Category Archives: Uncategorized

Hahaha New Poster

When I see a computer I never see a computer I see a horse. They’re very similar. Horses run fast or slow, computers run fast or slow. Some horses are expensive, some computers are expensive. My computer is an old horse who is most comfortable sleeping upright in the barn. If you bother her her hard drive will neigh.  Every now and then, when the dew softens the summer clay, I take her for a trot among the trees and we dance, together, with the wind. Here is a new trot:

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Scums Of The Earth by Explorer Paul

Hi, I’m Explorer Paul. I travel the world looking for copper and autographed 8x10s. This is another one of my famous adventures.

There I was, waist deep and sinking fast in the fluorescent sands of the Pepper Desert.

My companion was Dr. Marilyn, whom I had become acquainted with a mere 12 hours beforehand. I would love to describe the details of our meeting but I only have 15 minutes left in this Internet cafe before the proprietor realizes there isn’t a grenade in his toilet, and the finer points aren’t significant to this story unless you consider a crow circus significant.

I will type as fast as I can to get to the point, unless I think of something else that’s interesting such as the ringleader of the crow circus who was not the feather master he appeared to be but rather a slave driver who controlled the birds by waving his gravy-dipped hands through the air to entice them like the conductor of a metropolitan orchestra where the musicians are birds, and rather than play instruments the sound is produced by the conductor pulling wires attached to the birds’ most sensitive areas to induce squawks that when played in succession produce a haunting melody that combines the natural and unnatural into a cyclone of otherworldly emotion.

I’m sorry. When I get a thought in my head I have to get it out or else I’ll forget a piece of Quentin Tarantino trivia which my psychic told me I’ll need one day. I must now skip the part about myself and the doctor buying ourselves valuable time by eating a snake like Lady and the Tramp ate spaghetti.

Anyway, we were stuck in the sand and she told me that she’s the only person ever who researched and categorized “The Scums of the Earth”, a grouping of Earthen flora that is shitty and stinky. Because she was about to be swallowed into sand she wanted me to know everything about her research in the event I survived to tell the tale. I asked if it was written down somewhere because I have a bad memory and she said that she burned all her journals when she was trying to impress a famous ball player by lighting a cigar with it.

Blah blah blah she died and I got out because I’m not a wiggler and eventually I was rescued by a wandering rookie solider who was engaged in a hazing ritual wherein he was not to return to the barracks until he had a sunburn so bad that he smelled like a really good chicken joint.

I would feel bad not fulfilling her second final request, that being the sharing of her findings to the world.  Her FINAL request was that her body be stuffed and displayed in the window of her the first restaurant she tried fries in, which I cannot fulfil because the same army unit whom my saviour belonged to has already claimed her corpse as their mascot. Here are the scant details I remember from that dreadful (yet informative) afternoon. RIP Dr. Marilyn.

There are three kinds of scum (she wanted to divide the categories further but her patron cut off funding because she refused to marry his nephew, known locally as “The Zit Tzar”):

Safe Scum

These scums are the most common, found in every bucket, hole, and seam indoors and out.

Identifiers: Not very wet, very similar to scuz but way heavier, a bit milky when blended.

Smell: Neutral to VERY piney.

Nutritional Value: You can eat these scums but their nutrition is equal to that of a swatch of cotton.

Notes:

  • Since they are abundant they should be utilized in any way possible. Dr. Marilyn suggests all nations forfeit their arms and fight future wars with safe scum being the only legal weaponry.
  • I can’t remember this exact part but she said something about wrapping safe scum around a cucumber to make a brine-less pickle.

Scenic Scum

These scums are visible from outer space, thus the Earth’s topography is essentially scum. Dr. Marilyn pleaded with World Space Foundation to allow her passage into the stars to perform spectral analysis but her proposal was deemed “fucked”.

Identifiers: Will form pus when melted, dark, serrated leaves form in some varieties.

Smell: Like someone rubbed rotten soap in a piece of day old pepperoni.

Nutritional Value: Contains high amounts of Vitamin 2 BUT it is near impossible for humans to fully digest it. Consumption will cause barfing, which is a classification of scum that Dr. Marilyn was excited to study, playfully dubbing it “scum!” before she could think of anything better.

Notes:

  • Research would indicate this scum to be a distant cousin to slime.
  • This scum may hold secrets to our universe including the answer to the question, “Why don’t humans lay eggs?”
  • When injected into the eye of a laboratory rat, it went blind but gained the ability to fashion small shelters out of a common bell pepper.

Scary Scum

Dr. Marilyn was very hesitant to share her findings on Scary Scum and it’s easy to understand why. When she was experimenting with it–eating it, licking it, sucking it, rubbing it–she went into a coma. While we were stuck she emailed me a pic of her journal right before she went down:

Identifiers: Found in dark and shaded areas, especially those formerly occupied by “dingbats” (I did not understand whether she was referring to a species of winged rodent or a type of person who’s kinda dumb). These scums are crispy and can manufacture their own crud as a form of reproduction.

Smell: These scums tend to absorb the sniffer’s own natural scent and then project a variant of that stink with added rot. Incredible.

Nutritional Value: Though not tested, Dr. Marilyn surmised that Scary Scum could make an effective additive to smoke machines.

Notes:

*This is the part where she died so I didn’t get any extra notes but I can say that the stuff that came out of her nose after she croaked might very well have been this shit*

That’s it for me! I’m headed to the Cone Islands tonight to investigate an unknown band that apparently rocks! Will report back! Thank you Glenn for allowing me to publish this work on his website. And eat scum NYTimes.com, turns out we didn’t need you.

The Definitive Star Wars Audience Participation Script

The popularity of Star Wars is due to many things, most notably its soundtrack, which when played backwards describes the exact location of George Lucas’ high school locker.

But over the years, and several fan pilgrimages to Robin Hood High in Modesto, CA, the movie has taken on a life of its own and continues to be screened on big ones across the world. Fans have even taken it upon themselves to immerse themselves into the action by reacting in unison at certain points of the film, thereby becoming part of it.

Next time you find yourself on shore leave with nothing but a pocket full of ground beef and a few hours to spare, head out to a Star Wars screening and follow along with the diehards using this complete guide:


The show begins with the designated SM (Star Master) warning any first-timers that “their balls are about to be blown off”. The audience responds, “HOW ARE THEY GOING TO GET BLOWN OFF?” to which the SM replies, “WITH LASERS, SPACESHIPS, ALIENS, AND FIGHTS”.

The SM retreats to the back row where a bushel of peaches awaits.  He or she will then ROLL A PEACH down the aisle whenever a PLANET or ASTEROID appears onscreen (if peaches aren’t in season, use onions).


As the famous opening crawl begins with “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…”, each audience member holds up a COMPASS, says in unison “WON’T  BE NEEDING THIS” then throws them behind them toward the SM. The SM collects each compass for later.


Then you are to READ THE CRAWL in unison, verbatim, in the VOICE OF YOUR FATHER.

VERBALIZE every piece of punctuation using their special Star Wars code names:

Comma = Low Helmet
Period = Little Planet
Apostrophe = High Helmet
Ellipses = Laser Holes

Example: Pursued by the Empire HIGH HELMETs sinister agents LOW HELMET Princess Leia races home aboard her starship LOW HELMET custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy LASER HOLES


Right after C-3P0 and R2-D2 cross the hallway, just before Vader arrives, shout out, “BIG MAMA’S COMING!”


When Luke sees Leia’s message for the first time, she says “Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope” a bunch of times.

After the SECOND time the she says it say “AGAIN, PLEASE”, then after the third time “OKAY WE GET IT, SHUT UP”


Right when R5-D4’s motivator blows, everyone gets out their phones and DELETES THEIR MOST RECENT EMAIL.


When Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are discussing Luke’s future:

Beru: Luke’s not a farmer Owen he has too much of his father in him
Owen: That’s what I’m afraid of…

The audience responds, “I’M AFRAID OF _____” filling in the blank with your greatest fear. The Star Master chooses the dumbest fear of the crowd and forces that person to sit backwards the rest of the screening.


In the iconic scene where Luke leaves his house and looks to the Tatooine night sky with its two suns, scream, “GIMME DOUBLE PEACHES, STAR MASTER”


When Obi-Wan removes his hood to reveal himself for the first time and says “Hello There”, everyone TAKES OFF THEIR SHIRTS, stows them under their seats, and responds with “HI, MAN”.


At the first appearance of Chewbacca at the Mos Eisley Cantina, take the GROUND BEEF out of your pocket and THROW IT AT THE SCREEN.


When Ponda Baba’s arm is cut off by Obi-Wan Kenobi, everyone HOLDS UP THE ARM they wouldn’t mind losing, wiggles it around, and says “HERE, HAVE MINE”.

The SM counts the number of rights and lefts held up and will report the data to the local census board as a sign of goodwill. When delivered, the SM will tell the associate he or she deals with, “From Luke and his farm, I give you these arms”.


At the first sight of the Death Star, after Obi-Wan says, “That’s no moon”, the audience responds,  “NOPE! IT’S ANOTHER PEACH, BABY”.


While in the detention area, a frantic Han says, “Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh… everything’s perfectly all right now. We’re fine. We’re all fine here now, thank you. How are you?”

The audience responds, “WE’RE OKAY BUT WE COULD USE A SHIRT”.


When our heroes land in the garbage chute on the Death Star, take any garbage accumulated during the screening and THROW IT BACKWARD toward the SM, while making LASER NOISES.


When Obi-Wan is struck down by Darth Vader his clothes fall to the floor. The audience RETRIEVES the shirts they removed earlier and THROWS THEM AT THE SCREEN.


When Luke says, “I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home. They’re not much bigger than two meters”, respond with “TWO METERS? THAT’S AT LEAST FIFTY PEACHES”. Then everyone turns around to face the SM who responds, “I AM YOUR MASTER AND I ROLL WHEN I SAY I ROLL”.


When the pilots take the their ships for the attack, the shirtless crowd leaves the theatre and must go out to the street to TELL 10 STRANGERS ABOUT STAR WARS.

Once you successfully fill your quota, jog back to the theatre and take your seat. If you’re able to get back in time for when Luke deals the fatal blow to the Death Star, POP a ZIT (if you have one) and SHOUT out “I MADE IT”.


As Luke, Han, and Chewbacca walk down the aisle to receive their awards, the LEFT SIDE of the audience chants “LET’S GO LUKE, LET’S GO LUKE, HAN AND CHEWY MAKE ME PUKE”. The RIGHT SIDE responds with “HAN AND HIS PET, HAN AND HIS PET, LUKE WEARS A DIAPER AND IT’S ALL WET”


As the end credits begin to roll the SM will reward the peaches to the first person who returned to his or her seat after canvassing the neighbourhood. That lucky patron then leads a parade outside the theatre where everyone who DIDN’T get back in time is waiting.

The SM then BURNS the pile of compasses along with the garbage and discarded shirts. The SM will also form patties out of the ground beef and grill them over the burning pile. The person who got the peaches must stomp them into a jam to be spread onto each patty, then distribute the peach burgers to the fans. Once the food is consumed the screening has concluded.


Everyone has a SAFE RIDE HOME.

How Eggs Are Cooked Around The World

I wouldn’t trust a lizard even if it handed me a background check notorized by António Guterres himself, but despite our different bloods and tongues I’d still accept an invitation to dine. That’s because mammals and lizards agree on two things and two things only: things were better back in the old days, and eating unborn birds is tasty.

Yes, the  vertebrates of our planet love eating eggs due to a biological urge to destroy all offspring that isn’t ours. Over centuries this urge has gone from sending trained wolves to wreak havoc on neighbouring mangers, to a worldwide food phenomenon with ties to all three major meals.

What’s fascinating is that your method of “gettin’ ’em hard” is, to you, as normal as arm holes on a jacket, when to the rest of the globe your practices would appear odd and perhaps even offensive. We went to the library for nine hours and found out how people around the world cook their eggs and the results may shock you:

Italy

Velocità uova (‘Speed Eggs’)

1. Insert raw bird egg into the tailpipe of a Vespa.

2. Drive toward the coast. Every time your bike stalls because of the egg, stop, pick an olive and put it in your boot.

3. When you reach the coast, remove the egg and wash it in Mediterranean sea water. If the egg attracts any sardines, toss your boot olives as far into the sea as possible to lure them away.

4. Utter a prayer of your choosing.

5. Find the nearest lemon tree and peel the egg against the coarse bark. Place pieces of shell into your shell pouch.

6. Leave the peeled egg in the Mediterranean sun until shrivelled to the size of an uvetta (raisin).

7. Serve with olive oil and fresh herbs.


S
pain

Huevos del sol (‘Eggs of the Sun’)

1. Juggle six fresh eggs for 60 revolutions in the nearest square to a crowd of at least five.

2. Wrap in a traditional yarn sling, bash against the cobblestones, and throw onto a terracotta roof

3. Allow to ferment while enjoying a coffee and the sounds and sights of the square.

4. Climb onto the roof and empty contents of the sling onto the tiles.

5. Scrape egg onto a ceremonial sabre called an Espada de yugo.

6. Bring the sword down the the square and serve scraped onto a loaf of freshly fried onions flavoured with saffron.

7. Serve to anyone willing to exchange a story of old.


Iceland

Fjölskyldaegg (‘Family Eggs’)

1. Catch a female freshwater trout. Remove roe and suck on until flavour is extracted — spit back into the river.

2. Find a bird egg, force down the throat of the trout and then add a generous swig of Brennivín.

3. Hang high atop a smouldering pile of juniper.

4. Once all the liquor has evaporated, continue to hang until trout is completely dried.

5. Remove the egg. Feed the dried trout to the village hound.

6. Lay out the egg on an oaken slab and pass down to the eldest son.


J
apan

アーティストの好きな卵 (‘The Arist’s Favourite Eggs’)

1. Choose an egg that matches your energy.

2. Spend six months with the egg.

3. At midnight on the eve of the sixth month, paint the shell in a matter that visually depicts your relationship with the egg.

4. Write a fable of the egg in three volumes.

5. Attempt to sell the fable for film adaptation.

6. If the egg’s fable is not sold, award the egg to a pre-pubescent on their 10th birthday.

7. Accompany the egg’s recipient to the griddle of a master sizzler.

8. Have the recipient select yolk or white. Take what remains for yourself.

9. Consume in quiet reflection.


Netherlands

Eieren uit de aarde (‘Eggs from the Earth’)

1. Roll egg into a mossy grove in a deep valley. Mark location on a map.

2. Select an egg keeper and provide the keeper with the map.

3. Pay the egg keeper three knives per moon to keep watch over the egg.

4. Forget about the egg, for the egg belongs now to its keeper.


R
ussia

Потрясающее яйцо (‘The Stunning Egg’)

1. Crack fresh chicken eggs on top of a hot, energy inefficient stereo playing any Stones record from the 80s.

2. Have every member of the household give it a lick.

3. Serve atop a bed of caraway seeds.


Scotland

White Chips

1. Place eggs under the hind quarters of a family member weighing at least 18 stone.

2. You’ll know the egg is done when the individual has read The Herald in its entirety.

3. Paint with Scotch Whiskey using a horsehair brush then insert one egg into each cheek.

4. DO NOT CHEW.

5. Allow eggs to slowly dissolve.

 

A Writer Attempts To Craft A Humourous Piece On Metric Conversions

Being an accomplished writer seems easy on paper–the same paper we stain with strokes of ink that is weaved into magic and truth–but in reality it’s as difficult as performing dolphin surgery on the deck of rowboat during a winter’s gale. That last sentence took as much out of me as a marathon runner with skunks taped to her legs, just to let you know. While it would be a worthwhile exercise to allow you to observe me, live, during “surgery”, as a writer I’d rather tell–and more importantly show– you how difficult it is. Here’s a rare peek beneath the black satin curtain, shimmering like an anaconda at dusk in the dark blue mud of the Amazon.

BACKGROUND

I wanted to craft a humour piece suited for Big Apple quarterlies where I list metric conversions, only silly. Like Samuel de Champlain, I was having trouble deciding where to go next. My first instinct was to frame these conversions as under-appreciated, oft-ignored tenets of the metric system. By going that route my intro would read something like this:

OPTION 1

Mitres and litres, the two-headed beast of the metric system, have been well-compensated for their dominance in the worldwide height and volume game. Their various offspring as well as their capable pal, the gram, are certainly less heralded but are still in heavy rotation on the lips and forms of our top scientists and estimators. Go even further outside of the mainstream and you’ll find a legion of virtually unknown units that have real world uses. In order to help you understand them, here they are put into context via Imperial conversion:

0 imperial fucks given = 3.2 metric guffs

1 36DD imperial bra = .3 metric grocery bags


My other option was to differentiate these made up units from their internationally recognized counterparts by giving them a sort of streetwise persona. In the following intro I create a first-person narrator accustomed to strange metric conversions in a fictional urban centre.

OPTION 2

You sit there in your suburban fuckin’ four-walled, one roof homes, worryin’ about titty flicks on Billy’s Netflix list and  whether doggy has a fresh patch of grass to shit on. You’re ignorant to what’s really goin’ on out there on the streets where life is a chess match between two bags of humidity being watched over by a moth-eaten raccoon wearing armour made of crud. Your metric conversions are written in Billy’s textbook or scrawled in your butler’s notepad, where the worst thing a mis-conversion leads to is dry ass banana bread. Out here we converting shit you never even imagined, and if we don’t get the numbers right? People end up dead. Know these next time you step into my world:

Imperial size large jean jacket = Size Maybe Metric jean jacket with an extra metric half sleeve

An imperial pinch of cinnamon = .04 metric fists of cinnamon


And finally, I could use the “news bureau” motif that I commonly turn to where I reach out to “staff members” (well-crafted characters of various aptitudes) to aid in the creation of content.

OPTION 3

We reached out to our team of foreign correspondents and network of nosy paperboys to find out how the metric system is used in the real world and not in the stuffy laboratories of the elite. Feter Poncle of our Belgian Bureau starts things off with interesting conversions he found useful when researching a story on the enigmatic trollers of the Dover Strait:

An imperial double click = a metric triple click with a half scroll

1 film rated imperial ages 18 and up = 2 films rated metric 20 and a bit

1 all you can eat imperial buffet = 3 metric ham slams


The lesson here is that being writer is often like being a locksmith. You can have a sack full of keys, but which doors do they open? It’s also like being a being a blacksmith because computers that you type on get pretty hot.

Check back next week when I show you how to write beautiful poetry using nothing more than the subject line of your last spam email.

Other Mothers

I love my mom so much that it’d be unfair to drag her good name and likeness into a website that doesn’t take anything seriously except its Contact Information. At the same time, I’d hate to ignore Mother’s Day because anyone who’s ever moused around this domain was produced inside a mother at one point or another. So I’ve decided to run a hypothetical exercise where I focus on other mothers I’d call ‘mother’ if I had my druthers and were allowed another, brother.

I should’ve saved that poem for the custom Mother’s Day card I make every year that will warm my mom’s heart better than blood ever could. Then again, the last thing I’d want is for my mom to think that I’ve been dedicating any amount of the brain she created for me to dreaming up different types of moms.

Here are some other mothers:

A Massive Mother

Besides the obvious advantage of unlimited access to the orchard’s untouchables up where the fruit and the sun are engaged in an all-out fuck fest producing the juiciest of the litter, having a big one would take hugs to a level only hypothesized by the prudish oedipal who invented them. A hug with mom is a mutual acknowledgement that life got worse the minute you and her physically parted, so the bigger the hug, the more accurate the simulation is.

A brooding mother

My mom is as sweet as honey soda, which is just how I like it. But it would be interesting to experience what life is like on the other side of the equator and live a few moons with a mother who dabbles in darkness.

Instead of pre-milk prayers she’d cast post-sausage spells, and when Halloween came around she’d prefer to escape the pretenders and take us to visit the graves of Trent Reznor’s influences instead. Bedtime would become a nightly game of chicken with the sun, and speaking of birds, we’d spend Christmas spoiling the crows.

an alleged mother

Is she or ain’t she? Having this in the back of my mind until the mystery is solved would distract me from smaller daily bothers, such as questioning my oral health routine, whether or not I should eat more seeds, and stresses related to a lifetime without a concrete nickname.

An underwater mother

Just because this fantasy mother is underwater most of the time, doesn’t mean she doesn’t come up for a breath, a hug, and fruit every now and then, and that’s what makes her the full package. From fresh seafood to salty tales, impossible knots to close relationships with aquatic mammals, an underwater mother brings a slew of maritime skills to the table that would be the envy of any land son.

That’s all! Come on back in June when I put out my list of dad fads 2017 that looks at recent innovations in fathers. Let’s just say that previous metrics including time spent in the woods together, and number of thoughtless gifts exchanged are now completely outdated.

Brag Bag

While I was rummaging through the crawl space looking for my frog costume, I stumbled upon my Brag Bag.

For those who don’t know what that is, my Brag Bag is a rucksack-style bag made from red canvas with black accents and a logo bearing the name of the manufacturer that I won’t mention because I prefer to brag about what’s in the bag and not what’s outside. It has a Led Zeppelin patch (sewn, not ironed-on), a zipper that gives access to the main chamber, and two smaller pockets that operate under a snap system. I’m hesitant to use the latter for the storage because I don’t trust a snap as much as a zipper or even a sturdy button.

NOT THE ACTUAL BAG – to show the real Brag Bag would technically be a bag brag meaning I’d have to somehow put the brag bag into itself. Since that’s impossible, this is as good a look as you’ll get.

This bag is where I keep all the things I’m able to confidently brag about. Are all brags confident? Guess I’m not putting “understanding of the English language” in my Brag Bag. Here is what I will put in the Brag Bag this week:

All MOST of my appliances and kitchen implements are major brands

My arsenal includes KitchenAid, Cuisinart, GE, and Breville. I may not have it all but let’s just say what I lack in Le Creuset I make up for with a decent amount of Calphalon.

Every weekday morning I eat a high fibre cereal that no sweet freak / frost boss would touch

Once your taste buds and nose cones get accustomed to scarfing wheat and oats without ‘zang’, you can easily eat a daily breakfast that won’t turn your guts to gravy. My preferred brand looks like cat treats and tastes like trite taffy but the absence of fun allows me to sample the office candy basket more than any bacon ‘n egger ever could.

I taught my wife how to make rice in a matter of minutes 

Any time somebody says they can’t cook rice I’m all like, “Rice? The food?”. If they were talking about say, the car, then I understand–a car is hard to make.

I don’t even keep my microwave plugged in

This actually reminds me that my microwave isn’t really a major brand, unless you consider DANBY major. I might go back and erase that first one but if I don’t, know that it’s because I still feel I own enough to brag. Anyway, most people keep their microwave plugged in at all times, providing them an extra digital clock in their work space. Since we rely on our oven as our primary kitchen timepiece, we don’t feel it necessary to keep the microwave plugged in. When the mail boy delivers the hydro bill every new moon I’m always delighted to be able to tell myself that I’ve saved a few cents–and heck, maybe a dollar or two–just because I’m more logical than most amateur chefs.

Guess I’m more of a foodie than I thought! Time to put the bag back the crawl space. Next time I’m hoping to be able to brag about summer softball statistics, ice cream lick records, and outfits that really sizzle. Until then, this has been The Brag Bag.

New Trailer For Fate Of The Furious

Hey check out this new extended trailer for the new Fast and furious where the furious are puzzled at the new Dom Toretto

Movie Review — Logan

Logan is better known as Wolverine, the Canadian mad man with claws who spends his new movie, Logan, as a guy named James even though his friends call him Logan and strangers call him Wolverine if they’ve heard of him.

Logan is fucked up big time in this movie, forcing Hugh Jackman to act with a limp the whole time for probably the first time in his career. In this chapter of the book of this character that’s shaped like a paw, Logan is still alive in the future year of 2029 with his friend and fake dad Professor X. In this he meets a little girl who is exactly like him yet he is still surprised to find out she’s his daughter, probably because the only school he ever went to only taught him how to beat up weirdos and not freak out any time someone looks at him funny.

This movie is a lot like Bad News Bears because it’s about a little daughter helping out a drunk middle age daddy who doesn’t seem to even want a daughter. The little girl in this one looks less like Tatum O’Neal and more like a young Lukas Haas, actor and charter member of Hollywood’s original Pussy Posse.

This movie is also like Terminator 2 in a way because there’s tons of stabbing and a guy protecting a kid, and also kind of like Little Miss Sunshine because there are quite a few road trip sequences and drugs. For you Spielberg fans there’s even a touch of Hook in that there’s some powerful kids hanging out in a clubhouse which Logan goes to in a tuxedo like Robin Williams in Hook.

There were so many stabbings in this movie that I’m surprised it’s not rated S. But seriously, when a movie stars at least 3 people with claws there’d better be wounds, and boy were the movie ambulances you never see burning rubber over the few days or whatever that this thing took place.

This future in this movie isn’t half bad except for this army of guys who all have robot arms doing whatever it is they feel like all day long. And every car is made by GM/Chrysler in the future. That sucks because my family has been about Fords since the ’90 Taurus wagon.

There’s one good eating scene at a stranger’s dinner table and one good bathroom scene, which are good numbers for a major motion picture.

This ain’t the kind of X-Men movie with blue chicks and karate aliens and shit, it’s more raw and that makes sense because Wolverine like his meat raw and his beer cold. Oh Canada indeed.

I’d give this movie 23 “stab wounds” out of 28 “ADR grunts” and would recommend it to anyone who is looking to prank someone religious.

My Ideal Planet

The naughty night noticers at NASA recently peeped 7 new planets that were probably pretty obvious to aliens better than us. This is exciting news for a race of beings who have always fantasized about travelling to other planets to mark our territory by instinctively pissing everywhere only to receive eye-rolls from the natives who have such big eyes that the eye-rolls are are obvious, leading us to retreat back to the more piss-friendly Earth in utter embarrassment.

Now that it might be possible to chill somewhere other than here, there are a few things I’d like to see in a new planet. Since there are probably infinity planets out there, the likelihood of there being one that matches my specifications is 100%.

My ideal planet includes…

Safer volcanoes. Ask anyone–dead or alive or Highlander–where they’d want to hang if danger weren’t a factor and you’d hear two answers: the mesosphere and in a volcano. Volcanoes are way too dangerous to party in so I’m hoping the ones on any new planet is full of savoury goos and sweet foams that would be a pleasure to bop within alongside a selection of our finest party animals.

Sour oceans. Our oceans are renowned for being heavily seasoned with our favourite french fry flavour, which is pretty boring for those of us with sophisticated palettes. I prefer something with zing which is why I’d like oceans with notes of citrus and tamarind.

“This coil-haired Earth womb smells of the bile of a Phim”

Better trees. These days it’s rare to come across an Earth tree that bears fruit I can actually fuckin eat. If all our food on the new planet came from trees we wouldn’t need money, and could spare the lives of native hogs and beefs, forcing them to race each other instead.

Better caves (and plenty of them). I need a planet that provides built-in housing so we don’t have to waste time, money and drywall in making new ones that only treasure hunters and dukes can afford. A good cave system heated by hot springs and cooled by the gems would increase quality of life way more than any Tom Hanks movie ever could.

Better stuff in the desert. Nomads often refer to their local desert as “the beige bitch”, which is awfully disrespectful. Perhaps they’d treat our new deserts better if they were to include things like vines, thorns, and Gatorade.

“Every night I have the same dream” – Buzz Aldrin

More moss. If you live in the city like I do you might as well forget about ever seeing moss the rest of your life. Moss lets you live the lizard life and provides food, a pillow and green/brown tones that could influence your next design project.

Policing by big birds. I’m a freak for fantasy so the idea that we could be policed by giant birds of prey really puts a buzz in my balls. Plus, rather than discriminate against people of colour, bird police will target the rat-like among us who probably need a reality check anyway.

Chiller gravity. Lighten up, you know? With looser gravity we can finally standardize the mattress, rid ourselves of the oppressive sleep number system, and do away with terrible Yelp reviews of hotels that are forced to commit their fleet to either side of the Mohs scale.

First thing I’d ask these locals is, “Pardon me, when’s bedtime around here?”

At the end of the day, there would be zero problems on Earth if there were tons of warm, mossy caves and better trees. If you want me to run for election I’m totally down but must warn that I’ll never stop swearing.