I had a great time photoshopping Marvel's entire Siege event comic, so I've decided to start up a webcomic dedicated to remixing the strangest event comics I can find. Ladies and gentleman, I present: Reloaded.
I recommend it to any and all fans of cape comics. Or anti-fans with an acerbic sense of humor. In fact, I'll extend the invitation to everyone with eyes. Here's a preview:
I was bitten by the anger bug and wrote this response to Ebert's recent ass-backwards remarks on the gaming industry. I figured it was relevant to your interests.
I whipped this article together. Hopefully, there's something insightful behind all the usual sarcasm and bitter recriminations of society. Oh well.
What I learned today:
It's one thing to run around your home waving an airsoft gun. It's quite another to do the same thing upon the top of the brooklyn bridge. Live and learn I guess.
Finally! It took forever and a half, but I finally got my domain and site.
I'll probably still restrict most blogging to here, for all 2 of you that might care.
I've learned that html is my worst enemy. While I'm sure it's a walk in the park to most of you, even getting this stupidity to appear properly was difficult as hell.
One thing I'm trying to get set up is a faux-advice column, so if you have any interesting/amusing questions ask away.
Some sun-deprived sleazeball on the WoW forums stole my story.
A story I posted on the NG forums on September 18 2006:
The copypasta, posted on October 7 2006:
I know it doesn't take a genius to pretend to be an elf each day from 9 to 5, but I would hope that the average user wouldn't be so creatively bankrupt that they couldn't come up with their own short piece, or at least toss a link or credit at the end. I suppose I'd be wrong.
Just another piece of my faith in humanity chipped away.
Against my better judgement, I volunteered to toss away my free time(which I need for such exciting activities as staring at the wall and playing videogames until I go blind) out the window to review a movie for my school newspaper. Because of my general procrastination (which is formally recognized as a medical condition at this point) I had to scramble to see the film and write the review on thursday to get the content in.
My choices were threefold: Juno, which I figured had a 50% chance of being a series of repititious pregnacy jokes. Rambo, which appears to have more testosterone than a hybrid of duke nukem and Mike Tyson. And Meet the Spartans, which is the death knell of western culture as a whole.
I chose Juno out of spite, mostly because of the snide "he wouldn't like it, he's a boy" comments I got from the entertainment editors when the film was given to me as an option. It's a bit of an insult to my intelligence to assume that I'd automatically dislike a movie that didn't involve a square-jawed stoic hero triple-wielding pistols and killing men in numbers achilles would blush at just because of my gender. Apparently they believe if you have a penis and walk into certain films, you spontaneously combust.
Overall, I found Juno to be above average. It was sharply written, had witty dialogue, and had a sense of subtlety too many flicks lack.
Narrated by Alpha and Beta.
Don't you mean Beta and Alpha?
Is this really important?
Yes. You see, there's me, who is amazing. And there's you, who is a waste of skin.
Their once was a noble named Archibalde
Who loved both his wife and the sea.
But when he found a mermaid on the shore
His maritial vows went out the door.
After returning to his house
Archibalde was surprised to find
That in the blood of his spouse
Was written a strange sign:
"You said you only loved me."
And though this morbid sign he did see
Archibalde was an amoral man with an IQ of three.
And it didn't take him long to find
A young replacement bride to occupty his mind.
Of course, by mind, I mean libido.
You broke the rhyme scheme!
Rhyming's for commies and small children.
Some days, I think you're trying to drive me mad.
That's interesting. Some days, I use your credit card to buy prostitutes. And by prostitutes, I mean your girlfriend. And by your girlfriend, I mean the person you've stalked for a year.
I hate you with a passion that would shock Mephistopholes.
Who the hell is Mef-fist-opolice?
Close Archibalde, part one.
From here on, I'm posting news more frequently. Not that i'll say anything of consequence, or reach anyone particularly interesting, but I'm the type that's self-absorbed enough to believe his venting needs to be read.
My week's low point has been the physics midterm. It wasn't difficult, or challenging. In fact, I know I did quite well.
This was an exam designed to test your will to live.
100 regents questions. One hundred of the dullest, most repititious questions one can imagine. Entering the same answers over and over again for reasons that must amuse an Honors Physics teacher with a chip on his shoulder.
Enter my perspective for a bit. By 15, you grow bored. By 30, you want to leap out of the second-story window to escape. By 40, you forget why you're doing this. By 50, you forget who you are. You've devolved into a number spewing machine, applying the same equations to the same dull setup.
Then there's 99. At 99, you reach a higher state. Everything makes sense now. It may seem like madness, but you can see it. The solutions to war, famine, why that one kid across the street gives you the stink eye; they're all obvious now. Then the bell marking the end of the test period rings. You forget what you were just thinking about, but have a small headache. Oh well, time for English.
But that's past. Now I'm eating Ice cream. Delicious ice cream.
You may not have any.
It seems that when you're babysitting, parents don't approve of you teaching the kids how to make molotov cocktails. Who new?