You know when you’re shoving your Christmas stockings back in a rubber bin marked “Steven Segal Box Sets1996 Burger ReceiptsEaster Christmas Crap,” and you find one little fun size Snickers stuck up in the toe? The following videos are those fun-sized Snickers. I meant to post these days ago, but because of traveling, internet issues and customs problems at the Iowa/Missouri border, I’m just now getting them up. They are from New Zealand’s most talented man (at press time), Mr. Richard Fairgray of Blastosaurus fame! Richard and I are working on a top secret comic book together which I’ll reveal at a later date, but until then…get to know this guy. He’s got chops. Chops!
You may be muttering to two things to yourself right now:
1. Christmas is over.
2. I can’t spare 1 minute to watch two 30 second videos.
But ask yourself this. Does your girlfriend bitch if you take the tree down before New Year’s? The answer is yes. Ergo, it’s still Christmas. And do you have a minute to spare? Yes, you’re not that important. And it will keep you from paying bills online for 1 minute longer. So, now that I’ve countered your every argument…Enjoy!
I was checking out a friend’s Facebook page this morning, and I realized I’d never seen his video blog. Or “Vlog,” if you prefer. Or “Internet Video Program.”
Shown: The Casual Raping of a Dead Man’s Corpse. Level Up, America!
To wit:
Entire continents will be created that will celebrate Michael’s unique genius in a way that underscores his place as the greatest artist of all time. Michael’s longtime fans will feel at home as they find themselves in places that seem familiar and yet unknown at the same time, and new generations will discover and experience Michael’s life in a way never before imagined. At its core, Planet Michael is a massive social gaming experience that will allow everyone, from the hardcore fan to the novice, to connect and engage in collaborative in-game activities with people worldwide.
You may be asking yourself, “Chris, what the fuck could this possibly mean? How could Michael Jackson’s legacy sprout entire continents? I don’t know. I just don’t. I can’t even process it. SO back to the thing I want to show you. Richard Fairgray’s Vlog. After I got done crying from laughing at these, I thought these would be a great counter-balance to yesterday’s blog, in which my friend Missy described me as looking like “a rapist who doesn’t know any better,” and my friend Hoffmaster 3000 described as “Holy Mountain Part 2.”
Not to mention my whole screed about Lady Gaga, which I felt bad about after I saw her ranting against Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell…the fate of which will be decided today. And, if someone in the Senate changes their mind, I’ll have Gaga, in part, to thank. I mean, Bad Romance is still a crap candle, burning bright (IMAO). But at least she’s using that fame to do something worthwhile, instead of just wearing USDA Select Choice Cuts to made-up awards shows. But if anything is going to help wash the reality of a Michael Jackson MMORPG out of my mind forever, it’s these videos. I’m making my own reality now. I can’t deal with the real thing anymore.
*On a totally separate, semantics-based note. Do you remember when you first heard the word “Blog”? Wasn’t it fucking annoying? Didn’t it feel like an infection you wanted to fight off with medication? Or the word “Twitter”? Or Tweets? Or Vlog? And while they’re still grating to an extent, I don’t really think about it much anymore. I use them casually, and without thinking. I don’t even say “InterWebs” ironically, like all these fucking hipsters. I wonder what crazy, annoying language we’ll be using every single day of our lives in 5 to 10 years? Will an upstart called Text Rooster.com make Google the MySpace of search engines? Will we be Flooglecasting? We’ll probably be Flooglecasting.
In retrospect, this old post from WorstCartoonsEver.com seems tasteless, crass and mean. But, I stand behind it, and am re-posting it here because of Gary Coleman’s recent death. Enjoy this little piece of nostalgia and think of all the wee child actors you grew up with in the eighties. I kid because I love. Some of my best friends are short and named Gary.
Originally Ran 04-21-2009
Now here’s a premise I can get behind: Gary Coleman, except dead.
So, wait… all Gary Coleman has to do is pleasure himself and he returns from the dead? At this rate, he’ll never stay in the grave! BLAST!
Yep, there is something you didn’t think you’d see when you woke up today: a masturbating Gary Coleman angel. Thank you for coming to my website. There’s a comment card on the nightstand. I hope you enjoyed your stay.
Ok, ok…FINE. One more time. And slooower, just for the ladies.
Shown: If the first thing you notice is this 25th Anniversary Pac-Man/Galaga cabinet, welcome to my world.
As you’re no doubt aware, today is Pac-Man’s birthday. I’m more than a little overwhelmed. With my wedding anniversary tomorrow (I swear I didn’t plan it that way), I’m never sure where my loyalties should lie this time of year. You know around Christmas, when they interview that crazy woman who fills her trailer with a shit ton of Santa Claus stuff? Except she’s had it up all year, and she says something like “Everyday is Christmas at 432 Orchard Alley Lane!” and you feel sick and sad for her? Well, that’s me. But for Pac-Man. My house is a little like wandering into Leatherface’s house, except instead of chicken bones hanging from the ceiling, it’s just Pac-Man stuff. Pac-Man is such a part of the backdrop in my house, that I forget how much I’ve actually accumulated from friends, family, eBay, flea markets and fans. Once you’re a known collector of something, it makes it easy for everyone to buy for you on holidays, which is nice. I’ve already covered some of my most coveted possessions in this NOT SAFE FOR WORK post from Joystick Division, but I took a stroll around my house and just took pictures of stuff I could actually see in front of me. Something I promised to do months ago. If I actually start digging, there’s hundreds more items strewn about…this is only scratching the surface.
So why Pac-Man?
Pac-Man is pure. Pac-Man is Pizza Hut breadsticks and a borrowed quarter from mom. Pac-Man is universal. Pac-Man is challenging and addictive 30 years later. Pac-Man is a warm yellow memory. Ok, scratch that last one. That didn’t sound right.
It’s the ghosts and blood, dust and mud, and the roar of an arcade crowd.
I made this Pac-Man beer cooler for my Pac-Man themed going away party in New York. I used my crappy cell phone video camera to capture this little magic event.
INSERT COIN AND CLICK THROUGH FOR MORE PAC-MAN CRAP THAN YOU CAN HANDLE
Shown: a rare Ms. Pac-Man addition to my collection, stolen from a Indianapolis Head Shop wall. Check out the ticket price, $12! This was before Feed The Animals changed the world.
Note: This is a long entry. Just man up and take the ride. There’s a contest at the very end to win a book called “What’s My Pee Telling Me?” from Chronicle Books and South Park Season 13 on Blu-Ray from Comedy Central.
First things first: My headline is probably misleading, because there are two definitions of “tryst.”
1. An agreement, as between lovers, to meet at a certain time and place.
2. A meeting or meeting place that has been agreed on.
Clearly, I would never intend to meet Gareb Shamus as a lover (though I totally might, have you seen him lately? We’ll get to that) But definition “#2″ deals with our agreed meeting place. Which, in this case, would be something called FaceBook.
Shown: (Left to right) Photoshop fantasy of Gareb Shamus of Wizard Entertainment, Uwe Boll, and Me. Getting ready to be unstoppable street toughs.
For those who don’t know, I used to work for Wizard Entertainment. It’s where I got my start, and I met a lot of good people there. A few of whom are still there, who I haven’t talked to in a while. But most everyone else, including the guy who helped start the magazine in a big way, got fired. Even the entire message board community got fired. And I kinda, sorta got myself banned later on for some jokes I made about the company. An ex-company head told me off the record that if “the company would spend more time actually running things instead of focusing on petty shit, maybe they wouldn’t be totally fucked right now.” I’m paraphrasing a bit, but the phrases “petty shit” and “totally fucked” are actual quotes. Pretty much everyone landed on their feet at bigger, better jobs.
Pretty much.
Actually, to be totally honest, I’ve secretly always thought of Gareb as more than just friends and co-workers lowly employee writer and company CEO. My wife and I have a “Gareb” clause in our marriage, wherein, should I get the opportunity, I can have passionate relations with my ex-Boss/Owner of the entire Wizard Universe. As to not be one-sided, she has a “Rita Rudner Clause” on her end (What a body and what a talent, even after all these years!)
I guess I got a little nervous because I became re-acquainted with Gareb Shamus at practically the same time as Tom Welling AND Rich Johnston of Bleeding and Dying in Gutters, (this is a popular UK comic-book gossip page–like, “who is Batman dating?” stuff–for all the non-comic book fans who are reading this). So, I wished Gareb a Happy Easter. I know, I know…he’s Jewish. I realize that NOW. And I’m not sure what they celebrate in the UK. All I know is that they eat “Eggy In A Basket, Chip Chip Cheerio” and all that happy horseshit. I’m an American, I don’t need to know about that.
So, overall, I choked on this one, alright? Opening comment jitters. After all, Gareb wanted to be my friend. He asked me. In spite of everything mean I said about him, too. Well that was all in the past now as far as I was concerned. I mean, Frank Miller ripped up a copy of Wizard Magazine onstage, and Miller has been a Guest of Honor at Wizard World since then. All I ever did was make jokes and help sell his magazine.
Straight up business question. Letting him know he can just get in touch with me whenev’. I think she’s getting a Bill Finger award this go ’round, don’t want to miss it.
Letting Brent Spiner know where to reach me….
SO THEN I get pretty excited because I see this video on Gareb’s Page, and it prompts several questions from me about In Dance We Trust coming to Wizard World, all which are almost answered in the video (watch about 20 seconds of it, if you’re able to). Just priming the pump, getting people excited about the comic book convention where the In Dance We Trust girls will be appearing.
Pretty straightforward questions, I think you’ll agree. Important ones, too. I don’t want to toot my own hose but I’m a reporter, you know.
But then something goes horribly wrong between Gareb and I. CLICK THROUGH to find out how Gareb responds to my sexual advances which I just couldn’t contain anymore.
I’m 29 today. God. What a terrible number. What a terrible, un-round number. 30 I’d be fine with. Good round number, 30. Here’s some videos to reflect how I feel today. Some old, some new…whatever makes me laugh today to get me through this Clogging Dance Competition in North Carolina. Best present so far? A hacker kid at the even showed me how to tether my Droid to my laptop, leeching internet from my phone and…well, it’s all real technical and involves “proxies” and “climbing telephone poles” and what have you. So here’s some videos of birthday shit, and also two men pouring beer over each other.
How to Wish me a proper birthday:
How to Terrify your Child with “Bimbo the Birthday Clown”:
How to Take Advantage of your Local News’ Stations Inane, Chuckle-Headed Birthday Announcements
How to Wish me a Fucked Up German Birthday:
How to Really Celebrate a Birthday, The Chris Ward Way:
How to Create an effective and pleasing birthday:
Creating a MORE Effective Birthday for Your Corporate, Animatroic Loving Clients:
Creating a More Effective Dick-Head, Failed Talk Show Birthday:
And, finally, How to Force David Bowie Into an Awkward Birthday Greeting on Your Foreign TV Spot:
Yep, you’re not alone….this is pretty much how I remember it to.
Welcome to part 2 of World of Ward Crap’s 13 WEEK series on filming junior dance competitions. Read about last week’s travesty adventure HERE.
Having survived a trip to the heart of Amish darkness last week, Bryan and I once again mounted our mini-van and headed to another dance competition in Nashville, TN—this one was at the Grand Ole Opry (or “The Grand AOL Opry” as my text messaging spell check kept insisting, giving me a possible glimpse into the not-so-distant future). To catch you up to speed, here’s what I’m involved in:
Terrifying, right? It’s weird how things work out. I first met Dan Raleigh (aka, Fred Price) when I worked for Wizard Magazine…my friend Junkstore Jesse Thompson and I picked his hilarious video Supercycle USSR as Wizard’s “Direct to Video” contest winner. We flew him out to Chicago to collect his prize, and Dan and I immediately learned we shared the same love for things like the Beastmaster and stuffing large plants into hotel elevators. Now, years later, he’s kind of my boss. Check out his winning Wizard video. I should mention that Josh Powers (seen below) is also my boss, which is AWESOME. Do you have a cooler boss than this? I don’t know, has your boss ever stolen a Russian super bike? There’s something else familiar about these two videos…listen closely.
Yep, after you hear the narrator from Supercycle, it’s hard to take the dance commercial seriously ever again. Hooray, Easter Eggs!
Now, on to Nashville…..Click through to hear about the Dukes of Hazzard museum bathroom incident, which country music stars are dicks, and why Tupac and milk go together so well…
In anticipation of my upcoming animation column, “Celling Out,” at UGO.com, I present this classic Worst Cartoons Ever post. Also, it’s late and I work in the morning.
If there were a way to replay the noise Super President’s doughy sidekick makes right before Steel Man punches him in the face, over and over on an endless loop, I think I would be the happiest person alive. It’s kind of like “HOO GEET!” or “HOON GLEEK!” I’m sure his voice directions were great:
Director: Ok Jerry, in this scene, Steel Man—who is clearly not a man by any stretch—walks into the “impenetrable base.” He does this by walking through the open door. Then, he punches you in the jaw, not killing you instantly. You need to make a noise that captures this.
Voice Actor: How about, Hoon Geet?
Director: Hmm…”Hoon Geet.” I like it, but maybe give me something in a “Hool Jeet.” Oh, hell, you’re the actor: Hoon Geet it is.
Voice Actor: Then what should I say?
Director: Oh nothing. Then we have this scene where the unstoppable Steel Man—who could snap a man like a Baked Lays with his bare hands and is immune to bullets—well, he’s gonna get scared off by a dinging bell, after going to all the trouble of breaking into the place.
I would like to add, upon watching this again, that though NO SECURITY SYSTEM ON EARTH is a match for this robot, Super President sends his powerless sidekick “Jerry” into the fray and is all, “Ehh, call me if you see the killer robot. And remember, he’s got super powers.” Jerry’s just staring at his walkie talkie and pissing his pants.
By the way, if you think the phrase “You were wrong, Sales,” is just bad grammar on the robot’s part, you probably need to watch this post first.
The late night wars are hard for even a lot of Americans to understand. Though, in fairness, most Americans haven’t learned that Ed Hardy pants look ridiculous, and Lady Gaga is an elborate hoax by a Japanese game show. So I can’t fault the Chinese for resorting to turning Conan into the Hulk, Leno into Superman, and Jeff Zucker into…I’m not sure Captain Bald or something….just to explain it. You can see the not-as-funny English version HERE, where you’ll hear that…yes…even the “didn’t get the memo” cliche has made its way into Chinese news, taking its spot alongside those hilarious “human rights violations” cliches. This clip is courtesy of America’s foremost animation expert, Jerry Beck, from his awesome Cartoon Brew website:
And speaking of crappy animation, I guess it’s a good time to announce that I’ve been pegged as the new Animation Guy over at UGO.com! Thanks to my time over at Worst Cartoons Ever, I’ll have a weekly column discussing everything cartoon related. I think the column is tentatively called “Celling Out,” which is a pun on animation cels and the lengths I’ll go to in order to make a buck (Sean T. Collins originally penned this one, I believe. I put out a call-out for catchy names amongst friends. UGO didn’t go for my suggestion…”Acme Sweatshop”…or my friend Ryan’s suggestion, “Cock Garage.” But I’m still holding out hope for “Cock Garage.”)
Also, you’ll probably see classic Chris Ward edits like this as I go:
Translation: Hands off the Masturbating Bear, scum!
In the coming weeks, days and years, I will begin archiving my Pac-Man collection on this website: listing each item I own and writing about it. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while, in case someone tries to burn it all and collect the money (I suspect Pinky). Of the numbered items in this bedroom, I own #1 (two of them), #6, #7, #8, #9, #10 and #13. I have no idea where to get a Pac-Man nightgown, though I’ve been known to wear girl’s nightgowns.
Look at that crap. At one time, I could have owned all this for under $300, including a Pac-Man jumpsuit. Oh, hurry Christmas…Hurry FAST!
This is also a call to arms. The First Church of Pac-Man hasn’t been updated since 2004: I’m declaring my site the new church of Pac-Man, and I need your help coming up with a name for my church. This is a reformation. Getting back to the roots of fundamentalist Pac-Man.
Billy Mitchell, the Pac-Man Champion, is a world-class douche. Together, we’ll cast him out of the Pac-Man community.
Is you is, or is you ain’t my constit’ency?
Stay tuned for the first entry in the near future …
