"Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb like the sun"

In honor of just-passed All Fools' Day, a motley fistful of unsettling and topsy-turvy images for you:

Andy has been playing with his time machine and dredged up in this post (scroll down) a picture from our disreputable drama-geek past. This was taken all of thirteen (!!) years ago, back when I still looked good in tights and before the beard was real. See how cool theatre is?

Meanwhile, Spyder imperils her immortal soul. I tremble to think of the promised Flash version.

Moving further afield into the realm of wiggins-inducing Forteana, Stacy sent me this article last month, concerning a weird-ass mutant frog in England. The word you're looking for is probably "squamous." Not to mention "eldritch," and of course "batrachian."

I remain among the mobility-impaired for now, and indeed for the forseeable future, since my follow-up to the doctor went something like "Yeah, sure looks sprained," with no real indication of how long I can expect to not be able to walk on it. Not happy. I'm hoping that watching Ron Perlman brutalizing the fuck out of monsters and Nazis this weekend (which I'm doing, gimp or no gimp) will do what ibuprofin and Ace bandages cannot.