The weather always gets strange this time of year. I hear that it bears some similarity to Umby Ridge but I cannot figure out what.
Stereotyped pirate being hit by a tea bag where an eye patch might go. Initial testing revealed that I had to explain what this was and that I could not find a concise way of doing so.
Regular creepy lipton tea figure
Later made slightly more creaturely to seem less out of place to people who do not recognize the figure, or in general, and also be possibly more creepy.
intially these two were beside each other. I considered trying to make one of the buildings a ship or some sort of nautical-themed inn but then that seemed like it would distract from the tea focus.
top hat snake observing a yellow snake
pink unbothered bird of unspecified type in the position that the yellow snake was moved to. I also need to explain the snake’s significance, but it is easier than explaining the pirate, and my pictures often have dumb snakes in them anyway so this one does not necessarily need to have significance.
Panicked noseless meep running from a spoon. Eventually I added a pathetic mouse that did not quite succeed in running from a spoon, but did succeed in having a nose.
Blimp that I could not figure out how to make relevant. I lately considered that it could have an advertisement for coffee on it and be attracting several lightning bolts, but now the area is too cramped. Unlikes these website entries, I cannot just keep adding in junk forever. Which seems good, but unfortunately I still try.
Why is it the mopey things that get stuck up here for longer than a week?
I was not sure whether to have the 5th panel being laugh sincerely, which works better, or sigh dismissively, which is more realistic. This way, however, is ambiguous, which leads to the other party uncertain if it had or had not been understood, and if not, if this topic should be tried again, and in the anxiety over the uncertainty, decide not to, which is yet more realistic.
I did have a few jubilant women of apparently similar age and appearance, unrelated to themselves or me, proclaim at me “you’re gonna be an uncle!” And first of all, if THEY know that, then I know that. Once the unit was out, I was alerted by an actual relation in the form of “you’re an uncle.” Not “your sister has given birth at last” or even “the danged thing is out,” since I knew whose it was. For whatever reason people want to present it in the form of me turning into some gendered word and permanently affixing it to the front of my name, even though had I been dead this process would have carried on unhindered. They mean it is a favor to me, surely, and there is no way to tell them I am discomforted by it without making it a bigger problem than it ought to be. Congratulating me is also upsetting, considering that I actually make things through my own effort that the same people routinely have no interest in or interest in having interest in. Things better than THIS one that you are reading, I mean!
This congratulation means as much as the Big Why supermarket congratulating me on successfully using my free Big Why card while paying for my purchases and receiving one of their weird plastic fake coins for it.
Or at&t uverse congratulating me on being found by their obnoxious automated email and its unnecessary creepy video with a robot voice saying my given legal name that I only gave it because it is legally my name, but not what I want anyone calling me if I have a choice. I bet it would call me UNCLE if it knew and could see two years into the future since undoubtedly it has ways of knowing. It would be easier and less discomforting, for me, to just be allowed to READ the instructions, but I am not allowed to argue with the robot. Human beings are thus going to have to deal with me.
I have probably said so before, but maybe not, since I have not convinced myself I am entitled to harbor the feeling, and in any event this can be taken as my official declaration: I do not consider myself, I am not emotionally comfortable with the idea of
me being a “man.” I am a gender-indecisive being. I was born as one thing and did not like it, but I did not want to be the “opposite” either.
It would not be convincing and would require bizarre over-compensatory effort, that would likely result in some people unenthusiastically humoring my effort while others would simply be cruel.
Birdo isn’t even real, and lacks descriptive biology entirely, and still nobody accepts its choice. What chance would I have? Having a perpetually OH NO shaped mouth is fine, but don’t you dare pretend you never had a phallus that you never had.
My body barely works as it is; I do not want to mess with it and risk screwing up and having constant pain roundabout something I would prefer to pretend was not there at all. Though I feel like staying what I started as is lying to myself, trying to be the other would be lying to everyone else. I just want it not to matter. But oh how it insists on mattering.
Male is a statement that makes me uncomfortable. Female is a statement that would make others uncomfortable.
Ordinarily, I can privately not-acknowledge it, and keep me from making it anyone else’s hassle. This week’s matter forces that out and has presented some difficulty. I realize that my problem is not the primary concern of the pregnancy, but it is a concern I will have to deal with alone and without talking through entirely, since none of the exacerbators see it as anything but imaginary, unsatisfiable attention-grabbing. And I start to believe it IS because I always watch for that stuff in others, and am inclined to doubt myself. And thus I hate myself for a feeling that nonetheless occurs, and then hate myself for that.
But my sister Salgorpsponce is fine. The fluid and the tubes are out. There are middle-aged women waiting in line to empathize with her. I can imagine feeling worn out by all the attention. Raising a child is never easy or worry-free, but there is precedent for it. S does not need this website entry to be about that. I am therefore free to talk about my own weird issue.
Of the three siblings, I have been perhaps closest to this one. I knew the two brothers longer, but they became more distant, as they went and lived with/off others, developing disparate extreme political viewpoints, at one point refusing the speak to one another despite both independently concluding that a majority of international heads of state and subordinates should be brought before firing squads (and shot at). They are both comfortable calling themselves and me uncle. They do not know me well enough to have any idea that would irk me. Or perhaps they did but thought I would “get over it.” I am not an over-getter of it. Usually I get around things or go off in another direction. I can survive on private denial, if I may be left to it.
Should I show this to them? I would hate for anyone to read this entry FIRST. I almost hate for anyone to read this at all.
It is one thing to be called by a name. A name is usually more abstract than a word. It may be a man’s name, commonly, but I do not know men with the name. I will not call myself by the name, and will officially change it as soon as I become decisive enough for that, but I became accustomed to hearing it before I developed this specific gendereal issue, so said aloud by someone else (whom I have met already and who is not a condescending robot), it is mostly just a noise by this point. As long as I do not have to say it myself, I can live with it. “Uncle,” however, is very specific, gender-wise. It is like “mister” but more likely to occur outside of scumbagly “business” situations where I can hate the using party for additional reasons, such as including my middle initial, sending me credit card offers or requiring me to use a password that I cannot possibly remember, locking me out of my own account and then acting like that is done as a favor to me, and I ought to be grateful. People who were comfortable calling me an abstract name my whole life want now to put some man title in front of it. And people who only just met me want to do it also. People who barely know me are introducing me with man words to people I have never met at all.
And yet “uncle” is non-specific outside of the gender respect. Rather than a specific person, it is a man out of many men. One of the earlier people I spoke of wanted to use the vague man word in substitution of my name entirely. We do not have a gender-vague word for a parent’s sibling that does not sound like it came from a naive wishy-washy internet forum, because they do, and me insisting on one’s use would be just as dismissable to the people I am having difficulty with as asking for no word. I found advocacy of “pibling,” ostensibly a contraction of “parent’s sibling,” sounds like a little rainbow colored candy that tastes like Mr. Pibb soda. I certainly do not want anybody calling me Mr. Pibling. I might as well try and have people call me skittle or nerd, and I will at least deserve one of them.
It would be the same if we invented our own word, but I would rather have no word.
I know once the baby is in the house there will be other issues, and I will not be at risk of the baby calling me the word for some time, and by that point outside parties should be less excited about tossing it in where it does not belong, and I can ask the one person who matters to not call me that. And then I reckon I have until the age of 7 or so before the child realizes I am a complete loser who needs accommodations at every stage to keep from crumbling into a weeping heap, and starts using the word deliberately to annoy me. I was terrible to my own mother’s weird brother, but he fortunately never had an issue with the binary tree. Or if he did, it did not keep him from functioning.
The creators were able to procreate because they accepted what they were and acted on mutually functional biological impulses. What are my impulses? I have an impulse to create imps but it is not biological, hopefully.
I have been asked: “how’s it feel to be an uncle?” It does not feel like anything! Should it? I am worried at worst and indifferent at best. I suspect the asker did not really care about my answer, and thought it would be interpreted as an upgraded form of “how are you?,” the base level question askers do not want answers to. For them to fulfill a request to stop would be a challenge, since it seems to occur as a thoughtless reflex, just as my negative reaction does, though I am fated to dwell on my reflex afterward.
Clearly I am more affected by adults trying to re-frame my life in the context of this other person’s baby than anything the actual baby did in less than a week. I will admit that I find this baby less ugly than the “adorable” babies I am exposed to in trash media, but this one is usually asleep, with mouth shut and nothing leaking out. This baby would not be in a gross-out cartoon (id est: ANY cartoon) or used to sell products. I am glad to know someone with integrity.
‘Crotch-chops’ and ‘why’ do not mix.
page 3 of this we are up to! After all these years, FINALLY at page 3!
The future of the automated comic display system is currently being evaluated then, and thus I have not done it yet.
This page SEEMS useless, but it re-establishes for this “chapter” that lope is a nuisance, and that elpse is a nuisance, that the hat does not like, and solves the problem of my re-establishing that elpse hates robots on the previous page without sending the story off in a more interesting direction than I had planned before i thought to put the robots there. The robots had solved the problem of elpse being about to murder lope for having hit nemitz with the car earlier than that. And this re-establishes that nemitz and elpse forgive each other for their mutual nuisancical qualities (even though I have personally advised elpse against this forgiveness).
For the first time in a while I made up the colors instead of pulling them out of previous pages. It seems to have been an improvement, though the previous pages now appear very dull by comparison. And of course these will be re-dulled when they are printed, so it is probably better to keep doing it the other way even if that looks worse on a computer screen. But we both know that I am contractually obligated to find the most complicated, inconsistent and unintuitive way of doing all tasks.
In other news, the dumb lizard is so pathetic, sometimes it doesn’t even have a mouth, and just has a nose. This thing is incredibly fortunate I need two months to get out a new page. It has no idea how many dumb things it is not doing due to me being held up. And neither do I! Stupid things just HAPPEN when I put it on a page.
Why don’t you just shut up, nemitz. nobody has any interest in ANYthing you have to say. you might as well NOT TALK. Have you forgotten what I threatened to throw at you four years ago? Or have you remembered and here thrown my throw threat back at me? Neither of those is excusable.
Somebody who cannot read or does not understand english might look at this comic strip and think nemitz is saying something, when it IS NOT. 100% or more of what nemitz says is RUBBISH. Why do we, as a nation, put up with nemitz? I have had enough. Good NIGHT. Unless you are a brightly colored imp, in which event I wish you a very BAD night. You are so frustrating, I was distracted and inverted my capitalization scheme.
I forgot that I wrote a more comprehensive, comprehendable piece about why “children’s” music is dumb over two years ago. I could say it has not gotten less dumb in that period, but this here is based on older text than that. Maybe I am multiple people and each wants to say the same thing differently.
People have a tendency to blast any old noise to the extent that no one can hear themselves think or others speak. This happens at restaurants and at terrible parties. It makes me uncomfortable and inclined to leave. Others, who think themselves influential visionaries, via the ease with which they are influenced by things which were crummily visualized, think “I should do this at MY terrible party too! Or just whenever I play any music for any reason.”
Perhaps someone who expresses individuality by purchasing a mass-produced trinket that insults people other than the buyer, that the semi-enslaved assemblers probably couldn’t read.
Whenever I am in a car with someone who is fond of their own musical taste, even one I do not hate, they always have to reduce the volume if they want to hear me say something. And then it goes right back up again. Perhaps in the hope that I will stop saying something.
Children, I would expect, have sharper ears than people who’ve been deliberately dulling themselves for years. But I hear the terrible baby-aimed music very, very loud out my window from the neighbor’s house. I used to be terrified of them hearing me listening to music, even though I think my music is good, and so I would greatly reduce the intensity to near inaudibility if such people were themselves audible to me. They seem to have no such reciprocal fear.
Is there some deep musicialness to really “feel” with those songs? Something so subtle you can only appreciate it by blowing out your speakers? I say nay. I hear one main instrument, one voice and occasionally a really simple bass line. Curiously, I have heard much the same sort of dewwww-dadewww, dewwwww-dadewwww bass in the country music the adults of the house listened to when the children were not visiting. This was a few years ago by now, but the sister of mine is looking to launch a new baby imminently, and of course this is the most important topic. Forget the matter of bringing a new person and an additional parent into an 87 year old home that we desperately need to sell before it crumbles to dust in a town we could already no longer afford to live in: I, a 31-year old demi-human living with its own parents might have to deal with some undesirable music.
My brother Iga, at a low age, was made to listen at, and came to insist upon hearing, albums by the self-described “troubadour” Raffi. As grating as those could become, at least Raffi put his unique raffiness into his songs. It wasn’t just mass marketed focus group council of militant neglectful parents approved rubbish. He may have turned down big money from mass market focus groupers. I can appreciate that, even if Joshua Giraffe haunts me to the day I die.
And when that was over, if more Raffi really was necessary, we had a DIFFERENT Raffi tape to put in afterwards. We had Baby Beluga AND Everything Grows. I know you can fit more material onto a typical disc medium than our old audio cassettes, but these people didn’t try, despite their songs being short, plentiful and totally public domain, they’ll be done in 20 minutes and start over again.
I never expected that these people outside my window complaining about how their seagrass is taller than their hydrangeas could seem reliefesque.
My cousin in Florida had the EXACT same album as the neighbors for his children as my Connecticut neighbors, even though every one of those songs has been recorded and pressed in dreadful compilations thousands of times. Why would this version have influence 2000 miles long? I overheard that it was Baby Einstein brand, which shocked me. Not so much because I never considered knowing the muffin man a pre-requisite to understanding the functions of time and space, but because I thought that company only made mind-mushing television programming. I didn’t know they did sense-softening singalong tapes too.
It has been said, a lot, that Albert Einstein did not make out very well in basic schooling. I believe calling an early childhood development product “Baby Einstein” is correct in this aspect, at least, but only because kids who watch and listen to it will be total morons if it has its way and not because the later school material bores them. You might argue that if he had neglected his work in favor of saying “pollywollydoodle” all the day we never would have had nuclear weapons, but I’m sure Alan Oppenheimer would have figured it out eventually.
Likewise, if Baby Einstein had never been born, someone else would have had these exact same sappy singers singing the same sappy songs. By now we’ve had 20 years of Blues Clues, Elmo and Dora types, an army of “positive influences” who smile all the time, never say anything negative or unordinary, and kids aren’t any smarter or nicer. If anything, they are nastier because their concept of conflict resolution is so warped, and they think anyone who has a grievance with their unique special smiling regularly-self-photographed selves is a deranged “hater” whose criticism cannot possibly have merit.
I used to know a bunch of people who were obsessed with being offended on behalf of others or condemning with complete confidence havers of “terrible opinions.” They made little effort to socially justicify their condemnation, because the reason was evident to club members who already agreed with them, and no one else mattered, and thus nothing was proven to anybody. And they might point to a sentence like that one and say it justifies such responses, without explaining why, and then get offended when asked for an explanation. I would blame that on too much internet sooner than television, but more television certainly would not have helped.
I suppose you could say that I, despite my technologically inferior/implied superior upbringing, am perpetually angry, and look harder than anyone for things to have problems with. It is not so. I find them without looking.
And Baby Einstein does not specify “Albert.” It could be Bob Einstein, TV-I-Don’t-Watch’s Super Dave Osborne, who comes across as kind of a bonehead. And he even has a brother named Albert, who changed his last name specifically to clutter this website entry with me explaining that.
That was all based on an experience I had in 2006. November 2006, four months after a complaint to the Federal Trade Commission from the Campaign for Commercial Free Childhood or something like that about media products that purport themselves to make babies smarter whose claims are utterly unsubstantiated, which eventually led to the demise of the brand. I never heard about that. Did you? I just found out now when I went to find pictures of the rubbish. No, this stuff isn’t treated like it is a big deal. “Oh you say cheap junk from stores is bad for us? What else is new.” Unless it’s a NIPPLE that no toddler could discern was a nipple nor have any reason to feel offended by, considering that it is their instinctual inclination to try and acquire nourishment from them, nobody cares about damaging Our Kids. Hey hey don’t use The F word around my precious biological commodity! Rated E for Everyone!
By the way butt butt butt butt butt butt poop booger fockers
Even a product that serves a purpose and that is supposed to make things less messy and unpleasant is vulgar for no reason.
Actual doctors requesting that we cease a specific deliberate action get no traction unless they are used in the promotion of another product. People will BUY something because a doctor was quoted saying so, but never NOT buy something. Lunchables, Count Chocula and Sunny Dee are still available, right? I realize that I eat fried chicken and drink coke every week, and also am greatly put off by certain words. I am a lost cause.
Supposedly the Disney company recalled the Einsteinian products in 2009 after a research study suggested the things were actually of no benefit to babies, but this recall occurred two years after the company demanded that the study be retracted. And again this was not major national news despite the millions of parents who were duped by the marketing. I have not read the study, and I do not need to, and I do not need to look at “scores” on weird tests to figure out that this nonsense is way too stupid to benefit anybody of any age. I think the “harm” will be cumulative, based on months and months of non-interactive simplistic nonsense that some unreliable outside party insists is beneficial based on this or that thing that the parent of the consumer cannot ask for proof of, and probably would not ask for if they could. Parents love to brag about how smart their babies are while simultaneously treating these babies like they are idiots at best, and maintenance-heavy toys at worst. Babies get smart by overcoming challenges, unless the only way to make the “challenge” bearable is to dullen their perception. This stuff may no longer be sold, but, again, I only found this out when I looked it up just now in 2014. Parents who can’t find braindead dvds for sale (and I am sure they CAN) will locate and submit their children before something just as dumb on broadcast television without considering it might be a bad idea. Those bad scores may be related to some other thing that the sort of parent who buys those dvds does.
But forget Einstein. He is just a meaningless stereotype to people. A goofy non-specifically-European man who never combed his hair, but was smarter than me, smarter than you, because he did some science stuff, right? and was named Einstein. Surely we can find music recommendations unassociated with pseudo-religious devotion.
Gosh the Bob Dylan of regular music isn’t even all that good at it. What does that remark even mean? The guy moans a lot and has messier hair than Einstein?
I didn’t think he had 7 GOOD songs, but apparently those 7 are not only GREAT but there are 63 others that are also GREAT, and presumably some others that were great but not enough so to get on the list. Otay, so why do I only get to hear the 3 or 4 terrible songs when someone else is choosing them? I suppose I might have looked inside this magazine for insight but I was concerned about being able to use this specific complaint in a website entry three years after it was printed.
As far as being sick of the wiggles goes, “jump in the jumpy house” sounds too dumb even for them. And make no mistake, I am here to bury the wiggles, not to praise them. They might request that I jump in the big red car or inquire as to whether I could point my fingers while I did it. I am sure Mr. David is not remarkably worse than others in his field, and may have had nothing to do with this advertisement, but I am not comfortable with marketing that tries to connect something new and untested with something old that may not be questioned.
Golly bees I sure have opinions about minor aspects of child rearing! Thankfully I am not at risk of impregnating anybody or becoming pregnant.
In more relevant news, somebody attempted to give the pregnant party a baby-accessible i-phone control device, and fortunately she declined it.
Being near a pregnant person does remind me that there is positivity and chances for renewal in the world: I realized I have not worn sweat pants in years.
When I first saw this picture, I thought it was a woman pregnant with a green skeleton. I have been told this baby expects to come out with flesh and organs, but it is good to be prepared.
At last, the non-awaited fourth installment to “Worst Selling Video Games.” This is, incidentally, my worst selling recurring feature.
Kirby’s Dream Lard
Tim Meadow of Honor
Pocket Protector Knight Adventures
Super Nap Brothers Snawr
Magic of Cher
Kilnation Instinct Breakfast
Prince of Purses
Street Fighter Tuba
Grand Theft Auto on Ice City
Tears for Fears of War
No One Lisps Forever
Capital Gains Taxanadu
Raid on Bumbeling Bee
Shiren the Wonderer
Whining in the Darkness
Secretion of Mana
Why does food need to be challenging? And what dork asks this question? Who is so devoted to being trendy by doing unpleasant things to do themselves that they seek out ones that aren’t even trendy yet?
I beat the cinnamon and ice bucket challenges at the same time by combining them, swallowing a spoonful of ice water in under a minute.
Kidding, kidding. I beat the cinnamon and ice bucket challenges by not doing something stupid for the amusement of hyperbolic childish misanthropes. These are what happen if you combine America’s Funniest Home Videos and the film Groundhog Day.
You could say America’s Funniest Home Videos already had a Groundhog Day aspect, but they sure found a lot of different ways hit people in the crotchal zone. Ice buckets have a very limited range.
As the great sage Papa Bear once remarked: it’s not supposed to be fun, it’s supposed to be food! Where’s my sweetsie cola?! I put forth that it is not supposed to be challenging, either. If you find food challenging, it might not be cooked properly. Or it might be broccoli or squash. Nobody wants to watch the broccoli challenge. Maybe if you call it Doritos Presents the Jeep Toyota Summer Squash Concert Series Pepsi.
i imagine some dumb meep filling a bucket with water, freezing it, and then just dropping the bucket on someone. That probably would have been a better picture than this one, which is possible to interpret as me “accepting” the “challenge” in a “funny” way when I think it is a very dopey thing. I should have shown a dope doing it.
“but it’s for CHAIRity!” Much like the hop-a-thon, I do not see how the action causes money to materialize so I will not do it. I thought I mentioned the hopathon before, apparently I did not. I did mention the coerced saving of yogurt lids, but the principle is the same. Somebody who has a set amount of money to donate will REFUSE to donate it if I do not perform some totally unrelated, arbitrary act.
I wrote about the hopathon in relation to some “sponsored” video game sessions, and I apparently thought it was too dumb to mention. I never encountered it outside of the stupid venues where I post drawings on the internet, and imagined it would reflect badly on me to exhibit awareness of it. And thus something dumber came along and forced almost everybody to know about it.
In my first grade I was invited to participate in a hopping competition at the school I attended. To date it is the only real, fair contest I have ever won. Supposedly it was a charitable situation. I did not understand how hopping helped anybody but I knew I could do it. What I did not do was sign up any sponsors. That part did not make sense to me. It still does not, but I at least know the mechanics of it. Apparently I, a 6ish year old child, in addition to hopping, was supposed to thuggishly pester outside parties until they agreed to pay money based on how much I hopped, and then not to me. Had that been explained to me I might have asked why somebody needs me to hop before they will give money to someone else. Is that entertaining to them? To hear that a tiny human hopped many times? Are they to feel enriched and satisfied, and pay in appreciation? There were certainly no spectators. I did it in a hallway outside the principal office. The only others present were inferior hoppers and a suit-wearing man monitoring the hopping. I imagine HE got paid for that. He did not hop.
And imagine if even the people who bothered to get sponsored had not hopped. Would no money have been given? And then whose fault would that have been? The people who failed to hop or the potential donators who refused to do so due to inadequate hoppage? I do not understand why so much roundabout effort is put into guilting people into donating money. I didn’t understand it with yogurt labels that hurt no one (except me when I inadvertently see somebody licking one), and I definitely don’t understand it with momentarily exposing yourself to unseasonably cold water. It does not exhibit “devotion” or “passion” because the pain comes afterward, and is brief. When I lived in New Haven, and turned the heat off at night, and then had a shower in the morning, it was pure horror. That didn’t make me feel like donating money to any foundation, nor did it make the neighbors who watched me do it through the window want to donate. If anything it made me want to hoard more money so I was less worried about using so much heat that the monthly bill was difficult to pay, and maybe get some curtains.
You will probably do more for the cause of world health by not eating this pizza than the fraction of the purchase price that possibly gets donated would. That is NOT what this pizza is for! I say that as somebody who probably ate a hundred or so of these across the years (that was from 2005) when I had a functioning oven. If we go by the model of “donate over someone who did nasty things to themselves for no good reason,” then you may go right ahead, but the consequences always came later.
There is more regularly an event called “the penguin plunge” in which dorks jump into freezing water after taking their clothes off. This is just as stupid and has just as little causal relationship to money appearing as hopping or bucketing, but apart from a single local news filler story per year, nobody tries to make it my problem.
In the end, people are supposed to be impressed by your determination, I suppose. If you just jump in a lake or dump a tiny fraction of a lake on yourself it is over pretty fast. And if, in the case of the video game fans, you just do what you would have done anyway, then it is completely meaningless. The person in my example didn’t even show it all. He insisted that he played video games for two hours while offline. Well gosh so did I. I have probably played video games for thousands of hours throughout my life. And remember all the pizzas that I ate, long before any pink ribbons got involved! That is the kind of philanthropist I am.
I think I felt bad for the guy when I realized his other posts were mostly about the effects of his untreated diabetes, so I did not press him on the topic or save pictures of it. But here is a story of somebody who was “paralyzed” and got dorks to give him $20000 to play video games, before accidentally showing he was not actually paralyzed, and then people stopped paying. My question: why does being paralyzed make you eligible to get $20000 to play video games? And why does not being paralyzed make you immediately ineligible for it? It is a scam either way! The man was not playing them with his mouth, for eat’s sakes. Why would anybody donate money because anyone else sat in place and fiddled around for hours, if the fiddling produced nothing? Imagine if I requested donations for this! Imagine if email@example.com was my paypal address. Wouldn’t I seem like a useless hippie bohemian who gave nothing to society? Be glad you only imagined it!
I suppose on some level all entertainment fields are scams, and I should be glad that production companies and record labels do not have exclusive control over collecting money for the distribution of wretched garbage. But this still comes down to gaining your legitimacy through someone else’s product. Somebody else’s gimmick that you inherited or adopted. And from what I have personally witnessed (on the topic of video games), the sight is not all that spectacular. People wear trashy clothes (and you know because the person is recorded next to the game output, for some reason), and they grunt and breath a lot, and are not necessarily very good at the video games, and the deal is shown unedited. I am just supposed to be in awe of them as people, even though they are strictly regular at best. If I am going to observe a stranger poke about with what we should not deny are toys, they had better be gosh darn beebly good at it or uniquely entertaining in the way they do it. And at that point I could probably take it for about 20 minutes at most.
I remember, a few years ago, when I found a video series called “battle of olympus blind run.” I thought, from the title, it meant a blind person was playing the video game called Battle of Olympus, trying to get through it on sound cues and memory alone. That might justify it happening in 32 ten minute installments, and the footage showing the character falling into pits and starting over constantly. And still probably not been too much fun to look at. But no, it was less than that: just some dork who had never played the game before who thought his imprint was so precious that all five hours of it needed to be documented and preserved. And again totally unedited and unrehearsed, despite it not being streamed live. At least when something is live you can potentially interact with the dork you are allowing to waste your living.
I had a HUGE problem with “let’s play video games and FAIL,” but at least those ended fairly briefly, with the no-effort glory-seeking twit giving up in shame. I may even have criticized it for that, so let me clarify: You don’t need to give up at the game, but you don’t need to film your hours and hours of successive failures, either.
or see it like that.
I am sad to report that this very punchable lizard has rather a history of transforming into stupid things for no reason and then complaining about it to ME, like it is my fault or responsibility. Naturally, it does not learn from its mistakes.
I take special issue with this default position. Very proud! Hands on hips like it thinks it has the answers, and a condescending smile directed at those it thinks have less answers than it. it really thinks its opinion matters to people! I see it in that pose all the time.
It does not learn from its mistakes. It will continue transforming into a duck, looking sad (in my direction), then being abruptly happy again when it recovers,
and resume the proud satisfied pose that implicated it to begin with.
How is being a duck worse than what it already was, anyway? It is just PROUD to be a dumb smiling lizard because that is what it always was and it thinks attributes that it had no part in acquiring are its greatest accomplishment. What a scumbag! A pity it never considers transforming into a smart and reasonable lizard.
I propose immediate harsh sanctions against the nation of lope. Muffin and pumpkin imports are to be cut off entirely as of this announcement. I am not at this juncture advocating putting boots on the ground as this reptileprobate would probably just comment on what splendid boots they were, unconcerned that its stupid feet prevent it from wearing boots. Perhaps its feet will devolve into digitless lumps like its hands are in that previous picture. As long as it can smile and be pathetic I do not see why I should raise my expectations of it.
I have this picture open in another browser tab. I keep forgetting about it and then making very alarming laugh-noises and exclaiming “Iron Eagle!” in an increasingly high pitched voice when I unexpectedly find it again. It is the video cassette box art for Iron Eagle III: Aces,
akadaka Aces: Iron Eagle III
and sometimes just
ACES when for some baffling reason we want to pretend there weren’t two warning shots before this one. I went to a school called Aces at one point and I tell you this picture just about sums it up. That is not true, but maybe when I am yet older and do not quite remember, this explanation will suffice and I will not investigate the matter more deeply.
I attended in a hope to provide challenge for the staff, because as anyone in the field will tell you, sometimes teaching is way too easy. I know some of you like your cinnamon and bucket challenges, I prefer the Iron Eagle challenge.
I am told the larger edition was the original theatrical advertisement poster, and also that after 2 Iron Eagles this was still able to get itself into theatres. I can’t think why it was cropped for the video release. The more picture I see, and the less obscured it is by lettering, the better it looks and the less cheap their 1992 pre-Photoshop effects look.. Photoshop existed in 1992 but I doubt these people could afford it or internet to pirate it on at that time. At best they hired someone who was really good with scissors to make a collage.
What intrigues me so about this situation? Is it the enormous, legless man floating/propped up behind the tiny woman? Is it the man’s goofy facial expression and Lipton tea officer hat? Is it just the name “Iron Eagle” combined with my knowledge that he IS Iron Eagle because his colonel hat has an Iron Eagle on it? That real colonels actually have silver eagles, but this guy is so corny that he only gets a rinkity dinkity eagle made of a much cheaper metal? That the series is named after him even though he wasn’t actually the main character of the first volume? He looks so concerned. Like he just realized he is Iron Eagle and all the ramifications that involves. That was a magical period; there were two iron eagles already, and you wonder “where can it go from here?” never realizing you’re not even done yet;
there’s still Iron Eagle: on the Attack yet to be made and released. Do you grasp that? It hasn’t even been MADE yet. Iron Eagle is STILL in active production. ANYTHING can happen. Plenty more iron, plenty more eagle still to come.
Only ONE MAN will suffice! Who is it? Iron Eagle! It is no longer a remark on the unlikelihood that he would be promoted to general and receive a non-bird for his hat; by this point it is HIS NAME. Don’t tell me everyone in the movie calls him “Chappy” (because that would mean you had seen the film and have a more important destiny than reading dumb web pages) challenge in life) to me he is only Iron Eagle.
As before, it was initially presented as a non-numbered original production in the apparent hope of appealing to sequel-snubbers, with the marketers eventually having to admit, yes, this IS Iron Eagle IV, so that sequel enthusiasts could figure it out.
And if Roman numerals are too highbrow for you, we’ll put a regular 4 on the
You can tell Iron Eagle IV and Iron Eagle on the Attack are the same movie because the ONE MAN tagline is unchanged, even though in both cases Iron Eagle has visibly failed to prevent something from blowing up while he poses for the picture. Maybe he wants to make sure we understand: He IS Iron Eagle, the one man, and until we meet his demands, things are going to be pretty lousy.
Imagine if you were at the top of this structure here and you saw those dumb smiling meeps coming toward you constantly. You would agree they deserve this.
Especially that yellow one. That thing really is too dumb to live. Why? It is not a dope. It is not biologically required to be that stupid. There is no excuse for it existing. History is shown that the worst that will happen is that it will become concerned or mildly sad by falling, but probably abruptly resume smiling as soon as it is able.
Unbeknown to all but the most studied bande-dessinee scholars, Hergé had several unfinished stories in progress at the time of his death. This one is somewhat lesser-known than its similarly-titled companion.
I explained my own joke there because apparently there is very little cross-over in public awareness of an incomplete Belgian comic book published 50 years after the series’ hey-day and 1980s American puppet-based situation comedies. Who could have guessed? I usually make sure to pick only the most recent, popular topics for mashups, like screaming scruffbags + everything to maximize my potential audience.
I wanted to use a painting that people would recognize that would look extra stupid to have ALF in it, but which was not Mona Lisehhh. I have little doubt there was some ALF-related promotional material at some point which used that one. Tintin has already had a seen-from-behind run-in with it, anyhow. Death of Marat may have been a bad choice, though, since the painting is recognizable through its use of shadow, which Tintin books are not!
Also: in the final completed story, Airjay changed the sort of trousers that Tintin wears from a strikingly outdated style
to another that is presently strikingly outdated but less recognizable, and seemed looking to continue this trend in the book after it. I thought I should be consistent with that based on the premise that the thing I made up was from the same period, but with just the upper portion visible and from the back it looks odd. I point this out because AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFGGGGGGG I’VE BEEN TINNED!