- Apex Publications Acquires Shock Totem Book Line
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 8
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 7
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 6
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 5
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 4
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 3
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 2
- The Head, the Tail, the Whole Damn Thing: Musings on Jaws, Part 1
- Splatterpunk #7
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Tag Archives: Humor
I’m just gonna come out and say it. When I first heard of the Bloop—which is a sound so bass-y and loud that some sciencey people claim it can only come from a creature many times larger than a blue whale—I instantly knew its source: my girlfriend.
You know you would!
Fooled you! I’ve never had one of those before. What, your sister? The one working at the movie theater? Pffft! Fooled you again! I was only using her for free movie tickets. BWA HA HA HA HA HA! But seriously, she handed those out like candy. How else could I have seen Agent Cody Banks 2 so many times? I’VE ALREADY TOLD YOU, I’M NOT MADE OF MONEY!
Not like me.
More like me.
So the Bloop. It all began back in 1997 when the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association (who I can only assume are the scientists that astronomers stuff into lockers at some zany Science High School) stuck some microphones into the Pacific Ocean. Why would they do this? Hoping to listen in on some sweet, sweet whale lovin’, you say? Probably! That was my first guess, too. Unfortunately for the oceanic peeping toms, they only managed to capture a powerful sound blasting from the depths. What made the sound so special was the fact it was picked up by two different microphones—3,000 miles apart.
Think about that for a second. A sound so loud it traveled 3,000 miles. That’s like having to wear earplugs in Los Angeles because those Coldplay assholes won’t turn down the volume at their concert in New York.
Some of the more boring, cynical scientists who’ve lost their sense of wonder say that it might have been ice cracking and falling into the sea, but since the Bloop sounds nothing like overzealous cries of “Icebergs: 1, Titanic: 0!” I don’t think that’s the case.
So what is it?
Apparently, it’s Cthulhu. IRL. I don’t know about you, but filling my hear-sound organs with the cries of an ancient alien/god from the blackest depths of the Pacific Ocean is not my idea of LOLZ. You go ahead and try. Tell me how it works out.
“Wait, bro, didn’t this movie come out forever ago?” Well, YES. And congratulations, cause YOUR PARENTS LOVE YOU. My dad hasn’t taken me to the movies since the Mac & Me incident back in 1988. Because of that (and agoraphobia), I waited until Hobo with a Shotgun came out on Blu Ray to see it.
I shouldn’t have waited. Cause this movie is the greatest film of all time. Remember Citizen Kane? Neither do I—I’m American.
I keep picking up movies with titles that sound AWESOME, like it’s awesome or something. I rented Dances with Wolves. I liked it until I realized NOT ONE DUDE DANCES WITH A WOLF. What the hell’s the point? Then I saw Avatar, which I thought was about joining a web forum. Ends up, it’s just Dances with Wolves again, except with a hotter chick! WTF?
Struggling as best I could to cope inside my cloud of cinematic confusion (yeah, that was alliteration—I’m literary), I stumbled upon a movie called Hobo with a Shotgun. Within seconds, I says to myself, I says: “Cool. That’s TOTALLY a hobo I’m watching, you know, cause he’s Rutger Hauer and sad! I’m halfway to happiness!” Soon the hobo purchases a shot gun! Holy crap! This makes the most sense since Mom told me Santa Claus wasn’t real and the reason I kept getting dresses for Christmas was ’cause Dad wanted a girl all along…
They’re all disappointed in you, Ryan…
No one will ever care, Ryan…they’re not even reading…they saw your name and left…
Okay, so Hobo with a Shotgun. I guess I should talk plot for a second. Well, it’s about a homeless man (sometimes known as a hobo). He wants to make the world a better place, and figures the best way to do that is with a lawnmower he’s saving up to buy. (Grow up, Rutger. The neighbors stop thinking it’s cute showing up at their door with a weed whacker when you’re 26. I would know.) Seeing how crime has taken over his city, the Hobo realizes he’d be better off buying a shotgun and killing bad people instead. Violence, gore, and hilarity ensue.
That’s all great, but there’s one snag: the head crime boss of the city doesn’t like the sudden power struggle, and war erupts between the titular Hobo and the crime lord’s family.
But none of that is what makes Hobo with a Shotgun the most significant piece of film making in all Einstein’s relativity.
It’s these two:
Ends up, crime lord man knows these guys, who call themselves “The Plague.” Wearing cool armor and hanging out with your best bud in a kick-ass hideout is one thing, but when you spend your free time THANKLESSLY FIGHTING AN UNNAMED TENTACLE-CREATURE IN AN ATTEMPT TO KEEP IT AT BAY FROM THE MORTAL WORLD, you are straight up the coolest guys on the planet.
A hobo with a shotgun, a crime lord, The Plague, the most wince-inducing nut shot of all time and a school bus full of children getting flame-throwed in the same movie? I CRIED WHEN IT WAS OVER. CLASSIC STATUS ACHIEVED.
This is so much better than Dances with Wolves.
What’s that? Sounds dumb? Distasteful? Not your kind of thing? Hey, I get it. In that case, just go watch the movie based on that Jane Austen novel, Pride and Prejudice. You know, the one where DJ Jazzy Jeff screams at an alien, “I’m gonna punch you in the face now ’cause you look different than me and welcome to BBC’s Planet Earth narrated by Richard Attenborough!” And then Ian Malcolm is all like, “Life finds a way. Motherfucker.”
Enjoy your Jane Austen, loser.
Who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead?
Earlier today, in an attempt to see if one forum member was using two accounts, I tried to figure out how to look up IP addresses through the admin panel of our forum. I could only figure out how to check the IPs of those currently logged in, so since Mercedes was the only one on the forum besides guests, I checked hers.
(It was all for research purposes, I assure you. I was fully clothed—aside from shirt, pants, and underwear.)
But here’s what I found odd. Accompanying her IP info, which was pinging from Maryland, was this image:
Weird, eh? So I did a little investigating. (Again, for research purposes only.) Upon further inspection, it appears that Mercedes lives under a plot on the western side of the Druid Ridge Cemetery in Pikesville, Maryland.
Here is a more detailed image:
Can’t say I’m surprised, really. In fact, a lot of things about her are much clearer now. It definitely explains the smell. But we wouldn’t trade her in for anything.
As the sagacious Violent J once said: “Cemetery lady, my cemetery girl. Cemetery baby, I want you in my world.”
Would you like a peek into what it is like to read through the slush pile? Amazingly, it is quite a bit like being a high-school English teacher, if the lists being passed around the Internet are any indication.
According to the story (you can’t always trust what you read on the Internet, surprisingly enough), a few years ago the Washington Post ran a contest for English teachers to send in the worst analogies they had read in students’ papers.
From those supposed entries, here are the 56 worst: