Toyfare ranks the 100 Best Action Figures of the last decade. Not impressed. Kung-fu grip GI Joe could kick all their asses.
Archive for August, 2007
Retrocrush ranks the 20 Coolest Super Hero Costumes. Interestingly enough, I’ve dressed up as two for Halloween. Guess which.
I don’t go in much for online video serials. There’s some good stuff out there, I’m sure, but I just don’t have time to peruse every single Chad Vader Saga and Lonelygirl15, no matter how much buzz they get.
Fortunately, I happened upon AFTERWORLD on MySpaceTV. An 130-part animated series, with new episodes posted weekdays, Afterworld is a sci fi adventure that has, at its very core, a mystery: What happened? The main character attempts to salvage his sanity, his family and the truth in a post-apocalyptic afterworld he doesn’t understand.
It’s kinda cool. And only about a dozen episodes so far, so there’s not much to catch up on (and each runs about 3 minutes). Check it out for an interesting diversion, beginning with the first installment HERE.
Face facts: you’re either a Kevin Smith fan or you aren’t. I don’t know if there’s a gray area.
Personally, I love his stuff. Clerks and Mallrats are among my all-time favorite films. And he’s a fanboy, so I admire that aspect. Some folks can’t get past his foul-mouthed patois, a banter that seems to permeate his films as much as it does his own language. And maybe that’s what I like about him: he speaks through his films, giving life to the auteur theory.
All this is to set up a clip that’s been making the YouTube rounds (Smith even features it on his on blog, My Boring-Ass Life) wherein the director/writer/actor/raconteur schools a rather contemptuous fan at a Q&A session. Fortunately, it’s done with a panache and humour that sets him above the normal kneejerk lashout artist.
Click HERE to view the clip called “Kevin Smith Fights Back!” As you can imagine, the language – and images said words conjure up – are NOT safe for work. But they make for hilarious viewing.
You know it’s funny. We can build all the interstates and strip malls we want. We can clear cut all the forests we can reach, strip mine all the mountains we can climb, bulldoze all the fertile plains we set our minds to. We can eradicate diseases, split atoms and clone sheep. But when all’s said and done, at the end of the day, all it takes is one week full of fires, floods, droughts and earthquakes to remind us that, really, deep down, we’re all just Mother Nature’s Bitch.
I guess we shouldn’t have Punk’d her with that Chiffon Margarine thing back in the 70s.
I was watching The Daily Show earlier this week. Barack Obama was the guest. Now, I’m not saying I’m voting for him. I haven’t made up my mind yet. Heck, it’s way too freakin’ early to even be contemplating these things, y’know? Regardless, during the interview, Obama was talking about this and that and he said the word “nuclear.” And – and he said it correctly. And then it hit me that, for the first time in nearly a decade, we might soon have a president who can pronounce the word “nuclear” without sounding like a mouth-breathing yokel.
Oh god. What a beautiful thought.
Yes, I am crying a bit. Tears of joy. Of hope. I’ll be okay. *Sniff*
In a shocker that stunned the restaurant world, fast food pitchman Ronald McDonald was found dead in his McDonaldland home late last week. The burger clown died of a massive heart attack brought on by decades of fatty, greasy, caloric food, including Quarter Pounders, McNuggets and Hot Apple Pies – just as the McDonald’s corporation celebrated the 40th anniversary of the Big Mac.
“He appeared to be in peak condition,” said longtime companion Grimace, through tears. “But appearances were obviously deceiving … like that runner, Jim Fixx, who dropped dead while jogging back in the 80s. Just tragic.”
Doctor Hiram Snavely, renowned medico to such fast food luminaries as Wendy, Chuck E. Cheese and Gilbert Giddyup, noted that such a demise is not uncommon within the ranks of restaurant mascots. “The Colonel? Salmonella. The Chihuahua? Dehydration due to Montezuma’s Revenge. Big Boy? Coronary artery disease at age 17. They are what they eat and all the fruit and walnut salads in the world cannot make up for a lifetime of crap,” he said. “Just watch ‘Supersize Me’ some time.”
But chastisement and blame aside, those on the inside seem completely aware of their plight. Former pizza frontman, The Noid, now serving a lifetime sentence for fraud and embezzlement, noted, “We are nothing but indentured servants, held fast by the need for stardom and the addiction to the poison they feed us. We know our lives are worthless and that we’ll end up in an early grave – or worse, a living Hell.”
Meanwhile, a community mourns and comes together to bury its most revered and respected. The funeral will be held Wednesday during the lunchtime rush at McDonald’s Playplace. Services will be presided over by Reverend McCheese (recently ordained through the Internet). Ronald McDonald will be buried in a special McDLT coffin to keep the hot side hot and the cool side cool.
[The following is a piece I originally wrote back in 1977 on my old Usenet site, “Sparky Mac’s Super Special Ultra Groovy Love Machine”…]
It was shaping up to be a pretty good year.
That real square Son of Sam was finally off the streets. The Alaskan pipeline was making sure the energy crisis was a thing of the past. I got to return from Canada thanks to the Prez from Plains. I came one step closer to living the Jetsons life when I picked me up one of those groovy Apple IIs. I even got that dy-no-mite Kiss comic that Marvel put out with the group’s very own blood in the ink. And to top it all off I discovered the most outta sight piece of celluloid fantasy Tinseltown has ever seen fit to lay on us masses – “Star Wars!” (And before you ask, I’ve seen it nine times. It’s the coolest, man! Luke and Leia are the bossest screen couple since Bogey and Bacall. And back off, Solo! She’s obviously Luke’s squeeze!)
Anyway, as I said, it _was_ shaping up to be a pretty good year. Now, I just got some really bad news which all but ruins the whole dang decade (even moreso than that over-hyped bicentennial barf last year). Hold onto your hats, gang – here it is:
Farrah Fawcett is leaving “Charlie’s Angels!”
No, that’s not a mistake. I just read the article in TV Guide and I’m one POed cat! In fact, I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore! How in hades is this show going to continue?! How will television go on?! How will I ever look forward to Wednesday nights again?! NO FARRAH!?!? Say it ain’t so! I mean, it’s bad enough that ABC is losing “The Bionic Woman” to that jive Peacock and that they’ve taken “The Captain And Tennille” off the air, but to lose Ms. Fawcett as well is just too heavy, man. I can’t deal. Somebody’s cruisin’ for a brusin’!
Sure we’ll have her groovy posters and t-shirts and she says she wants to do more movies but I saw “Logan’s Run” and if you blink you miss her. [And forgive the aside but what a head trip that movie was. Sanctuary and killing people at thirty! That’s like old, man. I _should_ be killed when I get that ancient and gross and uncool.] Why can’t the blonde goddess just be happy with her life? She’s one of “Charlie’s Angels,” man! One of the foxiest ladies on the planet! And she’s married to that Six Million Dollar Man hunk too! Who couldn’t be happy with all that?
So, please, Farrah Fawcett. Please stay on “Charlie’s Angels.” If it’s the bread, mama, then I urge you to reconsider and think of your fans. There’s a lot of horny guys out here who need you each and every week to give flight to our far out fantasies, babe. And there ain’t no replacement Angel who could ever fill your wings.
To quote super rockers Firefall: “You are the woman that I’ve always dreamed of. I knew it from the start. I saw your face and that’s the last I’ve seen of my heart.”
Sparky MacMillan was born on a summer day 1951 and with a slap of a hand he had landed as an only son.
On my 16th birthday, my dad told me he had something special for me and we drove to another town where we checked into a motel. Dad left me on my own and said my surprise would be arriving soon. I sat there on the bed and watched MTV.
Eventually, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find a beautiful woman who said she was my birthday present from my father. She came into the room and undressed me and then told me to go start the shower running and that she would give me a surprise I’d never forget. I quickly ran into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water run nice and hot. However, when I left the bathroom, the woman was gone. And so were my clothes. The motel room door was wide open and I could see people outside pointing and laughing at me.
My father never came back to the motel and I had to make an outfit out of bedsheets and pillowcases just so I could walk home twenty miles in the rain. When I finally got home, my dad laughed and said it was all a harsh lesson in life and that no one ever gets what they want no matter how near they come to it.
We were never very close after that, me and the old man.