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If I Were a Werewolf…


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My face, mid-transformation! Okay, you caught me…this is just an excuse to show off the beard…

If I woke up to discover I were a Teen Wolf werewolf, what would I do?  It’s easy to invade the hypothetical with ridiculous ideas, because, of course, the idea of being a werewolf is, itself, ridiculous.  I am wont to say I would transform and haunt the hillside; that I would use my wolfish form to terrorize my nemeses (that’s right, I gots more than one); that I would surprise my friends with my anamorphic secret; and that, generally, I would indulge in the hunt & the howl.  But, really, how would the world encounter a real werewolf?  The old trope of a government lab?  Public fear?  A witch-hunt on werewolves?  In the real world, how would you react to a man who turned into a wolf?  You can’t really say, right?  It’s like if a nefarious individual stepped at you in a dark alley.  Are you going to pop that fool with a right hook, or are you going to fetal-position the nearest corner or crevice?  You don’t know until it happens.  So, if some dude sprouts tufts of fur, *howl are you going to react?  You can’t be sure until it happens…

Taking that into consideration, my hypothetically being a werewolf takes on a new meaning.  See, I’m the type of person who, when littering, puts the to-be-littered item down on the ground, pretending I will pick it back up while pantomiming what I think it looks like to intend to pick it back up, all in service of the off-chance that someone is watching and actually gives a shit that I’m leaving my straw-sleeve on the pavement.  And, at the end of the day, I don’t even litter in the first place.  **Because I’m too scared.  Now apply that mindset to lycanthropy–hells-no am I haunting the hillside!  You never know, the hills might have eyes (#horrormovieallusion), and I might get caught, and people own guns (#thankyousecondamendment).  I’m not trying to die here, you know?  And with that preamble out of the way, welcome to my maybe recurring segment of If I were a Werewolf: How my Day would be Different if I were a Wolf-man

Dear Diary,

Today I almost felt insecure at Starbucks as patrons effortlessly remembered which sizes corresponded to small, medium, and large.  I don’t frequent this place.  I know enough to know that saying small, medium, or large in here is a faux pas (or faux paw, as my wolfy condition may warrant).  Which is to say, I know enough to be self-conscious about not knowing the names of things.  Damn you, Starbucks!  And so, almost feeling stupid, I ordered a Grande Vanilla Blonde Roast because I like vanilla, knew enough to know that Tall was the smallest (#thereisnologicinthisplace), and knew enough to know that  I didn’t want the smallest (#Iamnotachild).  I still don’t know what the other option is.  Did I get the largest?  Grande seems like it should be the largest.  But, then again, so does Tall.  Who knows?  Probably all of you.  You are all reading this, wanting to insult my ignorance.  And yet, I am a werewolf, lest you forget.  I could devour you.  So watch the judgment, fella.  Back to the story.  That smarmy cashier could sense my trepidation–my wolfish senses could sense him sensing it.  And I would have felt small…grrr…Tall, but I didn’t because I was a werewolf and a werewolf feels tall, not Tall.  That’s right, Starbucks, I re-appropriate your nomenclature to make jokes at your expense!  Anyway, so the cashier has no idea that I could have transformed and mauled him for taking the time to ask my name, yet not taking the time to consider that “Rice” is never someone’s name!  Who names their child Rice?  C’mon now.  My name is Reese.  Reese!  Like the candy.  Not Rice.  Like the Asian dish.  Just take the time to re-ask my name, because it is clearly not Rice…  But, because I was a werewolf, I forgave him.  He’ll never know I was a werewolf, or that I had brief plans to hound him like the sometimes-hound I am.  But I know that I am a werewolf.  And that gives me confidence.  And that’s enough.  It’s a good thing I am a werewolf, even if the world will never know.

Bestest,

Not Aware Wolf

*Not a typo.  I’m just being stupidly clever.

**And because I’m a good person.  Shit, I’ll citizen’s-arrest your ass if I see you littering.  This has been a public service announcement in the guise of a blog entry!

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Pop-Culture Hunger Games: Part IV


Note: If you missed Part I, Part II, or Part III click on the links!

The Contestants cont.

draco (2)

Rank: 7

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter:  Draco, the platinum-locked douchebag from Hogwarts, joins the game as another tribute-everyone-wants-to-see-die, though, unlike the clear frontrunner in that department–Joffrey Baratheon–Draco might actually stick around for a while.  See, Draco and Joffrey share some similarities, including, but not limited to:  affluence; awesome uncles in Sirius (yes, he was Draco’s distant uncle) and Jaime (yes, he is also Joffrey’s father); more than a suggestion of incest in both their family trees (per Draco’s pure-bloodedness and Joffrey’s, well, clearly incestuous family); a penchant for getting punched and, generally, beat the shit out of by females (Arya and Hermione come to mind); an affinity for being flanked by flunkies (Crabbe & Goyle and the Hound/King’s Guard); and, of course, (spoiler alert) the blood of fan-favorites Dumbledore and Eddard Stark on their hands.  However, in spite of all his similarities to Joffrey, Draco has one thing Joffrey does not: real power in the form of magic.  Sure, he may be a lackluster wizard by Hermione Granger standards, but, as long as he can pronounce Avada Kedavra, he should do okay in these games.

X-factor:  While Draco does have some witchery on his side, he also has an unfortunate resemblance to Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Spike.  There are two possible outcomes of his doppelgänger status, and each one of them is unsavory.  First, if we snatched the season 1-4 variety of Buffy for these games, then the slayer will stake our snakey “Spike.”  Probably with his own wand, no less.  And she will do it without giving it a thought until, of course, he doesn’t poof into ash.  However, if we recruited a later-season, seasoned Buffy, then she will likely jump his bones.  This may seem like a happy accident at first, but as soon as Draco, in the throes of foreplay, whispers something stupid like, “you must speak parseltongue, because you’re talking to my snake,” gesturing, of course, to his wee sorcerer and its stones, Buffy will smite him immediately.  Really, it’s the only fitting ending to someone who names their yet-to-be-born son Scorpius…

Luna-Lovegood-Wallpaper-luna-lovegood-25518114-1024-768 (2)

Rank: 9

Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter:  The games toyed with the idea of wresting the aforementioned Hermione Granger from the arms of Ron “Foolish-Faced” Weasley, but decided against it because, let’s be honest, she would run shit like Willow circa Season 6 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Lo, we aspire to parity here at these games.  Luna Lovegood, whose last name pays homage to the broken English of foreigners attempting to say “has sex very well,” is another high-level threat in these games.  While she is quirky to the point of Zooey Deschanel, don’t let her eccentricities distract you from her power.  She is a bona fide witch.  Sure she’s weird and her dad is something of a traitor, but she outclasses Draco in nearly every category, making her, at least to date, the most accomplished magic-wielder in the games.  That’s nothing to scoff at.

X-factor:  Beyond her spells, Luna has the good fortune of being one of those characters you just don’t kill.  I mean, she is too spacey and unthreatening to die so brutally in gladiatorial combat.  It would take a special kind of monster to slay someone like Luna.  Felling her is like felling a unicorn–only assholes do it.  There are, however, a few assholes in these games (see: above), so nothing except one who looks directly at the basilisk is set in *stone.

Check back for Part V and more of the contenders…

*Okay, so they are technically petrified.  But the joke almost worked swimmingly!

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Pop-Culture Hunger Games: Part III


Note: If you missed Part I or Part II, click on the links!

The Contestants cont.

Rank: 11

Rank: 11

Derek Hale, MTV’s Teen Wolf:  Derek is what is commonly referred to as a “hunk.”  It’s a technical term, derived & abbreviated into a noun from the 20th century adjective “hunkalicious,” meaning:  to be, or otherwise possess qualities that make one, sexy, handsome, and/or panty-dropping, drop-dead gorgeous.  This evaluation of Derek holds under intense scrutiny, as it was arrived at through generous use of the scientific method, and then peer-reviewed by both male and female experts on the subject.  Below is an abridged version of the study:

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  1. Problem:  Is Teen Wolf’s Derek Hale dat sexy?
  2. Hypothesis:  He is.
  3. Procedure:  Inspect Derek Hale for something resembling sexiness.
  4. Observation:  Wolf wolf, partner.
  5. Conclusion:  Hypothesis is confirmed.
  6. Unexpected Results:  Tester’s virginity is forfeit.

The above study, available in full in the winter issue of Werewolves are Foxy, was tested & confirmed by no less than 22 scientists, the demographics of which ranged from single ladies to nuns to Mormon patriarchs.  All agreed, and all forfeited their virginities—or whatever was left of them—in the name of cold, hard, and hot (but still hard) science.  Even the famously flame-retardant Daenerys Targaryen, upon meeting Mr. Derek Hale, hailed him as, and I quote, “H-O-Double-T HOTT!”

What does this all mean for the games?  Absolutely nothing.  But Derek, in addition to being a specimen of both science and male prowess, is a werewolf, and an alpha one at that.  He’s super strong, a bit broody, and has eyebrows as dense as the core of a sun set to supernova.  He is truly a contestant to be reckoned with.

X-factor:  Derek, who boasts a similar brew of brood to Buffy’s old flame, Angel, might snare the affection of Ms. Summers.  If Derek is able to get her to let her guard down by reproducing Angel’s preferred courting method—namely, muttering cryptic & creepy nonsense, something Derek is already a pro at—he may be able to take Buffy out, which would be huge.

XXX-factor:  Because he’s so hardcore and reminds of a young, completely-different-in every-way-but-buffness Vin Diesel, Derek gets two X-factors, and the second one has the very hardcore XXX.  Derek, being an alpha werewolf, could actually infect his competitors with lycanthropy, hence forcing them into his pack.  Once in his pack and under his alpha influence, Derek could systematically kill everyone, growing more and more powerful like a less-blind, blindingly handsome Deucalion.

Stiles Stilinski

Rank: 5

Stiles Stilinski, MTV’s Teen Wolf:  Okay, so he is not a she as per the requirements of the games.  But the games decided to make an exception with Teen Wolf, as none of the possible female tributes tested well with focus groups.  That could have something to do with the severe lack of strong female characters in television and movies altogether, but that sounds like a far too real topic for these games.  So, excuse us while we Windex this glass ceiling, and then enjoy as we continue the popular trend of replacing potential female roles with male characters…  Yay for the marriage of irony and sarcasm; Stiles would be proud!   Anyway, we chose Stiles because Lydia’s Cordeila Chase impression lacked, how do you say, a certain Charisma, and Allison’s Katniss Everdeen impression reminded too much of, well, Katniss Everdeen— we’d like to avoid the comparison to the slightly more popular incarnation of the Hunger Games, ya know?  And so, we arrive at Stiles!  On the plus side, Stiles and Derek create the type of good cop, bad cop, buddy-cop bromance angle that is catnip to focus groups.  Get over it.

Aside from not being a woman, Stiles is the lovesick, wisecracking best friend who really ought to be the hero, but, inexplicably, is overlooked by fate.  He’s the Samwise Gamgee to Scott McCall’s Frodo; a million times better-suited to carry the burden, but some destiny bullshit chose the other guy.  Really, Stiles is more likable than Scott, more relatable than Scott, and is actually a rich-man’s Xander as opposed to Scott’s rich man’s Ryan Lochte—or poor man’s Ryan Lochte, I can’t tell…is it inherently good to be quintessentially something, even if that something is “bro?”.  Regardless, unfortunately for Stiles, that slight of fate is going to cost him dearly in the games.  Stiles is quick-thinking, quick with a joke, and actually pretty resourceful, but his lack of lycanthropy makes him just another sarcastic fan-favorite.  He may last a little while because he plays a funny sidekick, but jesters don’t outlive the kings they entertain.  Stiles will die.

Also, Stiles is already making enemies by parodying them.  His latest victim is Jack Shepard, the Human Slip ‘n Slide.  This photo, and apparently Stiles himself, surfaced recently.

X-factor:  Stiles will undoubtedly be one of the more popular tributes, so his death will be a sad event.  That’s something, right?

Check back for Part IV and more of the contenders…

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Pop-Culture Hunger Games: Part II


Note: If you missed Pop-Culture Hunger Games: Part I click here.

The Contestants cont.

Wesley

Rank: 8

Wesley Wyndham-Price, Buffyverse:  Wesley is something of a renaissance man, and his frequent patronage of the job carousel has landed him gigs as a Watcher, a rouge demon-hunter, an Angel Investigations associate, a Wolfram & Hart suit-and-tie, and, finally, a martyr.  Also, and lest we forget, he had a brief stint as a baby kidnapper.

Interestingly, his bout as a baby-napper may pay dividends in the games.  That is, if he ever finds himself cornered by, or otherwise aware of, two of our upcoming tributes, Chuckie Finster and Angelica Pickles from Rugrats .  According to our pregame poll, 78% of our viewers believe he’ll kidnap the hell out of those babies, and, of that 78%, half suspect he’ll up the ante to infanticide.

Aside from his bout as a baby-snatcher, Wesley has jack-of-all-traded every corner of the job market, accruing a set of particular skills not unlike Liam Neeson’s character in Taken, Brian Mills.  However, unlike Mr. Mills, Wesley would certainly be one of the kidnappers–emphasis, of course, on “kid,” and “kid,” of course, emphasizing the toddler side of the spectrum.  Seriously, though , Wesley could be a contender.  He is familiar with many manners of fighting.  He is extremely intelligent.  And he is English.

X-factor:  There is a slight possibility Wesley doesn’t make it through the feast.  If he is too busy feasting his eyes on those delectable Rugrats, one of his competitors could easily take him out.

Buffy

Rank: 12

Buffy Summers, Buffyverse:  Ah, Buffy, the once-in-a-generation slayer who happened to be one of three slayers in a six-year span, and then one of thousands of slayers in the year after that.  So much for once-in-a-generation, huh?  What can we say about Buffy?  For starts, she’s kind of annoying, though her annoyingness is overshadowed quite completely by her quasi-fake sister’s, Dawn’s. In addition, Buffy is an expert camper, honing her skills with seven-years of  this-isn’t-the-time-to-use-that one-liners and other campy antics, as well as helping to erect quite a few tents in her day–Angel/Angelus’s, Riley Finn’s, Spike/William the Bloody/The Doctor’s, Ben Wilkinson/Glory’s, and countless fanboys’ (1997-present) to name just a few.  Here is a comprehensive list.

Indeed, Buffy is something of an undead heart-breaker.  And, it should be noted that, yes, that statement has at least three meanings, all of which are valid.  One, she figuratively breaks the hearts of the undead (Angel & Spike).  Two, she literally breaks the hearts of the undead (uh, by forcing a wooden rod through them).  And three, she is, herself, undead (having died twice) and she figuratively and literally still breaks hearts.  So, yeah.

Moreover, and this is quite important, Buffy is superhuman:  super strength, super speed, super fighting skills, super-duper in bed (we covered this earlier).  Really, there’s a good chance Buffy just dominates the games by coupling her coupling skills with her fighting skills.  However, if all the competitors gang up on her, Buffy could get taken down early.  Even so, it’s unlikely that an immediate and impromptu alliance would form, so Buffy is definitely an early frontrunner.

X-factor:  The thing about Buffy is this:  She is familiar with fighting–slaying, as it were–vampires, who, despite all logic, almost never resort to firearms.  Maybe it’s a gentleman’s curse, porphyric hemophilia.  Regardless, Buffy is just overly-confident enough to not realize that her competitors in these games are not going to honor that gentleman’s rule.  Buffy might bite a bullet if she’s not careful.

Chuckie

Rank: <1

Chuckie Finster, Rugrats:  While Chuckie is not the screwdriver-wielding swordsman Tommy Pickles would have been, he is…well, actually there isn’t really much going in Chuckie Finster’s favor.  He’s a toddler, a coward, and, most unfortunately, a ginger.  We at the games are not gingeracist (we have two loveable gingers in our own family), but we do have on good authority that some of our contestants loath the ginger scourge a.k.a. the daywalkers (we’re looking at you, Buffy).

In addition to rightfully fearing the sunlight, Chuckie fears just about everything else there is:  clowns, adventures, car washes, Santa Claus, Reptar on Ice, wooly bears, pickles, and Pickles (particularly Angelica).  Basically, Chuckie has absolutely nothing going for him.  He’ll run, but little legs can only scurry so fast.  Plus, we have on good authority that Chuckie has a penchant for leaving his shoes untied.  If he doesn’t trip one of the Admiral’s it’s-a-trap traps, he’ll likely trip into tripping one.  Perhaps it’s for the best that Chuckie Finster will never be All Grown Up!

X-factor:  Even if the other contestants don’t get him, the sun will scorch him into a gingerbread boy.  There is no upside to this contestant.  May god have mercy on his…wait, do gingers have souls?

MSDRUMO EC009

Rank: 1

Angelica Pickles, Rugrats:  If, as the saying goes, it is the thought that counts, Angelica Pickles is a frontrunner in these games.  Her thoughts are hateful and dangerous, to be sure.  Unfortunately for Angelica–and for axioms everywhere–real life doesn’t bend its knee to well-worn phrases.  Sure, on the inside Angelica is a diabolical monster prone to all sorts of savagery, but all that brutality is arrested within the stout appendages of a toddler.  If only her actions were as maniacal as her intentions…  In the end, she’s no more dangerous than Chuckie.  Not Finster, but the murderous doll whose only real strength is evil and the element of surprise.  Since the field knows she’s coming, she likely won’t catch anyone off guard.

Speaking of creepy dolls and horrible segues, we have some news about one Angelica Pickles.  It appears that her weapon of choice is her own creepy doll, Cynthia.  Cynthia is a nightmarish piece of plastic whose previous owners include Sid from Toy Story and future serial killers everywhere.  That’s solid company for evil-doers.

Essentially, Angelica is an example of a contestant that got called up to the big leagues too early.  In a few years, she could have been a Cersei Lannister, incestualizing all the Pickles’ pickles, raising the monstrous result therefrom, and generally being loved to be hated.  Lo, Angelica is surely destined for the same fate as Chuckie Finster.

X-factor:  While there is absolutely no way Angelica wins the games, there is a slight chance she could finish the games with a kill count of 1.  After all, Angelica’s weapon of choice is a lethal choking hazard to those not yet 5 and up, so watch your back, Mr. Finster

Check back for Part III and the rest of the contenders…

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Pop-Culture Hunger Games: Part I


The Hunger Games has happily filled the void left by Harry Potter as the new young-adult juggernaut.  Since I refuse to read anything that I do not write, I had a friend read me the series.  So far we are about a third of the way through the third book, Mockingjay.  The premise of pitting individuals against each other in a fight to the death is not new, but it is inherently compelling.  I think the Hunger Games series does a commendable job creating a new spin on the gladiatorial tournament we are all used to.  And so, in honor of the entertaining series, I will be creating a Hunger Games of my own!

In true Hunger-Games fashion, I will pull 2 contestants from each of the 12 districts; however, unlike the books, the districts are not based on territory, rather on pop-culture.  For example, one district will be Star Wars, from which I will choose a male and female that appear in the Star Wars franchise.  Moreover, I will not be restricted by age, nor will I technically use the lottery system; I will simply pick who I want to see fight.  Like in the books, I will rank their Hunger Games potential on a scale of 1-12 , with 1 being Joffrey Baratheon and 12 being Khal Drogo.  I will write a blurb explaining their tendencies, personalities, weapons, x-factors, and etcetera.  Then I will describe the arena in which the games will be played.  And, lastly, I will take everything into account, give a brief description of the games, and then crown a winner.  Good luck, and may the odds ever be in your favor!

The Contestants

Wet Jack

Rank: 9

Jack Shepard, LOST:  Jack has been affectionately dubbed the Human Slip ‘n Slide, and he’s more than earned the nickname.  He is an avid sweater, telling our own Caesar Flickerman that “the world is his sauna.”  Jack’s penchant for perspiration gives him an obvious advantage in grappling combat, as he noted:  “Fists and kicks are hydrophobic…and I’m a waterfall!”  Beyond his pouring pores, Jack figures to excel early on when contestants tend to unify into tenuous alliances.  We suspect he’ll parlay his intrinsic leadership, medical expertise, and lost-on-a-desert-island experience into early success.

However, we suspect Jack’s reliance on the reliance of a group will be his undoing.  He’ll lull into that familiar leadership role, never supposing the killing blow will come from behind, right in his we-have-to-go-back back.

X-factor:  Jack’s healthy fear of others may save him from his group’s inevitable betrayal, making him a dark horse to win.

danielle-rousseau

Rank: 3-8

Danielle Rousseau, LOST:  Rousseau is what we in the business refer to as a Spoiler.  She will never win the games, but she is just unpredictable and skilled enough to spoil a frontrunner or two’s chances.  She has already lost a finger and the games haven’t even started yet.  At one of last week’s buffets she was seen gnawing on her pinky, smearing the blood–creating what she referred to as:  “Makeshift lipstick”.  When asked why she was consuming her own finger, she whispered to the wall in her native french (translated here for your convenience):  “No food.  Finger-licking good.  Mmmmmmmmm…”

When they aren’t moving through her digestive tract, Rousseau’s fingers are quite comfortable on a trigger.  Despite her off-camber everything, Rousseau is a bonafide killer.  She’s as likely to cannibalize the rest of her hands and feet as she is to commit to the game, so chances are she’ll bow out quickly, perhaps even in the first minute on account of trying to differentiate the voices in her head from our loudspeakers in the sky.

X-factor:  She is the x-factor, making her the fine print in all of her opponents’ x-factors.

Admiral

Rank: 4

Admiral Ackbar, Star Wars:  The admiral is a trap-finding savant.  No booby-trap will get the best of him.  He escaped a Chinese finger trap on the first try.  He co-wrote Linday Lohan’s The Parent Trap.  He invented the trap door.  He warned R. Kelly about getting trapped in the closet.  He gets royalties whenever someone else identifies a trap.  Someone once invited him over for calamari, but he replied, say it with me:  “It’s a trap!”  And it was.  That someone was later arrested after inviting the Pokemon Clamperl over for a clambake.  Clamperl was boiled and buttered, which sources say was “Super Effective!”

In addition to trap classification, Admirable Ackbar has no other discernible skills.  He is nonthreatening, so it is likely he will be invited to join an alliance as a trap expert, but his nasally speech and delectable squid-corpse will prove too strong a motivator and someone will undoubtedly kill him for a meal.  He will likely meet his end in a giant, boiling caldron.  But, the upside is, he will have seen it coming from a mile away.  We can say with confidence that his last words will be a whisper, an acquiescence:  “I always knew it was a trap…”

X-factor:  There is an off-chance the admiral could simply skinny-dip into a pond or lake, masquerading as wildlife for the duration of the games…

Princess leia

Rank: 6

Leia Organa, Star Wars:  Princess Leia is a bundle of potential with incestual tendencies.  The plus side of things is that she has no family in the games, so that distraction shouldn’t affect her prospects.  However, the chauvinism of the Jedi leave her as untapped potential.  We reached out to the Jedi Council for a comment, asking them why, when shit was going down, they sought out Luke, but refused to consider Leia until she was, quite literally, the last option in the entire galaxy far, far away, but they refused to comment.

Unfortunately for Leia, her lack of training and general uppity-ness will put her in the ground sooner rather than later.  She is not really a team player, preferring to assume a leadership position, yet she is a shitty leader on account of believing entitlement guarantees power.  Help her, Obi-Wan Kenobi, she has got no hope!

X-factor:  She’s royalty and hot, so she is bound to have a lot of fans.  She can expect lots of gifts from above, and maybe one of those gifts will be The Jedi Mind Trick for Dummies?

Joffrey

Rank: 1 and most certainly

Joffrey Baratheon, Game of Thrones:  Perhaps foreseeing his own demise, Joffrey has already offered a litany of excuses to explain the poor showing everyone expects him to have:  “No doubt the sun will be directly in my eyes the entire time, obscuring my enemies from Hearteater’s deadly blade; the wind will certainly be blowing all of my projectiles astray; and my ankle, being horribly sprained of course, will force me to flail my arms and legs in what will look like an attempt at running by someone who is painstakingly inept at it, but will really be a necessity on account of, ya know, that bum ankle I’ll have…”

Joffrey broke Hunger-Games combine records in terms of inadequacy for every single weapon and skill he attempted.  Moreover, he has already made enemies of nearly every other participant, even inspiring the ire of Jack Shepard, who claims Joffrey’s tendency to “cry like a bitch until his cheeks are wet with snot and sob” is an affront to, and a poor imitation of, the Human Slip ‘n Slide’s “manly liquid secretion.”

Early predictions see Joffrey spending his, no doubt, few moments in the games stomping on hapless ants while shouting:  “King of da castle.  King of da castle.”

X-factor:  Given his blue blood and his life-owing relationship to incest, there is a slight possibility that Joffrey and Leia will become a duo, marginally improving their chances, but, even so, given their shortcomings the royals are royally f*****.

Daenerys-Targaryen

Rank: 7

Daenerys Targaryen, Game of Thrones:  Daenerys is strong willed with ambition as big as her breasts, and has few reservations flaunting it and them (her ambition and breasts, respectively).  She lives “far to the east” with her three dragons and manservant, Jorah Mormont, an avid Lawrence of Arabia/British East India Company impersonator.  Even without her dragons, she is no slouch, claiming to be “as flame-retardant as they come.”  Strangely, the male participants already seem aware of her ability, noting:  “Damn, that girl hotter than fire,”  followed by requisite high fives and laughter laced with douchebaggery.

Daenerys is yet another wannabe leader, though she tends to be humorless and overly-entitled, which may work against her.  In addition to fire, she also appears immune to innuendo, responding to several invitations from her male opponents to “come and tame [their dragons]” with a starkly serious and overly-emotional:  “You’ve seen my dragons?  Where are they?  GIVE ME MY DRAGONS!!!!”

The self-proclaimed Mother of Dragons does not seem too adept at any sort of combat.  She claims to have strong magic–“And what of my magic?  Is it not strong?”–yet it is abundantly clear that she is referring to her dragons as her magic.  She’s in for an awful awakening when she realizes her dragons won’t be accompanying her into the games…

X-factor:  If none of her competitors heed Smokey the Bear’s warning regarding forest fires, there is a chance that a giant conflagration will raze the entire arena, leaving Daenerys nude, unscathed, and the winner, but it’s a long shot.

Check back for Part II and the rest of the contestants…

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Two-For-One Special!


It’s no secret that America has an obesity problem.  It is, quite literally, tough to hide.  It’s the several elephants in every room, if you will.  Likewise, America has been suckling on the teat of the oil and coal industry for far too long, and, those of you acquainted with suckling know that too much suckling sucks.  There have been many plans to remedy each of these issues, but what I have now is a plan to remedy both of them at once.  As the old adage goes:  Two birds with one stone.  As the older adage goes:  Two dinosaur-descendants with one asteroid-descendant.  And as the oldest adage goes:  All dinosaurs with one asteroid.  We’ll stick with the two-for-one, though!

So, what is the solution, you say?  It’s simple, really.  One hour, daily, every American must get on a stationary bike or elliptical and pedal or stride, respectively.  The trick here is that each device is hooked up to some central generator that is charged with the energy created by the national workout.  The slogan writes itself:  “Clean energy provided by dirty people!”

This innovative resolution of solving two problems at once could be precedential.  We could solve all our problems two at a time.  We could address adult and, let’s be honest here, some child literacy issues AS WELL AS assault weapon dangers by sending ten or more oval periodicals to anyone purchasing more than ten-round magazines.  Bonus:  We would also teach people the wit and humor found in nuanced wordplay.  We could solve the debt crisis AND the cushy nature of prison by putting our prisoners to work for dirt-cheap wages.  Combat China’s cheap child labor with our own cheap child-molester labor!  Actually, this idea is so good it’s already happening!

Well, I trust you get the point.  I urge you all to begin approaching your problems from the two-for-one mindset.  Have fun!

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Motorcycle: Masculinity Itself


The Getting of Motorcycle Wood.

I recently acquired a motorcycle.  For those of you unfamiliar with motorcycles, they are manliness given wheels.  To ride a motorcycle is to ride masculinity itself—no homo/a little bit of homo, as the bros say.  And let me be the first to tell you that when you mount masculinity itself, scissoring its thrumming engine between your thighs, it creates, shall we say, tingles and jingles in your downstairs.  The scientific nomenclature for what occurs is called Motorcycle Wood, the cousin of the more familiar and mainstream Morning Wood.  Needless to say, when you finish a ride of masculinity itself you must tarry a bit, twiddling your thumbs, straddling your machine, and waiting until the—ahem—firewood in your pants embers out or, in other words, the Sycamore you’re smuggling is timbered by a lumberjack or, if you’re lucky enough, another jack entirely.  You see what I did there?

Now, for those of you unfamiliar with untimely bulges, let me tell you:  It is the leading cause of Hunchback-of-Notre-Dame syndrome around the world.  If you see a fella hunching his otherwise straight back, giving some sports-related excuse for the bend, know that he has a bulge that is probably largely due to either you or the intense vibrations of city buses.  Consider this my PSA of the week:  Boners happen; don’t make it weird, people.

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Goatrees: Goats in a Tree


Image courtesy of Livejamie Martin

First there were snakes on a plane.  Now we have goats in trees.  I have affectionately dubbed them Goatrees.  The basic story is this:  Some Moroccan goats, upon hearing the Three Billy Goats Gruff story, decided that their previous edict, which forbade any and all goats from crossing any and all bridges, was not severe enough; extra precautionary measures needed to be taken.  The goatish brain-trust devised an ingenious plan, one which the ogre would never guess.  You see, according to my Venn Diagram below, ogres are rarely, if ever, boy scouts.  As we all know, the boy scout motto is to expect the unexpected.  Who the hell would expect goats to seek refuge in a tree?  No one, that’s who.  Thus, a boy scout, that’s who.  Trust me, the logic makes sense.  Now, because ogres are not boy scouts…well, I think the case speaks for itself.

Photo courtesy of NASA.

Wait a moment.  I am getting word that the Three Billy Goats Gruff story is an utter fabrication.  Apparently Moroccan goats are unable to understand Norwegian fairy tales anyway.  Who knew?  So then, what is the true story behind this?  The mainstream media will have you believe that the goats are scaling trees in search of delicious berries.  I say, that is juvenile reporting; presuming the easiest available causality without exhausting the ridiculously implausible first.  Rookie mistake.  I say, let’s take a look at the goat psyche:  It is well-known that goats suffer from a rather debilitating inferiority complex that dates back to biblical times.  In bestowing the moniker of “the Lamb” on Jesus, Christians inadvertently spurned the lamb’s uglier cousin, the goat.  Moreover, upon noticing their cloven hooves and devilish horns, Christians, not so inadvertently this time, demonized the goat to further sully its reputation and street cred.  Indeed, Christianity has certainly done a number on goats throughout the years.

And so, considering where the goats are coming from, I propose an alternate reason as to why goats have taken to the trees:  In an effort to better their species’ standing, the goatish political machine that brought us Mountain Goats clearly orchestrated another publicity stunt to, yet again, place goats on a higher level, both literally and figuratively.  Evidently, goats have an affinity for heights and for doggedly screaming f*** you in the face of evolution.  My scientists have extrapolated the data available and fully expect the trend to continue.  Conservative estimates give us Skyscraper Goats by the spring of 2012, followed shortly thereafter by Airplane Goats, Astronaut Goats, and, ultimately, Raptured Goats.

This is what a Raptured Goat looks like. The zenith of goatish aspiration!

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A Leader in Search of a Crew: Inquire Within



See above:  There’s a reason my reflection has the pet-name, Perflection.

I have spent the last month half-naked, trolling the halls of my house in search of my kitty, something to nom nom on (Nutella?), or, generally speaking, my life’s purpose.  Sure, it’s invigorating whenever I chance upon a mirror or reflective surface during my haphazard strolls between my computer and my kitchen–yes, I am that good-looking–but most of the time I am depressed.  With the exception of being über-attractive, talented beyond all get-out, and white, I have nothing going for me.  Why is this?  The answer is simple:  I have no crew.

A crew is what you see in sitcoms all the time:  A close-knit group of buddies with a strict pecking-order that starts with the buffoons and flunkies, finds the median at the sidekicks and second-in-commands, and then, of course, ends with the leader.  With the successful execution of this sentence, I will have mined my mind of the mettle required to be such a leader.  Indeed, I have creativity out the wazoo, I ooze charm like pimples ooze puss; now, I just need the rest:  A crew.

The first order of business is to find a second-in-command.  This is the principal obligation because, even if I were to fail in finding the rest, if I find a second-in-command, the worst I could do is a duo.  Honestly, duos aren’t that bad because there is still a stringent hierarchy in duos.  My second-in-command needs to be the Robin to my Batman, the Garfunkel to my Simon, the Trotsky to my Lenin, the Andrew Ridgeley to my George Michael, the Jesus to my Republican Party, the Abu to my Aladdin, the Russian Winter to my Russian War Strategy, the Brick Bazooka to my Chip Hazard, and etcetera.  You get the point.  Anyways, it is imperative that I find someone to stand by my side and embrace the inferiority complex attached thereto.

My old sidekick and me…

Next comes the hooligans:  They are a lovable bunch of stock and static characters, really.  Depth of character is highly discouraged in the rank-and-file of a crew.  A crew, sans the duo at the top, is a horde of sycophants for hire.  The key is to snatch the thoughtless throng before it attaches itself to another viable leader.  Take it from a man actively searching for a crew:  Minions are an elusive bunch.  They offer little, save loyalty, but I need that loyalty in my life.

The next logical question is this:  How does one find a crew?  Unfortunately, I am in the midst of a trial-and-error search for the very answer to that question.  I have neither the sidekick nor the stooges it to takes to make a crew.  I am a lonely leader looking for someone(s) to lead.  If you or someone you know is sidekick material, let me know.  I am fielding applications until further notice.  If you or someone you know struggled with the concepts of this blog, let me know:  You or that someone you know just might have the stuff it takes to be one of my flunkies!

I WANT YOU IN MY CREW!!!

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John Lennon: Douchebag?


lennon

 

The short answer:  Yes.  The long answer:  Read on and be enlightened.

See, John Lennon gets a heap of credit for being a musical genius, a free spirit, and all the other good things that accompany dying early (see:  TuPac, Biggie, Elvis, Heath, Lindsay Lohan circa next year, Honest Abe, JFK, and Jesus).  He does not, however, get enough credit for being the asshole that he was.  Curious?  Irate?  Turned on?  Let’s continue.

So I was perusing Wikipedia…what, you’re not even gonna let me finish before callously dismissing all that I have to say simply because Wikipedia is liable to scrutiny?  Well, before you throw a hissy-fit about how Wikipedia is an illegitimate source of information, I will have you know that I have meticulously verified every minute detail of information–utilizing the extensive measures of clicking on the links provided at the bottom of the Wikipedia page–to ensure that I was not duped and, by extension, you were not duped.  Did I actually read the sources?  What, are you kidding me?  Hells no,  I’ll take me the cliff-notes version instead!

At any rate, I am sure you have already skipped to this point in the blog, unable to contain your curiosity and unable to humor my preamble ramblings.  Well, here is the overarching fact which legitimizes all the others:  John Lennon was a douchebag.  Not only did he ignore the existence of his first wife so as not to vaccinate his rabid female fanbase, but he also cheated on her and beat her.  In his own words:  “I used to be cruel to my woman, and physically—any woman.  I was a hitter.  I couldn’t express myself and I hit.  I fought men and I hit women.  That is why I am always on about peace.”  I guess there is something to be said for the overt desire for rehabilitation in his tone, but it is one thing to be all about peace because you know about violence first hand, and quite another when it was your own hand that caused the violence.  Douchebag.

As we all know, John Lennon is associated with one particular woman:  Yoko Ono.  What we all might not know is that in the late ’60’s Lennon and Ono began becoming estranged.  And so, Lennon took his 18-month self-proclaimed Lost Weekend with May Pang, his receptionist.  So he did some naughty things with her, maybe attempted to strangle her a little; you know, the usual for peace-love John.  Then Yoko came back and allegedly had Lennon brainwashed not to love May Pang anymore–though he did retain her has his receptionist and mistress.  Douchebag.

But it wasn’t just women:  Lennon was an equal-opportunity asshole.  He beat the shit out of a friend for jokingly insinuating that he was homosexually involved with one Brian Epstein.  In Lennon’s words:  “He called me a queer, so I battered his bloody ribs in.”  It should be noted that Lennon even admitted to having an unconsummated love-affair with the one and only Brian Epstein.  It should also be noted that Lennon treated Mr. Epstein with the same respect that he showed all his female partners:  He mocked Epstein not only for his homosexuality but also for his Judaism.  Upon learning that Epstein was writing an autobiography, Lennon suggested the title:  Queer Jew.  Dude, that’s not even clever;  it’s an insulting insult, really.  Then, upon learning that the actual title was to be A Cellarful of Noise, Lennon suggested A Cellarful of Boys.  Okay, John, that is a bit more clever, though certainly not clever enough to condone the sentiment.  Also, while originally recording the song Baby, You’re a Rich Man, Lennon altered the chorus just for Epstein:  “Baby, you’re a rich fag Jew.”  Douchebag.

Lastly, I will leave you with an excerpt from a Playboy interview taken shortly before John Lennon’s death.  This section of the interview is about the difference between his two sons, Julian and Sean:  “Sean was a planned child, and therein lies the difference.  I don’t love Julian any less as a child.  He’s still my son, whether he came from a bottle of whiskey or because they didn’t have pills in those days.  He’s here, he belongs to me, and he always will…Julian and I will have a relationship in the future.”  Well, Julian was 17 at the time of that interview.  I would have thought you would have had a relationship with him before he became a man.  According to Julian, Paul McCartney was more of a father to him than Lennon.  But, hey:  Lennon predicted that he and Julian would, indeed, have a relationship going forward.  Then John Lennon got shot.  Then Julian found out that his father had left him, and I quote, “very little” in his will.  Douche and bag.

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