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May 2007

Spiderboy, Spiderboy, he's a bundle of spider joy.
zomg it's an interactive cd-rom! | Wednesday, 05.23.07
I recently saw the first of the summer blockbusters, Spiderman 3. In this action packed sequel, Spiderman applies guyliner, wears his hair in his face and fights the janitor from Wings, the small boy from That 70's Show and I'm pretty sure he also fought the neighbor from The Hogan Family at some point but I fell asleep during the film's fifth hour so I can't be sure. Remember when Sam Raimi made movies about guys with chainsaw arms that spat out timeless one-liners before shotgunning demons in the face? What happened to that Sam Raimi? Now he's got Spiderman dancing to Mambo #5 and listening to Fall Out Boy and shooting rainbows from his wrists as if we wouldn't notice. I don't know much about spiders or even spidermen, but I'm almost positive that you can't spin a web out of rainbows.

I don't know if you guys have ever heard of this movie called 'Donnie Darko' ... I mean, it was like completely underground and hardcore, you probably wouldn't even understand it...
I think it's time to retool the series. We got a few subtle hints in this movie that Peter Parker is an asshole, and I think we need to expound on that in the next 7 or 8 sequels. While I don't endorse punching women in the face, the part where Peter Parker punched MJ in the face after the fourth intermission was a classic moment in cinematic history, right up there with "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" and that scene in Short Circuit where Number Johnny 5 made pancakes. Sure, his new symbiotic spidey emo suit made him do it, but what guy hasn't used that excuse before, amirite fellas? "I don't know what happened officer, I came home from work, my dinner wasn't on the table... my symbiotic penny loafers must have taken control of my foot and curb stomped my wife and children to death. Oh, and don't ask about my symbiotic athletic supporter, God knows what that thing's been up to."

The easiest way to make Spiderman more of a badass is to change his corny superhero creed - "With great power comes great responsibility." Oooh, does it? Did you come up with that when you were shaving your box before the prom, Peter Parker? How about something a little more hardcore like, "I'ma beat you like my countless illegitimate children" or "It's not gonna suck itself, bitch." Y'know, something that would look cool on a t-shirt. Oh, and he should be British. And black. As night.

They also need to change the setting. C'mon, New York City? That place has been done to death, and people are sick of the east coast's "oh, we're fucking badasses but we also have hearts of gold, especially after our subway car has been torn to shreds by a mad scientist with robotic octopus arms, these colors don't run" mentality. Remember that shit? Spiderman gets his ass kicked by Doc Ock, but he still saves a train full of New Yawk stereotypes and they carry his battered corpse like he's the crowd-surfing embodiment of Christ. If that shit really happened in New York, those people would have stolen Spidey's wallet, called him every racial slur imaginable and stepped over his bloody carcass on their way to work or the Apple Store. Or they wouldn't have noticed at all.

So let's switch it up... let's go with, oh I don't know, Malad City, Idaho. According to their website, Malad City offers "comfortable living without the big city headaches," "trophy-sized trout" and an "army of robotic deathsquad soldiers hell-bent on the destruction of mankind." It's got everything! Maybe Spidey could be visiting his great aunt out in Tremonton, Utah and he decides to take Route 15 north because his Spidey Sense senses trophy-sized trout in Idaho and then WHAM robotic deathsquad soldiers from outta fucking nowhere! MJ gets kidnapped for some reason, the great aunt dies for some reason, Bruce Campbell's wearing overalls and growing potatoes... this thing is writing itself. No, I'm serious, I haven't written a single word in this paragraph and I've never been more scared in my life.

You know what two things always save doomed series...es? Children and sidekicks. I want you to close your eyes and-- ok, open your eyes, read the next one-word sentence and then close your eyes. Spiderboy. Kinda rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? He's just like the regular Spiderman, except smaller, cuter, and more marketable. Spiderboy pacifiers for baby, Spiderboy dolls (that really wet themselves!) for sis, Spiderboy diapers for grandpa... the list goes on. Spiderboy shotglasses for big brother, Spiderboy rapekit for attention-seeking middle sis, Spiderboy MMORPG for strange uncle... see, I told you, the list went on. And here's the best part - Spiderboy will be CGI, which means there will be no annoying child actor that has to be paid, fed, and extinguished after he's lit on fire. Nerds like comic book movies, but nerds love CGI child sidekicks that were never in the comic books that the movies were based. Get the Jar Jar Binks guy to supply the voice and you've got a blockbuster of Dead Silence proportions on your hands.

Look, I'm John Q. Public, and I like my summer blockbusters to have thrills, explosions and adorable CGI sidekicks. Spiderman 3 had none of those things. OK, that last fight scene was pretty thrilling, and a few of those pumpkin bombs exploded... but I'm almost positive that there were zero adorable CGI sidekicks, and I was awake for a good 6 and a half hours of the 9 hour Spiderman 3 experience. I can only hope that my script for Spiderman 4: The Curse of Spiderboy can get the franchise back on track.

 
We all scream for Blarday.
oh you'll scream | Thursday, 05.17.07
24-hour days simply aren't enough for the young go-getters of 2007. We need more time to work, play, buy stuff, chase kids off our lawns, prepare sandwiches, eat sandwiches, write letters to congress and die. What if science found a way to inject an extra hour into your day by either slowing down the rotation of the earth or exploding the sun and replacing it with the biggest Tap Light money can buy? Think of how much we could accomplish in those extra 60 minutes! Why, you could masturbate as soon as you wake up, wash your hands with your tears and still have enough time to catch the bus for work. Science is going to make all of your dreams come true... if all of your dreams involve 25-hour days. You're shit outta luck if you dream about normal stuff like scoring touchdowns or decapitating your sixth grade Reading teacher with a samurai sword, or if you dream about getting up and going to work every day like I do. It's gotten to the point where I'm not sure if I'm awake or dreaming and I probably died a few years ago and I'm suffering in Hell right now.


They studied 12 healthy young adults (average age: 28) who volunteered to spend 65 days living in individual rooms without windows, clocks, or any other time cues.... At the end of each "day," the scientists cranked up the light in the overhead fluorescent lights, delivering two pulses of extremely bright light.... After the pulses of bright light, participants didn't go to sleep right away. They stayed up an extra hour, effectively getting 25 hours per day.
(CBS News)

SCIENCE! I really wish I was a scientist because then I could torture volunteers for months at a time. "It's day! Now it's night! BRIGHT FLASHING LIGHTS WAKE UP OH GOD! Back to sleep now, FUCK YOU!" So much power, all for the low low price of like 20 bucks a head. The science department at my college was always offering students paltry sums of money to take part in experiments like, "What happens when you eat your own brain?" or "Can a buttered roll replace the human heart?" The shit's tempting when you're a poor college student, especially when you're optimistic that somewhere on campus, they're conducting an experiment on the effects of getting blown every minute of every day for three weeks straight.

Anyway, what were we talking about? Right, 25-hour days. See, an extra hour every day would be pretty cool, but I'd like the option to save up my hours and create one 7-hour mini-day called Blarday. Blarday would occur every Thursday at exactly noon, so from 12:00 am to 11:59 am it's a normal Thursday, then you get the seven-hour Blarday, then Thursday resumes at 12:01 pm to 11:59 pm. Now, you may say something like, "John, that sounds completely insane. What are some of the advantages of Blarday?" And then I reply, "Oh, I don't know, how about FREE ICE CREAM*!?" Take that, science! Much like a Spanish siesta, Blarday is a seven-hour period of rest for families to get together, eat free ice cream* and nap. All businesses will be closed (except ice cream parlours of course), all troubles will be forgotten, and I'm trying to figure out a way to ensure that it's always a cool 75oF on Blarday, regardless of the month or location on the earth. Keep dicking around with your measly hour per day, science... I'm adding days and changing weather patterns and all sorts of shit that I can't even talk about because the vocabulary needed to express the awesome hasn't been invented yet. Let's see what else this now meaningless article has to say...


The findings may come in handy if astronauts go to Mars. A Martian day lasts for 24.65 earthly hours, note the researchers. They argue that without resetting the body clock to a 25-hour day, astronauts on Mars would be constantly jetlagged, which could be dangerous.
(CBS News)

Oh. Fuck. So all of this research and experimenting and whatnot was for sleepy Marstronauts? See, this is why I should read the whole article before writing an update. Oh, we mustn't disrupt the precious space travelers' sleep schedules, they may sleep right through their intergalactic space vacation. Pussies. Would you like a little umbrella for your bag of Tang, astro boy?

So, we aren't getting an extra hour on Earth, which means Blarday is officially cancelled. NASA doesn't want you to have seven hours all to yourself, and they're literally taking free ice cream* out of your child's adorable little mouth. Don't bother searching for monsters on other planets NASA, just take a look in your space-mirrors because you are the true monsters. I guess we can tear down the Blarday Research Center, and cancel those Blarday calendar orders, and... oh god, the tote bags came in yesterday, didn't they? What the fuck am I gonna do with 500,000 "I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Blarday" tote bags?

 

 
* Offer not valid on blend-ins, seasonal flavors, sundaes, milkshakes, waffle cones or scoops greater than or equal to 2. Offer valid only at participating ice cream parlours. Offer subject to change. Blarday is not a recognized day of the week in the following states: CA, IL, IN, IA, NC, OR, PA, TN, UT. All participants in the FREE ICE CREAM EVERY BLARDAY offer must have their hand stamped with an official Blarday Branding Iron upon procurement of ice cream. Attempts to avoid the Blarday Branding Iron through trickery, "jazz hands," or self-inflicted dismemberment will not be tolerated and violators will be subject to a $10,000 fine and possible jail time. Lactose intolerant individuals who wish to participate in the FREE ICE CREAM EVERY BLARDAY offer may substitute ice cream with three (3) potatoes if a note from their doctor is presented to their grocer, farm-hand or door-to-door potato distributor. Ice cream, potatoes or potato flavored ice-cream procured during the FREE ICE CREAM EVERY BLARDAY offer may not be resold.

 
Light a candle for the retarded children - set the world on fire.
1-877-NJ Abuse | Wednesday, 05.02.07
Kids are so fucking stupid. They're always falling over and they shit all over the place and you can't trust them around their sexy uncles because they're always getting molested and whatnot. The truth is, they really don't serve much of a purpose until they're old enough to die for my freedom. But that's not to say that I don't want kids of my own someday; in fact, I've been developing a "hands off/on" parenting style. During the "hands off" stage, I'll give the child enough space to learn from his or her own mistakes. During the "hands on" stage, I'll punch them in the throat every night before they go to bed. "...and they all lived happily ever after. The end. Sweet dreams my little angel." WHAM THROAT PUNCH.

This little bastard over in London is a perfect candidate for Stage 1 Hands On Throat Punches.


British firefighters said on Wednesday they had come to a boy's rescue after he got a toilet seat stuck on his head. The toddler, aged two-and-a-half, and his mother walked into a fire station in Braintree, Essex, Tuesday saying the boy had put his head through a small trainer seat for the toilet and now could not remove it.
(Yahoo News)

You're going down public domain toddler image.
The potty is for your fanny, sweetie, not your head. Who's my little ass-head? Who's Daddy's little shit-skull? It's ok, Daddy still lov -- THROAT PUNCH THROAT PUNCH SUPLEX THROAT PUNCH. I've learned to love the fire department because not only did they fight terrorists on 9/11, they also remove toilet seats from the heads of dumb children. They also have the tools required to remove 7,000 gallons of water from my apartment's flooded parking lot in the blink of an eye... fireman are magic. They remove cats from trees, they make hunky calendars for fat women, and sometimes they extinguish fires as well. Hats off to you, calendar making toilet seat removing fighters of flame.

"We simply put some dish washing liquid on his head and ears and it slid off nice as pie," said firefighter Chris Cox, whose love of pie is equal only to his love of lighting children on fire and extinguishing the flames with Palmolive. And maybe it's a British colloquialism, but I think it's time to replace the tired phrase "easy as pie" with Chris Cox's "nice as pie," because let's face it, pie is nice, but like pimpin' and cunnilingus, it ain't easy. Hostess Fruit Pies are pretty easy since the only thing between the pie and your mouth is wax paper, but have you ever tried baking a real pie? No, you haven't. You wanna know why? Because it's easier to eat the ingredients raw, and you aren't aloud to use the oven without adult supervision, and it would take like three days to cook the shit in the toaster oven.

It must be hard being the parent of an idiot. I did some stupid shit as a child, but I never needed the help of men with helmets and axes. Like, one time my parents took me to a petting zoo and I ate all of the animal crackers... the crackers for the animals. I removed a rubber nose pad thing from a pair of glasses and snorted it up my nose, I ran face first into the garage the day before my pre-school graduation and accepted my diploma with a black eye, and I jammed a pencil into my forehead to see if it was sharp (you can still see the lead!). All stupid shit, but nothing that would -- oh, and I died of SIDS. All stupid shit, but nothing that would inconvenience my parents or sister for more than 20 minutes tops, and only a few that yielded unnecessary calls to DYFS. It's all about respecting your elders. And throat punches. A never-ending barrage of unexpected throat punches.

 

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