But Flavor Flaiv, he’s the voice of a soda can or something. He’s not trying to sell his rumored rap skill anymore. Now it’s just
I actually didn’t know he was involved with this ad. I always saw it muted and was just bothered by the fact that the beverage receptacle appeared to be manipulating its detabbed region for the purposes of speech. Thankfully, 8 different youtube users have uploaded their own personal vanity-stamped editions of this ad, always being sure to note that Flavor Flav is involved.
Look at this, the guy is EMBARRASSED that his can is talking like Flavor Flav. You may think no, it’s just because he’s in a TV college lecture hall, but after the can is uncovered it talks in a different voice and nobody is bothered.
See? All better!
Regardless of Flav content, I would not drink out of a soda can with a mouth, much less through its mouth. How do I know it won’t drink me instead? And do I want to drink, regardless of what out of, a substance which imbued an inanimate aluminium can not just with the ability to speak, but through the rapid physical alteration of matter necessary for an aluminium framed orifice to move like a mouth? I should be glad it doesn’t have teeth. But I wonder if that’s only because it passes so much soda.
Oh, also, I saw an advertisement for The Mummy 3 which claimed it was “beyond imagination.” How did they think of it, then? They could not possibly have! Therefore, the story is true. And by extension, surely, the preceding The Mummy films (Abbott and Costello could not have met it otherwise). It also follows that fellow Brendar Fraser brainbusters Bedazzled, Monkeybone and Looney Tunes Back in Action are all true stories (and Daffy Duck is a real person), and so Space Jam is as well. And so I think it goes without saying that
Now that I’ve thoroughly evaluated the situation I have realized I am better at writing about Nakio than most other topics.
It never ends.
Aw naw!
On the subject of Super Mario Brothers and invalids, in that thing which I wrote yesterday and not two years ago, I thought I would treat you to my favorite retarded rom-hack of that game, Super Wheelchair Mario. Not even brothers, just [Super] Wheelchair Mario. That Luigi is also available is an added bonus. Unlike the version I’ve had for years, which would only run in Nestical, because that’s the best, classiest emulator of all the times, I copied the changed graphics into a closer-to-functioning rom and passed the amazing on to you. It seems appropriate that a game about a guy in a wheelchair needs special assistance to be more accessible. I would commit a disservice to show numerous pictures of it with my special witty commentary when the game itself can be downloaded, played, and forgotten about in fifty-seven seconds.
Like so. Of course it’s zipped; Do you think I am made of kilobytes?!
Another of my favorites, though I don’t find it nearly as profound, is “Lesbian Tennis,” in which the women tennis players have their clothing drawn off, with large black pixel rectangles about their nipply and crotchal regions. See, you know they’re lesbians because they’re naked! It reminds me of a story Weekly World News printed maybe about 1997 (I actually have a stack of the things, never having thrown one out, but I fear to look through them (and not just because they themselves are beneath a stack of turn-of-the-century MAD magazines)) about a gay cow-boy. How can you tell he’s gay? Because he rides a horse while just wearing underwear, and, to a lesser extent, from his mustache.
Regarding the famous Super Nakio, he HAS to be naked. It’s part of his name. Naked is all he knows. He is impervious to clothing. Quite finkly, it would disgrace his family heritage were he to not be naked.
As an unfortunate post-script to this thing I wrote today and not one year and 364 days ago and did not forget about, I decided that you really needed a picture of Super Nakio in action, and I could not find it among the huge archive of asinine mario hacks I downloaded [fairly recently]. I then looked-over a presumably more recently updated rom site, and giggle-searched for the phrase “super nakio” or just “nakio” itself, perhaps hoping to find it mentioned in someone’s online resume. Ehhh, no dicks dice.* The only result I could find for it was this page in which somebody complains about someone searching for super nakio. I am always glad to help. But it is my sad conclusion that Super Nakio does not, in fact, exist. Not that there is a shortage of hacks in which Mario is naked, just none called “Nakio.” Alas.
First brought to my attention eight years ago on this page, it seemed to me perfectly reasonable to assume Nakio was real, and all this time I never for a moment considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was not to be. There may be Super Naked Badminton, Naked Little Mermaid and Super Nazi Penis Cartel Freedom Fighters 3 (and there are), but no nakio. It is but a legend, a story of hope passed down from a harsher yet somehow more optimistic time. Nakio lives in our hearts, at least. Now I am upset and desire ice cream. *I also am ashamed and desire eggrolls.
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It was never my intention to have a Nakio eulogy at the top of my page for longer than a few hours, much less two days. But sometimes that’s just the way things are.
An all amelican Tintin movie has been threatened. I suppose this is in response to my occasionally stated indifference to the massive collection of garbage forgettable feature films made about potentially slightly less forgettable tv shows from previous decades. The opportunity to make a big public show of messing up something I like rarely presents itself. Something specific, I mean. Not like music or cultural identity.
If the movie is popular, it might lead to American popularity for the comics. And that might lead to others of its sort being translated to English and adequately distributed outside India. Although supposedly the Tintin was popular in Britain, so I guess the popularity would have to exceed that, and given Amelican’s distrust of anything over a year old plus the French, that happening strikes me as unlikely. Of course Tintin is Belgian, but Americans also distrust distinctions made regarding nations they don’t trust.
I read that Tintin (2009 film) will be neither actor-acted nor cartoon-animated. It will be some strange motion-capture hybrid of the two.
Weh, I just hope it doesn’t end up looking like SKYLAND, and that if it does there won’t be any dance scenes.
(I don’t really know what Skyland is beyond that this is a scene from it and that it was unsettling when I witnessed it.) Even still it won’t be as creepy as Cars. Fichus, I wish I’d put this up when I wrote it because I don’t want to start thinking about those cars again. I’ll be nice about the [newer] robot movie and [presumably first of many] rat mov[ies] but those cars are nasty.
I also hope Tintin isn’t “updated” to fit current technology and fashion and linguistic trends. Though author Hergé was good about always having Tintin in a current make of automobile, airplane or water-traversing vessel, I don’t trust anyone else, much less politically and commercially-conscious Americans to take on the task of deciding how far that ought to go. That’s the sort of thing that’s almost never done well. I don’t want Tintin to have an iPhone or to make jokes about myspace, that’s what I’m saying. That didn’t ruin the Iron Man movie, but definitely a couple seconds. And it’s rather hard enough to take Optimus Prime seriously when he’s not talking about E-Bay. But by virtue of being magical gimmicky robot-men, they’re more inherently updatable anyway. Tintin stories rely a lot on travel taking a long time and people not being able to look things up on the internet and finding suspicious crab tins when they get out to crank their Model-Ts or whatever.
Co-director Peter Jackson is from New Zealand, yes, but one of his standard contract stipulations is the creation of a role involving Andy Serkis clambering around semi-erect and grunting which doesn’t fit in here at all unless we’ve really modernized Tintin and Captain Haddock’s relationship.
Not that I delude myself with the notion that homogayality is anything new, but I like to think those two would go about it in a more dignified manner. Tintin, after all, got his start in Le Petit Vingtième, a Catholic-themed newspaper supplement for children, so it follows that Tintin would be very repressed in certain matters. What is modern is just the common occurrence of blatant gays characterized primarily by the fact that they are gay. Or the public perception that any amiable male characters of fiction who coexist without apparent female love-interest not only must be gay, over each other, but must have this pointed out regularly. Aside from any of that, I think if anyone, the Captain is in love with Professor Calculus.
The Calculus Affair indeed!
*I’m told there was a later installment on the playstation with the exact same perogatives except in 3-D, as if the sprite animation wasn’t the only thing they got sort of right.
On the subject of Peter Jackson, perhaps I may expect good things. His movie King Kong reminded me of a Tintin book, specifically Flight 714, because of the considerable amount of time spent on the ship and then the disappointingly quick wrap-up, sudden skimming-over of details and forgetting of certain characters because whoopth! Almost outta time! As for what the enormous gorilla was expecting to do with the lady he was carrying around, if he’d revealed himself as a space alien (who needed an ultra high point to launch himself into space from), the plausibility could only have improved. As it was, it made about as much sense as
Here’s some more stuff that doesn’t make sense, helpfully highlighted to assist you in avoiding it.
Also, apparently that’s a flower bed.
This is why I could never be successful. I’d worry too much about consistency and feasibility to try anything grand and in the end someone would complain that I depicted a non-existent variety of sock anyway. How would I ever recover from that?
In summary, I have serious Tintin issues which I have no one to discuss with. Obviously.
Oh, to share something special with someone!
Because I suspect this topic requires further investurgation.
Additional reading: Tintin contre Batman, cbz format, completely unofficial, 99% not English.
While I was away from the computer… -actually, I was right next to it but it was off, and then I went outside and lay against a car hood in the rain because I’m a broken human- I remembered that the script writer is allegedly Uklandish. But they’re not all perfect, either. They invented Teletubbies, Battletoads, Mad Cow Disease and Chip Butty, after all. That’s right, they invented mad cow disease. Every Blitish person came together to put on white lab-jackets and bifocals and poured colored liquids between funny-shaped glass bottles until something exploded and then they invented mad cow disease because they were fed up with all the bovine indifference to their brilliant masterful taunts.
You might have thought that while I was away I would have taken some opportunities to finish long not-finished web-site-things without any imaginary immediate deadlines or maybe even get something important done.
Well that’s what I thought. Perhaps you know me better than I do.
Which is not to say I had a particularly rollicking time not getting anything done, either. I have forgotten how to rollick.
When I hear swimsuit legally-more-respectable-than-straight-up-pornography models interviewed needlessly on television or any other applicable medium in which their voices are recorded, they occasionally comment upon how, ha ha, no, that picture there, the swim-flesh-obscurement triangles no one would ever swim while sort-of wearing were not fabric but in fact painted directly to the skin!
And so I wonder why, if we’re painting the things into existence, should we do it in the same stupid configuration as before? Instead of little impractical triangles fastened by string, how about large round supper dishes? If we must remain nautically themed, I do suggest an old-timey sea diving out-fit (unless Scooby Doo is scheduled to appear, in which case that might not be the best choice). Why not paint the lady a big hat with fruit on it? Why not have swirly patterns branching off from the woman’s spine? Why not give her scales? Why not paint the entire human into the picture and not even hire one? Why not paint a volcano or a crystal jungle or a pianoforte made entirely of porcupines instead?
Good point! Me not need know! Me just like boobs ‘n beer!
It is worth noting that though this ad is blamed on 1990, I remember the slogan quite well despite being seven years old for most of that year and in no condition to be consuming the product. Also, surprisingly, this particular ad itself is blatantly non-misogynistic and I’m sure the Budweiser legacy department appreciates me finally placing it into such a context.
Not because it’s ignorant or annoying, I hope. What then permits being memorable in advertising? An annoying catch-phrase? An annoying jingle-tune? An annoying licensed+edited song by someone famous? Annoying pandery imagery? An annoying smart-arp mascot? I think we need new words so that we can more easily differentiate between ought to be remembered, able to be remembered and that for which nothing less than a lobotomy will ever get you restful sleep again.
Sure, I’d love for your giant pill to puke powder onto my pelvis. What took you so long?
Also, there are two “funny” yupetube videos of dorks recording themselves watching this ad, and neither comments on the fact that an enormous Dr. Mario capsule is fantasizing about vomiting cocaine onto their glowing crotchal regions. I mean first of all, that’s a terrible waste of money right there. You spent all those greater american dollars getting the stuff just to smear it on your mystery spot? Even if it’s ground up tiger horn China’s foremost black-market charlatan sorcerers agree you don’t use it that way. You could smear anything there and get pretty much the same effect. Marketers need to learn to properly represent their product.
If Lipozene can help me become a creepily drawn robot fighting robot machine, it should be evident from the simulation.
But I was in the midst of another digression. I thought upon a limerick and I thought upon a riddle, I started on a story but I stopped it in the middle.
Over the centuries, rhino horns have been carved into ceremonial cups, as well as buttons, belt buckles, hair pins, and paperweights.
I understand that The West owes much of its extravagant ways to the production and use of Chinese imports, but I had sort of hoped specialty belt-buckles for scum-buzzles was a uniquely American tradition. Can’t I have civic pride in anything? Also, oh, gee, the wind keeps scattering my paper around. I can’t decide whether I should close the window or kill a giant animal so I can chop off part of its nose.
But what do I know? Ask a reputed expert on the matter. What else aren’t you telling me, Josh?
More colored pictures than previously. Possibly you’ve seen these all before, and I still intend to discuss with myself certain items in more detail at a later date. So excyoooooooose me!
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I think I hurt many people. I do not want to hurt people anymore. Perhaps I can hurt fictional non-people instead.
Begawn! No, seriously, get out of here. I’ll show you what this makes me think of.
And it draws a sneer from me!
When I see you coming, I can either hit you or run away. Which would you prefer? My only items are bludgeoning instruments. It seems too late to offend you into not showing up by spelling your name incorrectly. You’d probably forgive me anyway.
It is not good to see me! Not for you! I insult you always!
How do you know? How are you telling me? Why are you telling me? Do you think I can help you? I had nothing to do with this! Do you think I would help you?
That was a quick recovery. I bet you don’t even remember that you used to be a potato. So happy, so fast. And how could you NOT see that branch? Blinded by muffingluttony.
And what’s that trying to enter my sight on the right?
ARRRRRRRGHNot allowed! Someone follow that thing! When it lands, confiscate its wings and bow tie. I’m not dealing with this today.
But ugh, that lizard. Maybe if it grew some teeth it could eat something besides muffins.
Don’t tell me that! I don’t need your advice! I bet that awful Life Water ad was your idea. I’ve noticed you also have a tendency to appear in front of empty white void anti-backgrounds. That stupid gargoyle thing next to you probably has better ideas, and all they do is squat on buildings all day. You’re looking especially badly drawn right just now. Oh wow, you’re so enthusiastic about your cupcake statement. I just noticed it ends in an exclamation point. It’s really not that important!
I’ve been naming your shortcomings all day, and you just noticed that? Even unreferenced frogs look down on you, and you’re taller! Stupid naked beast. Don’t just stand around and pout about it! Wear clothing if not doing so bothers you so much. And it’d better be real clothing, and not just boots or a scarf or a stupid bow tie.
That’s it. I’m going. No one deserves this.
I’m tired of all the people with their light-blue houses and hired machinery! How is there any plant left around here that still needs to be chain-sawed? What would be audacious or stupid enough to grow here?
And evidently that’s not enough, because here comes an intentionally ugly, blatantly wasteful 1950s car in fact accurately described as a “jalopy” that’s even louder! A backup plan, I suppose.
I’m tired, tired tired. Not just of this section of this town, but I mean this section of the continent in general. Every house is white or blue, and every mailbox has a boat or a beach or a beach with boats painted on it if it has anything painted on it. Every wall-hung painting is of a ship or a boat. You’re right down the road from the ocean, and I see you walking back from there every day! You have real boats! If you have the freedom to decorate as you please, why not depict things which you don’t see every day of your life? Like armadillos or the Taj Mahal or Mexicans not employed by you? Have you no imagination? It’s just like how nobody likes theoretically artistic recreations of large boots, barbed wire and dead cow skulls more than in Texas. People are obsessed with the shape of Texas. Don’t you see that every time you watch a weather forecast or visit a public building? Or is that just something city folk do?
I’m fed up and starved down of N’ England, so I will be spending the next week far away from Connecticut, far to the east. Yes, the far east (but not the down east). All the far way east to the Cape Cod. To a place which embodies everything I’m sick of here (It’s named after a fish, for frog’s sake), just without the personal accompaniments and machinations I’m not sick of, the things I maintain my few remnants of sanity with. The biggest difference seems to be, at least according to the giggle images machine, that every home has a complimentary lighthouse growing next to it. Maybe I’ll get to eat in more restaurants shaped like boats* which make no accommodation or preparation for any patron who doesn’t want lobster or clam chowder. I made sure I would be staying in a rented house, too, so I could feel like a hypocrite for decrying the decry-worthy scoundrels who come here in the summer and think they own it, polluting it with their noise and ever increasing number of fences, despite utterly gweepsing out the instant the temperature drops below 70 degrees fahrenheugen. Thankfully, the grass-cutting club continues to return through November.
If you’re wearing a coat, it’s too cold to cut the grass! Also, if the grass has become yellow through any natural process unrelated to my own natural processes forming a loving union with gravity.
I don’t understand driving in a car for half ever to reach a place that looks just like Madison and that we still need to drive long distances from to get to any specific destinations which are still all 19th century / nautically themed. I’ve exceeded my fill of dopey restaurants in which the only non-chowder soup is “cheese onion.” Tugboat Inn = Guilford Mooring 6 hours’ drive from my home. I do not like either of those places.
It is unusual to eat inside a boat and all, but that doesn’t affect the flavor of the food much. I’m tired of places judging me for only wanting appetizers, specifically chicken fingers, and not even having good chicken fingers. I can understand them not knowing their way around a quesadilla… and I’m sure they’re glad to have my support. I had to get a quesadilla because they didn’t have chicken fingers at all. Or maybe they did, but only for “li’l sailors” or “young trappers” or “subservient cabin boys for long voyages” or whatever embarrassing thing they happen to call special children orders. I really ought to know better than to not like the flesh of the same small, helpless, murdered animal in my mouth as you.
But I’m digressing, and AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHJ I’VE BEEN PUNCHED IN THE NOSE!
In the event I’m incorrect in assuming my mother no longer watches this page, I should add that, at least today, I’m not criticizing the trip[s] [them]sel[ves]. Just Maine [and places like it] thinking [they’re] great. It’s nothing against you. It’s something against [someone else].
Have you noticed that when I complain about other people’s comedy it always ends up really unfunny itself and I can’t get rid of it for five days? Gosh, I hope not.
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Oh dear. Ohhhhh dear.
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Whowhat? Male Female? You mean like Big Momma (of Big Momma’s House fame)? Or just Relationships between males and females? Drat it all, I wanted to be surprised! I was under the assumption that the human race had ceased procreating. But you have spoiled that for me, once again. I wish I lived in a world where every movie, tv show and ad for automobile insurance had a predictable and improbable romance angle in it so I wouldn’t need to look forward to them like this.
Interestingly, or maybe not, on the series Martin, uh Martin is also said to have portrayed a talk show host. I’m not going to stretch for some irony that isn’t here (though I like to imagine Martin conducting interviews entirely by shouting), I just think it’s kind of dumb. Is this simply coincidence or does Martin Lawrence find something especially fascinating about talk show hosts? And if so, what? Is he a fan of big, pointless desks and bending his neck at unnatural angles to speak with people, while others watch and are not permitted to participate or leave? I remember, relatively recently, a program appeared simply titled Talk Show with Spike Feresten. Like just “Talk Show.” Is it spoofing the medium? Is it bucking the tropes? No, it’s just another generic white* man with a funny name behind a big desk talking to people selling junk I don’t want, occasionally airing pre-taped, seriously lousy video segments intended to be interpreted as comedic. Because the true problem with this kind of show was that there weren’t enough of them.
*well he is, even if Martin isn’t.
Really, the only apparent thing the slightest bit unusual is the fact that it airs at 12 am on Saturday, or Sunday, I suppose. Even if it looked more interesting than it does I probably wouldn’t watch it then, but fortunately it doesn’t. Its signature bit seems to be “comedy for stoners,” which is as lazy and unsatisfying as you could possibly imagine it might be. I saw it once, when I was curious as to what this curious new entry on my channel list was, and remember thinking “gosh, that was totally lazy and unsatisfying.” And today I watched several of them with my internet, all for you, bimshwel, and they still are. I just wish a wikipedia editor would make a comprehensive and utterly unnecessary, never proofread list of them all.
I admit the title “extreme hitlers” sounds interesting (as you know, historically Adolf Hitler’s policies were rather reserved and rational). Alas, I could not find it online, but I have full faith in the production crew that they could make it boring and tiresome 10 seconds into its magical minute. I have seen “electric lincoln” (you should not) and verily it belongs on the internet. In fact, “lemon party,” in which old men take off their clothing and go all gropey on one another after drinking kool aid, I’m told is based on some memely internet non-joke I’ve never heard of before now and hope I never do again, and therefore it doesn’t have to be funny.
A look at the full list suggest that obese, elderly or otherwise “unattractive” men wearing triangularly shaped scraps of clothing seem to be a common theme at the talkshow show, not surprisingly (why start now? (OOOH ZZAP!)).
I used to think my tendency to create pictures of shiny hairless imp-people lacking sextual identification was a result of a brain disorder, but maybe it’s secretly a very stupid protest against someone else’s. A lot of someone elses. SOCIETY IS BREAKING MY BRAIN WITH ITS GRUBBY GROIN EXTRAVANDANZAS. I would design a bumper sticker that says “don’t let crotch be your comedy crutch” if I didn’t think people who buy bumper stickers were the sort of people who enable this perverse pelvic perpetuation.
Yes, so, apparently all the show’s bits are lazy and I shouldn’t pick on that one. Not that youtube users are always the best arbiters of quality, but I have quite enough doubt in the aspects of my life which matter, so whether I’ve misjudged a program which could at best be kind of good due to its entire basis and format being dull and unoriginal shouldn’t AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH I’VE BEEN SHOT!
So why am I telling you? Why did I waste the last hour fretting about minor details of this pointless description of a pointless thing? I thought we were done with this. How could you do this to me? I could have watched two Talkshow shows in that time and been just as miserable with less effort. I think I just liked my Hitler joke, and also that I could make one without angry lawyers sending me letters about it.
I’m not bitter, there just happen to be a lot of things which remind me of that.
No, really?
My problem isn’t the reporting of this story, just the wording, like “hey, guess what we just found out that you haven’t suspected since ever!” In factual, if this story hadn’t just been broken I would have gone on assuming it had been lying in pieces beside the end-table since early 2004 or earlier. You know, how every two months a new “study” completes claiming to have proven that eating lard out of a bucket makes people fat. “Oh, thank me, thank me! Look at this magnificent knowledge I have bestowed upon you!” like you’re Mr. Wizard enlightening the world to the wonders of potato-powered time-pieces. I get enough of that attitude from Microsoft Windows.
Guess wha: You’re supposed to recover from errors! Supposed? No, you’re not supposed to have errors at all! Certainly not serious errors. When you charge money for something and force it onto every compatible computer for sale in the entire nation that should be your way of saying that you’ve looked for errors and rectified them! And if the product’s scope is so grand that this is impossible, but you have provided functions which fix inconceivable errors as they occur, don’t get all braggy about it. Windows.
In other news, Michael Clarke Duncan: his name was ALMOST Michael Dunk Clarkin. I’m glad my name isn’t Dunk.
Whenever I hear about Amy Winehouse I always think of Amy Grindhouse and then I wonder if she has a gun-leg.
Everybody knows it’s the grindhouse gases causing global warming. Either that or steamy goings on at Wisteria Lane.
Do you want to know a great way to fully creep people out so they never talk to you again? I will tell you. If a mutual shaking of hands is initiated, continue it forever. This is even better if the other person leaned forward to be involved. I should disclaim, however, that you only ought to do this to people that you wish to never have talk to you again.
I say, old fruit, will your chum be along soon? It really is getting on for time. This fellow, is he a reliable sort, what?
Oh, jolly good.
Oh, gee, shanksh for the head-ups too late to stop me from reading the ending! I might as well not even watch now! Imdb staff really ought to change the screening policy!
Zounds! And I’d never have guessed his secret identity, but now I’ve been denied the opportunity to try altogether!
Is anyone still fooled by these? With dithered title-bar colors and a windows 95 logo? Windows 95 couldn’t even do the title-bar color shifting! That was Windows 98! Oh ho! And my critique is not finished! Hey, the last computer I had which ran typically in 256 color mode wouldn’t have been able to fit this ad on its screen at all, much less connect directly to the internet, because that was in 1994, in a yet earlier version of Windows, and this sort of sinistry wasn’t yet so common that people no longer thought to be disgusted by it! And real message boxes certainly don’t jump around! Arrrgh! This ad is utterly illogical! Everything about it is stupid and thoughtless! Why is my winning designated by an angry red x-circle? And shouldn’t the visitor after 999,999 be the winner? Why is there a maximize button on this ad? Doesn’t anyone pay attention to their craft? Is this the job you get if you don’t?
Sprite comics sold out! I’m only surprised this didn’t happen sooner. We’ve been getting ads intentionally designed to resemble cheap, hacky flash cartoons for years. I find it peculiar that the designer of this used the Sonic Hedgehog 2 first level as backdrop but Sonic Advance character images. I presume the older graphics were instantly obvious as more inventive and appealing, yet it was generally accepted that the post megadrive gangle-legged Sonic characters are 300% whorier than the originals (in any conceivable sense I may have meant that), and thus better suited for selling dopey telephones that they, as stupid naked animals would never be in position to purchase, much less afford. In fact I have it on good authority that at any sign of modern technology their first instinct is to assume a ball shape and bash themselves against it until it explodes. Surely they resent having such disablingly enormous heads as to make such tiny little telephones entirely dysfunctional. Cantinflas, even at sensible proportions they’d be out of luck with their ears in such ridiculous places. And you can forget about “texting” (please) with those giant Disney World gloves.
As for why this pair are out of scale with their surroundings, rather than referring back to the previous item’s point that the people who design internet ads surely have histories of indolent failure, this probably just happened incidentally and wasn’t expected to be noticed by anyone. I noticed! Ha ha!
Coward! Who told you my one weakness is having it suggested that my name is Phineas? I was so upset that I fell down a staircase and re-broke my leg! You win this round, shrubswine! As soon as I have my surgery I will also have my revenge!
Some weeks ago, not long in the present, a person, known as Runde, who I happened to be in occasional contact with, suddenly proclaimed that he would accept artwork subject requests from ten people, no more, no less.
There’s a lot of request requesting in the field of deviant arts, but like any other noticeably non-journalistic task the journal construction tools are used for, usually peculiar demands are made in return which seek to have other people imitate the deed and more importantly bring glory to the person who ordered the imitations, and occasionally whoever first ordered it as well. I will probably explain this in detail some other time. I actually already did but it’s… painful. I am trying to separate my annoyance at the system in general from my lack of annoyance at a situation which came up once. That means I took out the bit about “stamps,” too. All the mood-swinging was disrupting my ear-fluid.
Runde, though, not only cast out the free request line, but decided to break the indirect validation chain by dropping any arbitrary complications as well, in a display of selflessness and humility I’d rarely manage, simply stating “I would like the practice.” I bean if it was me I’d be getting all up in them journals like “Behold, my might, fools! Look at what I am doing for you! Ten silly beasts for the price of none! You now bear the weight of my eternal curse until you pass it to ten others! Is that what it is worth to you?” Runde is not a wicked sorcerer in these matters. There still was one problem, however, also me.
The wicked thought came to me what an opportunity I had to get someone else to draw a nemitz without being expected to embarrass myself beyond my usual quota at a later date (as I am no good with public displays of anything). But why? I’ve drawn probably thousands of them already, typically to a standard I regard as adequate. Any significance to having one made by someone else is lost if I have to ask for it, right?
And yet…
You may see how this “quayeg” “person” attempts to shift ultimate responsibility, either to not seem obsessed or to not seem interested, but I know the truth.
And so, not incredibly long later,
There! At the right! WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!
A reasonable person would assume nemitz can’t read, but we have no evidence nor accusation that any word comprehension is taking place here. The positioning of nemitzs’ nemittens suggests that it intends to eat the book. I reckon the robot kaiser turtle is having none of that.
I suppose it’s good to know that nemitz, at least, is better at making friends than I am. Also that it’s possible for the creature to be drawn with more reasonably-exposed eyes without looking creepy[er]. I have tried and failed, but this Runde person seems to have figured it out, and without any apparent hint of resentment, either.
If some weirdo (“some weirdo” referring to a person like myself, just not specifically me for the purposes of this hypothesis) I hardly, if at all, knew, responded to an offer I surely meant for someone else and said “eck! draw this thing you likely never wanted to be drawing and for free,” the chance is that I’d find some awkward way out of it or do it poorly or in such a way that it no longer fully resembled the thing. Yet that there is unmistakably the nemitz. Indeed, I suspect that a couple of the ten were only taken on begrudgingly, but I cannot tell which, looking at the results. That is good. If you want to have actual art-work, that’s pretty much all it is. Drawing things you hate but making it look like you don’t necessarily hate it, meanwhile wondering how The Wizard of Id could possibly have required the contributions of two people. By the basket, did you know both Parker and Hart have been dead for a year? I thought they had been murdered and secretly replaced by a jealous photocopier twenty years ago.
Rundeh is one of a small unaffiliated group of persons who for whatever reason found and left positive remarks regarding stupid junk I had made, with the effect of altering my perception of community art website users as terrible people terribly obsessed with terrible things. I still think a lot of them are, but I don’t see why you have to be so negative all the time. As you know, I only made a deviant-art page at all because some yahoo dared me.
This was a strange situation. The figures from the previous group, at least by their default arrangement on the gallery page, seem to have taken a distinct dislike to nemitz. I’m sure they have a perfectly good reason. I speculated that they may be gods, due to the immense size suggested by not fitting their entire selves on the page, and also the general influence of the devilish being lurking in the back. And… have you ever seen a happy god? They’re always mad at something. And in this case it’s nemitz. Maybe that book is the Necronomicon. I hear they plan to take revenge by dropping an empty coke bottle on nemitz.
Actually, it only appears this way if your screen resolution is above 1024×768, because a few months ago the deviant-art machine placed a big block stupid ad in the uppermost row of every gallery page belonging to someone not paying protection money. (Gods use big monitors)
Another thing I like about Ryundai is that he doesn’t waste paper. If it seems imprudent to cram mass amounts of crazy fools onto one page together he tends to occupy excess space with bizarre heirlogryphy symbols floating all over the place in such a way that they seem like they make sense there. He also has pretty handwriting. I won’t pretend I think he regards Free Sketches 4 to 7 as his best ever work just because nemitz is in it, I just thought it would function well as a selfish visual aid for me. I was really only here today to talk about that.
Yes, so… I just thought I’d mention that? I swear none of this is supposed to be an insult. I have often observed that the amount of insult I cause is inversely-proportional to the amount I intend to cause.
Look, see? Already. I have offended my own graphics by not wanting to offend anyone. Truly, I cannot win.
The internet has it in for me.
I find it peculiar that the official Michael Jackson youtube page… that there is one, but also that it has “favorites,” but only fourteen, and one of them is Patton Oswalt talking about one of my own favorite topics, famous bowls. You know he called you “molesty,” right? (watch out, it’s noise and it’s thirty-five seconds) And yes, I recorded Oswargo’s entire set talking to dumb obe Conan. I used to do that. I actually still do that on rare occasions. Eeb, some people can get the actual video and audio fed directly to their computers, and in fact there are entire communities devoted to that, one of which I may have just linked to, and here’s stupid me in 2008 taking pictures of my screen and fixing a microphone under it. That’s like something someone’s grandmother would do. Which I say because I once read something someone wrote about some relative which my memory has interpreted as “grandmother” doing that and it was sort of depressing. I remember thinking “oh no, I do that too!” And now such a loverly anecdote it makes.
But anyway, does this mean Jackson is an Oswalt fan, or just that the person who runs the page is? I imagine when you get that job there are probably very strict guidelines as to what you can give the sacred bedazzler-glove endorsement to. Or maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way and Emjay just really likes the Famous Bowls. How much do we truly know about his eating habits, anyhow? I know he likes Taco Bell, which despite making absolutely no sense if you accept their food for what they say it is is operated by the same company as Kentucky Fried Chicken. Maybe the dancing lizard money wasn’t distilling the gravy and Taco Jacko became a Yum! Brands shill. (British people pronounce “tahco” as “tacko” so that rhymes because I’m technically European by Rob Schneider standards. Now we just need to find out what “jacko” means.)
I assume that’s the official Michael Jackson page because it’s “friends” with the Sony BMG page. I should never have had to type such an incredibly stupid sentence.
Also, it has comments disabled. An impostor would leave them on just to see how many “is this the real michael?”s it could collect. Those pages are made for attention, and it’s cheaper than buying a giraffe and a ferris wheel.
I know he looks funny, but there’s really no reason to disparage his masculinity like that. Or maybe I just ended up at a fake page for someone else and welcomed an opportunity to show excerpts from it which I’d already saved before the topic came up. The fact that it’s someone I’ve never heard of would only make any desperation inspired more lovably tragic if I loved tragedy. In fact, I’ve witnessed so many muffin-eaters transform into ducks that I’ve become numb. Yet this continues.
I’m sick, ill, infirm, putrescent of “what happens in vegas stays in vegas.” First of all, Las Vegas is horrible. Second, it has billions of money so it doesn’t need you hyping it by paraphrasing its tourism slogan all the time. Thoid, that’s not even the line. It’s “what happens here, stays here.“ Figure it out! Grah! I know that and I hate that! Why don’t you, you people who say that? Oh, and there’s some dumb movie coming out called “What happens in Vegas.” No! Incomplete sentence, inaccurate reference, stupid everything! I want to punch Vegas in the nose.
There’s one, anyway. Super!
(Except “vegas” actually means something like “fertile valleys” and those lack noses so my struggle must continue).
I wish stupid ads and Elvis songs and country music awards plus all applicable broadcast signals would stay in Vegas. We should build a steel dome around it. It would be like the world’s largest tin-foil helmet, except made of steel. You can’t legally grind up and smoke some leaves to give yourself a bit of the unconditional euphoria life has denied you, but you can give $3000 to some dipe-wipe because you lost… not even lost, just didn’t win a five second card game, and live the rest of your life surrounded by popular media suggesting you must have had a grand old good time.
Perhaps tonight’s edition of Lewis Black’s Root of all Evil featuring Las Vegas versus The Human Body even though that makes no sense will address my issues. It never does, but if I tell you it won’t then it will for the first time just to make me look stupid. It seems unaware that I make myself look stupid!
It does make me mad, though. The commentary rarely extends beyond the accepted common knowledge aspects of the topics, which we’ve already been hearing jokes about, in some instances, for over ten years.
And yet, I’m actually still seeing that awful Christmas Enzyte ad. Like right now, projected on the backs of my eyelids when I blink. But I also saw it on the tv yesterday, and at 8:30pm, when I venture to assume normal people could see it. Who, at this point, is paying for the ad, and who, at this point, is paying for the product? Sometimes I think it’s me who’s paying for this. Nothing makes sense. I believe it was the great poet Lanny Poffo who once said ARRRRRRHGHGJGHGJH NOISE LAWNMOWERS AND CHAINSAWS GO BACK TO CAPISTRANO AND TAKE YOUR DECADENT DIRTY MACHINES WITH YOU, YOU SMIRKING SILENCE PIRATES!
I’m glad somebody is taking action at last!
Even if it is in a fifty year old comic book I can’t read!
Don’t let it happen again.
Need more data.
Here, the MadTV rips off public domain artwork web comics in which generic looking people say things they look like they should not be saying. And not especially well. The internet is better for this because it has no restriction on content –not just profanity-wise, but also Rupert Murdoch ideology poisoning; Mad TV will never suggest President Bush is anything worse than a lovable befuddled scamp– and material can be delivered rapidly. If you don’t like one, zippidee-doo, clickety clibbledy, there’s another! The sequence this came from took about thirty seconds to display, including a graphic announcing what it was, and it led into a commercial break at its closing.
The main thing television people have going over a single pseudo cartoonist is that they can, without embedding a big ugly rectangle or redirecting me to another page, employ motion and sound, and in this case they do neither because all they’re doing is ripping off and they seek to do no better, like that guy who copies other people’s mediocre mass marketable misanthropic merchandising morons plus whatever else and puts them on his own tacky overpriced Hot Topic dumpster destinators (though he’s supposedly a phillionaire and Mad TV’s lack of a budget is legendary).
Ehhh, the only thing worse than bringing legitimacy to the please-be-offended rabbit’s rubbish through buying it is making your own.
Also, instead of giving the clip art segment any sort of a name to be known by, like “Jerk City” or “Hi and Lois”, M. Tiv just calls it “fun with clipart,” so you know exactly what’s coming. Mad TV has no respect for its audience, and never lets them not know what’s coming. I tell you all these things because I trust you to have the sense to not watch television like this. I’d suggest you be glad I don’t watch professional wrestling anymore, but I should have to work harder than that to impress you, shouldn’t I?
Mad TV does not rip off well, in general. When it started trying to rip off Saturday Null’s cartoon segments, in particular the ones which themselves ripped off actual cartoons, it did that poorly also. In part because rather than trust some writers to work with what really just passes for an animation studio and deliver cartoons at occasional intervals, Mad TV had a production assistant download a bootleg copy of Macromedia Flash 5 and toss some virtual popsicle stick puppets together the week they needed it* because they saw on the internet that it’s possible to get by with less. The mad also does poorly creating royalty-free music for song parodies and having child actors pretend to cry over things actual kids would just sort of stare at in disbelief and dubbing ridiculous applause over the sudden appearance of recurring characters who were already hyped before the ads. It makes me mad. It should be Mad TV, not Mad ME, am I right? I’ve already reserved that for the letters I get from addresses containing ME that make me mad.
*true! Probably. Also, as a bonus for seeking out my asterisk before completing that sentence, I’ll tell you: do not look at that link.
It should have occurred to me that most of the audience reactions are faked; –not just prompted responses to light up signs, but 100% Harry and the Hendersons-issue absentee spectator laugh track– but it didn’t really sink into my mind muck until a show aired during the writer strike, comprised entirely of pre-taped material that was originally intended to appear between stage sketches or perhaps not be used at all. That’s sleazy enough, but somehow these all had laughter and spontaneous applause in them, which means the fox people either brought in an audience to look at a screen, or there was no audience. They just think I’m that dumb I won’t realize the show that’s usually meant to be funny is still meant to be funny if I don’t hear invisible ghosts guffawing the whole time, and that I don’t know there’s a strike going on. Whatever benefit this served the network, to have an “ALL NEW!” Mad TV in the midst of a very obvious writer walkout which had already seen three months of reruns was pointless because once the new guild contract was made, it was another six weeks after the three “new” episoids before the simple sketch show could return to air, because in addition to whatever else, its entire backup sketch arsenal needed to be replaced, having already been used on nights when no reasonable person would have expected to see it. If November buffoonery would have seemed “dated” by March, it was dated in February, too.
And those weren’t even full episodes. They had “classic” sketches filling space, too. I mean, what is this, Season 5? Oh snapadoodle. I want to go to sleep.
I’ve been watching Thundarr the Barbarian, too, but if I have complaints about that they generally don’t involve apathetic imitation of the internet.
Ah gomp, I’m turning into Emu-Lmao!
Why did I buy Life Water?
Because some oaf at this table took the last lemon-lime Foxon Park, that’s why.
But where, where was I put into such a traumatic situation?
C & C PIZZA
A Taste of New Haven.
And now,
A warning to consumers:
Do not go to C & C PIZZA, A Taste of New Haven. It’s more like a taste of Florida or whatever part of England I was at in 1989 when I got that pizza with scrambled eggs on it. Even for Madison (the town of me) I regarded the pizza I consumed as unpleasant. Also, there’s one garbage can and it is behind the service counter. Evidently I’m the only person in this town who generates refuse I’d rather not make someone else handle. I stumbled about in the little square of space dividing the outside from the in and I see Guy behind counter reach a hand out to get at what I’m holding, which suggests to me that this happens a lot but nothing changes because whoever’s in charge likes it that way. I suppose what the man did was nicer than let me walk around in a circle and go back to my table twelve feet away, yet something still feels incredibly wrong to me about blowing my nose on a napkin and then giving the result to someone.
It looks safe, but it is actually quite dangerous. This time I was lucky. The other person present agreed to take home the four slices which remained at the end. Otherwise I probably would have forced myself to eat them, and combined with the Life Water it might have killed me. Or someone else.
This television set is airing “Showbiz Tonight.” I have several problems with that. The first: there is a television set on in a restaurant. Second, it is airing “Showbiz Tonight.” But let me be specific. Hey, I don’t need your permission! I shall be specific! The program is Showbiz Tonight, but now is not night at all! According to CAM-RA I took this picture at 10:30 am. CAM-RA is behind by an hour, but that would make the actual time 11:30 am, and nevermind that I should not be awake at such a time of day; even if I should, Showbiz Tonight ought not to be a part of that. I consider it nothing less than a criminal act to impose night showbiz on unsuspecting diurnalists.
Also problematic: there was a discernible boot-print on the cushionoid beneath this television set, which suggests whoever operates it has lost the remote control and is standing on a seating place while wearing dirt-acquainted boots to turn the device on and presumably off at some point. Or maybe this was meant to be a hint to me. Suggesting that I ought to stand up and turn the thing off myself. Ah, hem. It seems obvious now, but in the moment there was no time to think. It was kill or be killed. It was do or die. It was Glen or Glenda. You have to understand, it was dog eat dog out there in here. In my panicked state, eating C&C pizza seemed a step above cannibalism so I did that instead. Luckily, there are three other tables in the whole place so I doubt this will bother anyone.
I wouldn’t sit over there anyway, as the only thing worse than an unstoppable voice going on and on about Justin Timberlin “drop[ping] trow” because Madonna said so and then people asking Justin to tell them that is my not being able to see where the voice is coming from. Especially when it’s a three-way split screen hydra of voices debating the details. I need to know which animatronic bust I agree with and whose to look for on the cover of the insider tell-all book I will hide behind other tell-all books the next time I’m in what technically is a book section at Target. ORLANDO BLOOM IS NOT GAY! I WILL DESTROY YOUR LIFE!
Who even says showbiz? The only people who call movies and such “showbiz” are people who call circuses “the big top;” salaried hack writers and the occasional redemption-ticket arcade game designer who hate their lives. I remember seeing the phrase “big top” used in a shockingly not disgusted Nintendo Power review of Arrow the Acro-bah and not knowing what it meant. And then I went out to Tommy K’s video and rented it anyway (I never rented Big Top Pee-Wee, thankfully). And now you’re out of business, ha ha. Fourteen years later, because you couldn’t compete with the internet or whatever and I actually find it depressing. That’s showbiz.
Oddly enough, Tommy’s Tanning still 100% in operation.
By the wuh, Tommy K should not be confused with his fellow North Branford Hamburger Hill Tommy, of Tommy Gun Choppers, which, yes, still sells cigars. Presumably, whatever wonderfully pleasant things choppers are, as well.
Showbiz. People who say showbiz. They are the same sort of people who invented the terminology “baby-boomers” or just unprotestingly allow themselves to be called that. Humans should not ever say “boom” unless describing a loud noise, but even then it should not be done in such a way as to attempt imitation of the noise. I also have very specific rules pertaining to the use of “baby” but I’ll save that topic for the newsletter.
