Hey, how’s it going there, ace? Why don’t you go ahead and come in, and close the door behind you. Just have a seat. Go ahead and park that sweet little ass of yours right here next to me. Have you been eating less? Because I don’t mind saying you look REALLY reasonable today in that outfit.
Now, Cindy is telling me you’ve been coming to this website for a while, and you’ve yet to watch our Mandatory Corporate Compliance Video. I’m going to go ahead and insist that you do that now. It’s a short video, and then you can get back to your lunch. Though I would recommend not finishing your lunch, if you want to continue to look the way you do now and, as a result, continue working here. How’s that sound, kiddo? Great, Great…
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.
Some people are saying that Jerry Lewis shouldn’t be doing his telethon anymore. I think he should be putting all his energy into releasing The Day The Clown Cried on Blu-Ray. And speaking of the Day the Clown Cried, I don’t know….watch this and judge for yourself. Think he’s fit for another year?
This is an Amway propaganda tape I picked up about the dangers of common, every day tap water. She’s just watching out for her children’s interests, at the end of the day. Good for her.
You all know DJ Daymage. Not only does he make amazing mixes and provide soundtracks to bachelorette party videos, but he comes through on some pretty amazing birthday gifts. A few years back, he gave me this priceless item:
But, still, I had so many questions. This little guy was willing to hold whose bag, exactly? My bag? Gareb Shamus’ bag? The long-awaited answer came this year, with yet another piece to add to my collection of tragically misspelled art, including the famed Finger Pupies. Behold:
Shown: The unfortunately named “Male Bag.”
My cat, Champion, wants no part of this. Even without his balls, he knows the difference between “mail” and “male.”
But my other cat, Cricket, is another story altogether. Cricket looovves to play with my Male Bag. She gets a treat every time she plays with the ding dong on my Male Bag. She used to get a treat for just touching or rubbing up against my Male Bag, but I started running out of food quick. Observe! Maybe you’ll learn something:
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.
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.
Ok, so yesterday I touched on Handicapable Gospel Singers. But there are also a multitude of able bodied fire-and-brimstone preachers who shouldn’t have been allowed near a recording studio, Dictaphone, homemade tin can and string, or otherwise. Here’s a few I found while digging through records at Vintage Vinyl in St. Louis and, again, from this site.
What in Hell do I want? Well, for starters, not to be cheerfully flipping through records and suddenly getting yelled at like I was selling cell phone upgrade plans door to door. The back of the album says “If you think about it for just one moment this is one of the most logical questions you will ever be asked.” Hey kids, the next time your parents ask “What in hell do you want?”, tell them that’s one of the most logical things you’ve ever been asked. Then enjoy your brisk, merciless beating with a JC Penny’s fake leather belt.
“What if Mary Would Have Had An Abortion?” Wow. That’s gotta be the worst Marvel “What If?” issue in the series, right above “What If Wolverine Drank and Drove the Blackbird through a Children’s Hospital?” I guess the answer would be, “she’d look like someone ate the last Little Debbie’s Stars & Stripes Snack Cake, just like Rev. Johnny Williams here.” Actually, he looks just like when Louis Gossett Jr. wants Sean Astin to PICK UP THAT GODDAMNED BANANA in “Toy Soldiers.”
“Hi! Am I a bigot? Well, I don’t see any other bigots on this album cover so you must be addressing me. Also, where’s Jesus? He was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago. I can’t wait to meet him, I wore my bright yellow background and everything.”
Record Company: “What’s your album called?”
Rev. Clay Evans: “‘Too Many Babies in The Church.’ You know, people who are babies spiritually, but also actual babies, whom I hate. I mean, leave your kids at home Sunday Morning, you know?”
Record Company: “So for the album cover, you’re thinking…”
Rev. Clay Evans: “Me riding a big camel through the desert.”
Record Company: “Oh good, good…I’m glad we’re all on the same page here.”
Hmm…this was in the Gospel Section, but I think Rev. “Cheeks” is a Reverend the same way Sgt. Pepper served bravely in the British Army.
“Lord, Seriously…I have osteoporosis. Lubricate my bones. And maybe add some cod liver oil to my diet, and grant in me the ability to decipher double entendres as they relate to ‘bone lubrication’ jokes hurled in my direction.”
I, umm…..I’ve got nothing. Except maybe “it’s my world, and it’s not a place I have to hide in/
Life’s not worth a damn ’til you can say ‘Hey world, I ammm what I am-mmmm!’”
Imagine ALEJANDRO JODOROWSKY being put in charge of the art department for Hollywood’s next batch of tent pole summer films, and you’ve dipped your toes in the waters of madness that make up these nightmarish film posters from Ghana. Yeah, I’m pretty much buying this unassuming book from Amazon, like, immediately.
In the 1980s video cassette technology made it possible for “mobile
cinema” operators in Ghana to travel from town to town and village to
village creating temporary cinemas…
In order to promote
these showings, artists were hired to paint large posters of the films… The artists were given the
artistic freedom to paint the posters as they desired – often adding
elements that weren’t in the actual films, or without even having seen
the movies…
The artistic freedom that these artists were
given allowed for the creation of some very interesting and sometimes
bizarre posters that, as screenwriter Walter Hill wrote, were quite
often “more interesting than the films.”
Here are a few favorites from the site:
I’m guessing the Marmaduke movie in development ain’t gonna look anything like this. Which is a shame, cause that’s the only way in hell I’m going to see it. But it’s good to see Brian Warner getting work
You remember the theme song for this movie: “Charles in Charge/Up on Days/And Protecting John Connor.” Sure, it wasn’t very catchy, but neither was the alternate title for this Ghana version: “Scott Baio is 45 and Has a Penis Pistol and Rosy Red Nipples.”
This showcases a famous scene from Ghana’s “Poltergiest 2: The Giest is Loose.” I speak, of course, of the finale when a bottle of soda orgasms a blood-drooling demon that craps chainsaws which, in turn, rain down on Craig T. Nelson’s waiting sedan. Then Demon Verne Troyer looks on in delight as Baby Snow White fondles her dollie’s breasts. Splendid piece of cinema. Splen-DID.
This was sort of a catch all poster for Where the Wild Things Are, Twilight: New Moon and Old Dogs (the naked dwarf being Seth Green, and the horned monster being a gorilla rocking him to death. Great comedy: the universal language!)
Dear Ghana House Party poster painter guy: You nailed it, brother. Take a bow. Drop that makeshift paintbrush and let some other fool finish the C.H.U.D. mock-up. You’ve more than earned your weight in goat meat today.
I can conclude that “the spy” refers to the man with the burned off face and “me” refers to the shrieking harpy growing out of his ass. But what I can’t figure out is why this movie isn’t called “I’M ALTERNATELY TERRIFIED OF THE SPY WHO LOOKS LIKE PETER LORRE AND THE FISH WITH THE HAPHAZARDLY CIRCUMCISED TAIL FIN.”
Patrick Swayze, Kelly Lynch and Sam Elliott look better than ever! Now THIS is a poster the screams “blockbuster” the world over! Genius, GENIUS piece of promotional art.
…Ok, ok…I drew this. But If someone could please pass it along to the guy in Ghana hiring people to paint American movies on canvas flour sacks, I’d be forever in your debt. I hear that economy’s booming!
Ladies, if you ever see this guy, get outta town. Unless it is of paramount importance for you to find someone’s wife, of course. If that’s the case, find out all you can about the husband and his entire family. Genealogy is creepy, man.
“Crack the identity of that woman. Look at the husbands dealings. Trace his entire family…Go now…”
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