A lot of people think that a "blog" is a combination of the words "web" and "log." That's a bunch of horse crap. This "blog" is a combination of the words "blueberry" and "dog." That's right. This is the world's first blueberry-dog hybrid. Science!
I Want to Believe.
Hey, had you heard the good news? They found Bigfoot! Now, I realize you might be a bit skeptical, what with Bigfoot being the crazed delusion of a bunch of inbred mountain people, but seriously, for real this time. See, here's your photographic proof:
This Bigfoot has ceased to be. It is an ex-Bigfoot.
Ewww. I think Bigfoot's going bad. Better put some baking soda in there or something.
Anyway, as you can imagine, there was a bit of skepticism that the gorilla mask super glued to a bear corpse really was an authentic Bigfoot that someone murdered and shoved into their freezer. Seems you need to have proof or something. So, fortunately for all of us, these two charming gentlemen pictured below were more than happy to provide all the evidence a skeptical world could ever want as to the existence (and current non-existence) of the legendary Sasquatch.
Got 'r' dun.
Little Evidence of Bigfoot
Bob Keefe, Palo Alto, California
August 17, 2008
BIGFOOT lived in northern Georgia and his cousins are still there. At least that's what a pair of hunters and a Californian Bigfoot expert cum promoter continue to claim.
Bigfoot lives in Georgia? With his cousins? I, for one, am shocked to discover that Bigfoot is a hillbilly. Probably likes NASCAR too.
But if they have definitive evidence to prove it, it wasn't presented at a press conference on Friday where they had said they would make believers out of everyone.
So since when do you need to have "definitive evidence" to make a believer out of someone? Seriously.
A second round of DNA testing on what the men claim is a dead 2.13-metre, 250-kilogram Bigfoot they say they stumbled on while hiking in Georgia in June is still being completed.
Of three samples in a preliminary DNA test, one came back inconclusive, one contained traces of human DNA and one had traces of opossum DNA, probably from something the creature ate, they claimed.
You know what this means, right? Finally, definitive proof that Bigfoot is, in fact, some kind of a possum man. They all laughed at my thesis at my eighth grade science fair, but who's laughing now, Mr. Schaefer? Huh?! HUH?!
They didn't produce a Bigfoot corpse; that is in a hidden location, they said, after being moved from a freezer that broke down a couple of times. They will not say exactly where they found the creature and claim they saw a band of other Bigfoots watching them. Neither will they allow anyone other than their own hand-picked scientists to examine the body of the dead animal.
You know what they say. You can hand-pick your scientists. You can hand-pick you nose. But you really shouldn't hand-pick your scientist's nose.
"We're now the best Bigfoot hunters in the world," said Matthew Whitton, 31. Whitton and his hiking partner, Rick Dyer, 28, wore the hats to prove it, advertising their website.
I know where these guys are coming from. Check out my hat.
Definitive proof that I run the best website in the world. Suck it, Hamster Dance.
Mr Whitton is a police officer who is on disability leave; Mr Dyer is a car salesman and tow-truck operator.
And if there's any two professions that require both honesty and integrity, it's being a car salesman and a tow-truck operator. Yessir.
The pair produced two more still pictures. One blurry image, they claim, clearly shows one of several other Bigfoot family members that they said were walking beside them in their top-secret, undisclosed location where they allege they found the dead man-ape.
Top-secret, undisclosed location, you say? So Bigfoot is with Dick Cheney?
Another overlit, blurry photo shows what they claim is the mouth and teeth of the dead Sasquatch.
Preparations are under way for an autopsy on the animal, they said. Scientists are about to get involved, but one is on holiday until tomorrow and two others from Russia have yet to arrive in the US, they said.
But they'll totally be here next week, once they're not in Russia or on holiday any more. And then you'll all be sorry. Just you wait and see.
A reporter from the Fox television network will be the first journalist to see the dead animal, maybe as early as this week, they said.
Wait a minute, you're trying to tell me that Fox has journalists? I'm afraid I'm going to need some definitive evidence to support that hysterical claim.
Tom Biscardi, a Bigfoot enthusiast known for questionable Bigfoot promotions in the past, swears all of this is not a hoax.
"This is as real as you're standing right where you are," he said.
Yeah, but I'm not standing. I'm sitting. So what now, huh, smart guy?
Others say the story is nonsense. "This is becoming like an alien autopsy," said Jeffery Meldrum, a noted Bigfoot researcher and a professor of anthropology at Idaho State University. "Shenanigans."
Wait, so the alien autopsies were bogus too? Wow. This has been a very disillusioning day.
Mr Whitton, who was wearing a plaster cast after being shot in the wrist last month while pursuing a robbery suspect, and Mr Dyer, who says he is a former prison officer, haven't done much to satisfy sceptics.
The men have previously posted videos of the purported Bigfoot on YouTube in which Mr Whitton's brother pretended to be a scientist, but by the end of the video he announces it was all done in fun.
I don't know. It looks pretty convincing to me.
The voicemail on Mr Whitton's telephone previously claimed they were leading expeditions to find not just Bigfoot but also the Loch Ness Monster and leprechauns.
I love this country so much some times.
On Friday Mr Whitton said these were all spoofs done just for fun and to throw off some of the "psychos" who had been bugging them since they appeared on an internet radio show touting their find.
Yeah, damn psychos with their whole "not faking finding a Bigfoot corpse in a desperate bid for attention." Who the hell do they think they are?
The pair teamed up with Mr Biscardi after literally stumbling on their find almost two months ago, they said.
"When you punch in Bigfoot [on the internet], the first name that comes up is Tom Biscardi," Mr Dyer said when asked how they came across their new partner.
Smart thinking. I, myself, discovered a singing and dancing Mexican jumping bean in my garbanzo salad the other day, and I also would like to discover the world's foremost expert on inanimate objects learning how to become song and dance entertainers in defiance of all known rules of physics. Perhaps I will use this Internet of which they speak.
[Does a Google.]
Prepare for a call, Mr. Juan Gigantico.
Mr Dyer said he and Mr Whitton had dragged the dead Sasquatch out of woods in northern Georgia almost two months ago. They hauled it back home in Mr Dyer's tow truck, they claimed, then filled up a freezer with water to try and freeze the creature in ice.
The freezer broke down a couple of times after that, Mr Dyer said.
Funny how when you do this with a Bigfoot corpse, it's the scientific discovery of the century, but you try the same thing with just one random hobo and all of a sudden you're wanted for questioning in five states. Go figure.
Mr Biscardi runs an internet radio show and website devoted to Bigfoot under the umbrella of a company called Searching for Bigfoot.
Which is how you can tell he's an expert, because he has an Internet radio show. It's not like they just give those things out to random nutjobs. Er, wait...
In 2005, Mr Biscardi claimed he had met a woman in Nevada who had captured two living Bigfoot creatures. He charged about $US15 for visitors to his website to see blurry video claiming to show the captured creatures.
On Friday Mr Biscardi said he subsequently determined that the woman was mentally ill and he discontinued that business sideline.
So now he's moving on from mentally ill people to merely mentally stupid ones. Moving up in the world.
Friends, if this whole unseemly business has taught us one thing, I hope that it's this: Never, ever trust anyone on anything, because you just never know if the thing you've put your faith into might just be a couple of rednecks with a gorilla costume in their bathtub. Live and learn, people. Live and learn.
I Believe In Bob Barr's Mustache
With all the talk in the news about Next Year's Presumptive President of the United States Barack Obama and Next Year's Presumptive Unwilling Admittee to a Retirement Home John McCain, not a lot of ink is being devoted towards anyone else in the presidential race. But Erik, I hear you say with my superhuman Internet listening abilities, aren't those two the only two candidates in the race for President? The short answer is yes. The long answer is no, you simple-minded twit. See, along with Ralph Nader who is making yet another hilarious run for the presidency, there is also one other candidate who is not nearly getting the attention that he deserves.
Bob Barr's mustache.
Friends, I can't explain why, but for some reason Bob Barr's mustache just makes me happy. Bob Barr's mustache makes me want to pick daisies and roll around in fields. Bob Barr's mustache always manages to put a smile on my face and a song in my heart. Bob Barr's mustache makes me want to be a better person. Bob Barr's mustache is kind of like my idol.
So what is it about Bob Barr's mustache that makes it superior in every other way to other mustaches? It's simple, really. Other mustache wearers inevitably take things too far, going for the handlebar or pushbroom or Rollie Fingers or what have you. But not Bob Barr. Bob Barr's mustache is a perfectly straight line, the kind of mustache that says to a person, "I didn't put that much thought into this when I grew it." It's a mustache just for the sake of being a mustache. I don't know how or when Bob Barr grew his mustache, but on the monumental day when Bob Barr's mustache first appeared on Bob Barr's upper lip, I'd like to think it happened something like this:
Yes, in my dreams, Bob Barr is a big blue-suited superhero who fights crime, with a sidekick in a moth suit. And Bob Barr's mustache did appear on his lip one morning without warning, and it just made Bob Barr that much more of a force to be reckoned with.
At this point, you may be either questioning my sanity or, hopefully, questioning what qualifies Bob Barr's mustache to be the next President. My argument is this: If the 2008 election truly is a "change" election as the media pundits have declared it, then it seems to me that that there is only one candidate that truly represents "change" - Bob Barr's mustache. Bob Barr's mustache is an advocate for "change" by not even being the same color as the rest of the hair on Bob Barr's head. Now that, my friends, is "change" that we can believe in.
So screw the formalities. I think it's far past time that I finally made a stand for something. Something good. Something true. Something honest. Something important. Something mustache. It's time I make my official endorsement for this election. My official endorsement for President of America in the year 2008 is for Bob Barr's mustache. Vote Bob Barr's Mustache in '08, because if Bob Barr's mustache could vote independently of Bob Barr himself, it would probably vote for you.
Waiting for the Dark Knight to arrive...
As I sit in my office today, foot twitching, face freshly painted like a clown, impatiently waiting for midnight to roll around so I can start watching The Dark Knight already, I have decided to help pass the time with a Batman-themed blog post. To that end, I wanted to do a side-by-side-by-side-by-side-by-side-by-side comparison of all of the Batman movies to this point, but since I couldn’t figure out how to get the DVDs to upload onto the webpage, I’ve had to aim smaller and will instead compare the trailers for the Batman movies. Please note that, much like the movies themselves, as you make your way through them, each becomes progressively crappier up until Batman Begins, at which point the quality level heads up towards the sky.
BATMAN
The first thing this trailer reminded me is that I’m really fricking old, since I still remember this one being in theaters and it came out 18 years ago. But nevermind that. What I should have been noticing is that’s a pretty exciting trailer, for a movie that came out 18 years ago. Also, what the hell happened to Michael Keaton? Is he still alive?
BEST PARTS:
This is actually true for all the trailers, but the score is friggin’ fantastic. It was so good, it almost made you forget all the awful music that Prince contributed to the soundtrack.
I’m still quite fond of Nicholson’s “Wait’ll they get a load of me,” as it still kinda scares the piss out of me.
The one thing this trailer emphasizes is that Batman has about as many weapons as some third world countries. Which definitely makes for a more exciting trailer than focusing on the Batarangs or, God help us, the Bat-cuffs.
WORST PARTS:
Kim Basinger screaming her dumb head off is quite grating. She was supposed to be a war photographer, right? How the hell did she not get shot more often?
Robert Wuhl? What the hell is he doing there?
Batman can’t turn his neck. You’d think that’d hinder his never-ending battle on the criminal underground in some ways.
BATMAN RETURNS
For the sequel, Tim Burton upped the Time Burton-ishness of the movie, resulting in the either loved or reviled Batman Returns.
BEST PARTS:
The fight between Batman and Catwoman makes the leap from Awesome to Extraordinary when Catwoman grabs the ears on top of Batman’s mask and slams his face into her knee. You’d think everyone would do that when fighting Batman. It’s quite obviously his Achille’s Heel.
The Penguin using the often-reviled art of shadow puppetry to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies.
WORST PARTS:
The Penguin’s army of penguins with rockets strapped to their backs is still less intimidating as much as freakishly stupid. And on that subject, why does the Penguin’s rogue gallery have so many clowns in it? Was there a clearance sale after the Joker bit it in the first picture?
Someone should probably remind Batman that his “do not kill” rule kind of prohibits him from knocking goons down big pits and throwing them off bridges. But maybe he’s tossing them towards big piles of pillows or something, which even if he was, he probably doesn’t notice what with not being able to turn his neck.
Catwoman’s cat-related lines like “Meow.” and “Hear me roar.” may seem harmless, but truth be told, they were the precursor to Mr. Freeze making 38,000 ice-related puns in Batman & Robin. With that in mind, Michelle Pfeiffer, I swear I’ll have my revenge someday.
Where the hell is Christopher Walken in this trailer? He was in the movie! I remember!
BATMAN FOREVER
The slight step down in quality between Batman and Batman Returns becomes a full-on faceplant with the transition to Batman Forever. You have to see the full movie to fully appreciate that sentiment, but fortunately the trailer manages to fit a good number of the most godawful moments. Yet this movie somehow still made money. Go figure.
BEST PARTS:
Jim Carrey is over-the-top and campy as hell, just like the rest of the film, but fortunately that makes for a good interpretation of the Riddler. So there’s a reason why he gets most of the focus in this trailer. He’s one of the only decent parts of the flick.
The beginning of the trailer is decent and almost manages to fool you into thinking that Tim Burton was still directing, right up until Alfred asks him if he wants a sandwich and Batman says he’ll get drive-thru. After that, everything promptly goes to crap.
WORST PARTS:
All of the duality aspects of Two-Face from the comics are instantly tossed out the window in Tommy Lee Jones’ portrayal, as he instead decides to go with “bad impression of Jack Nicholson from the first movie.” But hey, did you see him drinking out of two different glasses? Isn’t that nutty?
“It’s the car, right? Chicks dig the car.” *sound of soul dying*
Doesn’t it kind of defeat the purpose of the Batmobile being able to get in and out of dangerous situations quickly when you make it glow neon? Also, it looks vaguely phallic, kind of like everything else in this stupid movie.
BATMAN AND ROBIN
Interestingly enough, the Batman and Robin trailer is every bit as stupid as the movie was. At least with the three minute run time, you’re spared most of the movie’s lingering crotch shots and rubber nipples. Notice I said most, and not all.
BEST PARTS:
Ha ha. You’re a funny guy.
WORST PARTS:
Every single damn second of Arnold in this trailer and in this movie is the worst kind of torture imaginable. It is so tortorous, in fact, that I’m surprised Donald Rumsfeld doesn’t list this as his favorite movie ever. *Rim shot*
In case Batman Forever’s trailer didn’t beat you about the head enough about the importance of teamwork, this trailer practically screams it into your face with the impact of a fire hose. Yes, we get it. Sometimes Batman needs the kind of help that can only be provided by flash-in-the-pan actors who were last heard from in the late nineties.
That Batgirl P.C. line is so forced and so atrocious, I am forced to go to imdb.com, find out who wrote the screenplay, and then track them down to their home and administer several kicks to the groin area. Don’t think I won’t do it either, because I won’t.
BATMAN BEGINS
What you’re seeing here is what happens when you take the directorial duties out of the hands of a total hack and turn them over to someone competent. So instead of being subjected to three minutes’ worth of bad puns and plastic neon garbage, you are instead treated like an adult with a functioning brain stem and presented with a movie that respects both the Batman legacy and your intelligence. Novel concept, huh?
BEST PARTS:
There’s this overall dark and dingy feeling to this trailer which none of the Batman movies before it ever got right and this one does, as it fits what Batman is about authenticly. The colors are muted, the shadows are pronounced, and everything feels appropriately unsettling. For a movie about a hero that dresses up like a demon, that is exactly the feel you’re supposed to have.
I’m still slightly upset at myself for not having figured out that Liam Neeson’s character was R’as al Ghul the whole time, partly because (as this trailer ably demonstrates in the beginning) his mannerisms and inflections are spot-on for the character, but also because he looks exactly the same as the comic version. Maybe I’m not as big a nerd as I thought I was.
Pretty much everything, truth be told.
WORST PARTS:
I guess I’ll go with Katie Holmes. Oh, and I still hate that damn car.
The ePhone launches.
So as any nerd reading this can tell you (Nerd call-out: What up, nerds!), the iPhone 3g came out this last week and, like its predecessor, inspired long lines of impatient dorks to line up outside AT&T dealers nationwide (and by nationwide, I mean everywhere but North Dakota, as we have neither AT&T cellular service nor anything Apple-related). If you've never seen a long line of nerds waiting to buy an iPhone before, please refer to the following video of a news anchor with plastic hair filing a puff piece for the five o'clock news berating other people for the triviality of their lives:
My favorite part of the video was the part where, when quizzed on his own phone, the jackass pulls a Blackberry out of his pocket. A friggin' Blackberry. You pull that plastic piece of crap out of your pocket and you feel you have the right to make fun of someone else's choice of phone? Seriously?
Last year, I did manage to prove that my LG Orange enV was superior to the iPhone based on its orangeness. This year, however, if the iPhone 3g is an improvement over the original iPhone, then I need to upgrade my own phone to stay competitive. Unfortunately for me, the braintrusts at LG chose to upgrade the enV by turning it into a calculator. As I already have a perfectly operational calculator in my Casio wristwatch, this is obviously not an option for me. So, the task falls upon me to upgrade my own phone by myself. But how? Surely, the best way to beat Apple at their game is to add even more options to my existing phone, options not currently available to iPhone users. But how? How?
And then it hit me.
The greatest idea I've ever had.
VIOLA! Marvel at my phone and then weep pathetically, dweebs. The idea came to me when I realized that my orange enV and my orange Leatherman were the only two things that I ever used for anything. Which is why I previously carried them with me everywhere I went in their matching black leather holsters.
Ah, they're adorable. Just like brothers.
And then, one day, as I was leaving the Pizza Hut Express at the local Target, lost in thought as to how I could ultimately crush Steve Jobs' head like an acorn, I didn't notice that my Leatherman had slipped off of my belt and onto the floor behind me. Fortunately, a lady behind me noticed and kindly yelled out to me, "Sir, you dropped your cell phone!" I looked behind me and saw my Leatherman laying on the dirty Target floor and replied, "Than you, random passing stranger, but that is actually a Leatherman and not technically a cell phone..." And then it hit me, what if it was? What if it was a cell phone?
With that thought bouncing around inside my skull like a pinball, I rushed home to my basement and began furiously putting my mad dream to life. Five days of hard labor later, I finally perfected the fusion technology. So now, what you're looking at is the very nadir of technology. There can be no upgrades to this phone ever, as it is already technically perfect. Sure, your iPhone may be able to surf the web, and play music, and synch with your computer, but my phone can do all of that plus open a bottle. Can you open a bottle with your iPhone? Yeah, I didn't think so.
Never before has the world seen something as beautiful as this. So techie. So streamlined. So orange. I need fear no longer, as the workhorses at Apple cannot ever possibly top this. Screw the iPhone. Behold the genius of my ePhone. My life finally has meaning.
Now all I need to do is figure out how not to stab myself in the head when I'm answering my phone.
Things I hope I don't pass onto my child.
I don't very often get the chance to break BIG NEWS on this blog, but today I do have what would qualify as BIG NEWS. It might even qualify as BIG BIG NEWS, depending on your outlook. So here it is:
I'm having a baby.
Wait, you know what I think that needs? Bigger font size. And some ALL CAPS, and maybe just a little bolding. Let's try that again.
I'M HAVING A BABY!!!!!
So much better.
Over the 4th of July weekend, my wife and I found out that she's about three weeks pregnant. This will be our first child, and needless to say, we're both at the levels of excitement usually reserved for fans of Super Bowl-winning sports teams and crazy people. But of course, as any expectant parent can tell you, there are many, many things to worry about. For me, the primary concern I'm having at the moment is sticking my child with some of my particular brand of genetic shortcomings. These include the following:
1. Giant head.
I have a huge melon. This has caused me a certain amount of difficulty in my life, not the least of which is trying to buy hats. If possible, it would be nice to spare my child of living a life with an overgrown head. It's no fun being continuously mistaken for a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon. And being that she's the one who has to do the whole "giving birth" thing, I know my wife would certainly be grateful for a smaller head. It'll save on epidural costs.
2. Freakishly tiny hands.
This really won't be too much of a problem if it's a girl, as when a girl has small hands, they're referred to as dainty. But if it's a boy, he'd best be prepared to a life of being treated as he's in the circus. You generally just learn to keep your hands in your pockets as much as possible. There are benefits to smaller hands, however, such as having the ability to wash out the insides of glasses, and the capacity for having a fair fist fight with a chipmunk.
3. Delusions of grandeur.
I just worry that if my kid is half as handsome as I am, that it might be difficult for him/her to make their way through life without making other people insanely jealous. Fortunately, if they have my intelligence and rational sense, they won't care about other people's opinons any more than I do.
4. Arachnid superpowers.
The downside of having the proportionate strengths of a spider and the ability to shoot webbing out a gland in my palm is that with great power comes great something or other. Also, fighting crime takes up a lot of time that could be better devoted to watching television and playing Wii. So for the sake of my child, I certainly hope that he/she isn't cursed with the same crime fighting powers that I am, if for no other reason that I really don't need the competition.
5. Webbed feet.
I don't think I really need to explain this one.
Truth be told, despite the above listed nonsense-as-usual, I have very few fears about what my child will end up being like. If it has even a fraction of my wife's gentle heart and radiating beauty, and maybe just a little bit of its old man's creativity, then we'll have the greatest kid this world's ever seen. But even if it doesn't, it'll still be the greatest kid ever, because that's just how it works. So even though I would prefer that my kid didn't have his dad's bushy Russian eyebrows or proclivity for writing long, droning blog entries, the first time I have the privilege of meeting my first born child, I swear the only thing I'm going to see is flawless perfection.
I have no idea what my kid is going to be like, but I'm telling you now, I can barely wait to find out.
Top 5 Animated Movies That Will Suck In Comparison To Wall-E
I don't think I have to tell you about the many delights to be had from seeing a Pixar movie in the theater. I have seen all of them to this point and I like them all, even that one about the NASCAR cars with Larry the Cable Guy, which makes me hate myself more and more each day. But it's well chronicled just what makes the flicks so good - strong character development, superb writing, fantastic animation, genuine emotion, intelligent casting, terrific plots, etc., etc. But the one thing that I enjoy most about seeing the latest Pixar movie in theaters that doesn't get mentioned all that often is the trailers shown before the movie. What makes the trailers shown before a Pixar movie particularly sweet is that they're almost all for animated films, being that studios rightfully conclude that if you're at the theater with your pack of booger eaters waiting to watch a Disney cartoon, chances are good you might be interested to see what other animated flicks will be coming down the pike in the near future. And without exception, without fail, each and every year they all ably demonstrate why Pixar seems to be the only animated film studio that has any idea what they're doing working today.
That being said, here's the best of the worst of the trailers shown before Wall-E, and why they made Wall-E that much better by being that much worse in comparison.
5. BOLT
Whatever you do, don't be fooled. Yes, you may have chuckled a couple times at the trailer for Bolt, and you may have even thought to yourself that it might be worth checking out. Don't fall for it. Show up on opening night and the next thing you know, it's Chicken Little all over again. Do you want to watch Chicken Little again? Seriously, do you? Yeah, I didn't think so.
4. BEVERLY HILLS CHIHUAHUA
First of all, don't give me any crap about this movie not being animated. Those dogs are talking. That doesn't happen in real life. Anyway, here's how I conceptualize the initial pitch meeting for Beverly Hills Chihuahua:
WRITER: Hey, I had a funny idea for a movie.
HOLLYWOOD TYCOON: Let's hear it.
WRITER: You know those kinds of little dogs that Paris Hilton carried around in her purse three years ago? Aren't those dogs just, like, hilarious and stuff? I want to make an entire movie about those dogs, and get this: They aren't just regular little barking dogs. No, these dogs can talk!
HOLLYWOOD TYCOON: Hmm, I like it. Do you think you could have the little dogs say a bunch of labored chihuahua puns and spout out a few dated cultural references, and maybe have them do a little rap number that we can put in the trailer?
WRITER: Sure thing! I'll even get someone Mexican to do the dog's voice, like Carlos Mencia or George Lopez or someone else with no scruples.
HOLLYWOOD TYCOON: Great! Here's ten million dollars. Get to work.
The rest of the conversation is then drowned out by the sounds of gunfire. Lots and lots of gunfire. I love when my dreams have happy endings.
3. SPACE CHIMPS
It makes no logical sense that a movie entirely about monkeys being strapped into rockets and shot towards the moon should suck as hard as this movie appears to. But yet, video proof.
On a side note, is there any animated project that Putty from Seinfeld will say no to? I'm just wondering, because I've been working on a little something in my basement on Mario Paint for the last eight years, and I'm thinking he probably works for cheap. Seems like he has to.
2. MADAGASCAR 2
You know that one part of Madagascar which is the only part you can even vaguely remember about that movie, where all them fuzzy little lemur things were singing that one dance song from the late 90s and it was kind of cute and almost bordering on funny? Well, guess what? That's all the trailer for the sequel is about, which is Dreamworks' promise to you that if you show up to see Madagascar 2, you will hear that song for 90 minutes straight. Nothing but fuzzy little animals screaming "I like to move it, move it!" at you over and over and over again for a straight hour and a half. And then you will leave the theater and walk directly into traffic.
For a blog about children's cartoons, this is an awfully violent post.
1. FLY ME TO THE MOON
This movie might just be the perfect storm of suckyness; a movie that looks so genuinely awful that you'd almost think that it'd be good. Instead, I suggest that this movie looks so awful that watching it will, in fact, be on a level of pain previously thought unimaginable. Let's just count down everything that's wrong about this film. The animation looks like it was done by a graphic arts major for a class project. The main characters appear to have had their characters plagiarized verbatim from Alvin and the Chipmunks. The title is a pun. A bad pun. The only selling point is that it's the first animated movie made in 3D, as if that's some sort of guarantee of quality. They tried to make maggots appear to be cute. And most damning of all, IT'S A MOVIE ABOUT FLIES GOING TO THE MOON. FLIES. TO THE MOON. IN 3D. WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO WATCH THAT?
So that's it. After watching all those trailers which make you question your very existence, you then get to sit through Wall-E and feel good about yourself again, up until you walk out of the theater and come to the realization that those are the films you'll be left with watching until Up comes out next year. When that thought enters your head, please, don't do anything rash. Keep in mind that the world probably needs you for something.
Ruining Transformers 2 before it ruins you.
Fresh off of being named THE Greatest Movie Of All Time (Released In The Year 2007) at the MTV Movie Awards, the Transformers movie is getting a sequel. So what would you guess the title of said sequel should be? Transformers 2: Even More Explodey Stuff Than Transformers 1? Close. The actual title for the Transformers sequel will be...
Dramatic Pause...
Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen
Cool, huh? Sounds all dramatic and what not? Hell, it sounds like it could be the title of a crappy Star Wars prequel. But to analyze it further, what does "Revenge of the Fallen" actually mean? Loath as I am to admit it, I saw the first Transformers movie, so I'm what you would call "in the know" as far as what actually happened in that stupid freaking movie. So I can definitively say who these "Fallen" actually are. Only one Transformer actually died in the first movie, and that one "Fallen" Transformer is:
Jazz, the hip-hop Autobot!
That's right. Others who sat through the first Transformer movie might recall Jazz as the Transformer who spoke the movie's most memorable lines, "What crackin', little Bitches?" and "This looks like a cool place to KICK IT!" You may also recall that Jazz was the one Transformer who did, in fact, know how to KICK IT.
That's right. Jazz is the Scrappy-Doo of the Transformers movie.
Now because Jazz was quite obviously the voice of his generation, it fell upon him to be the martyr for the Transformers cause. Which is why, in the heat of the movie's climactic battle, Jazz chose to let Megatron , the leader of the evil Decepticons, step on him and then pick him up over his head, at which point he bravely demanded of Megatron, "You want a piece of me?" to which Megatron replied, "No, I want two," and then ripped him in half. It was a death scene so packed with raw emotion that I recall being so choked up to the point of doing that kind of a laugh where your ribcage shakes violently and you try to make a laughing noise but no sound actually comes out and you feel like you might possibly suffocate. Here. Enjoy it for yourself.
I swear, it never gets old.
So putting two and two together, we can decipher that the plot of the second Transformers movie will involve Zombie Jazz rising from the dead and having his revenge on a cold, indifferent world. And rest assured, Jazz's revenge will be most bodacious. Most bodacious, indeed. Where will you be when Zombie Jazz rides a snowboard off a ramp over fifteen flaming cars? How will you prepare yourself for the onslaught of his up-to-date knowledge of the street slang of today's youth? What will you do to save yourself from his pure unbridled awesomeness? ARE YOU PREPARED FOR HIS AWESOMENESS?
Next summer, Jazz is gonna get him some. Deal with it. Bitches.
-Erik Hagen
/He's the kung fu hippie from gangsta city. He's a rapping surfer. You the fool he pity. TheExpatriateAct@gmail.com
Obamas bump fists. Country gets dumber.
Someday, when we are all old and gray, we'll be able to look back at the date of Tuesday, June 3rd, 2008 and tell our grandchildren where we were and what we were doing when one of the seminal moments in this country's history occurred. Because it was on that date that this happened:
It was on that date, just last Tuesday, when Michelle and Barack Obama excitedly bumped their fists together and somehow, at the same time, managed to slam their fists into the brains of half the nation's population, making them even more brain dead than they were before. Which, when you think about it, is one hell of an accomplishment. Maybe these guys really do represent change after all.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but searching back in my memory database, I'm reasonably certain that I was aware of the "fist bump" and what it meant before last Tuesday. In fact, I'm almost positive that everybody in the entire goddamn world knew what a fist bump was. But now, after the Obamas used it in public in a moment of celebration after having finally and definitively crushed Hillary Clinton's hopes and dreams forever, you would think that they had just performed some kind of ritual human sacrifice onstage.
Or, based on Fox News' reaction, an act of terrorism:
Yessir, you heard right. A "terrorist fist jab". What they don't tell you, though, is that once his speech was over, Obama used a "terrorist wrist grab" to open his car door knob, performed a "terrorist sit down" to seat himself in his car seat, did a "terrorist foot press" on the gas pedal, and drove himself back home to his "terrorist base of operations." You know, because he's a terrorist.
So since we're now all pretending that we've never seen a fist bump before, and that since we saw the African American Presidential candidate and his wife do it on national television that it's probably some sort of secret message for Osama bin Laden, I guess it's safe to now assume that anyone who does fist bumps must be a terrorist. Good deal. I will proceed as such.
TERRORIST!
TERRORIST!
TERRORISTS!
MULTICULTURAL TERRORISTS!
LITTLE LEAGUE TERRORISTS!
TERRORIST OR NO TERRORIST!
WONDER TERRORIST POWERS ACTIVATE!
So yeah. Save the explanations, Muhammad. Let it be known that if you ever bump your fist into someone else's for any reason at all, you just showed the entire world just how much of a terrorist sympathizer you are at heart. Although I am curious, if bumping fists clearly identifies a person as a terrorist, I wonder what this could possibly mean?
This crap continues to just write itself.
I'm often asked what I think Armageddon will look like. Why everyone always asks me this, I don't know. I assume it's because I kind of look like Jesus. But up until recently, my answer has always been lots of flames, blood running through the streets, and maybe just a little gnashing and grinding of teeth. You know, the usual.
But now, I think I have a more educated answer to provide. It'll look something like this.
Yup. Sorry to say, but this is it. It has been a well-documented fact that you give a monkey an instrument of death and/or destruction and he will inevitably use it on the first human being he sees. Everybody knew this, but apparently the stupid scientists of the world seem to think that you can teach monkeys to control robots with their wicked monkey brains and no harm will come of it. Well, guess what. It won't be anywhere near as cute and adorable when you're having the life crushed out of you by the monkeys with their giant robotic arms.
So this is how it ends. Not with a bang, nor with a whimper, but with 50-foot-tall robotic death monkeys. Everyone better start hoping I figure out how to get my 55-foot-tall robotic ninja lemur operational. Needless to say, it may just be humanity's last, best chance for survival.
A Tribute To The Longest Blog Post Ever Written.
I know what you're thinking. You've been wondering where I've been, counting down the days since last I wrote a blog. What's it been, like two or three months? Something like that. Anyway, I can explain everything. Here's what happened.
Sometime a while back, I had an idea. An ambitious idea. I was going to write The Longest Blog Post Ever Written. Not really knowing how long the existing Longest Blog Post Ever Written was, and not knowing where to look to discover this info, I decided there was only one safe way to claim the title of The Longest Blog Post Ever Written - to write an entry so long that no other post could possibly be as long.
So for 28 consecutive days, I wrote in one continuous string, not stopping for sleep or food or, at certain points, even to breathe. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, each day my beard getting longer and longer until it eventually grew so long that it folded atop my keyboard in a comical fashion. I wrote a post so long that the scroll bar on this page stretched somewhere around eighteen feet. I wrote so much that I wore 2/5th of an inch from each finger. I covered every subject I could think of - music, movies, politics, religion, biographical details of my life and times in the second through third grades, food reviews, detailed descriptions of my socks, a detailed thesis on William Faulkner's seminal novel Light In August, a psychological profile of Britney Spears' children, a fully thought out and researched explanation of the meaning of life and two separate accounts of the time I met Tom Selleck (For those who don't know, he's a really nice guy). It was glorious. It was awe-inspiring. It was, with absolutely no hyperbole whatsoever, THE LONGEST BLOG POST EVER WRITTEN.
And then I accidentally deleted it when I bumped into my mouse with my elbow and closed my browser window.
So that's why I haven't blogged for a while. Because I was writing The Longest Blog Post Ever Written. Which makes this post that you are reading A Tribute To The Longest Blog Post Ever Written. It is, itself, not The Longest Blog Post Ever Written, because as you can clearly see, it's actually rather short. That's because it's A Tribute To The Longest Blog Post Ever Written. Also, it's kind of a rip-off of a Tenacious D song. But that's what happens when you write The Longest Blog Post Ever Written for four weeks straight and then accidentally delete it. It makes you slightly crazy and kind of a plagiarist.
Also, here's a monkey washing a kitty. I hope we can be friends again someday.
