘That’s nothing dear.’ Her grandmother explained, ‘Now come here and give Granny a hug.’
Little Violet walked closer and stopped. Her feet had just stepped in something wet and warm. She looked down and lifted her foot.‘What is it, dear?’ Her grandmother asked.

            ‘Blood.’ Violet answered as she saw the floor was covered in the red stuff. She looked up as she heard a tearing sound as her grandmother got out of bed, ‘Granny?’

            Her grandmother laughed and smiled. Little Violet’s Grandmother’s mouth seeming to grow, red around her lips, as she chuckled at a joke that Violet hadn’t heard. Violet held her basket in front of her and backed up to the wall, ‘Granny w-what red lips you have?’

            ‘The better to kiss you with my child.’

            Violet looked at her grandmother and down to her hands which were at the end of long arms she didn’t recognize, ‘Granny what big arms your have?”

            ‘The better to hold you with my child.’

            Violet let out a little scream, ‘Grandmother, your teeth!’ As the old woman’s jaw unhinged and her mouth was filled with big yellow fangs.

            ‘THE BETTER TO GOBBLE YOU UP!’ Her grandmother’s leapt at her and Violet struck her with the basket. The old woman recoiled and howled, melting, and taking the form of a wolf.

            ‘You! What was that!?’ The creature hissed as a big red gash slowly healed on its snout, Violet looked down and saw the herbs poking through the basket. 

‘Mistletoe!’She tossed the basket at the monster and ran for the door. She made it out and slammed the door behind her. She heard the beast howl and crash through the door. She ran, screaming for help, wordlessly, mindless, terrified. She ran.

She ran through the trees and over hills. She heard the monster stop running and someone grabbed her arm. She screamed and tried to jerk away. She looked and saw it was the Huntsman, ‘Child? What is wrong?’

Little Violet tried to tell him what happened when they heard a voice. It was a woman’s voice, Northern, and fair. Sparrow let out a little noise from behind his father and as they all looked they saw a beautiful woman with Sparrow’s red hair.

‘DEMON!’ The Huntsman cried out in pain, ‘Children run!’ He ran at the woman as it shifted into a great black beast and they tumble over the hill. Little Violet grabbed Sparrow’s arm and ran. They heard a blood curdling scream and Sparrow tried to run back but she ignored him. She kept running, pulling him along, until he stopped her and pulled her into a bush. It was covered in mistletoe.

They lay under the bush for a day. Sparrow wanted to go look for his father and so they left the bush. If the monster had found them, it would have made its presence known, they assumed. Little Violet led them back to the cabin where, to their horror, they found near the hill from before, blood on the ground. The Garrül beast had gotten the Huntsman. Sparrow and Little Violet looked about and saw wolf tracks turning into boot tracks going in the opposite direction from the cabin. 

‘Your family!’ Sparrow and Little Violet ran. They ran over hills, through forest and over the river. They followed its tracks. They ran harder and faster than they had ever ran. It wasn’t fast enough. When they got Little Violet’s cabin, there in the snow, were the tattered remains of five cloaks. A red cloak, an orange cloak, a yellow cloak, a green cloak, a blue cloak, and a pink cloak lay in the snow, covered in blood. 

They heard laughter; the laughter of six little girls and their mother. They looked up and there standing in the doorway was the Garrül. It had grown fat from its feast. It mocked them with its laughter, as it dabbed its lips with a red cloak. It then said one word, ‘Run.’

And they did. For years they ran. Little Violet and Sparrow grew to depend on each other as they had no choice. Like Sparrow and his Father, they could never be out of the sight of each other, because if they did the beast could kill one of them and use the form to get the other. Whether it was from fear or desperation, the others kept moving, and made a partnership to survive and kill the beast. Sparrow taught her everything he knew and she taught him everything she knew. They eventually fell in love and swore to marry each other once the Garrül was dead and they had avenged their families.

Years later, as they walked through the forest, a blizzard had begun to swell the snow in the air. They had no seen the beast for over a year but they still feared it. They knew it wanted to find them as much as they wanted to find it. A Garrül cannot cease a hunt once it has begun. It can prolong it but one day it must end its prey’s life and gobble it up.

The blizzard got worse and as the winds struck them over and over, they held onto each other. Yet, as a large gust struck them, and they tossed through the snow, Little Violet lost her Sparrow for the first time in years. She searched for him, shouting his name, but to no avail. Shivering, frozen to the bone, she stumbled her way into the mouth of a cave and made her way into the back. She made a makeshift fire and warmed herself by it. Her violet cloak had gotten knocked away in the snow, along with her bundle of mistletoe she kept in it at all times. She only had one sprig left.

In the morning, she heard something at the mouth of the cave and got up. She searched for her crossbow but found it too had been lost in the snow. Cautiously, she crept toward the mouth of the cave with her sprig of mistletoe. She saw a figure standing in the mouth of the cave, looking out. It was Sparrow.

She nearly ran forward as he turned around, ‘Violet,’ He cried, ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’

She stared at him, searching for anything suspicious, she had no weapons.

‘What’s wrong sweetheart?’ He asked, stepping forward and grinning, ‘It’s me! I promise.’

‘Where is your mistletoe?’ She asked, hiding hers behind her back, as Sparrow stood there without a single spring on any of his clothes.

‘I lost them in the snow.’ He explained, ‘Now give me a kiss.’

She warmed her hands with her mouth and walked forward, taking his hands and kissing him.

Sparrow let out a scream and recoiled in agony. He grabbed at his throat, as he melted and took the form of the Garrül. It hissed and sputtered, as black blood spilled from its mouth and eyes, ‘You! What have you done!?’

Little Violet didn’t say a word. She had just pushed her last piece of mistletoe into its mouth when they kissed. She watched the beast melt into a puddle of black nothing. It cursed her with the voices of everyone it had ever consumed. She just watched it, not saying a word or shedding a single tear. The little girl in the little violet cloak had gotten her revenge. Little Violet left the cave and never ran, ever again. The end.”

Nadarr clapped, “That was a wonderful story, m’lady.”

“Chilling,” Lucius added, with approval, “Though it needed some more gore.” Lucius could tell the others approved though neither Aramil nor Ryjac said anything. He heard Ryjac come to a halt up ahead. Aramil stopped as well and gave them the signal to halt. Lucius dimmed his light which had turned a bright violet. He looked up ahead, peering through the dark, as Ryjac came back into sight with a little smile,

“We’re here.”

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Word of the Day! 10/30/11

tatterdemalion [tat-er-di-meyl-yuhn]
1. a person in tattered clothes; a shabby person
2. ragged, unkempt, or dilapidated.

ragamuffin [rag-uh-muhf-in]
1. a ragged, disreputable person; tatterdemalion
2. a child in ragged, ill-fitting, dirty clothes.

EX. The hungry tatterdemalion lion routed with the rowdy ragamuffins with the knowledge that, if he won, he would get his fill of orphan meat, again.