I meant to press out the awkward bits and post my final bit of award shunning America election coverage, and additionally finish coloring the white parts of Aw Beans Presents Stupid Comics Section 2 before Sunday, but I fear that will not happen and also my right eye hurts. Just so I know I said so.
pogpogpogpogpogpogpogpogpogpogpogpog
If Zachariah and Miriam, who, depending on what tv channel I see them advertised may or may not be “make[ing] a porno,” get any cuter I am going to buy a box of shoelaces, weave them into a high density rope like mixture and hang myself with it. Even the terminology “porno” is trying to be cute, but it just comes across as creepy, especially with the Full House tender moment voice I always imagine the announcer saying it with because I have the ad muted. Pornographic films are not cute! They’re awkward and blatant and smell bad when they’re being made. So I hear.
Seriously? Bat-Man outdid a “stoner comedy?” If he can beat the Joker and Two Face he can probably beat a couple marajuimps three weeks later. And on the subject, just because I didn’t want to crop the picture weirdly, but also didn’t just want to type text, and so have all that extra text beneath the part about “stoner comedy”: is that information useful to anybody? There are people employed by “news” (more like snews HA HA eh) companies throughout the realm who spend innumerable paragraphs across their lives restating and rephrasing meaningless movie performance records and it makes me sad to think about all the wasted effort, paper, ink, which will have absolutely no relevance or meaning in another week. Even pre-election non-vote poll analysis occasionally gets cited in the context of subsequent elections’ nonbinding polls’ useless analyses. When there are polls being analyzed just as much for weeks and weeks without proving anything, and with full awareness that new yet mostly similar polls will continue coming the whole time, it all still temporarily makes me want to die, but at least it pertains to something that does matter, eventually.
And hooryay, this makes me feel less bad about having the bimshwel site be all green for the past two years.
But does every one of these yops really need their own personal baby computer running while they not use their computers? While they talk to each other about a debate that hasn’t happened yet? And, presumably, during the debate which they should be watching instead of playing with their computers if I am to trust that they know what they’re talking about? Don’t you dare blame energy issues on me not turning my power strip off at night. And oh actually I do turn it off so you can go staple a doughnut to your left elbow. Whores.
Yes indeed, let’s talk about the debate before it happens FOR AN HOUR.
And now let’s talk about the debate after it happens FOR AS LONG AS IT TOOK TO WATCH. We know in advance that it will take this long. The picture is a bit blurry because my hands were shaking with excitement at the thought of the rigormortis I wished I was experiencing instead.
Ehhh.
Mr. Rogen seems competent enough to be allowed to live –In The 40 Year Old Virgin (no not me ell ohell) he amused me more than some other secondary characters whose actors who engaged in promotion for the film–, but I think I’ve seen enough of of him falling in love with skinny ladies and smoking the weed pots for a few ever. Also, Jonah Hill doing more or less the same thing. I didn’t even know his name for a while; he was just the fat kid who reminded me of Seth Rogen. I usually don’t recognize actors, and that’s good, because getting sick of actors in general spreads the sick around, preventing me from getting sick of specific people. That was one of my issues with with Ben Stiller and… I mean, what happened to him? Watch out, Seth.
That is up to you!
abuseabuseabuseabuseabuseabuseabuseabuseabuseabuse
Apparently this is a happenin’ joint.
moraffmoraffmoraffmoraffmoraffmoraffmoraffmoraffmoraff
I thought G4 was supposed to be the video game channel. All I see is COPS and CHEATERS. Unless cheating at video games is a crime and you’ve filmed people being arrested, I don’t understand.
But what’s that in the distance! Could it be sign of salvation? Good news for the future?
No! ROBOT COPS. Were they called in because somebody stole all the other shows? Are The Horsemen picking on Sting again? This is horrible. I mean, there are so many cops around, there isn’t even room on the G4 lineup for
Animal Cops. Houston. Every town gets its own animal cops show this year. You know, G4, you’re allowed to just air a show once per day. You don’t have to devote a whole weekend to everything.
Since first observing the copspiracy, I have been informed that a cartoon animated series based on my favorite movie as an eight-year old, Spaceballs, has been airing on the G4 channel. Yes, I suppose that makes about as much sense as COPS. Not surprisingly, once again a key member of the cast shows he’s just too big a star to participate in any follow ups on his famous 1980/90s roles.
What are you holding out for, John? Everybody’s signed on for Eddy Scissorbabies except you. Oh yeah, and Spaceballs. I mean, short of being dead, what could possibly keep you from revisiting the wonderfully zany space spoof adventures sure to be heralded and praised for all the
well now this situation may be more complicated than I thought. Alas, I do not have time to discuss the matter.
I fear my only choice is to venture through the time portal to the late 80s and close it from the other side before Captain N gets any ideas. I just don’t think a film adaptation of an Alan Moore comic is worth all this
I just realized [three months ago] that there are people who were borned IN the 1970S who aren’t thirty years old yet. That astounds me for some reason. All my life, the disco decade had seemed totally beyond accessibility and yet for some time now I have shared a first digit with people who experienced part of it. That gives me at least four more years before I’m totally outdated.
What’s the deal with Jim Carrey being in movies where he has magical powers or is enchanted in some way? First he couldn’t lie, and now he can’t say no. And remember that time he found the magic theater mask that made him turn into rubber, and then a few years later he just went full God? And I definitely recall reports roundabout the turn of the century of Mr. Carrey “becoming” Andy Kaufman, a task simply not possible within any realm of logic as the non-wizardly mortals among us who are logical know it. All this, despite being, according to popular wisdom, dumber than dumb, which, with such unchecked powers, would only make him more dangerous. Somebody needs to watch this guy.
Well, you are kind of in the Bat-Mobile. Also, I imagine your driving becomes conspicuously erratic while you’re writing in your notebook. Tearing off each note as you write it seems to me like it could only make your trail easier to follow.
E-cards are SUPPOSED to be free. Does anyone pay for them? Does anyone even still use them? I don’t think I’ve received one in eight years. To put that in perspective, there are actually people who give me greeting cards.
It seems to me that the first rule is the best value. I’m not entirely sure on the math but the nine additional rules seem to only get you about 2.4 times as much weight loss. Which is still pretty good, but man, do I really have time for 10 whole rules? Especially if I’m an idiot? Idiot seems so much more serious and harsh than dummy.
I bet I’m smart enough to not take dares from stupid banner ads.
Seriously, why should I even bother if it’s so hard that the guy in the picture got zero percent correct? And it’s harsh in its reprimands: the notification occupies an entire screen. I don’t know if I can handle that much abuse. The man is so ashamed he dare not look directly at the monitor for fear it might read the regret and take the opportunity to dispatch more wrath. you know the thing is a sadistic machine, for it persists in its persecution despite not being plugged in. My intelligence may not be that of a supreme machine but I know enough to not enter into a wager with one.
Murder yellow teeth: the worst kind of yellow teeth!
Why don’t the Secret Dentists want me to know about Teeth Whitening, the only hero believed to be a match for the Murder Yellow Teeth in combat? My life could be in danger! What’s in this for those dentists? Do they work for the Dumb Test 12000 master computer? Is this a plot to keep people from correcting teeth yellowness so that malevolent machination can make fun of them? We cannot afford to show weakness! We must get ourselves in contact with the mysterious anonymous individual who sponsored this awareness! We must band together! We must
I COMPUTER! I MAKE LINK! I TRICK YOU INTO THINK YOU HAVE CHANCE! NO HAVE CHANCE ACTUALLY! YOU NO MATCH MY TEST ME SMART! YOU DUMB NO DO TEST GOOD CAN! COMPUTER WIN MAXIMUM ALWAYS! BEEP BOOP BLIP BLOOP BOP, I SAY! ALSO WHY YOU GOT SUCH YELLOW TEETH?
In person I manage to pull off a fairly convincing impression of a rational, receptive, minimally delusional human being.
I will be at the Boston Comic convention gathering during some part of Sunday, Nobember twocend. Normally when somebody says it will “be at” a dopey convention that means the person is planning to sell junk or wear a silly costume or fight someone else from the internet (skip to the word “commissioner” if you’re curious), but I’m just going to be there, and that is all. I will see if that is an environment in which I would be comfortable shilling at a cardboard table for five hours and or not buying other amateur rubbish. It will be interesting to be surrounded by and not talking to a completely different class of people. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. I have read recently that “normal” people go to conventions now. In that case it will be just like going to an indoor Six Flags park. Instead of nerds with interests too arcane for me to understand and play Warcraft 8 hours a day will be loud fratty megaoafs who who like stuff I’ve heard of and know I hate and play Halo 12 hours a day. And instead of enormous queues before massive diaper-restraint contraptions I’ll never ride there will be enormous queues before little desks where people sign their names across the covers of lame visual fragmented self-narratives of angry black-shadowed muscly figures I’ll never read.
And so if that’s not how it is, imagine how disappointed I’ll be!
Here’s my impression of the comic-book store I went to [a few months ago]:
Hulk hulk muscles muscles muscles shiny muscles batman hulk superman shiny muslces sex hulk sex batman muscles sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex sex guns superman archie. If I had been surrounded by this twenty years ago I never would have wanted to make comics. Given my rate of output that would probably be in my own best interest. The Hulk is sort of like Ronald Reagan in that I didn’t know anybody liked him until a few years ago.
I’ve given no shortage of words complaining about horrid, simplistic, over stylized rubbish artwork being the only alternative to utter lack of effort, but even the “good” artists, with technically sound abilities can’t resist putting hard black shadows on everything and then adding ridiculous gradient highlights and occasional cheap photoshop glow effects. No balance at all. I have never in my life seen an actual object lit that way.
And almost every book was in its own sealed plastic bag, which made it rather difficult to judge one by anything but its cover. Are these comics or Kraft singles? I didn’t take any pictures because I could tell someone was sensitive / watching me.
I was mildly interested by a few outdated or Europy-looking things on a really high shelf, but I didn’t feel like individually asking to look at each, especially knowing that the chance was I wouldn’t buy one anyway. And you might wonder why I went in there at all if I had that attitude. I have a tendency to forget that things of substance rarely come for less than ten dollars and that I really hate spending money that isn’t someone else’s.
I like a good batman occasionally but I don’t know that I could take six batmen every month who may or may not exist in the same alternate-alternate universe with each other. And wouldn’t you know it, Hobbit Bat-Man isn’t even among them (though there supposedly is an imp “Bat Mite” who exists in addition to normal Bat-Man). As long as we’re on Earth 79 or whatever, can’t we also pretend that the person who does Bat-Man sort of things is Giraffe-Man or a magical cybernetic watermelon which isn’t a Man at all? (answer next week)
All the Japanese material was in a single column of shelves apart from other columns of shelves. While it was as banal by its own standards as the American booklings, the segregation still seemed a tad nationalistic.
And beside that was the “adult” column. And by adult it means pornographic, but adult takes less time to type.
While no doubt the dominant fashion trends and hands-free Riverdance inspired battle techniques among non adult female comic characters are designed to set someone off, that’s not a guaranteed thing, obviously. But regardless of that I don’t understand the point of pornographic comics anyhwa. The pictures are tiny, right? And comics are expensive, if you buy many of them. How much use are you really going to get from one issue? The need is recurring, and rather more frequently than once a month, is it not? I’m not saying it’s a stupid idea; it seems to do decent business without harming anyone, and without insulting the intelligence of society as a whole due to its inhibited promotion, so obviously it’s a good idea. I just don’t understand. Additionally, I neither expect nor request that you lend me insight here should you have any (though certainly you are free to do so if the inclination visits you).
I’m not opposed to the idea of content regarded as “explicit” being crucial or at least relevant to a plot, or perhaps, however it might happen, being interesting just on its own, but that’s not what I assume I’ll be getting into when I see a big stack of books stuffed together for such and such a reason.
77777777777777777777777777777777
This could be the most important decision you ever make.
I, personally, have a policy of never accepting waterfowl from persons who willingly wear red buckled boots. Conversely, when I am offered red and/or buckled boots by a duck, I generally turn down the offers.
baconbaconbaconbaconbaconbaconbacon
Because I insist on doubting myself, I watched another dreadful aspiring president debate. Somehow much of what discussion there was regarded how many taxes a plumber named Joe would be required to pay and whether he’d be cold at night with winter coming and whether he has enough fiber in his diet.
As I understand it (and you may find that I do not), plumbers work out pretty well with the dollars. Among professions popularly regarded as “blue collar,” whatever that means, they make kind of a lot of money. The only time I knew of a more lucrative like-hued collar it was on Scooby Doo. I’m not filled with sympathy that this one will have to wait a bit longer to buy some company. Additionally, the most successful plumbers often go on to highly profitable careers in fields such as turtle stomping and brick punching. Some discover that they earn enough floating gold currency to last several lifetimes.
One of my major problems with the democrat club, and why I can never fully assure myself that they’re the best we can get is their willingness to play along when the opposition makes huge deals of asinine childish nonsense like this. “Joe, I’m talking to you! I won’t make you pay any taxes ever! And gays have to wear beekeeper suits and you can keep your land mines out all year and I’m appointing St. Francis of Assisi as secretary of public nudity and making Mexico illegal.” I’m trying to wrap this up because I want to take a nap.
It has been pondered who will portray Joe the Plumber in an inevitable Saturday Night Thursday sketch about the debate which I rather wish I wasn’t in such a position to actually understand. Shelly Goldstein, who I don’t know at all but whose name I think sounds kind of funny suggests John Goodman in the very last sentence, but knowing that show, it is my belief that Joe will play himself and be rather awkward once the “wow! That’s the real Joe the Plumber!” excitement wears off. And then why even live when we can’t have that anymore?
By the wuh, I hate those ads for the Thursday supplement always showing Tina Fey pretending to be Sarah Palin pretending to play a flute. Hey, citizens! Tina Fey will not be appearing on the Thursday night version! She’s not actually employed by the program anymore, hasn’t been for rather some time, and I doubt they’re going to waste such an apparently big draw on a variant of the program less people know about! Oh, hey, and have you seen some of the sketches they’ve been putting on after Tina gets out of there? I interrogated the one other person I am in contact with who watches awful comedy shows, and she seemed not to have. And so I said to that “verily, a ninety-minute length may reasonably be perceived as superfluous” because I’m even phonier in person, and I optimistically pondered such an eventual horrible presentation that I at last could have no more of it. And then NBC invented a version one third in length just so I couldn’t say that was a good idea first. So I’m not telling anybody about my great idea for a pumpkin flavored dessert.
In Canada, I’m glad Stephen Harper was elected to be the prime minister again. It took me years to remember his name.
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I will provide a more helpful photogram when the job is done and I figure how to take one.
Despite my wimpily soliciting suggestions in search of anything but this, and then spending several hours crafting a totally different base picture (which I actually forgot about until I re-read that linked page in which I claim to have produced such a thing), I ended up painting the dumb ice cream truck anyway. Although by now I’ve widened the deal so much that I think the pumpkin picture would have fit, and if I’d gone with that I’d surely be done by now. I am not done.
It may even have been the case, in May, that someone said to me pumpkins were too evocative of Halloween, but ice cream was very appropriate for summer. So anyway they want me to finish the mural by Halloween. But I am not worried about that.
Now to the reason why I asked you here today: I am still unable to expel from my mental lump the thought that the above section will be interpreted not as a joke about tacky marketing but simply latent racism, or even me thinking that’s supposed to be Snoopy D Dogg because he was the one associated with that “drizzle” speak back in the good old days of 2006, and I know he doesn’t look like that. For one thing, his skin isn’t blue, and I actually drew him once and he looked more like this.
Also, in search of this picture to scan I even came across a similar y’all in connection with a decidedly white person.
The paper is also whiter.
But in the context of a wall that just anybody can look at without my personal endless attention, it seems worth being concerned about. I would be interested in knowing if there are members of any persecuted non-white minorities who read this page and additionally on a scale from 1 to done how racist they think that is.
If questioned, I could easily defend it by pointing out that the guy in the ad is getting paid for his prestige rather than having to drive an ice cream truck in winter. Also, everyone ELSE in the scene is a subhuman degenerate. But I do not expect to be questioned. People probably know better by now.
If I change the message “ice crizzeam yall” I wonder what to. I’m trying to think of some stupid cone related pun because a great one came to me in a dream which I promptly forgot upon waking. I think it was something like “How cone you resist?” or “conesider the possibilities” except ideally more horrible so for horrible to be the unmistakable intention. Another option would be to attempt to make that resemble Snoopo and change yall to yizall but then I risk having to hate myself. Adding elf ears seems to most extreme change I can make at this point.
The Friendly’s restaurant chain once had an ice cream mascot named “Scoopy” which might have worked here, but I can’t remember a single detail pertaining to its appearance. It actually makes me think of the hero from Crystalis because I inexplicably named him “Scoopy” once. At any rate, if I can’t remember it’s likely no one else would, either.
If you happen to both look at the journal and the comments, know that I had nothing to do with this here. I let people get away with all sorts of things they shouldn’t. The mystery response was comprised entirely of characters which turn into question marks when I paste them here. However, the magical babbling fish converts them, when ordered to do so from “Russian to English” into this helpful message:
Aside from the semi colon with right parenthesot, that hardly seems worth being suspended over, does it?
And if you’ve never seen the transfestunerix journal before, you’re probably better off for that. It primarily exists so I can leave regrettable commentary on the more operational journals of others, at least one of whom I suspect has gone into hiding as a result of it.
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Edit! Mr. Crizzeam now wears a classy beret. The problem is solved. We thank you for your patience.
This should have appeared two weeks ago*, but I was distracted by business. Imagine if I had a real job!
Surprise! Your favorite baseball team and your absolute least favorite baseball team of all the times have a mutually profitable relationship! Neither has any more integrity than the other! Despite being in the same geographic region both still get more money and attention than any other team –ehhh, excuse me, franchise– in the country, if not the world! Popeye will play for both!
But he’s such a splendid citizen he’ll even play for less important teams no one has heard of, like the Mets. Or rather, I suppose he’s playing against them, because it wouldn’t make sense for the ah thrower to be pitching an opposing force’s ball. Or if it did, it would be Popeye’s goal to catch the ball and protect it from further abuse. But instead of that he applies greater, opposing force to the object, which must hurt it a great deal, I think. As to why Popeye clutches a baseball bat club when he repels the ball with his mind, (for he still has the bludgeon in unswung position) that’s probably just one of the rules. Popeye always respects the law. Right?
I’ll never smile again.
No, Monki! Do not Meet Popeye! He is a bad man! Do not be like him!
Where have the heroes gone? What happened to all the good uneducated violent ruffians?
Aw beans!
Page 25 of that.
kind of boring, but pretty. But I swear to you, eventually, all these anti-climaxes are going to sort of pay off just a bit a long time from now if I do not die before then.
But now, here, a zuh and a biv, and I am no closer to truly resolving that issue around.
And unfortunately, that last row works better with two frames after it but I couldn’t find a way I liked to fit in both. Elps just wouldn’t shut up. It was hard to fit all those words, never even mind the person being addressed with them. As punishment, I forgot to draw elpses’s left arm in the second frame.
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Changban, I’m tired of these presidential debates. I swear, I’ll give them one more chance, and if it’s not better then I’m not watching any more of them!
Zmore Zucker:
It bothered me that I couldn’t quite describe why I thought American Carol, that which I whined about yesterday, was not quite satire. I would not reject something on politics alone: even the person I quoted on the MILF issue some time back can be coherent and clever when he feels like it. I figured out that it’s because the movie is unwilling to let farce speak for itself. For every comical exaggeration of leftist behavior there is a stern rightist reprimand or other immediate, embarrassing fate. Saying no no no, you fool, that is bad! It’s like Elmo yelling at Mr. Noodle because he wore unmatching socks. I can appreciate, and in a better mood laugh at the absurdity of the anti-democrat taxation video Dave Zucker developed, although the sinister voiceover in the style of an actual campaign attack ad suggests, once again, that Mr. Zuck can’t let supposed satire function on its own without explicitly stating what you’re supposed to take from it. Still, it’s more effective than simply depicting people you agree with smacking ones who you don’t. That’s my real problem with all this. Also country music and Bill O’Reilly.
I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me yesterday, other than simply that I was determined to finish that within the day and may have kept on writing otherwise. If the movie was satirical, as it claimed, characters who I’m meant to think reasonable wouldn’t be constantly talking down to and hitting the apparent protagonist. They wouldn’t have to! When I saw that in Mad Magazine I called it the Desmond Devlin ending, because that particular writer was often of the opinion the shows he was writing about had done so wrong by previous ones he’d written about just as critically. I seem to recall the Roseanne article ending with Bill Cosby taking issue and then the Mad About You comic concluding with angry words from Roseanne. Cosby may earlier have received instruction from Lucille Ball and Archie Bunker. I was not always pleased with the use of this literary device, but that was at the end! It wasn’t the Wrecking Crew fireball constantly interfering with the important task of demolishing eight story locker-door towers. Guess what, fireball! They’re nonflammable! You’re not helping!
It’s as much satire as the drawings I used to make at the age of six years with my friend Nicky, (also known as “Micky” to people who could read) of our younger brothers, in the acclaimed series “Joey and Ian Gettin’ Dead.” Lots of spikes and impromptu lavafalls (thanks, Nintendo!). It’s like when kids used to mail pictures to EGM magazine of Sonic the Hedgehog beating up Mario, even though both have died a thousand deaths in pursuit of victories against more powerful foes and neither can ever truly be triumphed over. That’s not meant to be metaphoric at all, they’re just immortal. And then I suggested it may even be even similar to the Ouroboros-like tendency for internet artists who have fans to draw pictures of themselves yelling at their own fans, often depicted as screaming incoherent masses, and it occurred to me that too much of my life experience involves varyingly spoiled children with access to paper. To put that in perspective, I wasn’t at all worried about the ramifications of my Elmo reference. But verily, we are often incapable of depicting people who think differently from us without making it an ugly 1/2 dimensional stereotype for which the only remedy is pain. You probably knew that. Why am I here?
Stephen Colbert used to argue with Russ Lieber, a sniveling, persuasively impotent, organic farming liberal portrayed by David Cross, and Stephen always appeared to be the more respectable of the two when Russ would find himself in an endless series of back-tracks for his own attempts to please everybody. In essence, he slapped himself. If an alternate universe D.Zuck were in charge, Russ would assertively, non-ironically lecture Stephen on the glories of the Clinton administration and throw a bowling ball at him and it would make a “klang” sound. The agenda is too important to risk having be misunderstood. But we can still be zany!
I do wish the Colbert people would bring Lieber back to the program, though, even if it had to be under such circumstances, which it wouldn’t. He hasn’t been on the show in a year and most of another, if the website’s archive is as comprehensive as the tv ads state. Fictional ridiculous opponents are plenty more entertaining than actual boring, ridiculous in a non-funny way folk musicians that Stephen can’t risk offending by calling out on their miserable horrible songs which they then proceed to perform without incident.
The fact that Colbert was invited to deliver and write his own speech at the White House correspondent dinner, and nobody at any point heard of this plan and said “no, that will not do,” just shows how well the pro-Bush mind grasps satire: it doesn’t. Somehow people believed he was really the pig-biting mad conservative forklogan he portrays on television.
I don’t believe conservatives, as a gross unfair generalization, are scared to show someone recite extreme left dogma nobody really believes without getting punished immediately, they just don’t want to, and I suppose I can’t change that. How can you reason with a group that makes pronunciation of “nuclear” a partisan political issue?
Oh no, I’m going to mention the vice president debate after awful.
It did worry me a bit, right at the end (I think I was watched CBS, thus depriving myself of magical real time line graphs), that Bob Schieffer, who is going to be moderating at the last debate, didn’t think mannequin on the move Sarah Palin had made any “blunders.” No, because everything was deliberate and premeditated. You can’t be that confident in your own willful negligence by accident. Is refusing to engage in debate at a debate really a “gaffe” if you do it on purpose and don’t regret it because the people you’re pandering to would prefer for you to shout until no one else could be heard anyway? How does anybody come to describe that behavior as “likable?”
It also bothered me that both candidates kept stressing the same inaccuracies as the previous debate, regarding oil from people who hate us and votes against clean energy and things like that. I didn’t even have to click that link to know. I actually remembered. Why didn’t the candidates? The Iraq money surplus actually increased from 79 to 80 billion dollars in just a week. And then both fobs tried to prove the other’s buddy lasciviously enjoys Voting Against The Troops. So either everybody hates The Troops or everybody likes them, and it makes no difference at this point because no one else is allowed to win the President Cube.
People can talk gravel all they want about Ralph Nader, I wish he was at these debates. Regardless of the dubious influence he has come under, he would, ideally, force the “real” candidates to talk about things they couldn’t easily segue into sermons they had already and recently given. Perhaps “the American people” wouldn’t be interested in his issues, and they are free to address that in their own wishes.
There, now I don’t have to post anything for at least three more days. I still might but hopefully I won’t.
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Oh, scrod. Mad tb is airing a compilation episode of old (within the past four years of recent cast members) issue dodging “political” sketches and presenting it as a new show. They really will never learn, will they? I actually turned it off, and before eleven-thirty, so there is hope in the universe.
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Yes, unnamed orange font commentator, “Disney has done it again.”
Opening today, which is apparently last week, is Beverly Hills Chihuahuahuahuahua. This is an exciting period we live in. It’s time for a whole new generation of kids to get sick of chihuahua jokes. I never thought I’d get to a point where I was nostalgic for the tasteful subtlety of the Taco Bell dog.
This brings together so many of disney’s favorite things: kidnapped dogs, talking dogs, affluent communities and racial stereotypes which are still socially acceptable to tackily exploit.
It is my personal belief that no terribly intelligent movie has been made in which a dog is kidnapped. Yet Disney has molded pretty much a genre out of that happening. The decision to have them kidnapped into Mexico was no doubt inspired by the unsatisfactory mortality rate when they are kidnapped to cold places.
I imagine some point in the distant future when I will say to my brothers’ grandchildren,
A wise human, the wisest, in fact, once remarked “Talking dog could enslave humanity.” Maybe this is how. I have to think that with every year we, as a species, become less and less valuable as potential slaves due to that which we occupy our time and so develop various strengths and senses with, but it may be enough simply to have us unable to fight back. Ehhh, and yet I am suddenly wondering how the Beverly Hills chihuahuas will return home without use of, as the Airbuddies* wikipedia page puts it, “the uncanny ability to play every sport.” Is it worth nine dollars, what remains of my self-respect and possible tyrannical dominion by wise-crackin’ four legged overlords to find out?
Oh deef, what have I done?
One thing I hate (I’m glad it’s just the one!) about ‘blogs’ is their tendency to, as a collective unit, constantly re-use the same picture while making the exact same commentless acknowledgments of popular news stories and filling up google image search with useless copies. For example, I recently wanted a picture of a rat ear and all I could find were numerous instances of the exact same picture of some poor mutated rodent with a human ear stuck to its back. “Mouse ear” gave the same, despite quite a few actual differences between rats and mice. Most evident here, that “rat ear” does not bring follow up results for stupid Disney World hats. And so I thought a dog ear would do just as well. Specifically from a chihuahua sort of dog, but in all honesty I was worried about turning up pictures related to recent media I may or may not just have complained about. So I searched for “dog ear” and got pictures of fences for some reason. Rage. That makes about as much sense as political commentary from the Scary Movie 4 team.
Oh, are we doing this today? Very well, if I must. I suppose it’s either this or whine about Sarah Palin again, ehhh? That’s good in limited amounts, but It’s like Junior Mints. But fear not: this is slightly less horrible than the last thing I hid under an “aw naw” link. I’m just trying to cut down on bandwidth. Because I use so much.
Aw naw!
The dope thinks it’s so smart just because it has its hands like that. Guess what, dope! You’re not smart just because you have your hands like that! That’s a dumb reason to think you’re smart, dope! Although any reason you came up with would be dumb, eh? Arrrgh, why would I eh at you, like you were capable of inferring anything? Dumb, dumb dope.
At this point it must be noted that just about any statement which begins “guess what, dope” is going to be derogatory in some way. And whose fault is that?
And it has no idea how hard its hands are to draw like that. None. Hey dope, apparently it didn’t occur to you that I might not be able to use my own hands as reference when they are behind my back. Oh right and they have a proper amount of fingers. Imbecile! I actually drew you so I could practice making your hands in that position without messing up a different I picture I needed that position for, to save myself trouble, and you just had to make me mad at you for additional reasons. Horrible. In short: the dope is ignorant, inconsiderate, arrogant and decadent. It is a woeful, happy parasite on society. Get a job, dope! Don’t just stand around smiling all day! There’s work to be done!
I hope the New Haven Register front page headline tomorrow is DOPES UNDER FIRE Area dopes face harsh criticism. The dope will, of course, decline to comment, only making its guilt more obvious. I mean, its name is actually “the dope.” What am I supposed to do about that?
Consider that doom imps, the foul, wretched murdering demons, are related to dopes and won’t admit it. Some people even believe that is what turned them to crime. Not being able to express their anger over being related to dopes. Sometimes I’ll ask “hey imp, how does it feel being related to dopes?” and they just screech at me. Dopes ARE imps.
I had a dream in which at some point, for whatever reason, I was made to control a dope on a map screen type thing in a video game which was not Doom. I left it idle for a few moments and it started to walk around a bit and look at the scenery. It made me mad. dopes like nothing better than to flap their feet all over town doing dumb dope things. They should not be allowed to do things they love doing. We need to find out what they hate and make them do that.
A serious moral dilemma: is it more important to uphold the ban on dopes having property or to keep its controversial ears hidden from view? Solution: CONFISCATE the ear muffs and cut off the dope’s ears.
Let me tell you something: I felt so wronged by its hostile and dishonorable acts that I challenged the dope to a boxing match on any date. It has yet to respond. That sort of apathy and indifference is one of the reasons I would like to box it. Lazy dope. The incrunchable, punchable dope. It is incrunchable because it lacks bones and cannot be destroyed anyhow. But I can still punch it.
One of the reoccurring problems with dopes is that they don’t know how dumb they are. I suggest the appointment of a special counsel whose sole purpose is to attempt communication to the dope of how dumb it is. That plan will fail, but we can say that we tried, which is more than the dope would do. Although if the dope could speak it would probably tell many lies, I doubt this one would occur to it.
Arrr, that dope. Somebody should stuff that thing in a sock and that sock in another sock and toss it in a river. It couldn’t be too much worse than 8000 litres of Sunny D. It is my theory that dopes are made of condensed Sunny D. It has the sort of vague, sinister sounding name which would be an ingredient for something like dopes, that Sunny D. Sunny dope. Typing that made me sad.
A few months ago I saw a bird outside, on the ground, when I was at the The Bathroom. The bird flew away when I started fiddling with the window, which I possibly did just to see if the bird would fly away at the noise. The bird did. Although it’s pretty stupid of the bird to think I can get it from here, I don’t want a bird that dumb hopping about in my yard. It might as well be a dope, and THAT would be 3000% unforgivable.
The dope refuses to be less dumb. If you were to say “hey dope, could you please be less dumb,” it would smile at you. Almost mocking you for suggesting that it might be less dumb. I believe this information is worth paying money to put on the internet, yes.