This Seems...Wrong

Oh Archie...


...it looks like the guy on the left is going back for more.

(You can click the image to embiggen it, if you need)

TMI Thursday: Me and Mr. Wodka Don't Hang around Where We're Not Wanted

Let's head back in time to that magical era I called my sophomore year of college. It was early spring of 1996, and for some reason, I had not been involved in the theatre production that had just wrapped up. I think it had something to do with my work schedule.

Despite having missed the show, I was invited to one of the cast parties because I was a regular. Being that I felt like throwing caution to the wind and actually having a little fun, I decided to head on down to the party. Accompanying me was the other two legs of my Unholy Triangle, Scooter and Young Bob. You might remember them from the infamous "White Chair Incident". And Young Bob was the camera operator for Sparkle Belly. Rub my nipples.

We finally roll into the shindig there on second Justin West, and immediately I grab a beer and start drinking. What fun is college with alcohol-fueled shenanigans? Alright, alright, it can be fun without the booze, I know. But, seriously, I'm not one to pass up free booze. This could be downfall, as we'll soon see.

Foreshadowing aside, I down the first beer rather quickly. Not feeling anything, I get a second. Again, it's gone painfully fast. Time for a third. What the hell is this I'm drinking? Water? Oh, Miller Lite. Same fucking thing. But, it's college. I give myself a pass. Plus, hello, free beer = good beer. Not always true, but in college, it's a 90% win rate.

When it comes time for my kids to go to college, I'm going to teach them a few rules. The first one will be "Liquor before beer, in the clear; beer before liquor, sicker quicker." This is a talk I wish my father had had with me, but since my mother threatened me with bodily harm if I even so much as touched alcohol in college, I left for Rensselaer, IN with a wide, innocent-eyed view of my future. You have to remember that in high school, I was a much different person than I am now. Alcohol? Me? Never!

Back to the party. Not only did I head off to this party with my good friends Scooter and Young Bob, I also arrived with a healthy lust for a Croatian honey that we'll call Amy. We'll call her Amy because she's in the army now and I'm pretty sure she could kill me with a look if I used her real name. So, Amy it is!

Anyway, Amy was this beautiful first-generation Croatian girl that I had been sprouting wood for since we both arrived at St. Joe in fall of 1994. As I was in one of the "off again" periods with the Ex-, I felt that anything and everything was fair game. Did I ever mention that I have a thing for Slavic people? They are a beautiful race of individuals, in my opinion. Amy had dark hair, gorgeous, big, round brown eyes, and a singing voice that would make the gods themselves weep. Plus, she had big tits.

Amy showed up at the party, but didn't stay long. She came in, got a drink, and mingled for a moment or two and then left. I had waded about four or five beers deep into the Sea of Debauchery when I saw Amy show up. I sauntered over to the bar, struck up a feeble attempt at conversation, and then asked what she was drinking. It was a college party, so it wasn't like I was going to go all captain smooth here and try to buy her a drink. She was having a screwdriver, medium vodka.

'Fuck,' I thought--though hazy my mind may have been--'if she can handle a medium vodka screwdriver, I can handle a heavy vodka screwdriver.'

"Can I get one, too?" I asked the lovely Mandy, who was manning the bar and hosting the party. "Heavy on the vodka."

I'm pretty sure that the lovely Mandy upended the bottle of vodka into my cup and whispered the words "orange juice" over the top of it. When this young woman made a drink heavy on the vodka, the stock price of Smirnoff shot through the roof. Like an idiot, I drank it.

Up to this point, I was largely a vodka virgin. I knew what it was, that it made an excellent drink, and that it largely had no flavor. I also knew that it was a bit tricksy when it came to you feeling drunk. You drink it, and then you don't feel all that drunk. However, suddenly--WHAM-O!--you're fucking blotto and quoting lines from Crime and Punishment. What? I love me some Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov.

So, here I am, stumbling mingling about the party with my half-consumed bucket of vodka and I'm not feeling drunk. In hindsight, I'm acting drunk, but not feeling it. Case in point. Remember, I came to the party with Scooter and Young Bob. Now, Young Bob was not one to drink. He didn't like the flavor of alcohol and he was one of those who enjoyed staying sober and laughing at the stupid antics of us drunk motherfuckers. Scooter was a bit more of a casual drinker. He got a drink, nursed it through most of the night, and usually left a party feeling buzzed but not drunk.

Me? I'm Barney Gumble.

Early on, we had met this cat named Robert. He was a friend of the lovely Mandy's (host of the party), and Scooter was chatting him up all night long. Robert was pretty cool. I came over and asked them, "Hey, how you guys doing?" and Scooter responds with "We're good. We're talking about comics." I think he was trying to lure me into the conversation, maybe to play wingman. I dunno. Things have gotten a little hazy at this point.

I stare at Scooter and Robert with a very serious look on my face. "Awesome," I say, "Comics RULE!" *insert requisite fist pump to accentuate the word 'RULE'*

Having finished the screwdriver, I decided I wasn't nearly drunk enough. So, I head back up to the bar. Now my friend Kurt is manning the bar.

"What can I do you for, my good man?" Kurt asked.

"I think I need something to drink. I'm not nearly drunk enough," I respond.

"Shot of vodka it is."

Kurt pours me a shot of vodka.

I down the shot of vodka.

"Nope, not drunk enough."

"Shot of vodka it is."

Kurt pours me a shot of vodka.

I down the shot of vodka.

"Nope, not drunk enough."

"Shot of vodka it is."

Kurt pours me a shot of vodka.

I down the shot of vodka.

"I think we're getting there." I say. I put my arm around a talking zebra that I befriended somewhere between the second and third shot and we stagger away from the bar.

(In case you couldn't tell, there was no zebra.)

I find Young Bob.

"You're drunk," Young Bob says. He has a mastery of the obvious.

"Yesh," I slur. At this moment, It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) by R.E.M. is queued into the stereo.

"Oh my God," I say, wide-eyed. "Thish ish the besht shong! I know all the wordsh." I try to sing along, muttering and mumbling everything except for Leonard Bernstein (naturally).

Young Bob shakes his head. "Bitch, you couldn't do that sober. You're just embarrassing yourself, drunky."

"I got 'em all," I insist. "I jusht shang too fasht for you to hear."

What happened after this, I'm unsure. However, I know that Amy the Croatian Honey had left the party. At this point, I'm drunk AND horny. I start hitting on something close by. Now, when I say I'm drunk, I mean really fucking drunk. People, I started hitting on one of the Stankus girls. Swear to anything and everything I know that's holy, Stankus was their last name. I'm pretty sure Stankus is Latin for "disease-ridden sulfurous pit". Yes, I'm referring to that particular pit.

Finally, I end up out in the hallway. It's well past midnight, but it's before quiet hours (which started at 2 am), and I'm beginning to feel the copious amounts of vodka that are now coursing through my veins. As the Bolshevik Revolution was playing out in my liver, I felt the need to escape the pounding music and the close quarters. The hallway was a great place to do this.

Young Bob accompanied me. We were standing there, talking. Well, he was talking, I was slurring shit together into incohesive incoherency. There was a lull in the conversation, and as the Russian army continued pounding through my vasculature, my stomach suddenly turned into the Romanovs. They needed to get out of the country, and they needed to get out NOW!

Being that I'm a polite drunk, I simply walk away from Young Bob. He turns to tell me something, and I'm gone. I'm down the hall. A trashcan is in my sites. I walk over to it, stare at it, and then I fountain into it. And by fountain, I mean a raging torrent of alcohol-tinged vomit comes rushing out of my piehole, splattering noisily against the back of the trashcan, and landing in the bottom. I can identify dinner. I think I can identify lunch. It was brown. It was chunky. I remember it tasted like pasta sauce and vodka. The flavor clings to my palate to this day.

Not all of it went into the trash can. When I puke this violently, it comes out my nose, too, and so there was some left-overs on my upper lip. I needed help. I looked up. The only person around me was my nemesis: Vanzetti. Yes, he was related to that Vanzetti. For some reason, we strongly disliked each other.

But, I was desperate.

"Oh my God, Vanzetti, could you get me some paper towels?" I asked in my most pathetic voice. Vanzetti's girlfriend at the time lived on the same floor as the party, and he had walked down the hall to use the bathroom. I saw him as he was headed into the toilets. A few seconds later, he re-emerged, carrying some paper towels. I thanked him, wiped up, and proceeded to puke some more.

I heard Young Bob at the end of the hallway ask Vanzetti, "Is he throwing up." Later, Young Bob related to me that Vanzetti paused and then said with a look of horror on his face: "Oh. God. Yes."

Having emptied my stomach of everything, I was feeling better, but still drunk. I return to standing in the hall with Young Bob. The world is spinning. It's almost 2 am.

"We should get going," Young Bob says. I think he's more worried about the fact that I just puked up my internal organs than it being late.

"Just a sec," I said. I stopped the Stankus girl in the hallway. "315 Gallagher. It's almost 2 am. Come by before they lock the doors."

Young Bob and I wander back across the quad. Together, we mount the stairs to the third floor. All is silent. I pour myself into my room and strip because, hey, there's a Stankus on her way, right? I'm still powerfully drunk. I lay down in just a pair of red Indiana shorts. Sleep claims me immediately.

If there was a knock at the door, I'll never know. However, I do know that the fucking fire alarm went off at 3:15 am. And there I was, wearing only a pair of Indiana shorts that are indecently too short. I pull myself from the alcohol-fueled reveries and fall down the three flights of stairs to the safety of the outside. It is fucking freezing outside. I am wearing just a short pair of shorts. I am still drunk.

Finally, after fifteen minutes, we are allowed back in. I am cold. I am drunk. I am so cold and drunk, I cannot sleep. Finally, after an hour, I fall asleep. The next morning, I woke up sick. And hungover. And with a healthy distaste for vodka.


If this does not sate your thirst for awesome TMI stories, then check out all the other glorious tales of things we probably shouldn't tell at LiLu's home for the staunchy raunchy, TMI Thursdays!

Paging the E-Nerd

The wonderful thing about having a blog is that I have, over the past however many years, come to befriend a great many people from a wide variety of places around this vast globe of ours. Sure, some of you I know in real life or we went to fifth grade together or got shitfaced drunk in Gallagher hall or whatever, but larger majority of my readership is comprised of people I have never met. Would I like to? Fuck yeah, but I really don't see that happening in the near future.

Unless you all get really fucking drunk and wake up in North Carolina and then, after trying to piece together just how the hell you got to North Carolina, you decide "You know what? I think I'll go give that Jenks guy a visit, see what he's all about. Wait a minute...who the fuck lets their grass grow this long, that fat motherfucker over there? Help me, Mr. Wodka, take me away!"

What was I talking about again?

Oh yeah, how keen and spiffy and boneriffic you people are.

Anyway, when I started this whole blog business, I certainly didn't think I'd meet up with someone from South Africa. I figured the most exotic places would be somewhere like Scotland or perhaps some Scandinavian locale. Right time zone, but wrong hemisphere (or some such bullshit like that).

I stumbled across Pfangirl's blog while looking up some shit about the GI Joe movie coming out this August. That was probably two years ago (at least a year and a half), and for a nerdy motherfucker like me, I landed smack in the middle of geek heaven. If you've never given her a read, take a look. I'm especially a fan of her Girlz 'N' Games webcomic, especially this one where she details the writing and drawing process.

Well, this weekend, Pfangirl is hitting something called ICON, which is South Africa's biggest games and comic convention. In order to pimp her webcomic stuff, she had a Girlz 'N' Games shirt made for the convention, and then invited everyone to stare at her chest. At least, that's how I interpreted it. So, because I'm such a good bloggy friend, I was going to leave her a comment, when I noticed something strikingly coincidental about her word verification...which I went ahead and copied, just so people would believe me.


That's right, the word verification is "enerd". Fitting and awesome.

I hope you had a good time at the con, Pfangirl, and that all the dudes staring at your chest lands you a sweet publishing deal for your webcomic.

Review Time: Wolverine

So, I saw X-Men Origins: Wolverine last night.

I should have seen Star Trek.

What a piece of shit. This was bad. I mean, this was Revenge of the Sith bad. This made X-Men: The Last Stand almost palatable. And for those who didn't see the third installment of the X-Men movies, a diarrhea sandwich wouldn't make that X-Abortion palatable.

I realize it's unfair to hold every movie adaptation of a comic to the standards of The Dark Knight, so I decided to go into the movie expecting something akin to Iron Man. Instead, I felt like the camera operator from Zack and Miri Make a Porno. You know what I'm alluding to, so don't pretend that you don't.

Okay, so, it's easier to tell you what I liked about the movie than to list it's many faults. So, here it is, in easy-to-read list form:

1. When Silver Fox lay dying at the end of the movie, her shirt was open a little bit and you could see some side boob.
2. Will.i.am as Kestrel Wraith was pretty sweet. His fight scene with Sabretooth was pretty cool.
3. Wade Wilson was sweet. Obnoxious and mouthy, never shutting up, and deadly with his blades. Notice, I said Wade Wilson.
4. Silver Fox in her white night gown. No panty lines. Awesome.

And...that's it.

Now, for the bad. I won't go into all of the bad, because then I'd be writing a Tolkien-esque tome, and I'd really like to keep this somewhat manageable.

Gambit: My favorite mutant in the X-Universe was Colossus. Unfortunately, in X-Men 3, he lost the Russian accent (you know, the one he didn't have in X-2, either), didn't get huge when he turned metal, and his abilities were still transferable to Rogue. Pretty much, they gutted him. I bring this up because my second favorite mutant is Gambit. I like Gambit because he's a badass, he's shady, he's cocky, and he blows shit up. Unfortunately, this Gambit apparently can't remember if his accent is supposed to be Cajun or Douchebag. The whole time, even while he's sitting in a seedy bar in New Orleans hustling poker players, he's clean-looking. Oh, sure, he had a little stubble and wore a hat briefly. Fortunately, someone remembered that part of his mutant powers was an uncanny acrobatic coordination. Apparently, though, Gambit no longer has to touch objects in order to charge them with kinetic energy. And his staff? It's not supposed to have a jewel on the end of it like he's some kind of pimp out selling whores. It's supposed to be for knocking jaws loose. This is the dude that Rogue's supposed to fall for? Only if she's a drunken sorority chick blowing guys during a kegger. I'm not sure I know what that's supposed to mean, either. They totally fucked up Gambit's eyes, too. Yeah, there was one tiny flash, but part of Gambit's shadowy persona is the dark eyes and the glowing irises. Instead, we get a flash of pink and suddenly things that he gets near are explosive, not what he's held in his hand long enough to charge. So, if you're playing along at home, that's two of my favorite characters that have been completely and totally fucking ruined by the movies. Who says no one bats 1.000?

The Escape from the Island: Pretty much, the whole ending sucked. Did we really need to bring in Emma Frost just for her diamond skin? There's lots of impregnable mutants in the X-Universe. But, we had to go with Emma Frost, who, by the way, just got those powers a few years ago as a secondary mutation. She had always been a telepath before that. But, hey, whatever it takes to put a pretty blonde on the screen in a wife-beater, right?

At this point, I should apologize if any of my fellow theater-goers happen to stumble across this blog. When the voice appeared in Cyclops' head telling them which way to go to get out of the base, I couldn't refrain from groaning "Jesus Christ" out loud. Sorry. Apparently, Professor X decides to recruit Cyclops as he's escaping Three Mile Island rather than at the orphanage, but instead of communicating with the telepath (Emma Frost), he opts for Cyclops. No plot holes here, fellaz! Maybe there was an orphanage on Three Mile Island where Cyclops lived, I'm not sure. But when Professor X walked down from the chopper to greet Cyclops and Emma Frost and the rest of Generation X as they escaped the military complex, I about threw up. But then, it fit in with everything else about the movie that was so very, very wrong.

And Silver Fox's "ability" was that the Weapon X program had given her some of Wolverine's healing factor. Otherwise, she was just a human. Now, she has this "touch people and make them do what she wants" ability. I could understand if she was wearing that white nightie thing throughout the movie, but there's nothing mutant ability about what I'm alluding to.

It was nice to see Jonothon Starsmore held in one of the cages that also housed Emma Frost (the supposed sister of Silver Fox...because so many Native Americans have pretty blonde sisters). However, he never appeared again in any of the escape scenes. I noticed the twins that make up Monet St. Clair were freed, but apparently Jono couldn't make it out. That's fine, though, because I like Chamber and they'd have just fucked up his character, anyway.

Deadpool: Apparently, the Merc with a Mouth needed to have it sewn shut for the fight scene, only to have it magically reappear at the end in the little scene after the credits. I realize that he had a healing power implanted in him, but having him turn into Sylar from Heroes was fucking ridiculous. He teleports not because he has Kestrel's Wraith's ability implanted in him, but because he has a personal teleporter machine. And the whole thing with Cyclops' eyebeams was fucking stupid. I guess we all learned that Adamantium can act like a light saber in deflecting energy blasts back at the origin (despite the fact that Cyclops sheared off one of Wolvy's hands during the Age of Apocolypse story arc...the same beams given to Deadpool). What a fucking joke they made of Deadpool. And not the good kind, like the ones he cracks when, you know, he has a mouth to run incessantly.

Wolverine: I thought Wolverine was supposed to be badass, prone to rage, and deadly. I didn't realize he was whiny and brooding. We don't need depth, people. We need someone with razor-sharp claws coming out of his hands that he uses to gut people. That's all.

But, apparently, adamantium is not only indestructible, but it also doesn't get covered with blood when it's been shoved through someone's body. Oh, and it apparently cauterizes the wounds that it makes so that you don't bleed out of them. The thing I found mind-boggling, though, was that he walked out the lab after telling Silver Fox he was done with her, had made it all the way down several flights of stairs and was well away from the building when Sabretooth grabbed Silver Fox in the lab and threatened to kill her. Miraculously (maybe he borrowed Deadpool's teleporter) he reappears in the lab seconds later, without his leather jacket and shirt (apparently, the teleporter forgot those items), and fights Sabretooth. Awesome, Wolverine's a teleporter now! Nightcrawler, we hardly knew ye.

It's also quite amazing how, with the addition of some adamantium to his skeleton, Wolverine can now beat the shit out of Sabretooth every time, whereas prior to that he lost every single fight!

Also...in the opening montage...did anyone ever wonder "Now, why would a Canadian citizen be fighting in the U.S. Civil War?" And, for some reason Viet-Nam. The Viet-Nam thing made no sense, anyway, as Wolverine should have already been through the Weapon X program by then (he entered it shortly after WWII). But, you know, they didn't exactly follow along with any other part of the X-Men's universe, so why should they start now, eh?

Weapon X: I thought Maverick was German, not Grant Imahara from Mythbusters. Also, shouldn't he be able to absorb the force of the helicopter crash and emerge relatively unscathed? And wasn't he friends with Wolverine? Every time he was sent to kill Wolverine, he botched the mission on purpose. Not so here. And what about all the Alpha Flight members who came out of Weapon X? Where the hell were they? And why was Blob in this? For the fat jokes? Blob served absolutely no purpose to the story; he wasn't ever a member of Weapon X. I guess he was there so he could box Wolverine. Oh, how fantastic.

Okay, that's enough. It's horrible, okay? Don't waste your money on this piece of shit. Aside from the gross misrepresentation of the characters on the screen, the story isn't even compelling. There's some whiny bits in between fight scenes, and despite the fact that these are superhumans with amazing powers, their powers are largely absent from the multitude of fight scenes that pepper the movie. The only one who uses his powers in the fight is Kestrel Wraith, which makes that the best fight in the movie. Unfortunately, it's also one of the shortest. Even the climactic ending left me audibly groaning, despite the fact that I knew it was a comic book story (heavy on the comic part) and I was working my suspension of disbelief hardcore. It was like the director looked at a pile of comics, said "That's nice", wiped his ass on them and set it all to film.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go shoot some adamantium bullets into my brain to try and purge the memories of this travesty from my mind.

Oh. Em. Effing. Gee.

It takes a lot to make me type things out in LEET-speak.

This comic is one of those things that succeeds in bringing the LEET out in me. I dare you to not piddle in your pants a little bit from laughter when you read it. Cause, I don't want to be the only one.



The best part is, the authors titled it Maybe Too Soon.

Sunday Free For All

Not a lot of people read this on the weekends, so I thought I'd just throw up a grab bag of shit that I've accumulated recently, thinking "Hey, that would make a fun little post." But then I didn't get around to it because, remember people, my lack of ambition at overcoming entropy sometimes outweighs my desire to tickle your fancies. If you need help plotting the relationship between my love of your comments versus my inherent laziness, I suggest the Arrhenius equation.

Anyway, remember that book thing I'm trying to work on and publish and all that shit? Well, for one, I'm waiting a bit for the economy to not be so dour before plunging headlong into the submission pool once anon. Hopefully, with the president telling everyone NOT to believe the media hype (for once), things will slowly begin to tick up. Now, if we could get more institutions to not take bailout money, the stock markets would begin to slide back up and then some enterprising agent would be like "awesome, let's print this thing!"

So, as you remember, I'm working on a big fantasy story. Since I've basically crafted an entire world for my characters, I decided to work in the whole element of realism that follows along with history, political structures and religion. For the religion aspect, I based my deities on Norse and Germanic mythology, with a healthy dose of Celtic, for good measure. When I did that, I busted open my guide to the gods and read, cover to cover, the section on Norse mythology. Imagine, then, my sheer giddy glee when I stumbled across a web comic centered on the dysfunction surrounding the Norse gods. I've been delighting in this for weeks now; here's the link to Brat-Halla. It might help to read it and keep open the Encyclopedia Mythica, in case you're not familiar with who Hod, Heimdall, Syf, Tyr, Frigg and Baldur are (I assume you know who Thor, Odin and Loki are...oh, and the Valkyries).

Brat-Halla's cast of characters
Jidai posted this the other day, but I have to steal it and leave it here, in case you missed out on it. There are some excellent nuggets of geeky reference in this.
Saturday Morning Watchmen Cartoon:


If you're a football fan and you're not reading Kissing Suzy Kolber, you're doing yourself a disservice. For instance, here's their recent Watchmen parody as played out by NFL players. I'm not sure which I like more, Silk Steeler or BoobsAssTits.

More Watchmen shit. Here's the PvP parody of Watchmen, using classic comic strip characters. It might not be as funny as the first two links, but it's still quite clever. Pfangirl originally had the links up for me.

Okay, last Watchmen thing. No matter how brilliant this is, this comic is disturbingly funny. It makes a lot more sense if you've read the comic or at least seen the movie. Thanks to Theory of Everything for making this possible.

And in case you missed the twin celebrations yesterday...or thought I was making it all up...here's the histories behind Pi Day (it's 3-14, in case you couldn't figure it out) and Steak and Blow Job Day (kind of NSFW link). Now, where's Nej to tell me that she learns something every time she reads my blog?

Quis Custodiets? Me, That's Who!

I went and saw Watchmen last night. I went by myself and sat in a theatre with about sixty other folks. The good thing was that they were there to see the movie and--I'm going to guess--most of them either knew the story or at least knew what to except. There was no extraneous giggling about Dr. Manhattan's peezer, though there was laughing at the appropriate times when Rorschach was just being the complete badass he was supposed to be.

So, here's my review, but if you want to read reviews by people who do a much better job than me, check moog, Jon, Rider or Jidai. Pfangirl will also have a review up soon has an excellent review up, as well.

The short review: I wanted to get up and walk out of the theatre...to buy a ticket to the very next screening. I really enjoyed it. For one, it was as true an adaptation of the comic as possible. There were a couple of things left out that I thought were important: Laurie's favorite toy, the snow globe, that she broke when she saw her mother and her mother's husband fighting (I realize that Doc Manhattan's glass palace played the same role) and Sally kissing the picture of the Comedian from the group photo of the Minutemen. I thought that, when she did that in the comic, it wrapped that subplot up nicely. Also, I thought that the movie made it too obvious as to who the antagonist was. That could have just been because I knew who was behind the diabolical plan and I picked up on the clues more readily.

I wish that there had been more to the story as to why the Keene Act was set in place. I thought that was touched on a little too quickly. Also, I wish that we could have explored Dr. Malcolm's reaction to Rorschach's story more so that it was more obvious that he understood why Rorschach became what he became. I realize that these additions would have taken up more time, and the movie was already nearly three hours long (not that I minded).

Of course, I also know that the Black Freighter story arc will be in the extended version when the DVD hits shelves later in the summer, so I'm not upset over that.

That's all the negative I could pull out of it. At first, I thought Dr. Manhattan's voice wasn't right, but then, given what he has developed into, I realized that having a soothing, placid voice was better than the cold, almost Vader-esque voice I always read in the book. Also, I liked Silk Spectre II in the movie much better than the book.

Needless to say, Rorschach and the Comedian were fucking unbelievably good. Everyone has talked about them, but I also really liked Dan Dreiberg/Nite Owl II. I thought Patrick Wilson didn't get enough accolades (in the reviews I've read) for balancing the impotence/vulnerability/cowardice of Dreiberg versus the crime fighter persona of Nite Owl.

As for the ending...it's different than it was in the book (which will, of course, make Alan Moore fly off the handle over how Hollywood has ruined his art...right after pocketing yet another check), and I have to say, the ending that Snyder orchestrated was...if not better, then more believable. It tied elements of the story together more cohesively as opposed to leaving things to chance like the ending in the book did. Plus, it didn't involve a gigantic vagina-squid in the middle of New York.

The fight scenes, I thought, were well-done, despite the fact that they jumped from real time to slow motion and back. It was a little easier to follow this way than, say, in Batman or a Wolverine fight scene where things are crowded, close and fast. Rorschach's origin story was tweaked a little, but that didn't bother me; it still fit in with the character.

And as for the criticism that I heard from people on the radio that the movie had too much talking and not enough action...what the fuck movie were you watching? Yeah, it slowed down a little bit after the initial fight scene, but so did Iron Man, and you fuckers weren't bitching about that. The only problem I saw in the pacing is where Nite Owl and Rorschach are about to figure out what's going on and then we jump back to Mars to see Laurie and Jon discussing the fate of the world and Laurie's past...which is exactly how it happened in the book. Nothing felt rushed or crammed together or hurried or clipped. In fact, the only way that I noticed the three hours were nearly up (aside from knowing where we were in the storyline) was that my Cherry Coke was nearly empty.

I would recommend seeing this if you are at all a fan of the genre. If you're not necessarily, but you still would like to see it, maybe wait for the DVD. I still recommend reading the book first, just so you can follow along a little easier. I don't think it's necessary, but it might enhance your enjoyment of the film.

To top the evening off last night, I came home to find my wife laying on the bed reading my copy of the Watchmen. Talk about instant chub...

It Figures

So, it was 80 degrees here this weekend. Sunny. Beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky. All you could ever ask for in a weekend and more.

And I was sick.

Not only that, but I didn't go see Watchmen because I was sick. I knew this would happen, too. My kids and my wife all had this cold, so I figured I'd get it the weekend that Watchmen came out. And I did. Power of positive thinking, huh? Couple in the time change with Daylight Saving Time and I was out of it for most of Sunday. I mean, I laid on the couch, bleary-eyed, for most of the morning and then sort of putz around the house in the afternoon. On Saturday, the coach for my daughter's basketball team had a cookout for the girls and their families, so we went to that. In that manner, the weekend wasn't a total bust. Being that this was the first nice weekend, I naturally forgot sunscreen, and so my two kids were kind of pink-faced when we came home Saturday evening.

Did any of you not named Scope go see Watchmen this weekend? I did get to finish my re-read of the book, so I might go during the week some time. I heard from a fan that it was awesome, and then on the radio this morning I heard some nub who called in and said, "We went with our entire family, and we were thinking it would be something like Spider-Man, but it wasn't. It was all dark and depressing and there was a lot of talking."

Are you that dumb? Did you not at least look into the movie before you went? Isn't everything revolving around the movie's release hinged on the words "Alan Moore's dark take on costumed superheroes"? And, of course, everyone was talking about Dr. Manhattan's blue dick. The rest of him is blue, so did they think his man parts would be any different? I mean, I realize what Laurie's role was when she lived with him, but I didn't expect her to be that good at it.

Also, this weekend, I realized that I totally missed doing my basketball prediction post. I even had things all written down on a scrap piece of paper with analysis and predictions and everything, but then I got distracted last week and didn't get it done. I can tell you that I successfully picked Cornell, Morehead St. and Radford, but the last two were just sentimental guesses.

Just remember, at Morehead State, the cheerleaders yell out what you want from them.

Update! No sooner had I pushed "publish" than the phone rang, and my wife was informing me that the school called informing her that Cookie was, well, tossing her cookies and had that fresh, warm feeling of just coming out of the oven (in other words, a fever). I rushed out the door to go get her only to discover that they wanted me to take Tank home, too, because he knocked his nose on another kid's forehead in the bathroom. He was bloody or had anything broken, but he was "inconsolable" over the affair, so I whisked them both home where they are recovering nicely. As my boss said as I was running out the door earlier, "March is shaping up to be one helluva month for you, huh?"

Yep.

Let He Who Is Without Geekiness...

I've admitted it before, but I'll go ahead and say it again: I enjoy playing video games. And not the socially-acceptable games like Guitar Hero and Halo; no, I play things like Civilization and Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest VIII and such.

Also, I don't cry tears of gold, so I tend to buy my games used. As such, I saw the benefit of getting a membership to the used video game store, which gives me 10% off purchases and I get coupons through the email and all sorts of good stuff like that. Along with these perks, I get a "free" subscription to a gaming magazine; I say "free" because the subscription price is built into the membership costs. The biggest advantage of this is that it provides me something, once a month, to flip through and read whilst firing off shit missiles in the privvy.

Anyway, this mag has a calendar section in which they highlight all the best stuff coming out in the coming month: new games, movies, DVDs, comic books and such. You know, typical "nerd" fare.

Now, Coraline was released in theatres last night. It's a stop-motion animation adaptation of a children's story by Neil Gaiman. If you're not familiar with Gaiman's material, well, you should be. Not only is he an incredibly gifted writer, but he's also a pretty decent human being. If you saw the movie Stardust, that was an adaptation of one of Gaiman's works. He's also the guy referred to in the lyric "If you need me/ me and Neil'll be/ hanging out with the dream king/ Neil says 'hi' by the way" in Tori Amos' song Tear in Your Hand.

Now, I don't know how highly anticipated the release of Coraline was; I doubt I'll take my kids because the story is probably a little too dark for them. My daughter might be able to handle it, but probably not the little boy. I'll just get a copy later when they're old enough to watch it.

However, check out what the morons in my gaming mag had to say about the release of Coraline for this month:

"Coraline might look like a children's movie, but you can be sure that it will be packed with the worst kind of nerds: comic fans who revere Neil Gaiman as a god, think stop-motion animation is better than CG, and can recite the lyrics to every They Might be Giants song. You'll also see a few people in the crowd who are there just to listen to Dakota 'Too Old to be a Child Actor' Fanning. We'll be there to mock all these people."

Really now.

Perhaps, before setting out to the theatre to point fingers and make jest, you guys should pause between smearing Proactiv on your faces and take a good, long look in the mirror. You write for a magazine that focuses on video gaming. You're not exactly gods among men yourselves. Maybe you should save your taunts and jests for the anonymity of your XBOX Live accounts rather than dealing with other people face-to-face.

Actually, you know what, no, go out to the theatre and start some trouble with the "worst kind of nerds". Just call me ahead of time, because I'd really like to see what kind of slap-and-tickle nerd brawl shapes up when the "nerds" recognize your wan complexions and complete lack of social skills means that you're just as low on the feeding chain as they are.

My Apotheosis

Right after you all get done worshipping the Massive Pork Log, you can bow down to me.

I, of course, require hefty donations to support the church of me. Also, I demand sacrifices or porcine life forms. The recipe is in the previous post. And, of course, ladies, I require that all worship of my Uber Cool Nerd Godliness be done topless at least, naked if you're a true follower. Photographic (heavy on the graphic part, please) proof will be required. Often.

And if not, let the vindictive smiting begin.

And, should you happen to be, I dunno, married to me...I think you just found your Zeus character. And dinner better be on the table when I get home, lest the smiting begin anew.

Friday Morning Latin Lesson

Thanks to all who helped my friend out with her clothing choices. When last I spoke to her, she was planning on wearing a black miniskirt, fishnets, boots, and a tube top. Or an attractive sweater and some very nice black slacks. She does want to thank Zibbs for giving her the okay to rub her ass against his junk, should the evening turn sexy.

Now, today, let's have a little bit of learning, shall we. Today, I'm going to teach you a handy little phrase in Latin. What? It's been dead for 2000 years? This is true, but let me just add that "quidquid latine dictum sit, altum viditur."

I think you see my point.

Here's today's phrase:

"Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure."

Pronounced: "Tay oh-deer-ay no poe-sum. Moose-uh sap-ee-en-toom fix-ah est in ore-ay."

And here's Jon Arbuckle*, to show us the phrase in action:


* translation in the hovertext

Number 865,001

I stayed up last night to watch half-man/half-otter Micheal Phelps and his team mates win the 4 x 100 relay, thus securing Phelps' unprecedented eighth gold medal. However, I'm at an interesting crossroads here, in that I don't want to get an email like the one Rider received earlier today, nor do I want my diploma from Notre Dame to be stricken null and void by praising someone from the University of Michigan. Thus, I'll let Tim Buckley do it for me.
Don't you guys love how I'm piggybacking off your posts and simply sticking a cartoon in there to make it amusing, thus allowing me to play more Civ III do housework punish the children continue doing fuck all with my life? Yeah, me too.

Review Time: Hellboy II: The Golden Army

I'll preface this by saying I loves me some Hellboy, but haven't read a book in a long, long time. Like, since my first year of grad school. Still, I thoroughly enjoyed the first movie as I thought it was a fairly good recreation of some of the original series.

To that end, I'm glad that Guillermo del Toro was given more license to do as he pleased with this installment in the Hellboy films, and it pays off as del Toro is an excellent storyteller. As opposed to the original, this story centers more on tradition fairy tale mythology, which I enjoyed quite a bit. The other nice thing about this movie was that the characters seemed to mesh into a more cohesive team, each knowing and owning their rolls within the larger group dynamic. Even the inclusion of Johann Krauss, a German psychic who got converted into pure ectoplasmic energy worked within the team...despite the fact that he was voiced by Seth MacFarlane. I, personally, would have liked to have had a voice actor with a more hollow, almost synthetic voice rather than listening to Peter Griffin, but that's just me.

Overall, the acting was consistent. Ron Perlman does a great job as Hellboy and Selma Blair doesn't really need to act all that much, but her broodiness is pulled off well. The scenes illustrating the growing friendship between Abe and Hellboy was comedic, and the action scenes were well done. Also, the creatures that del Toro dreamt up for the movie (Wink, the Forest God) were incredible. The Angel of Death was pretty kickass, too. I had seen a picture of her/it/him, but when it "came to life" on the screen, I really liked it. The Golden Army itself, with their clockwork skeletons, clearly carries the mark of del Toro's handiwork.

Possibly the nicest thing about the movie is that it does not rely too much on CGI. Almost all of the characters and creatures have a body inside the suits, and any extras are taken care of through the computer generated graphics. It definitely gives a much less artificial feel to the movie, which is something that was lacking in the waning scenes of Indiana Jones (and all three of the Star Wars prequels).

I will say, however, that I was slightly distracted by the Elf Prince that was the main protagonist thanks Jidai antagonist in the story, only because his name is "Nuada". There used to be a company down the street from my current employer called "Nuada Pharmaceuticals", and I knew a few people who had worked there. Couple that with the fact that the fates of both Nuada Pharmaceuticals and Prince Nuada were pretty much the same, and it makes for an enjoyable allegory.

I also kept hearing Charlie Dalton from Dead Poet's Society saying, "Call me Nuwanda".

Overall, the movie was solid and the action scenes were thoroughly entertaining. The ending is a bit predictable (come on...we know the protagonist is going to win) but getting there is a joy unto itself. The visuals are nice and don't feel overly faked and the acting is solid. The story was without any major plotholes that I noticed right away, though the scene with the baby kind of annoyed me (yes, I understand that it was a vehicle for something else).

If you're a fan of the series, you won't be let down; if you're a fan of del Toro's films, this one will not disappoint; if you're a fan of stories featuring folk lore and mythology, you might also enjoy this, as well.

For Frank

If you thought you were sad the day you found out that the Ronald McDonald House was not a home for retired clowns, imagine how devastated you would have been if you had stumbled upon the following:


Wow, did that ever make me laugh. And now I feel better.

Editor's Note: Click on the picture to make it big enough to read the words and enjoy the soupy goodness.

Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together

I love cross-pop-cultural references.

Personal Hamster Huey

I am convinced that Bill Watterson was prescient and somehow had the ability to peer into the future and watch my life unfold before his very eyes. Upon seeing these visions, he set pen to paper and drew some of the most masterful comics the world has ever known. Copies of said comic follow.

Here's a refresher course, in case you've forgotten:


Calvin's dad and I have a lot in common. For instance, we're both stuck reading the same story every night. For me, I have to deal with this particular gem:
The sad thing is, this is just a part of the story (in book form) of that cinematographic masterpiece, Thomas and the Magic Railroad. I guess it wouldn't be so bad reading this book, but my little boy, Tank, has it memorized and breaks into the story to tell me who all the characters are. However, there's another book that goes with it that is the print version of the other half of Thomas and the Magic Railroad, which is just as scintillating a read.

Calvin's dad pretty much sums it up right here:
Yup.

I Can Has Komuhdee Now?

Long about the sixth grade, I thought Garfield was the funniest thing going. This was fostered by my teachers, as Jim Davis--Garfield's creator--was from Muncie, IN. Being a born and bred Hoosier, I was spoonfed from an early age that all things Indiana (minus the things sullied by Purdue) were practically set upon the Earth by the Almighty himself. I guess feeling proud about your state meant that you had to love Garfield (and Robert Frost, but he's still pretty cool, and beside the point). It was impossible to check out a Garfield collection from the school library; all the copies of all the books were already taken in someone else's name (incidentally, the picture book that came out about the Return of the Jedi was also impossible to get ahold of...when I finally did lay my hot little hands on it, I was underwhelmed...but I digress). We would sometimes have a reading of the daily Garfield strip aloud in the class. My teacher, Mrs. Van Dyke, would read it in her awkward, not-quite-connecting-with-the-kids old lady way. I think that actually made the strip a lot more funny than it was.

A lot of things have changed since then. For instance, I've found a sense of humor. And some common sense. Both of these things have led me to realize that Garfield is pretty lame. Imagine my confusion a couple of years ago when the computer-generated fat cat made it to the big screen (only about 13 years too late, as I feel Garfield's height of hilarity was sometime in the late 80s). To date, I have not seen either of the Garfield movies, and I don't plan on them, either. I don't care if Jennifer Love Hewitt appears topless and is rolled in a vat of honey. I have zero desire to see those movies.

I think the big downfall for me was the introduction and continued use of Nermal, the world's cutest kitten. About the only thing that I gained from that was a sense of where Abu Dhabi is on a map. Also, what the fuck ever happened to Lyle, Jon's buddy who came over from time to time? Concurrently, the Garfield cartoon on Saturday mornings sucked. Hard. The only saving grace was that there were also episodes of U.S. Acres included in the episodes, and even calling those a saving grace is a stretch. And by "stretch", I really mean "my ass is way to fat for these black spandex pants". Again, the cartoon suffered from way too much Nermal, who was not only most definitely not the world's most cute kitten, as he claimed, but also had one of the most historical instances of a really bad name. Odie is saved from this title simply because I made a joke in the ninth grade during a vocab section of English. We were discussing the meanings of our new vocab words, and I defined "odious" as "Garfield's Latin friend." Mr Cotton (my English teacher) and Kathy Jeandevin, the girl who sat in front of me (and who I thought was cute until she wore a Purdue t-shirt to school one day--no lie!), thought the joke was great.

I did find a new appreciation for Garfield a couple of months ago when I was shown the following cartoon:


Yes, that would be a near perfect mixture of Garfield and lolcatz, two things which, taken separately, are annoyingly unfunny (I will admit to being mildly amused by lolcatz for a brief time, but the grammar-and-spelling Nazi inside of me has since won out and now I simply find them tiresome), but put together are suddenly sheer, comedic brilliance.

Another thing that I've learned, thanks to my stumbling across "Garfield Minus Garfield", is that Garfield is hilarious once Garfield no longer exists in his own world. Feel free to follow either the link provided to you above or the one listed in the sidebar. I feel that the brilliance of the man behind Garfield Minus Garfield knows no bounds, and he should be celebrated for the magnitude of his comedic genius often and loudly.

If you're a Robot Chicken fan, you should also appreciate the greatness that is the sketch titled "Cat Court" in which Heathcliff sues Garfield for being a copycat. I won't ruin the end, but it's very satisfying. The final joke of the segment is hilarious, especially if you sat through the shorts during the Saturday morning cartoons as a kid during the 80s.

EDIT: Ok, I found this. It's totally nerdy, but if you've dedicated time to any of the Final Fantasy games (I think this is a take off of the American Final Fantasy III), you'll appreciate the hell out of it: Youtube Link

I Can't Believe I'm About to Do This...

...but I'm not going to complain about Illinois' student section during the Indiana game. I'm not going to defend them other than to say they're young, passionate, drunk and God knows I did lots of dumb stuff while young, drunk and shirtless (Sparklebelly).

I will say that Bruce Weber is a classless piece of shit. I know I called him a whiney duck at one point, but now I'm going to just call a spade a spade. Or, in this case, a piece of shit a piece of shit.

First there was the whining after Indiana beat Illinois the first time. "We're just one good player away from being good." Yeah, and I'm just 33 fucking years away from retiring and a busted rubber away from being thrice a daddy. Why not just come out and say it, Weber? If we had Gordon, we'd be good. Also, why not say "If it wasn't for Bill Self's players, I wouldn't have made it to the Final Four and I'd be standing in the unemployment line today. I suck as a recruiter and a coach."

Wow. That was cathartic.

So not only does he do this little "feel sorry for me because I can't recruit worth a shit" song and dance, but then he also lets Chester Frazier "chest bump" Gordon at mid-court. And by chest-bump, I mean anally violate him. And then he revels in the antics of the Illini crowd. What a classy guy, that Bruce Weber.

Last week, a coaching legend hung 'em up. Yeah, I'm talking Bob Knight here. Like him or hate him (I think we all know where I stand on this one), there's no way in hell Knight would have put up with that shit either from his players or the students in the crowd. Frazier's punk ass would have been at the end of the bench for the entirety of that game and probably the next one, too, were he playing for Knight. Knight would also have gotten on the PA system and told the crowd to either settle down or get the fuck out of the Assembly Hall. Probably in those exact words. I've seen him do it.

Even the man under whose tutelage Weber came up, Gene Keady, would have sat Frazier and told the crowd to act like they didn't belong in a day care. Or Philadelphia.

I guess the other thing that grinds my gears is Matt Painter at Purdue getting in on the act. When commenting about his talented Freshmen players, he chimes in with "Yeah, and none of them are ready to jump to the NBA, so they'll be around for a while." I see Painter is following in Weber's douchebag footsteps. Gee, I wonder just who he might be talking about.

Purdue plays at Indiana this week. Hopefully that will shut his punk ass up for a while. I couldn't stand Painter when he played for Purdue; I can't stand him now that he's coaching. Bring Gene back already.

Also, last week, one of my...heroes (for the lack of a better word)...decided to up and retire. I have already talked about my man-crush for Bob Knight here, so I won't go into it again. I just wanted to take a moment and congratulate him on a great career and thank him for the great memories at Indiana. Good luck to him, and to Pat, his son who took over the reins at Texas Tech. From what I've seen so far...he's going to need it.

Sorry I've been away. I was sick last week. It's a nasty flu. My family has shared it and shared it well. You know it has to be bad to incapacitate me for five days. I'm normally pretty healthy. I think it's all the whisky and hatred coursing through my veins.

*groan*

Being that I am from the state of Indiana and I love a good pun, I am contractually obligated to post this.

You Pick the Title

I couldn't think of an appropriate title...actually, I couldn't think of a more appropriate title. So, I'll give you the two I cooked up without much extra thought:

A) Hello, My Name is Pig
B) My Career in a Nutshell

Feel free to add your own.