RARELY UPDATED BLOGS ARE ST00P1D

Yes, it has been a month since I've updated.  But that's only because...I didn't feel like it.

Seriously.  That's the only reason.  I mean, I tried to and everything, but every time I tried, I was just, "Meh.  I'd rather be playing Xbox."  So I did.

But never fear.  I've gotten over my lack of interest, and posts are coming.  Next up?  Something about Doctor Who.  And comic books, probably.

Until then, follow me on Twitter, or ask me stuff on Formspring. 

Excelsior, true believers!

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ST00P1D THOUGHTS: "THE SIMS 3 IS A LIE! TELL THE PEOPLE!"

INTRODUCTION
 

Oh my god. I think I've finally stumbled upon the truth. After all these years of going about my business just like the rest of you, just like I was raised, keeping my head down, minding my own business, I've finally realized that things are not in fact as they appear. That the the truth of reality is not the truth that is widely known; that, in fact, the truth is very different, and, dear reader, darkly so.

Honestly, I've always suspected that something was amiss. That beneath the graphics card bloom of sunny weekends, quick-hire jobs and bull sessions with the neighbors at 2 AM, there was something shadowy afoot, as if there was some sort of evil puppet master doing unspeakable things to make the seemingly idyllic universe possible. I realize that I suspected this for the large part because we're talking about EA's The Sims 3 here, where the player is God of Digitalworld, which means I'm God of Digital world, and I'm sort of a dick.
 

But when I use words like "amiss" and "afoot" to describe what's going on, I'm not talking about the dickish things I often occasionally do to my Sims. No. My power to manipulate digital fake-lives as I see fit isn't what bothers me (obviously not, or I wouldn't be such a dick). No, what bothers me instead is something far more nuanced, far more secretive, far more sneaky. And this is the realization that the factors that make my overlordship of my Sims possible are not rose petals and puppydog smiles, but are instead the bloodstained tools of the Tyrant's...um...Toolbox.
 

Allow me to open your eyes, as my eyes have now been opened. But be warned, reader: what you learn here cannot be unlearned. And what you learn may alter your reality in such a way as to make any attempt to live even a semblance of your former life utterly impossible. (I.E., your Sims-related shit might get seriously fucked the fuck up.) Only if you are prepared to take this risk should you proceed. (I.E., quaggy Sims fantards need to get off my fucking blog right now, because I don't want to hear your whining.)
 

(Yes, 'quaggy' is a real word. And yes, I used it properly. Now, unless you quaggy shits have anything else to whine about, let's get to the list, shall we?)

 THE TRUTH

1. While the player may indeed be God of the Sims, God's wishes are relayed to the Sims via an invisible Enforcer, who dictates behavioral choices via concise txt messages.

You know exactly what I'm talking about. Select a Sim. Click on the Sim, or an object. And what happens? Up pop several text behavioral options floating around a large representation of the Sim's head. Now, before you pick one, move the mouse around to point at the different options, and watch what the Sim does. Yes, it follows the movement of the mouse with its eyes, even turning its head to see where you're pointing.

What does this mean? This means that, during this instance, your Sim is compelled to pay full attention to what you're about to order it to do. And when you select an option, the Sim dutifully does it. Now, as God, you certainly order your Sim around based on these options. But where do these options come from? And who makes sure each Sim obeys commands? The answer can only be "an invisible Enforcer."

The Enforcer has determined what a Sim is permitted to do, and these options for behavior have been distilled into blunt txt messages, all to make it easier for God to command the Sim, and for the Sim to follow. God selects the behavior, and the Sim MUST OBEY THE WORD OF THE ENFORCER.

But how does the Enforcer compel Sim obedience? On to Point 2.
 

2. The Enforcer maintains control of Digitalworld through the use of invisible secret Sim police that manage all aspects of Digitalworld.
 

True, you'll never see this Enforcer Squad rounding Sims up in unmarked trucks or hassling them on the street. But that's only because the Enforcer Squad is far too sophisticated for that. They've been at this for three games now, over more than ten years, and in that time have learned to control Sims so well that the Sims don't even suspect they're being controlled!
 

For example:
 

To make sure that Sims don't have too much free time in which to cause trouble, the Enforcer Squad manages the economy in such a way that whenever a Sim wants a job, her or she can immediately get one. There is a constant need for more journalists, more athletes, even more petty criminals in Digitalworld. Whatever a Sim wants to do for money, a Sim CAN do for money, and immediately so, and all under the auspices of the Enforcer and his/her squad. How this is possible will be made clear by the end of this revelatory essay.

If a Sim is lonely and having trouble finding a mate, that Sim will find that there is a constant stream of new Sims popping up in public places, seemingly existing entirely for the purpose of satisfying the social needs of other Sims. These new Sims may not even have houses in town, and they may not even have jobs - they're simply at the park or the spa at 1 AM, apparently just waiting for another Sim to approach them.
 
A Sim is tired of cleaning his or her house or repairing damaged goods? No problem - the necessary service is always a simple phone call away, day or night. And while said service-person will only work during the day, they will ALWAYS show up when they say they will, and if they can't, another identically qualified service-person will show up to do the job in their place.
 

Of course, repairs aren't even necessary. Why? Well, a Sim can always buy new goods, regardless of the time of day, from an automated system controlled by God that seems to instantly teleport new objects into the Sim's house, and to the exact specifications the Sim prefers. Electronics, furniture, even pop art - if a Sim desires it, God can instantly provide it through an interface provided by the Enforcer, and apparently managed by the Enforcer Squad. Because the money to pay for the new items is immediately subtracted from the Sim's household funds. This money is either directly paid out of an electronic account, or, more sinisterly, the invisible agents of the Enforcer Squad materialize in the Sim's house and take the money out from under his or her mattress. Hell, perhaps the agent even materializes beside the Sim his or herself, and takes the cash directly out of his or her pocket.
 

And how do the purchased items instantly materialize? Perhaps some sort of teleportation device is used. Or perhaps the invisible agents of the Enforcer deliver the product, somehow transferring it from the interface's ether to the material plane of Digitalworld.

This may sound unbelievable, but hear me out. Interested Sims can choose either the military or law enforcement career track. And when they're working their shift, where do they go? Why, to the appropriate career headquarters. They enter the building, and then SEEMINGLY DISAPPEAR. What? How is this possible? What is going on?
 

It is my theory that, hidden within these buildings, are hundreds if not thousands of sophisticated pod-stations, into which each employed Sim can plug his or herself, Matrix-style. At this point, it is my contention that an avatar of said Sim - possibly composed of astral energy, or the technological equivalent - materializes invisibly in Digitalworld. It is this avatar that then invisibly carries out the will of the Enforcer, as dictated by God.
 

The sophisticated pod-station tends to all the employed Sim's needs during his or her duty shift: the pod feeds the Sim, processes his or her waste, and even allows the Sim to socialize with coworkers who are also plugged in to the pod-station system. All this, while the invisible avatar of the employed Sim takes funds to pay for items bought by other Sims, which are then delivered out of the ether of the shopping interface. During this duty shift, the avatar of the employed Sim can also apparently manage the economy, makes sure each Sim obeys God through the txt commands of Enforcer, and, as will now be discussed, "HANDLE" THE DISOBEDIENT.
 

3. The fate of every Sim in Digitalworld is in the hands of the Enforcer and his/her squad. And these tyrannical powers are not above employing these powers arbitrarily, apparently to control Sims through sheer terror.

These nefarious methods of control do not noticeably affect a Sim household as long as God has deemed the household "Active." If a household is "Active," God and God alone has the right to determine the fate of Sims in that household. But the moment God tires of managing the Sims in said household and deems that household "Inactive," the duty of managing that household and its Sims apparently passes to the Enforcer and his/her invisible agents. And often, the Enforcer determines to disrupt and even destroy these inactive households, in what can only be an attempt to keep all other households in line by way of brutal terrorism.
 

Go ahead. Change a household's status from "Active" to "Inactive," then go back some time later and check the status of that household. Sims it contained while "Active" have suddenly disappeared. Sure, they are still remembered by the remaining members of that household, and may even be communicated with via telephone. Perhaps they can even visit the household if invited. But a deeper look at Digitalworld will show that the "missing" Sims no longer live anywhere on the map. They have been relocated, and to where is only known to the Enforcer and his squad. Sometimes the missing Sim cannot even be contacted - they are listed as "deceased." While they were happy, healthy, obedient and not particularly accident prone during the entire time their household was "Active," as soon as God deemed it "Inactive," they apparently died. Or, probably more accurately, THEY WERE KILLED.

Why? What did said Sim do to warrant this treatment? And why can't even God him or herself move said Sim back into the household, or bring said Sim back to life? It is my contention that all these questions are answered by looking at the methods of the Enforcer, and his/her motivations for these methods.
 

Certainly, some of these Sims in question violated some rule dictated by the Enforcer, and were punished by having their right to live in Digtialworld revoked, or were simply executed. But it seems to me that too many inactive Sims disappear from the map for all of them to be actual undesirables. There is also the matter of the Enforcer allowing the existence of a large criminal syndicate in Digitalworld, which proves that crime itself is not wholly offensive to him/her (at least, when said crimes are committed under the auspices of the Enforcer's permitted syndicate). 

I propose that the Enforcer banishes and kills algorithmically, with Sims targeted for no greater reason than they live in the "Inactive" state.  This is in fact why there are always jobs available - Sims are "removed" from Digitalworld at a constant, steady rate, regardless of their actions. The Enforcer does things this way simply to show the remaining/surviving Sims that the will of the Enforcer is law, regardless of their behavior. Of course their dutiful obedience seems to have no bearing on whether they disappear or not. But the Sims are only human, for godsake, and can do nothing else but hope that, if they are extra obedient, perhaps the Enforcer will look upon them mercifully before dispatching his/her agents to "handle" them if - when - they come up in the "removal" algorithm. The fact that the Enforcer is NOT merciful, that targeted Sims CANNOT be spared, only seems to reinforce the inactive Sims' determination to try harder. Either they don't understand what is going on, or, I fear, they suspect this is the truth, but simply have no other options. The will of the Enforcer truly is law, and all they can do is try their damnedest to follow it as best they are able.

But the Enforcer doesn't maintain fear of his/herself only through various degrees of "removal." All aspects of inactive Sims' lives are in his/her hands. If the Enforcer feels that a certain Sim lacks maturity (or, again, is simply chosen algorithmically), the Sim will be forced to rear a child. Some of these children are apparently adoptees, which Digitalworld seems to have no lack of, possibly because they are orphans of the "removal" of their parents. But other times, the child appears to have the genetic traits of his/her parent/parents. Now, it's entirely possible that, in cases where there are indeed two parents, a baby is conceived by the couple while they are inactive. But even so, this may be dictated by the Enforcer, for the couple may have the child when they are clearly not fiscally or social qualified to do so. Realistically, yes, such things happen accidentally. But knowing what we now know about Digitalworld, how can we exclude the possibility that the Enforcer is somehow involved in this?
 

But there is no doubt that we are seeing the work of the Enforcer in another case: when an inactive Sim ends up with a child that clearly shares his/her genetic traits, despite the fact that said Sim HAS NO SIGNIFICANT OTHER. A check of the newborn Sim's family tree reveals the disturbing truth - they only have one parent. Yes, such is the case when single parents adopt / are forced to adopt a child. But what does it mean when the child in question clearly shares genetic traits with the single parent?

I'll tell you what it means: the agents of the Enforcer are forcibly cloning these people, and then forcing them to raise the clone! There is simply no other explanation. It's possible that, while inactive, the targeted Sims are carried off to the neighborhood Mad Science Facility, and the cloning is done there. Digitalworld allows Sims to choose to become accomplished robot-animal hybrid breeders, so clearly the Enforcer has some sophisticated technology at hand. But I think it's also possible that the Enforcer Squad may be using said technology to produce clones the same way it delivers new goods to Sim households - by producing them in the technological or astral ether, and transferring them, fully-formed, into the material of Digitalworld. This second method would explain how these infant clones appear so quickly after a household is deemed inactive. It may also serve as an alternative source for the vast amount of available adoptees, and perhaps may also explain the origin of all those friendly, homeless Sims appearing in public places. The Enforcer may have an entire cloning facility in the ether, producing babies factory-style to both satisfy and punish the Sims.

And if that's possible, then why stop the mad science there? We all know how difficult cloning is. Maybe the Enforcer's theoretical ether-world breeding facility doesn't just produce clones. Hell, maybe the "clones" aren't clones at all! Maybe they are, in fact, the result of MASS IN VITRO SEXUAL FERTILIZATION! And if so, where does this facility get the cells it requires to produce this number of children? Perhaps these cells are willingly donated by all those Sims employed in the science career track (who are, logically, the very Sims running the breeding facility for the Enforcer, possibly through avatars of their own working in the ether-plane, since they too "disappear" once inside the the appropriate building.)
 

But given the theoretical actions of the Enforcer already discussed, I posit that the cells used in this in vitro breeding program need not be willful donations. No - perhaps another duty of the Enforcer's invisible agents is, terrifying as it is to suggest, FORCIBLE SEX-CELL HARVESTING. Perhaps when agents remove funds from Sims' wallets, they also take something else which is far, FAR more personal.
 

CONCLUSION
 

Clearly, something terrible is going on behind the scenes to make the seemingly idyllic world of The Sims 3 possible. Perhaps I am incorrect about specifics - honestly, I pray I am. The idea that such terrible things are being perpetrated by invisible, malicious digital autocrats, simply so I can be God over a nation of tiny digital people, cuts me to the core. Yes, I certainly enjoy ruling over these people, controlling their lives, frequently occasionally abusing them simply because I can. But that is only because I never suspected how much of a hell they may be forced to live in to make it all possible. If what I suspect is in fact the truth, I don't think I can continue to enjoy playing a deity and still retain my own progressively-minded humanity.
 

Granted, that's less because tiny fake people are being tormented for my amusement, and more because it really fucking pisses me off that the goddamn game fucks around with my carefully-constructed custom households the second I take my eyes off them. I mean, do you know how long it takes me to make pants and hairstyles for these people that compliment the personalities I've also custom-made for them? How hard I work to create just the right number of people per household to make the game challenging but not too hard, and make sure an interesting mix of personalities is there for me to fool around with? And the second I turn my back, poof, "Oh sorry, Mister God, but you clearly don't understand what fun is, let me fix everything for you based on my own arbitrary, unimaginative template, without your persmission"? Goddamn it, game, Enforcer, what-the-fuck-ever! Sims 2 didn't pull this shit! Who the fuck thought this was some kind of improvement??!
 

But...uh...anyway. Now you too know the possible, LIKELY, terrible truth! THE SIMS 3 IS A LIE! TELL THE PEOPLE!

 

SUPERHEROS WHO AREN'T ST00P1D, PART 2

Read Part 1: The Incredible Hulk

Note: These top five are literally that – five Number Ones. I’m only listing them in the order I am because it’s my fucking blog, and I can do whatever the hell I want. So if you’re going to leave a raging fanboy comment, use it to point out how I’m an idiot because I’m not including Midnighter and/or Ka-Zar, instead of hoping I burn in hell because No. 5 should be No. 3 and No. 1 should be No. 4.

No. 5 IS No. 1.  No. 1 IS No. 5.  End of yet-to-happen st00p1d nerd fight.
 

Number 4: Wonder Woman

The Amazons live on the isolated, secret island paradise of Themyscira, where oily, erotic lesbian adventures may or may not happen on a daily basis. Their queen Hippolyta wants a daughter, but this creates a problem, because she also hates penises. So she makes a girl out of clay and has the gods of Greek mythology imbue it with virtues and life, I guess because they owed her one for all those free oily, erotic lesbian adventure shows. Diana grows into the most athletic and beautiful of the Amazons, and is well on her way to inherit her mother’s throne (and possibly associated oily lesbian erotica) when an American pilot fighting in World War II crashes on Themyscira. Hippolyta decides to kill the guy (possibly because he got in the way of an oily, erotic lesbian adventure), but Diana pulls a Pocahontas and offers to escort the penis-wielding intruder back to the “World of Men.” Though her mother is disgusted (what sane person – or god – chooses a road trip over the possibility of an oily, erotic lesbian adventure?), she gives Diana the right to choose. So Diana leaves her island home with Steve Trevor, aboard her invisible, telepathically-controlled airplane, which is either an invention of the Amazon’s magical technology, or the flying horse Pegasus transformed by that magical technology (six of one, half-dozen of the magical other…).

In America she takes on the alias of Diana Prince, puts on a pair of star-spangled panties (or miniskirt, depending on the decade), and joins the fight against the Nazis. When her mother decides to lead the Amazons to another dimension (possibly the Oily, Erotic Lesbian Adventure Dimension), Diana decides to remain in the World of Men and fight crime with her bullet-repelling bracelets and golden Lasso of Truth as Wonder Woman.

Okay, so the concept is stupid. Dr. William M. Marston, inventor of components of the polygraph machine (which apparently qualifies you to write comic books), more or less admitted that he only came up with the character because he didn’t think there was enough BDSM in ’40s comics. He also had the nerve to talk about how “educational” Wonder Woman books were, so he was either the most confused feminist in the world, or actually thought that children needed an illustrated how-to guide on the finer points of the Choke Game and stiletto fetishism.

Even if you agree with him, you have to admit that there is little chance something like this is going to stay popular for 60-plus years, at least not in the mainstream comics market. But Wonder Woman remains one of DC’s top sellers. Why? All I can offer are the two reasons I like her enough to put her on this list. One (and this is bound to get me in trouble, but I’m right, so there’s nothing I can do about it), there just aren’t any other good comic book heroines in the mainstream comics market. Sometimes DC’s Birds of Prey aren’t entirely horrible, but that all depends on which writer makes a fool of himself at the annual DC Christmas party and gets demoted to Oracle duty for the next six months. Please correct me if I’m wrong (though I’m not, so I don’t see how you could, but feel free to try), but other comic book superheroines are either sex-crazed simpletons in constant need of rescuing and ‘post-rescuing’, or unfeeling jerks who vomit token feminism at the least appropriate times, yet keep wearing what amounts to half a bikini because they are very poorly written, usually by middle aged men whose experience with vaginas begins and ends with their mother’s. Yes, Wonder Woman wears panties and a low-cut boob plate, likes kicking men in the face, and gets tied up and slapped around a lot, and all because she was written by a horny fool of a man. But at least she usually rescues herself from the tying, and doesn’t seem to mind when construction workers hoot at her panties, probably because both she and they know that if they ever get too close, she’ll just kick them in the face. Yes, this characterization is about as progressive as Sue Storm wearing a ‘Beck/Palin 2012’ t-shirt at CPAC. But at least it’s actually characterization. Yes, it is also probably entirely accidental. But so was the way in which most of us were conceived, and we still count as people, right? Well, most of us, anyway.

The second reason for Wonder Woman’s enduring popularity is that she IS actually nice to look at. You write a comic about a pretty girl tying men up and kicking them in the bad boys with bright red thigh-high boots, and you have successfully attracted the attention of sighted men the world over, gay or straight. And odd as it seems, women apparently find this appealing too, though I can’t tell if that’s more for the tying and kicking or the boots.

Best Moment: Probably the entire Silver Age. But not just because she fought an ape who turned into a woman but still spoke monkey in Wonder Woman #9. Or because of Wonder Woman #122, where a fish alien from Saturn transformed her into a toddler named Wonder Tot, then forced Wonder Tot to wear a blindfold, and THEN attacked her with a 300 foot robot version of Wonder Woman. Not that that last one isn’t especially awesome, since she still managed to kick the asses of both the giant robot and the fish alien.

But no. The Silver Age was Wonder Woman’s best moment primarily because she had to win against these impossible, crazy odds while also being treated like shit for having a vagina. Apparently sexism wasn’t just a fad back then – it was a goddamn religion, which even managed to convert Superman and Batman. It didn’t matter that Wonder Woman was a pilot, maintained a secret identity with a full-time job, kicked gun-wielding Nazis, and founded the JSA. No, she had the misfortune to be a woman during the Silver Age. So no matter how qualified she was, no matter what she did, when the day’s crime-fighting was done, she was expected to make some guy, somewhere, a sandwich, and be happy about it. And while she didn’t just shrug and do it, she also never acted bitter about it. She could have. She SHOULD have. But she didn’t.

Somehow, Wonder Woman was always classy and cool, no matter how many talking monkeys came after her, and no matter how many men acting like talking monkeys came after her afterwards. She could (and did) rescue Superman and Batman time and again from aliens and robots and alien robots trying to shrink them and keep them in  tiny glass jars. And though they only thanked her by being condescending the entire time and then threatening to spank her, she never held it against them, and it never pissed her off. The next time they got kidnapped, there she’d be again, ready to get them out of trouble while they talked down to her the entire time.

Don’t misread me. I’m not saying I think it’s better for women to keep their mouths shut when men treat them like crap. That’s the exact opposite of what I’m saying. If someone is condescending to someone else on the basis of anything other than the condescendee being a moron, I believe that the condescendee is perfectly justified in popping the condescender in the face. But Wonder Woman never did that, and it seems to me that she didn’t only because SHE KNEW SHE WAS BETTER THAN THE GUYS TALKING DOWN TO HER, INCLUDING OTHER SUPERHEROES. It’s like she didn’t hold it against them any more than you’d hold it against a dog for enjoying the flavor of its own ass. She knew all the guys around her were pitiful, irredeemable idiots, so she was the bigger person and just let it go.

And if you don’t think that kind of unflappable confidence is just as or even more hot than thigh-high red stiletto boots and star-spangled panties, whether you’re male or female, then you should probably go to a doctor and tell him your sex parts are broken. Or go back to Saudi Arabia, you backward pile of st00p1d.

Worst Moment: 2007’s Amazons Attack! miniseries. While the concept is cool – the Amazons with their magical Bronze Age tools and abilities hold their own against the entire modern US military – the story itself is a nonsensical pile of time-waste that turns the Amazons into that half-bikini-wearing bitchy token feminist that hasn’t been compelling since the late ’70s. Wonder Woman’s portrayal is especially annoying here because she barely shows up as a result of being “captured,” and when she finally does make an appearance she’s inexplicably indecisive, basically waiting for Batman to fix everything and point out that the Amazons are actually the bad guys in this case. Like she couldn’t figure that out based on the fact that THEY ATTACKED THE UNITED STATES AND STARTED KILLING CIVILIANS. Okay, to be fair, this was in retaliation for the US government being the group that in fact captured Wonder Woman, to torture her to get information about some super Amazon magic laser that…

...You know what? I think you get the point. 
 

 

"STAR TREK IS SCIENCE FICTION," ANNOUNCES PROFESSOR ST00P1D

I haven't bothered using my posts to just repost links to other sites, because first of all, I want you to read my blog, and second of all, I assume you probably know how to use the Internet.  But then I saw an article over at The Register, and figured it was as good as example as any of something that really pisses me off.  And if I'm all about one thing on this blog (aside from being awesome), it's complaining about st00p1d shit.

Apparently a professor at prestigious John Hopkins U School of Medicine has taken time out of his busy day to explain that warp speed, a famous FAKE aspect of famous SCIENCE FICTION show Star Trek, is not actually something that is real. Why he felt the need to do this is beyond me, except that the Abramsverse psuedo-Star Trek movie has become inexplicably popular, meaning that hipsters otherwise unfamiliar with the definition of science fiction now want to know how much stuff from the movie is real.  And instead of looking it up on the Internet like everyone else, they apparently grab the nearest professor and ask his eminently qualified opinion.

Which in itself isn't a bad thing.  Professors are only professors because they profess stuff, so it makes sense to ask them questions.  But this specific example is st00p1d for two reasons:

1) As I've already pointed out, Star Trek is SCIENCE FICTION, which means it contains FICTIONAL SCIENCE.  Sure, it uses real scientific terms to make its lie-science sound real, but that really doesn't confuse the matter, since Hollywood does that all the time.   This is a franchise that prominently features rubber monster suits and silicon elf ears, so I find it a little hard to believe that there are people who really think anything it shows is possible. 

Of course many of you are so goddamn st00p1d that this is a real thing, so never-the-fuck-mind Reason #1.

2) The professor tasked with answering this question about the real-ness of SCIENCE FUCKING FICTION is Dr. Bill Edelstein, a radiologist.  Now I'm not saying anything negative about radiology professors.  I'm sure they are perfectly good professors when it comes to radiology.  But that's the problem - Bill Edelstein the Science...Gein is a professor of RADIOLOGY, not IS STAR TREK REAL.  Well, okay, maybe that's not fair.  I don't think 'Professor of Is Star Trek Real' is a real thing.

Oh wait. 

Uh...okay, let me rethink where I was going with this...

Okay. Got it. Here's my point. Since 'Professor of Is Star Trek Real' IS a real thing, people should be asking one of them about whether Star Trek is real, and not a radiologist.  Because while a professor of Is Star Trek Real is an expert in the field of whether Star Trek is real or not (and it isn't, so I'm not sure what the blue hell is going on here), a radiologist is an expert in the field of x-rays and MRIs and possibly the Incredible Hulk and the Fantastic Four.  It would even make more sense to ask a geology professor, biology professor, astronomy professor, physics professor or chemistry professor if Star Trek is real, since Star Trek's SCIENCE FICTION is often FAKE versions of these scientific fields.  What I'm saying is, these people would probably know better than a radiology professor about Star Trek's FAKE SCIENCE.  Because I don't recall Star Trek ever showing a sentient x-ray machine trying to have sex with Jonathan Frakes's beard.

So st00p1d as it is, someone apparently asked Dr. Bill about the real-ness of warp drive, and he answered the question.  And his answer?  "No, because it would make hydrogen atoms kill you."  Which is basically a sciencey way of saying "WARP DRIVE IS SCIENCE FICTION, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS."  Which is how I would have answered the question.  Which no one asked me, because I'm not a professor of Is Star Trek Real.  Or a radiologist.

Of course, I AM a Star Trek fan, and therefore I AM qualified to point something out.  Because the writers of Star Trek like to make their FAKE SCIENCE seem real, they went out of their way to make up a reason warp speed works without hydrogen-shredding everyone to death.  This is called subspace, and it's basically a dimension just underneath real space where things can fly faster than the speed of light (which is what warp speed is) without running into the hydrogen atoms of real space.  The ship enters a warp speed or subspace bubble, which is in subspace.  Neither Dr. Bill nor The Register seems to know this.  And understandably so, because it's something only hardcore Star Trek nerds and part-time, well-read Star Trek nerds (such as myself) would know.

Except that you'd think Dr. Bill and/or The Register would take time to at least Wiki the particulars of the FAKE concept, so that when they announced it wouldn't work in real space, they wouldn't look like tools for pointing out something that the writers of Star Trek ALREADY TOOK THE TIME TO POINT OUT BY INVENTING SUBSPACE.

So not only is this whole thing st00p1d, it's redundant, unnecessary, poorly-Googled st00p1d.

I of course blame J.J. "Hipster Trek" Abrams for all of this.

SUPERHEROES WHO AREN'T ST00P1D, PART 1

They've been called metahumans. Preternaturals. Mutants. And if you are Rob Liefeld and you haven’t yet had grownups take your company away from you, you may call them Newmen. But comic book and movie fans known them the world over as superheroes. Some have god-like powers, some are just emotionally damaged obsessives who spend way too much time at the gym, but all of them have one thing in common: they are bigger, stronger, faster and / or smarter than everyone else, and use their fantastic abilities to come up with ridiculous costumes to wear as they’re kicking bad guys in the head.


Who are the best of the best of these poorly-dressed superpowered vigilantes? Everyone has their opinion. And most of those opinions are st00p1d, in that they usually reference Grant “Comics Set to Nickelback” Morrison. So here I am, in my usual capacity as someone who is smarter than you and everyone you know (including Grant “OMG U GUYZ Silver Age!!1!” Morrison), to tell you what you should be thinking.


Note: These top five are literally that – five Number Ones. I’m only listing them in the order I am because it’s my fucking blog, and I can do whatever the hell I want. So if you’re going to leave a raging fanboy comment, use it to point out how I’m an idiot because I’m not including Midnighter and/or Ka-Zar, instead of hoping I burn in hell because No. 5 should be No. 3 and No. 1 should be No. 4.

No. 5 IS No. 1.  No. 1 IS No. 5.  End of yet-to-happen st00p1d nerd fight.


Besides, I’m again using this opportunity to talk about how much Mr. Fantastic sucks. Last time I read the by-laws, that was a far greater “Sin Against the Nerdlective” than any arbitrary list numbering. I know you’ll be frothing in Mountain Dew-scented rage, but please try to remember your trolling priorities here, guys.

Number 5: The Incredible Hulk

Dr. Bruce Banner was a physicist using his advanced understanding of the workings of nature to make a new variety of radioactive bomb for the government (apparently MIT pays for shit). Because God hates it when we try to fiddle with His perfect creation, there was an accident and Banner was exposed to the gamma radiation from his own bomb. So kind of like the Biblical Tower of Babel incident, but with more explosions.


Instead of the radiation killing Banner or giving him cancer or sterilizing him or something else that would make sense, the gamma rays gave him the ability to transform into a giant square-headed monster every time he gets scared or mad. Fortunately for all of us, the Banner were-Frankenstein comes complete with a pair of giant purple pants, so that when the magical bomb radiation expansion tears his clothes off, we never have to see his two foot green monster wang (or two foot gray monster wang, in the original comics).

In his purple pants, the Hulk then punches bridges apart or hurls cars at the police and / or military, who are trying to stop his Rampage!-esque destruction of wherever Banner happens to be when someone makes fun of his nerd glasses. The Hulk also battles other monsters, sometimes to save lives, sometimes just because they are on his turf, I guess because a monster hates nothing more than another monster destroying everything before he gets a chance.


Huh. Now that I think about it, the Hulk barely counts as a hero. But sometimes his car-throwing accidentally stop villains, like if they were about to steal that car. So it counts.


Are YOU going to tell him it doesn’t?


Best Moment: See, there was this one time (the Planet Hulk saga, starting in 2006) when all the other Marvel Comics superheroes finally got sick of the Hulk destroying all their expensive shit. So Namor, Iron Man, Professor X and Mr. Fantastic decided the best way to get rid of the him was to shoot him into space. Because Iron Man and Mr. Fantastic actually sitting the fuck down with all their super-science equipment and trying to come up with a cure for Bruce Banner would have been the non-douchebag thing to do.

So the Hulk ends up on the planet Skaar. Here he kicks so much alien ass that they make him Emperor of Space. At this point he doesn’t change back into Bruce Banner but apparently has Bruce Banner’s brain, and while I can’t remember why this happened, it doesn’t matter, because THE INCREDIBLE HULK IS NOW EMPEROR OF SPACE. At any rate, Space Emperor Hulk marries this alien woman and is just about to settle down to a long life of having sex with an alien woman, when the spaceship carrying her and his mutated, hybrid, unborn son gets blown up. Space Emperor Hulk assumes that the douchebag Marvel heroes must have blown up the ship to remind him that even if he IS Emperor of Space, he’s still not as cool as they are. So he gets another spaceship and goes to Earth to confront them. With an ANGRY ALIEN BRUTE SQUAD.


As you can probably guess, this leads to a lot more expensive shit getting destroyed than if everyone had just left the Hulk alone. In the end the Hulk loses his war, but only because he eventually realizes that sooner or later, he might accidentally BLOW UP THE ENTIRE EARTH. So he lets Iron Man nuke him with satellites, which turns him back into Bruce Banner. At which point he is promptly arrested and locked up in a compound deep underground. Because Namor, Iron Man, Professor X and Mr. Fantastic are dicks.

Worst Moment: Bruce Banner. At this point Bruce Banner is so afraid of turning into the Hulk that he spends most of his time locked in his room, jumping at his own shadow. Which of course only makes it more likely that he’ll turn into the Hulk the moment the wind whistles through the windowsill. Also, because he’s a Marvel character, most of his dialogue is moaning about how much he hates himself because he has superpowers. And you all know how much I love that. 

Stay tuned for Part 2: Wonder Woman 

HOW TO BE ST00P1D ON TWITTER

Unlike many people who use Twitter, I am very picky about who follows my tweets. Yes, this is mostly because I have nothing else to do. But it is also because I can’t stand getting replies from st00p1d people.

Most of these “people” are, of course,  bots. These are the automated programs created by former and current nun rapists and baby abusers to spam Twitter accounts with advertisements, porn links, political screeds and other varieties of Waste My Time. There are millions of bots with Twitter accounts, and if you’re not as dedicated as I am to blocking them, you will find you soon have a couple hundred followers with nonsense names who are only interested in telling you about a new celebrity blowjob movie or fake antivirus program they “found.”

It's hard sorting through your follower list, deciding who to block. This is why most people don’t do it. If you happen to be one of these people who thinks tending your follower list is too much trouble, I’m proud to say I can lend you a hand. See, I’ve come up with a list of 14 things a particular Twitter account can be and / or do that fully justifies banning it. I’ve based this list on the behavior of bots, so you can be sure that if you adhere to it, you’ll successfully block all the bots. It will also help you block the real people who act like bots, or might just as fucking well.

I predict that if you stick to this list with as much dedication as I do, your Twitter experience will be significantly less st00p1d. You’re welcome in advance.

Now to the list. I will block your Twitter account if you are or do any of the following:

1. Have an unpronounceable name AND have a name followed by a bunch of numbers (probably a bot).

Yes, some non-robotic people might actually have a Twitter account that looks like one of these. Let’s say your parents immigrated to America from Backwardsassistan, and your last name is “Hwixxhwillw.” And because your 150 cousins got on Twitter first, you’re forced to become Hwixxhwillw_151.

But if this is you, Mr. or Mrs. or Dr. Hwixxhwillw, I’d like to point two things out to you. First of all, your name looks an awful lot like a bunch of random letters generated by an automated spam bot creating 200,000 new Twitter accounts at once through which to tell the world about the latest fake Britney Spears sex tape. For your own sake, Mr. or Mrs. or Dr. Hwixxhwillw, please be web savvy enough to make up another name for Twitter so you aren’t mistaken for the lowest cyberscum and get lost in the blocking.

Second of all, and this is very important, THERE IS NO FUCKING LAW THAT SAYS YOU HAVE TO USE YOUR GODDAMN NOT-UNIQUE LAST NAME AS YOUR TWITTER ACCOUNT. There was also no law saying this about AOL screen names, there is no law saying this about Gmail accounts or Yahoo! mail addresses, and there will NEVER BE a law saying this about anything as long as the Internet exists. No one cares what your fucking name is, and the people who do are the people you really don’t want having access to your name. Come up with another name. Around these parts we call that “coming up with another goddamn name,” and if you haven’t figured it out yet, almost all of us have done this at least once. Mine happens to be TheBluesader.

Yes, I know. You probably thought until this very moment that TheBluesader was my given name. But it isn’t. You stupid pile of out-of-touch retard.

And I can already hear the argument: “But this Twitter account is for work! I HAVE to use my real name!” To which I respond: “Oh, so it’s a corporate Twitter account? Well, isn’t that just – BLOCK.”

2. Tweet nothing but URLs (probably a bot).

This is all bots tweet. Know who else tweets nothing but links to websites I probably already know exist, or didn’t want to know existed? Idiots. And not the pitiable, adorable kind of idiot like the person you married. I’m talking about internet idiots, the sort of people who forced Verizon to jack up my bills so they could pay Cisco to invent fiber optics and 3G, because the idiots couldn’t be bothered to learn how to turn bitmaps into jpegs before sending them to Grandma’s inbox. And if there’s one thing I hate more than bots who intentionally fuck up the Internet, it’s morons – like your wife – who unintentionally fuck up the Internet because they can’t be bothered to think about what the hell they’re doing.

Dear pud-brains: I know how to use YouTube. And I’ve seen LOLcats. And the various 4chan image databases. If I want to see examples of “Internets humor,” I can find them myself. And because I’m TheBluesader, Junior God of the Internet, I have probably already found whatever you’re looking at now, and like ten years ago when it first appeared on /b/. I really don’t need another link to Goatse. Tweet original insights, or don’t tweet at all.

And by the way, I consider scanned images from Silver Age Batman original insights. Link to as many of them as you want. Because they are NEVER not funny anymore.

Ask the people who follow me. They know.

3. Use a stock picture of a model as your avatar AND use the generic “no photo uploaded” Twitter picture as your avatar (probably a bot).

Bots are too busy making with the spam to Photoshop an original picture for their avatar. Everyone else should have at least five minutes to crop and post a picture of their cat or something, for god’s sake. EVERYONE. If you are too busy to condense, format and post an original, personal picture of some kind to Twitter, you are officially too busy to tweet 140 characters.

And not having Photoshop or an equivalent program is no excuse. Windows still comes with MSPaint, motherfucker – use it.

4. Be a corporate account (acts like a bot).

Bots shill. That’s why they exist. Human beings, however, do not exist primarily to shill. I know, I know, that’s not what they told you during the last company retreat. But your inability to not be a robot with genitals is not my problem. If you want me to buy your product, stock it in a store or sell it through Amazon like all the other grownups. I get one whiff of advertiser wank from one of your tweets, and you’re not allowed to target me after I tweet key words anymore.

5. Be a self-help person I’ve never heard of (might as well be a bot).

You say you’re a paradigm-setting, charismatic self-starter who has spent the last eleven years happily helping your fellow citizens of Planet Earth navigate the highs and lows of this wild and wacky thing we call life?

Well, you must royally suck at it, because I’ve never heard of you before. Nor have I seen your goateed, square head on the front of that 600 page, hardcover Cosmo advice column reprint collection you’re trying to pass off as The Bible 2.0. If you were really revolutionizing life itself, I’m pretty sure Oprah would have mentioned you at least once. As it is, I’m pretty sure you’re just an overdressed douchebag desperately trying to figure out how to make a living out of that philosophy / communications double major. And I need advice from worthless nobodies like you like I need bot shill.

You’re not Dr. Phil. You’re not Steve Wilkos. And you probably never will be, no matter how many fat people you talk through sexual problems, no matter how many deadbeat fathers you won’t let sit on your stage. Leave helping stupids to the guys who make it informative and entertaining, stop pretending you’ve somehow gained worldly wisdom by 35, and finally take that well-paying accounting job so your girlfriend doesn't have to keep rescuing burgers from the trash to bring home for the kids. And most of all, stop polluting Twitter with random Sufi verses and out-of-context Carl Sagan quotes. Anyone who has ever told you that that kind of bullshit transformed their lives was either lying to make you feel good because they pity you, or being a prick for the lulz. 

6. Be a business advice person.

Most of what I just said for #5 goes for this one, too. If you were really some great corporate advisor, I have to believe you’d have a better way to hawk your skills than by spamming a thousand unsuspecting strangers on Twitter.

Just to be sure I don’t accidentally follow some of your half-assed advice and lose my life savings, I think I’ll just be safe and go ahead and BLOCK YOUR ASS.

7. Follow more than 150 people AND be followed by more than 1,000 people, and not be some kind of celebrity (which means you’re probably reaching out to me from deep within the Bot Zone).

It makes sense that real world celebrities would have thousands or even millions of followers. A lot of people know who they are, and part of the fun of Twitter is that it gives you a live digital connection to people you’d otherwise have no contact with. It also makes sense that many celebrities might follow a couple hundred people, because often times their business is probably one in which knowing people and getting up-to-the-second information from them is pretty important.

But if you’re not a celebrity, that probably means you DON’T have millions of people wanting to talk to you, and you DON’T know hundreds of people with interesting things to say. Which means that you’re only following people and being followed as a result of key word searches. And this is by far the lowest form of making Twitter contacts, because this is exactly how spam bots find new victims.

It is also very hard for me to believe that any one person spends the enormous amount of time required to click “follow” more than a couple of hundred times. The only reason anyone would dedicate this much time to Twitter is if they were getting paid to do it, which means they manage a corporate account, which I will block because of that on it's own. Otherwise it’s obvious the account in question is a bot, programmed to follow anyone who has ever tweeted the word “penis” in any context.

I guess it’s possible that someone might be such a fantastic people person that they really do know more than 200 people and care what they have to say. And it’s possible that a person like this may in fact be acquainted with more than 1,000 people who likewise care enough to follow them. But you know what? Either way, I don’t know anybody like that, and therefore don’t care to follow them, or have them following me. Not that I specifically don’t want them reading the awesome things I say. I just don’t care that I’ve accidentally blocked them during my weekly st00p1ds-blocking.

Basically, if you’re such a social butterfly that I’m forced to suspect your brain may be a flash drive, meet the Block Hammer, Probable Robot.

8. Tweet nothing but religious fundamentalist garbage.

There’s no reason to go into much detail about this one. If I don’t care enough about your love of Jewish Zeus to talk to you in real life, I’m not going to give you the opportunity to read my tweets and spam me with whining when I inevitably offend you. No, I don’t care to hear an opinion different from my own, when that opinion has been out-of-date since before the invention of pants.

The only reason we still have churches and allow them their tax-exempt status is so you weirdos will keep to yourselves and leave the rest of us alone. So be quiet and get back to your barns. The last thing we  need is you getting under our feet as we’re inventing the drugs and food additives that will sustain you your next ten years of pretending your cancer went away because Jesus Thor killed the Cancer Demons with his invisible lightning hammer.

9. Your Tweets clearly show that you have only the most basic understanding of the English language (even bots can spam clearly).

Yes, even bots can spam in basic, legible English. That’s because even the pedophiles who program them are coherent enough to know that when you only have 140 characters through which to make your point, you’d better make it easy to read.

If English isn’t your first language, that’s okay. But don’t try tweeting in your second language until you’re fluent enough to make a clear point quickly. I don’t need you clogging up my daily tweets with counterpoints to things I’ve said that read like cheap anime subtitles. If I don’t have a chance to respond to you because you don’t make any sense, I don’t care what you have to say to begin with.

And to those of you who speak English as a first language but can’t seem to make yourself understood through Twitter: go back to elementary school, pile. It’s 140 characters. Failing Twitter is like failing bumper stickers.

10. Represent a racist organization (bots aren’t this low).

See #8. With the added caveat that, were it up to me, these morons and their angry stupidity would not be protected as free speech under the Constitution. Oh, and that if I ever meet you people in public, I will go out of my way to TOTALLY RUIN YOUR STUPID SHIT.

Seriously. Porn bots are a step above you people.

11. Represent some group of nonsense-believing cranks (UFO people, fake Lunar landing people, ghost people, Bigfoot or Loch Ness Monster people, antivaxers, Conservative Republicans, hippies, Mormons, Scientologists, etc.). (At least bots spam about things that actually exist.)

See #8 again. Unlike #10, nonsense tweeters don’t make me angry, they just clutter up my daily tweets with what amounts to digital static. I even pity most of them for being so confused. But that said, I have no interest in anything they think, and prefer they stay as far away from anything I’m doing as I can block them.

12. Not Tweet for more than three months (at least the bots pretend to make daily conversation).

This takes us back to the point I made at #3. It’s 140 goddamn characters, people. If you’re too busy to post something at least once every few months, you’re too busy for the Internet. And nothing is more obnoxious than having somebody reply to a tweet I made two months ago. I average about 10 tweets a day. I’ve probably forgotten what I’ve posted about an hour after I’ve posted it. If you're too busy to invest even a few minutes every couple of days to keep current, what the fuck are you doing on Twitter?

13. Tweet anything that has to do with porn that isn’t the simple love of a lonely fan.

Porn love, and a link made in the spirit of porn love, is great. Spam links to malware-infected sites are the reason bots get blocked. Be the first and we can be friends. Be the second, or look like it, and you can eat BLOCK.

14. Be a corporate CEO (I’d rather talk to the bots, thanks).

The only creature that spouts more shill than a bot is the guy who signs the checks of the dickless cannibal who programmed the bot. It’s one thing when a soulless computer program sends me advertising links like it thinks I’m stupid enough to click them: it was made to do this. It has no choice. But when a flesh and blood person, who makes $20 million a year, decides to treat me this way, I not only make a point to not care about his company, but I will go out of my way to tell everyone I know that his company's products are filled with puppy-raping lead.

I have enough people with money talking down to me on a daily basis in real life. I’ll be damned if I put up with it on the Internet. Bend over and get BLOCKED, you slimy sack of st00p1d.

YOUTUBE IS ST00P1D

Sometimes I get the urge to stop being my dad, get a webcam and start posting on YouTube. And then I remember a few things:

1. 99% of YouTube videos are idiots wasting my time, and the other 1% is corporate-owned stuff that will probably get pulled before I click the link from Google. So unless I post corporate-owned stuff that will soon get pulled, I am bound to post videos of me being an idiot, wasting my own time. Twice over, because I also wasted the time making the video that is a waste of my time. So if I post original content on YouTube, I’ll actually be wasting twice as much of my time as I would just watching your shitty video game reviews. Math keeps me safe yet again, while the Internet yet again wastes my life. Go, math.

2. People only post worthless crap on YouTube to impress their non-Internet friends and to make new Internet friends, and I don’t care about doing either. Most of my non-Internet friends are grownups with grownup lives, so the few that actually have Internet access use it to check headlines and sports scores and maybe email Grandma a reminder about taking her blood pressure medication. They don’t care about YouTube, and so won’t be impressed that I’ve glued myself to it.

And allow me to take this opportunity to make a general point about this whole “Internet friends” business. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN INTERNET FRIEND. See, a friend is a person you are emotionally involved with. And you cannot involve yourself emotionally with a guy named GamrD00d7 whose photo is Kaneda’s motorcycle. I don’t care how much you both like Naruto. Dear God, I really don’t. Liking the same bukkake stain anime is not an emotional connection – it is a shared symptom of the stupid.

No one on the Internet is your friend, nor can they ever be your friend. Even if they emoticon you kisses when your dad gets caught taking pictures at the daycare and earns his rapper’s motivation. An emoticon kiss is not an emotional connection – it is a colon followed by an asterisk in cold, apathetic digital font. You have no idea if the person means it. You can’t tell what they’re actually feeling. There’s no emotional involvement here. I type “ROTFL” five or six times an hour. I have never “rolled on the floor, laughing” once in my entire life, and I never will. It’s just my way of showing approval for people who post phrases like “ass-clown,” “penis stench” and “weapons-grade douche rocket.” And half that time, I’m being sarcastic. And for some reason, here on the Internet, the largest playpen for cynical jerk-off douches in the history of the world, no one has come up with a two character expression conveying insult through pretend. If it's possible that someone is only pretending to care about you to make fun of you, and you have no way of knowing that, then they are not your friend.

If for some reason you’re st00p1d enough to meet up with that person out in the real world, and that person doesn’t turn out to be a twitchy psycho with a razor fetish, and you start hanging out with this person on a regular basis and forge an emotional bond that will stand the test of time and music fads, THEN that person becomes your friend. Not your Internet friend. A non-Internet friend, who you risked your life to meet through the Internet.

Get my point yet, Sparkles? I have no interest in making “Internet friends” through YouTube, because one cannot make something that is not an actual thing. Like well-adjusted kids. Or a happy, life-long marriage. Or an original YouTube video that doesn’t waste my time.

And no, I also do not want to make any non-Internet friends through the Internet. Reread the sentence I just typed about the psycho razor fetish thing. Five years ago the only people who posted genuine personal information and/or photos online were your mother, and then the credit card company called wondering when she was going to start paying off that $5,000 in Arabic cell phone cards. As the Internet has expanded and gotten faster, has it gotten any safer? Um, do diseases manifest superhero powers as symptoms after the 200,000th victim? Yet now people not only have no fear of exposing themselves to dangerous strangers, they go to a handful of websites specifically designed to allow them to do this.

I just don’t get it. Of course, I don’t like CBS either, so maybe I’m just a rapist. Who can now come to your house, because you posted your address on FaceBook. Way to go, Fuckmotor.

3. YouTube is populated by inarticulate suburban children between the ages of 12 and 20, because no one younger has anything to post about, and everyone older and poorer has actual things to do. And if there’s one thing I hate more than spoiled WASPy teenagers screeching half-rational opinions about things they don’t understand, it’s their fucking pop music. This is why YouTube has those moron AI filters and moron actual people who spend all day going through the videos and deleting every single one that shows boobs. Legally and morally, children can’t see boobs. I am an adult, however, so I can legally and morally see boobs. So why would I bother with a site where boobs are banned so that the millions of children trading prescription drugs around the digital sandbox won’t learn what a nipple looks like before the state mandates it? You remove boobs, and you’ve removed any interest I may have had in whatever you’re doing. Not that I need to see boobs all the time (WANT is another thing…). What I’m saying is, by banning boobs, you’re telling me you cater to children. And I’ll say the same thing to you that I’ve said to bartenders in “family pubs:” “If I want to get messed up around children, I’ll get off my ass and go start a family. What’s my tab? I’m going to the adult toy store down the street.”

Not necessarily because I need a new Fleshlight. Just because it’s the only place left on the PLANET where two CBS viewers who couldn’t be bothered to “Scotchgard the couch” a couple of times can’t wander in and silently expect me to make sure their spawn don’t crack their heads open on their bad parenting when I’m already too drunk to care. Well, that and the liquor store. But ask to buy a pocket pussy there and your name goes on this list.

4. To shoot anything I’d be happy posting for all the world to see, I’d have to write out a script and edit the footage so I don’t end up looking like you. I type everything now, so it seems like making a YouTube video would be exactly what I’m already doing, plus a whole lot more work. If I just post what I write, and you read it, you’ll be getting exactly what I would be reading on camera, except without my fat face reading it. So why the fuck would you want to see it reading anything?

No one spits on me on the street, at least since I stopped wearing that Ann Coulter t-shirt. But I’m certainly not intriguing to look at. Jack Black and Kevin Smith aren’t either, but people like watching them because they’re funny. Allegedly. You are presently enjoying the extent of my “funny,” so there’s no reason for my head to appear in Flash video. Sorry, fat guy antics from me.

Unless I’m over-caffeinated or drunk. Which leads me to my last point.

5. I’ve ruined my own shit before by sending emails while under the influence of various behavior-altering substances. I'm not going to give myself the chance to do the same thing with Flash video. You’re all very lucky I have this kind of foresight, too. A Bluesader rolling on four tea-and-whiskeys is a Bluesader rolling without his pants.

I hope you all appreciate what I do for you people. You should all be sending me money. I mean, in general. But ESPECIALLY for me not letting you see me naked.

Wait, let me rephrase that. Send me money, or I’m going to take my pants off and dance around on YouTube. Any sense of shame was beaten out of me a long time ago, so this will only hurt you. I’m not kidding here. Let’s see those PayPal numbers, people.

Hmm. Maybe YouTube isn’t so bad after all…

THE MOVIE BLINDNESS IS ST00P1D (AND SHOWS DISABLED PEOPLE GETTING RAPED)

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