A New Leader, A New Hope
A friend of mine brought me to a political rally today. The speaker had a brilliant two-point plan for reformation:
1) Kidnap the princess.
2) (To Be Announced)
Surely this Bowser is a revolutionary worth dying for. Also he was 14 feet tall and could breathe fire.
Joining Up
My mother cried, and I promised my fiancé I would write her everyday. Oh how I will miss her menacing unibrow and pronounced underbite on the cold, lonely nights to come. They’ve promised me 20,000 coins for college. When I get out, I want to become an orthopedic surgeon. Maybe then I can make myself some arms.
Issuing Supplies at Boot Camp
Today, our allies the Koopas lined up to receive their shells, wings, undershirts, helmets, throwing hammers, pipe-anchors for vicious piranha traps, squid tentacles, spines, giant bullet launchers, swinging columns of fire, or immortal skeleton bodies. Meanwhile, gracious King Bowser has provided us Goombas with shoes.
News From the Front Line
My brother Goomberto was killed today. There was no funeral, no trumpet sounded, only a single frame of animation. I hope Mario chokes on those blood-tainted 100 points and his dreams are haunted by the hideous ploopy sound of Goomberto’s flattening.
Relief From the Rear Guard
Weary from fighting, our division was relieved today by a highflying Lakitu. We all cheered as he swooped down in his flying cloud, attempting to decapitate our sworn enemy Mario. Morale took a hard hit when Mario kicked the Lakitu’s head in and took off in his flying cloud. I joked that it was the biggest victory ever for the Italian Air Force, but no one else laughed.
Comrades in Arms
I hung out with the Bob-omb squadron today. I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to live every day knowing that you could be sent out to blow yourself up at a moment’s notice. All I know is those guys are pretty fucked up. They spent the whole day torturing Bullet-Bills with a hacksaw and reading eastern philosophy. They don’t eat anything that can’t scream. And now that I think about it, for guys made mostly of gunpowder they sure smoke a lot of cigarettes.
A Break in the Fighting
Army Command sent us a special present today to boost our spirits. Bowser and the Princess arrived and did a Laurel and Hardy style comedy act for us all. Bowser had some great jokes about impregnating the Princess with horrible lizard babies, and some real “A” material about what he planned to eventually do with her corpse. I didn’t find her jokes about sobbing and begging for mercy as funny though, but I’ve never liked female standup comedians.
The Final Face-off
It was the kind of day made for battle: sunny blue skies with cheerful, synthesized background music. As I sighted the enemy, I stuck to the plan: I walked slowly across my platform, never wavering in direction or facial expression. But despite my advance, that damned plumber leaped straight over me, as if somehow privy to my attack strategy! There’s clearly a mole in our midst. Or there will be, when we move to Super Nintendo.
Afterthoughts
Why the hell weren’t we trained to stop at the edges of cliffs?!? As I continue falling in endless limbo, waiting to be respawned when Mario restarts this level, I can only hope that the obstacle of my moving body was enough to make him misjudge a jump and fall to his doom. Unfortunately, I didn’t see what happened, as I was walking sideways, according to plan.
CIRCLE OR STAIN THE CORRECT ANSWER YOU MUST PASS WITH AN 85% TO OBTAIN CLASS 1 LICENSE
Health & Safety Section (2 Questions)
A. Perform the Heimlich
B. Call 911
C. Remove penis(es), phallus(es), or fist(s)
D. Zoom in
A. Positive
B. Negative
C. B+
D. Not Pregnant
Union Requirements (3 Questions)
A. Ziploc bags
B. Grocery bags
C. Garbage bags
D. Spit
A. Rewrite the scene to address their concerns
B. Gently but firmly remind them that you still have their passport
C. Stop hiring girls who can read
D. Throw your cocaine in their face and scream, “Who almost got into USC film school?! You?? That’s what I thought!”
A. Reverse Cowgirl
B. Paraplegic Cowgirl
C. The Over-Turned Fruit Cart
D. The Rock Tumbler
Sexual Harassment (1 Question)
A. Sexual harassment is defined as any unwanted sexual advances in the workplace
B. Sexual harassment is a serious problem in the pornographic film industry
C. Sexual harassment is a popular genre in the pornographic film industry
D. Bitch suck it
Directorial Technique & Style (2 Questions)
A. Reshoot the Scene
B. Change the title of the film to Boy That’s Embarrassing Volume 4
C. Comfort him with an anecdote about the time you pooped on Tracy Lords
D. Rub their nose in it
A. Empathy
B. Boners
C. Speed
D. Surprise
Essay Prompt:
Pornographic film is not merely copulation caught on tape; it is an artistic expression of beauty and life, a demonstrative art form that can raise people to the highest highs and make them face the lowest, sweatiest depths within us all. The history of pornographic film is the history of America itself.
In 200 words or less, explain why you like watching people pee.
Begin Act I **
**Hipster No. 1 : [Entering room.] Hey guys, what’s up?
Hipster No. 2 : Hey man.
Hipster No. 3 : Sup.
Hipster No. 4 : Manao ahoana.
No. 2 : Malagasy? Nice. [They give each other high fives, followed by folding their arms and staring awkwardly at the floor.]
[Five minutes of pretentious silence.]
No. 1 : …so I heard the Arcade Fire is coming out with a new album.
No. 3 : Whoa! The Arcade Fire. They were good until they got big, which retroactively ruined every note they ever played. Even frat boys listen to them now.
[_The other four hipsters hiss at the mention of fraternities. Posters of Devendra Banhart rustle, an eight track vibrates on a table and falls to the floor, framed artsy photos of hands, fingers, and a giant toenail
tremble on the dingy walls.]
No. 1 : [_Defensively.] Well what are YOU listening to?
No. 3 : You probably haven’t heard of them.
No. 4 : Kraftwerk. Today is Tuesday, and I only listen to Kraftwerk on Tuesdays.
No. 2 : [Indifferently.] MC Hammer and Lionel Ritchie.
Other Hipsters : [With jealous admiration.] Oooooo….
No. 1 : Wow, that’s so bad and so fifteen years ago, it’s cool.
No. 3 : Man, I wish I thought of that first, but these pants I bought from a vintage store are so tight I can’t think straight. Do your balls hurt all the time too?
No. 2 : [Dodging the question.] I know, I know. I love/hate the combination so much, just like I love/hate my full beard and your Borat mustache so much. In fact, if you get me, I really love/hate it.
No. 3 : Sorry man, my bi phase ended last week after a leather clad biker love/hated me in the bathroom of a Mountain Goats show.
No. 4 : How was the show?
No. 3 : I love/hated it.
Hipster No. 5 : [Walking in.] Joom reab soor.
No. 1 : Cambodian? How bougie. He already rocked Malagasy.
[Pointing to Hipster No. 2 who sighs melodramatically.]
No. 5 : [More depressed than usual.] Fuck!
No. 1 : …but your cardigan sort of rocks.
No. 2 : For sure.
No. 3 : Awesome.
No. 4 : Totally chouette. But you know what that means, since we all think its cool, it’s now officially gay.
No. 5 : Fuuuuuck!
No. 3 : How Nietzsche of us.
No. 1 : Please don’t use the word gay in a derogatory manner. I thought I was gay once, but it turned out I just enjoy listening to Sufjan Stevens.
No. 5 : [Sadly gazing at his cardigan.] I guess that’s the end of that chapter. [Flinging it into the fireplace, where it whispers My Morning Jacket lyrics before dissolving in flame.] I guess now I’ll just have to increase the level of irony on all my T-shirts. [He takes out a pen and turns his “I love Ohio!” shirt into “I love Ohio!?”]
No. 2 : Hey, we’ve been in this room for longer than 20 minutes, it’s becoming lame fast.
No. 3 : I agree, let’s go to a bar that we pretend is a dive bar just because it serves cheap alcohol. You know, since we’re all too afraid to go to a real dive bar.
No. 1, 4, and 5 : Agreed!
[They walk outside.]
No. 1 : Hey! We all rode fixed-gear bikes here again!
[They all fall to the ground laughing, laughing, and laughing.]
End Act I
Villainous Disney Stepmother **
_Cruella De Mommus _
**Description : Tall, bony, and overdressed, possibly with an upturned nose.
Where she met your dad : Real mother’s funeral.
Method of Wooing : Icy glare and/or magic spells.
For Your Birthday : Shiny red apple.
Quote : “If you really love me you’ll send your daughter to that haunted boarding school.”
Chance of beating : You’ll soon discover emotional scars run deeper than physical ones.
Jesus-Loves-You Stepmom **
_Holier Thanowicus _
**Description : Your father finally realized that what he needed in life was a moral anchor; a person of unquestionable judgment, unshakeable faith, and total moral authority.
Where she met your dad : AA.
Method of Wooing : Handjob during church.
For Your Birthday : Signed photo of Jesus.
Quote : “You’ll thank me for this when you’re dead.”
Chance of Beating : Depends, are you better than Jesus?
Other Mommy
_Feminius Mustachius _
Description : Here to set your mother straight about how she’s been living her life.
Where she met your mom : Where curiosity and tequila meet.
Method of Wooing : Thelma & Louise DVD.
For Your Birthday : Reusable menstrual cup, cake.
Quote : “Stop crying, I think that parent-teacher conference went great.”
Chance of Beating : Gender dependent.
Abusive Stepdad **
_Backius Handius _
**Description : Their meeting was serendipitous; she was ready to love again, and he was finally out of prison.
Where he met your mom : Courtordered Anger Management.
Method of Wooing : A beating.
For Your Birthday : A beating.
Quote : “I’m gonna give you such a beating!”
Chance of Beating : Likely.
Ten-Years-Your-Senior Stepdad
Dudius Maximus _
Description : “Yeah, he’s TWENTY EIGHT Stan! How do you fucking like that, huh? How old is that bleached blonde whorebag trophy of yours? Sixty? [_sound of bottle dropping]”
Where he met your mom : Community college pottery class.
Method of Wooing : Marijuana.
For Your Birthday : Gift Certificate to the car audio shop he works at.
Quote : “Man, your mom is HOT.”
Chance of Beating : He can probably take you in Gears of War, but you’ll destroy him in NBA 2k7.
Mom-Could-Do-Better-Than-This Stepdad
_Averagus Extremis _
Description : I guess he’s alright.
Where he met your mom : On the rebound.
Method of Wooing : Steady and unremarkable companionship.
For Your Birthday : Coupons.
Quote : “Heyyyy there …. Kiddo ….”
Chance of Beating : Slim to none.
March 4, 1187 AD
Today one of my more talkative concubines suggested that I should get a girlfriend. A girlfriend, she said, is a lot like a concubine, except you can’t have sex with other more attractive concubines, and that, get this, when she cries you actually have to beat her less instead of more. Wow, where do I sign?! Just kidding, that sounds retarded.
March 11, 1187 AD
I have decided to give this girlfriend thing a shot, if only out of boredom; I grow weary of my usual leisure activities, which consist of exiling my inferiors for insubordination and punching cattle. Tomorrow I am going “on the prowl,” which is what men without concubines call a girlfriend hunt.
March 12, 1187 AD
Although I seized plenty of women on my girlfriend hunt, none of them wanted to be my girlfriend. One of my generals suggested that I came on too strong when I brought twelve legions of my finest warriors into the singles bar and slaughtered thousands. I took his words to heart, and then exiled him for insubordination.
March 18, 1187 AD
I tried an ancient Mongolian remedy for my woman problems: Match.com. My Match.com profile slaughtered thousands of other Match.com profiles.
March 22, 1187 AD
So Match.com finally worked. I’m supposed to go out tomorrow for Mongolian barbecue with some girl. I fucking hate Mongolian barbecue. And even though I’m dealing with the weaker and inferior sex, apparently I’m expected to wear my least filthy fur coat and have less lamb sinew in my teeth than usual. Already I feel more whipped than a Chinese slave.
March 23, 1187 AD
So the date actually went really well. I don’t know just quite what it is, but when I was with her, I experienced the opposite of murderous rage. At dinner we talked and talked and it turns out that we like all the same things: ruthless conquest, ritualistic torture, the new Justin Timberlake CD. We went to the park and fed the birds, then ate them. I did what some of my men call “holding hands,” which is strange and difficult to explain but I’ll try: touching her without entering her unwillingly.
April 14, 1187 AD
Today is a ver y special day indeed. We watched the sun set over the plains as we lay next to one another, picking the ticks out of each other’s armpit hair. Afterwards, we went back to my yurt and drank rice-wine. One thing led to another, and I discovered something very beautiful indeed. Women can produce their own lubrication.
May 8, 1189 AD
So we’ve been going out for about two years now, and I thought I had waited long enough. Today I told her this: out of all the girls I’ve met, I can honestly say that you are the one I’ve had the least desire to discipline. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes! I feel as if I have become a changed man; the only thing I slaughtered this day is loneliness.
It is a mighty testament to the flexibility of my character that I have agreed to publish in this sordid periodical, which is produced by a particularly degenerate cluster of Hebrews, sodomites, and sour-tongued atheists who imbibe spirits at a rate that, by all reasonable and geometric standards, should already have sent them to whatever righteous torture awaits these heretics. I suppose I have made this contribution as an act of mercy towards you, the pitiable and corrupted readership of this magazine. I offer you the chance to avert your gaze from this vile heap of burlesque scribblings and instead give you a glimpse of the venerated theological wisdom of a bygone era. Thus, without further ado, I give you my appraisal of Berkeley’s various restaurants and eateries.
Blondie’s Pizza
My question, dear reader, is whether the cuisine of an establishment ought to be indicted if it is consumed primarily by the drunken, fornicating misfits of the late night bar scene? The counter emits a twin headed hydra of swaying primates held to the ground by the force of their own backwards baseball caps. Thus, when I arrived, I employed my impressive volume in the enterprise of reaching the register. There was a collective release of grunts and mush mouthed gibberish as I forged ahead. I was quick to silence their grumbling with an authoritative declaration of purpose, “Excuse me! But I am no mere customer. I am here as a representative of one of the city’s premiere publications. Now if you will all make way, I require a sample.” I thrust a wad of moneys into the waiting clutches of the rodent-eyed harlot behind the counter whose visage had been mutilated by no less than a dozen bars, hooks, and hoops of metal, making her resemble nothing so much as the pagan voodoo doll she undoubtedly enshrines within her fetid apartment.
I had already drawn in the hearty scent of the dish past the guardrail of my full bodied mustache and into my sensitive nostrils. Placing it upon the waiting, pink rug of my tongue I first absorbed the delicate softness of the crust. But the restaurant critic cannot merely consume, he must be an instrument of aesthetic precision, so I gently sucked the grease pooled inside a pepperoni. Apparently the act made an audible noise, for several faces turned in my direction. I screamed for privacy but with my mouth full of delicious cheese and tomato sauce I accidentally sprayed a moorish thug with steaming, half chewed foodstuff. When I noted that this was a living metaphor of avian feeding practices, he failed to fully appreciate the witticism.
At this point it was clear that they had given me a slice of inadequate size. Not wanting to disturb the staff I helpfully reached over the counter to scoop up another slice more deserving of my purchase. Unfortunately, I had picked up a vegetarian slice, covered in their cabbage patch swill and obscure middle-eastern dressings which offend both one’s sense of olfaction and morality. But this was the least of my worries, for by then the small Andes tribesmen garbed in the livery of the establishment became immediately agitated, exhibiting the cultural practices of his native land via wild gesticulations and emphatic shrieks. Before I even had a chance to explain myself they hustled me out the door and chucked me onto a filthy vagrant begging for stray coinage.
Until next time, dear readers,
Ignatius J. Reilly
Research and Development teams at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology have reportedly begun work on a new project. When asked at a press conference how this project would affect the development of the rocket car, developers replied that the current project is “totally unrelated to the rocket car” and “much more important” and “actually practical.”
“Who the hell do they think they are?” asked Dr. Carla Zhang. “I’ve been waiting 13 years for the rocket car, it’s not going to invent itself!” When asked why the prospect of the rocket car was so significant to her, Zhang replied, “Cuz it’s like a regular car…but it would go real fast and stuff.”
Other skeptics have voiced that the scientists’ new project is “selfish” and “couldn’t be nearly as awesome.” The research team have consistently refused to answer subsequent questions about their project, including “How fast does it go?” and “How many rockets are on it?” and “Wait wait wait… to clarify one more time, it’s NOT a rocket car?”
While the scientists continue to dodge the press’ questions, they hold firm to their original statement that lightsaberchainsaw-blender is a worthwhile endeavor.
Q : My sword is not cleaving through enemy hordes like it should.
A : Be sure to remove your sword from your sheath before attempting to slaughter enemy hordes. The sheath is recognizable by its non-metallic surface and its inability to cut swaths of destruction through enemy hordes.
Q : I swung my sword and hurted him real good but now I can’t get my sword back. Is it broken?
A : Your sword is most likely lodged in the collarbone of your mortal enemy. Plant your foot on his throat and attempt to pull your sword free, or bring his corpse to your local auto body shop.
Q : I have accidentally used my sword to slay a loved one. Is there any way to undo this?
A : No. Well…wait, no.
Q : My honorable suicide is taking longer than expected. I’ve fallen on my sword several times, but it only seems to be gradually breaking my ribs. I am in a lot of pain though. Should I keep trying?
A : You are falling on the wrong end of the sword. Generally the sharp bladed point of the sword is more effective than the blunt hilt for ending your shameful, cowardly life.
Q : I decapitated my enemy and was immediately surrounded by cheap looking lightning while a terrible Queen song played in the background. What’s happening?
A : By taking the life of another immortal in an epic sword battle, you are one step closer to becoming The One and fulfilling your destiny as the Highlander. Please don’t make any more movies.
Q : My sword is lodged in a stone, and I can’t pull it out.
A : You are not using a SwordTech product, but rather have entered Arthurian legend, and are apparently not the once and future king of England.
Q :_ I charged at my enemy just like in the instruction manual, but he’s doing just fine and I’m filled with holes that are leaking some sort of red stuff. What is going on?_
A : You have been shot. In the future, consider not bringing a sword to a gunfight. For a product manual from our sister company GunTech, please scream.
Q : I came back from sword-hunting and my herd is dying and the well has run dry.
A : You have slain the unicorn that protects the forest. Gather all the village children and tell them to believe in magic again.
Q : Now matter how hard I throw my sword, it doesn’t come back.
A : You are thinking of a boomerang, or our discontinued model the BoomerSword. For more information about the BoomerSword contact our law firm of Winston, Walker, and Williams.
Q : I attempted to swallow my SwordTech product for my amateur circus act and only shredded my throat lining. What am I doing wrong?
A : It is possible you have purchased the wrong model. Try the SwordTech Trick-Swallowing Sword, or SwordTech Chewables.
_Day 1 _
Ebert : Hello everyone, and welcome back to Ebert and Roeper at the movies. Due to some of my unfortunate statements regarding the Americans with Disabilities Act, the court has ordered someone new to join us. So please welcome Blind Guy to the balcony.
Blind Guy : Hi!
Ebert : Well, let’s get right to it with our review of Mission: Impossible with Tom Cruise.
Roeper : Wow, what a blockbuster. This is the epitome of the summer movie.
Blind Guy : I don’t know. I was pretty confused.
Ebert : What do you mean? I thought it held together pretty well.
Blind Guy : Well, like that whole bit at the end where Tom Cruise kept asking if he should cut the red wire or the blue wire, and then suddenly everything’s fine. I mean, what was up with that?
Roeper : He cut the red wire.
Blind Guy : What’s red?
_Day 2 _
Blind Guy : In fact, I thought every aspect of this film was deplorable, from the weak musical score to the sickening stench of tobacco. I give this film one big thumb down.
Cigar Shop Owner : Who the hell are you?
Day 3
Roeper : I have to say this is probably the best art house feature I’ve seen all year.
Ebert : I couldn’t disagree more. This was an obvious cash-in attempt by the studio to latch onto the artsy crowd and hopefully get a nomination in the process.
Roeper : Wow, Roger, you have just become too jaded by the film industry. I applaud the studio for releasing the film in black and white.
Blind Guy : Yeah, my dog loved it.
