And yet you can't look away...
Then... I have a lovely (read: terribly upsetting and gross) idea for a Willard fic, the title of which seems to be "Sane Enough to Read My Suicide Note." I'm pretty sure it crosses over into the realm of gratuitous authorial masturbation (you know... the way Anne Rice did?) and... yeah. I guess that would be bad. That, and I still haven't finished "Terrier," mostly because it has absolutely no plot whatsoever. ("And I think it needs a verb to be a sentence...")
Then some part of me started developing what appears to be a Hand Puppet Theatre version of Re-Animator. The only problem is that I'm not really witty or interesting to a large percentage of the population. My "jokes" tend to be either obtusely intellectual or just plain not funny.
Happily, I think most of the world agrees that Herbert West would make a kick-ass puppet.
As for everything else in life, I am holding my hands over my ears and singing "Lalalalala!"