It ain’t easy being green when you’ve got a heroin addiction.

Me? I gots a green heroine addiction, and that ain’t easy, either.

[  Mood: Confused ]
[  Currently: Eating three different varieties of Hot Pocket. ]
What would possibly inspire anyone to make this?

Syphilis, cornbread, and the cotton gin!

So apparently, I haven’t updated my game queue in a while. My fault, I know. I probably shouldn’t even have this game on my list, but I have a morbid curiosity about gangrene, and how a first person shooter will play when you need upwards of a full minute just to reload.

The Civil War was my childhood play ground. My mother used to dress up as a Union nurse and drag us around ninety degree Virginia summer heat to watch all the local reenactments. We used to visit a stop on the underground railroad that was turned into a neat little tavern out in Gettysburg all the time.

Speaking of Gettysburg, there was one particularly brutal part of that battle in a bit of terrain called Devil’s Den. It was a series of tightly grouped together, slippery, natural rock formations. The confederates would retreat carefully along the top of the rocks and hide, while the union soldiers dashed along quickly to follow them, they would slip, and get themselves trapped in the barely man sized cracks. Some of them were finished off with a bullet from above, some of them were left to die, trapped between the rocks. A hundred and thirty years later, me and my little brother would hop from rock to rock playing tag. Fun times – we gathered many a rock and claimed they were spent bullets from the battle.

Home base was in Maryland, in another two century old house. During the war, my state was sort of a neutral, middle state, and sat back and watched as the rest of the country went at with each other. With that kind of history, the public school system has a bit of a different slant on what went down than those in other places. In the north, kids seem to learn that Southern states refused to give up their slaves, and then attacked Fort Sumter unprovoked in order to secede from the union, illegally, in order to pursue a more secular, greed driven, immoral life style. In the south, the "war of northern aggression" was a land grab by Lincoln that limited states’ rights and expanded the role of the federal government to the detriment of all our lives. Which version did I get? Neither.

We were taught, basically, that both sides were dicks. The north went to war for tax purposes, the south went to war for fear of economic oppression.

Slavery was used by the north as propaganda to keep Europe off of the Confederacy’s side, and was used as propaganda by the south as a chief example of why secession was as justified then as the revolutionary war was four score and six years before. Lincoln even agreed to allow the state of Maryland, and several other middle states, to keep their slaves, during and after the war.

Sorry, Geordi, nobody really cares.

When it was over and the south had lost, it was left in economic ruin for, arguably, sixty to a hundred years – which is exactly what Jefferson Davis and friends had feared would happen. In the north’s defense, slavery had to end some time, and it was the south’s own fault for becoming so heavily dependent on it. Nothing short of a war would have ended it, but there would have been nicer ways of doing things – like softening tax, tariff and trade policies on states transitioning to free lands.

Whelp, Monday morning quarter backing the events of 1863 was fun, as always. I can’t wait to start popping off head shots at Bull Run. You watch your forehead, Stonewall Jackson.

The south shall fall again!

[  Mood: In Love ]
[  Currently: Reading Marvel Zombies Vs. Army of Darkness ]
0800: I woke up.
0815: I’m showered and dressed.
0815-
0900: Operation Wake Up Female Unit commences.
0900-
0915: Recovered from titty twister, ate breakfast; note for future reference: Do not attempt to wake female unit before noon.
0930: We headed to the Magic Kingdom.
1000: Arrived, entered the gates. Muscled passed old people, fat people and children fairly efficiently, took pictures.

1010-
1040: Splash Mountain
1050: Recovered female unit from her fear of falling from tall heights, animatronic racist animals
1100: Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Only got whiplash a little. Wildest wide in the wilderness, indeed.
1115: Aladdin’s Flying Carpets. Fighting female unit for up and down control of carpet is futile, she is aware that the testicles can be hit for massive damage.
1145: Enchanted Tiki Room. Corny jokes ensued.
1220: Pirates of the Caribbean. "OH MY GAWD, ITS JOHNNY DEPP!"
1240: Dueled with Captain Hook.

1300: Snitched on Stitch to intergalactic authorities. Its for his own good. Stay strong, little man. Stay strong.
1400: Ate fish and chips at The Boston Harbour House.
1500: Parade.
1515: Hall of Presidents. People cheered and booed the robot presidents as their names were announced. I chimed in on Polk, that son of a bitch. We need more men like Andrew Jackson, goddamnit!
1545: Jungle Cruise. An exchange student from Vietnam lead us down a river, nobody understood anything she had to say.
1610: Country Bear Jamboree. I’m a completionist.
1640: Buzz Lightyear of Star Command, two times. I won.
1720: Monster’s Inc. live 3D animation puppet show. Good times. Could’ve used less Billy Crystal and more John Goodman, but what couldn’t?
1800: Tomorrowland Transit Authority. Reminded me of the drive down, only shorter. Note to self: Never let the female unit drive, ever.
1900: International Sloppy Make Out Hour.

2000: Mickey’s PhilHarmagic. 3D show wherein Donald Duck fucks shit up with the hat from the Sorcerer’s Apprentice. The old mainstay of spraying the audience with water and stink spray at 3D shows is bypassed for the first time since Captain Eo.
2030: I rode the carousel. Shut up.
2045: Train ride back to the front of Main Street.
2100: Parade
2130-
2150: Dragged female unit’s ass back to Frontier Land
2200: Ate dinner while watching the fireworks go off over the Liberty Bell outside. Turkey, ham, beef, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, salad, ice cream, water rolls, and macaroni and cheese – not in that order.
2240: Found Walt’s tomb.

2300: Bed.

Nuclear war has always been an ambition of extremist jingoists who either blindly believe that their faith in their country will keep them alive, or are prepared for and accept mutually assured destruction. It seems like madness, to want to die in order to kill. I don’t understand that kind of wrath, as its really has not been in my person. Until recently.

I have seen things, horrible things, that can never be unseen. I need a lobotomy to get this vicious taint off my soul. The pain I’m experiencing… I don’t know how to describe it. When I think about the horrors I’ve witnessed in the past twenty four hours, my mind swims, but not like in a cloudy haze. Its like my brain is literally swirling inside my head, like an ocean in a storm, and it throws me off balance and makes me want to puke. Twice now, I’ve collapsed, weeping, raising my fist in the air and questioning the existence of a merciful God. The decision is still out, and I also still wonder how reasonable human beings can treat each other in the ways I’ve seen.

That’s right. I saw Norbit. This was the most offensive, depressing, horrible comedy ever made, ever. If this was a tragicomic dark comedy a la Novocaine, or the play version of Little Shop of Horrors where everybody dies horribly, I would have really enjoyed it. But every character, no matter how despicable and irredeemable, lives through the end of the credits.

The fat woman menace continues to plague our society.

Its still a dark comedy, but dark as in Soul Plane or Soul Food. Not in an endearing way, wherein its all about family values and passing the chitlins, but in a despicable way, wherein its all about big, scary black guys and being trapped in a marriage rife with spousal abuse.

The only person on the face of the planet who could properly enjoy Norbit, Wilbur Force.

And so, coming back to my original point… Mr. President, sir, I believe it is the best interest of the American people, nation, and way of life, to nuke Eddie Murphy. I volunteer and forfeit my life for this mission, personally. Awaiting orders, sir.

Where else more bravely and just go I, than before my God for judgment, shoulder to shoulder with enemy mine.

[  Mood: Fed Up WIth Life ]
[  Currently: Listening to Last Caress by The Misfits ]
Back in the day, Kevin (Kenn?) McCracken had a column on either Zealot or here at RevSF called "I Can See Your House from Here." It was essentially a series of political and religious opinion pieces, and I loved every single one of them. My young mind was of molten clay back then, or something equally malleable and squishy, and I used to take his words very seriously. But something struck me after his 9/11 column, wherein he urged the country to step back, take a breath, and be more Richard Gere like. He said something to the tune of, just because we have a couple ruined buildings, doesn’t give us license to barge into other people’s countries and tell them how to live.

That’s where he lost me.

Back in 1999, I had an uber feminist world geography teacher. I did okay in her class, but it did not help me that she was extremely hot and always came in to class sweaty from basketball practice. But that’s not what I’m outraged about – focus, Jackie boy! No hot teacher rant, we’ve got important things to say! Here we go:

One of the last things we learned about in her class, before Summer, was about the Taliban regime in Afghanistan, and analogues of it that had established themselves throughout the middle east. We read testimonies of several women who had illegally emigrated to other countries to escape those that they had the misfortune of being born in. A group of them had gotten as far as Great Britain, having been denied asylum in America. There were stories about how degrading polygamy was, how they were treated like animals, pulverized into bloody pulps per their arranged husband’s whim. The one that really made me tear up at my cheap little plastic desk was a woman talking about witnessing her mother being beaten to death by a swarm of men with stones and clubs. Her crime was not that she had stolen anything or hurt someone or even said something impolite. Her crime was that she had been raped, which made her impure and unworthy of God, which tarnished the family’s honor. Among the people that were beating this woman to death were her own brother, father, and right next to them, the three men who raped her. One of them became the owner of a taxi company in New York a few months later.

I bring this up because we’ve been talking about 300 and Captain America’s death a little on the message boards, and I have something to say. No, I didn’t kill a baby today, that doesn’t matter much to me, as long as its dead. Let’s start with 300 and I’ll get to Cap after.

A state sponsored Iranian television station has reviewed 300, so that the Iranian people would know what to be outraged about. See, there’s no cartoon depictions of Mohammed this time around, or false Newsweek stories about copies of the huge ass Qur’an being flushed down tiny ass toilets, so they might be confused as to why they’re burning effigies of George W. Bush and throwing fire bombs at embassies.

That’s pretty much the theme of the entire clip. You can watch the whole review here, at the Zionist and American extremist website memri.tv. Hang on for a second, I suddenly had a death wish.

If I go down, I’m taking all of you with me.

In all seriousness, this isn’t an issue that popped up all of a sudden last Friday, and its not exclusive to the country of Iran.

There is a line of thought throughout the Middle East, introduced in Mosques and Madrassas, that Jews and westerners are the cause of all suffering in Islamic lands. After all, they live by the only true God’s last true prophet’s only true laws, speak the only Godly language, and live in the only holy lands – although all land belonging to Allah, its only common sense that they should be expanding. Given all that, naturally, all suffering from unemployment, lack of education, starvation, poverty, lack of resources, etc. in their own nations must be the fault of someone else, and not their own corrupt governments and medieval lifestyles. Something is really wrong with societies that publicly lynch gays, rape victims and apostates, and then turn around to accuse far more liberal countries of horribly violating human rights. I believe the phrase is, "Orwellian double-speak."

In short, the reason we lost two buildings, a chunk of the Pentagon, a perfectly good patch of Pennsylvanian farmland, and four planes full of average men, women and children heading for Disneyland, is because we do let other nations live like animals. I hate to be so cliché as to actually quote Ayn Rand, but I agree with her that "Evil exists where good men do nothing." Every nightmare of Alan Moore, George Orwell and their alarmist contemporaries are real – in the middle east. Their worst fears of what decadent western society could become have been alive from Turkey to Yemen to Kosovo to Darfur for the past seven hundred years.

So, does 300 actually have an agenda? I have no idea. I haven’t seen it yet. I’m not allowed to until tomorrow. The little woman’s orders. But I do know from an article I can’t find on hotair.com, that Frank Miller, 300’s creator, has very strong opinions. Speaking to National Public Radio a few weeks back, this is what he had to say:

We’re fighting an idea, religious fascism, which is and has been part of daily life in countries like Iran for centuries. That’s not an easy task, but I really am afraid of the day when America just buckles. Uncle Sam collapses to his knees, throws his hands over his face and says, "You were right, you were always right – I’m the bad guy and I’m sorry. Do with me what you will."

Cheese it, boys! They figured us out!

Now compare what Frank Miller said, again, who is the creator of 300, to what Mark Millar said, who was in charge of Captain America’s death in the Marvel Civil War storyline. To put this in the proper context, this was in regards to a fiercely anti-American Superman comic he was in charge of, wherein Kal-El crash landed in Soviet Russia rather than rural Kansas.

Oddly enough, President Chimpy McCokespoon has yet to have him hauled off to Gitmo and shot in the face for daring to question The Administration. Just thought I might point that out.

Now, I love the HZGs. All of them. I’ve been reading their stuff since I was twelve years old. I’m running up on almost a decade of somewhat distant internet fanboyism. I know most of the old crew, and most of the current crew, is probably more inclined to agree with Millar than Miller. I can respect that, differences of opinion are okay as long as the bastards don’t try to raise taxes on me. But this little throwaway line of Joe’s in his ongoing updated article on the death of Steve Rogers made me think.

[quote=Joe Crowe]Now, about this "representation of America" being killed and this being "relevant" to war and politics and stuff you see on editorial pages. That’s just silly.[/quote]

This is the part of the blog where I quote Millar saying that he didn’t intend Civil War to be political, but couldn’t resist. Or where I point out Joe Quesada saying that Civil War was an allegory to the Patriot Act. Or that Captain America has been a left wing mouth piece for forty years, and that his former sidekick, Winter Soldier, was actually named for a group of Vietnam veteran war protesters. Or that even my Punisher Max Barracuda spin off has a Dick Cheney joke in it. But I don’t feel like finding all those links and scanning the image.

So instead, I’ll end all this on one more quote from Frank Miller.

[quote=Frank Miller]“Patriotism, I now believe, isn’t some sentimental, old, conceit. It’s self-preservation. I believe patriotism is central to a nation’s survival.”[/quote]

With all that out of me, I’ll call off the outrage for another year. You hear that, Klaw, Ivey, Superdave, Bey, McCracken et alii? You have one year to write good come backs for Hillary Clinton jokes. Because I’ve already got that she’s old and fat, and that’s comedy gold right there.

Ahhhh. It’s going to be a fun four years to be outraged.

[  Mood: Scared ]
[  Currently: Listening to Mediaeval Baebes ]
I’ve been dabbling in insanity in my spare time, as a hobby. Behold, the bounty of my harvest, filled with all the violent emotions wielded by Godless men – hatred, confusion, LUST! The fear that gives men wings and the rage that causes chase and murder. Envy the poor and destitute their freedom. Here it is, I have it, it cost me nothing. So, come all ye bipolar, deranged, expatriate, sickly, weak and damned. Enter my den, but leave behind your deprivation as soon as you smell the perfume of sulfur. I accept you whole and more, I see you as you want to be, not as you are. Indulge, abandon all hope and suffer decadence amongst like minded friends. The royal court of my accursed kingdom awaits your whimpers and lamentations. It is fine to hate yourself.

Dark is the Valley – the Valley of Shadows,
Weary of heart and of life is the King –
He sits among ruins, and thorny the meadows,
The meadows unfruitful, forgotten the Spring.
A green snake is keeping the Palace’s portal,
The lizard is warder of desolate halls,
And wine has no savour, and Love the Immortal
Seems dying at even, as fast the light falls.
O, dark is the Valley, the Valley at even,
The King’s brow is clouded, the King’s heart is black,
His down-gazing eyes raise no glance to the heavens
Where angels are winging their homeward-bound track.

I can’t believe I found it. This first one is just her face, but, wow. This the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe this beauty hasn’t done Playboy – yet.

I’m glad she lost all that bulky flesh. It is a vast improvement over her former meat shell, although I approve of her sexual liberation and experimental tendencies.

Now, admittedly, I don’t know that one of these two is Laura Eldred, but I don’t know that it is not her, either. I also don’t know that Laura Eldred writes Janeway/7 slash fiction in her spare time, but I haven’t seen any evidence to the contrary. Coincidence?

You know, if I can take a moment to be serious, I have something to say. While this post so far is only a slight, nudging, friendly dig at the dear and much loved Mrs. Eldred, and surely she will know that, I really should clarify something.

So, switching gears in t-minus now.

I’ve come down hard on fat women in my writing recently, and I feel pretty emotional about it. Its only because I hate fat people. I will never physically reach into two folds of blubber to get at some sweatball’s greasy poon ever again. Three is my limit. No fatties no more forever. Fat women: lose some weight.

Shit. This was supposed to be an apology (for, like, two seconds). But blogs are paramount to displaying raw emotion and unbridled internet rage. So strap on your tube belt and prepare for me to be unleashing the dragon all over tubby bitches.

If I see one more Cuban girl wearing something that creates the muffin top effect, I’m doing the lypo with a scalpal, some duct tape and a straw in the middle of the flea market. You know, sometimes I go to the computer, load up some X-Men themed hentai, and then I can’t do anything because I’m thinking about the extremely noticeable sweat stains that highlight fat women’s taints when they wear brightly colored clothing. A fat woman once told me that I was racist for not dating fat women. The old mathematical formula of Fat^2 = Stupid was in full effect that day. And these little fat empowerment slogans? What the Hell? "Fat women are beautiful" just sounds like something a fat woman would say to me. This philosophy of "go eat a cupcake if you don’t feel loved" doesn’t make sense to me, either. I got news for you, sisters: Chocolate covered bananas don’t count, and yes, that means that the Snapple lady is technically a virgin.

I’d expand, but you’ll have to excuse me. Marina Sirtis is on TV and she’s wearing the season one uniform. I mean, I have something I need to do, fatsos, so eat me! I mean, DON’T EAT ME!

…

Yeah, okay, Fiona Apple probably should eat me.

[  Mood: Scared ]
I hate the Swiss with every fiber of my being.

Once, there was a man. I mean, a dragon man. I mean he was just a dragon. But he was still TROGDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!

Crackdown
Okay to look at, fun to play for a little while, great for people who enjoyed GTA. 9/11 Truthers will love the ham fisted twist ending. Not much of a story. None of the main characters are very pleasant to look at. Best part of the game: the narrator talking in to your ear, giving you tutorials and snarky comments. I.E., if you die, he’ll say, very nonchalant, "Aw, well," stressing how disposable your character is. Fun for two days.

In game footage.

Fight Night Round 3
Great game, really stresses how emotionally invested people can become in a videogame. Crappy character creation system and tedious training simulators are made up for with great gameplay, and how suprisingly heart breaking it is when your character gets knocked out. Worth playing just to hear "Down goes Frazier" – when you’re the one who took him down.

Touché, Niles.

Over G Fighters
Horrible Japanese game turned into an even more horrible American game. The Ace Combat series does what this game tried to do, but the difference is that Ace Combat does it well. A bizarre jet fighter sim that touches on every single overdone Japanese cinema cliche – global warming, nuclear proliferation, population growth. Ugh.

A Futurama voice actor attempts to melt an ice berg in defiance of how shitty this game is.

WWE Smackdown Vs. Raw 2007
Wow, could I care less about this game. The writing is poor, the gameplay is weak, and the attitude is more strictly self promotional rather than fun or witty. The graphics are okay and the create a character mode is fun, but this otherwise hulking P.O.S. might as well be subtitled "WWE 2007: Now Loading Vs. Now Saving," because you’re going to be seeing those two screens a lot more often than actual gameplay. I long for the day when a wrestling game is made for one console exclusively, because you can really taste the dingleberries left over from the PS2 version. If you’re a hardcore WWE fan, maybe you’ll still be able to fwap to this, but I prefer Rumble Roses XX.

I’d like to see them DDT eachother.