Thanksgiving marks the beginning of the the end of the year.  After today we’ll start hearing even more Christmas music, seeing neighbors string up gaudy decorations and become targets of the marketing plans developed through millions of dollars.  Yippee.

We all have different ways of celebrating:  Some of you will join family and friends for turkey and camaraderie, while others of you will drink alone, watch football and eventually go outside when you fart your microwavable dinner and gag in your lay-z-boy.  No matter what you do this holiday season, be sure to avoid these five Thanksgiving faux pas:

1.  Don’t bring something new to dinner.  We don’t care if you’ve gone vegan or if you’ve vowed of a particular cheese — if you’re in charge of the mashed potatoes, bring the f*cking mashed potatoes.  Nobody here want to try your new “Organic yam chews,” or the “carrot stuffed onions” that your neighbor told you about.  We want potatoes.  That’s why, when we called you the other week and you asked what you should bring, we said, “bring mashed potatoes.”  If you want to put garlic in them, or maybe some cheese: fine.  But if you blend broccolli or tofu and put that in the goddam potatoes you make your self immediately slapable by everyone who was counting on your hippy-ass.

“My friend says it’s delicious…”

2.  Don’t ruin the game.  Do you know why football is played on Thanksgiving?  Because at some point during the Thanksgiving festivities, we all realize why it is we only see the entire family during holidays: We can’t actually stand each other!  With football on some of us can leave the room once aunt so-and-so starts rambling on about her “perfect child” (who, by the way, always turns into a slut or serial killer) without making a scene and punching her.  If somebody is watching the game, don’t enter the room and try to spark up conversation.  They know you’re there.  If they wanted to converse they would’ve stayed in the room with you and started speaking.  They didn’t so go away and respect the pigskin.

“Man-gunt?”

3.  Don’t talk about how great you and or your children are.  There is always one person at Thanksgiving who has to relate every single topic of conversation back to what they (or their children) are doing “so well.”  I didn’t come to Thanksgiving dinner to learn about you or your child.  I came to eat a lot of food, probably watch some football, and be thankful that I only need to listen to your bullsh*t once a year.  Your child is 4 and they’re not special because they figured out that 2 fingers and 2 fingers equals 4 fingers.  And what you need to figure out is that your child walks crooked, whines too much and eats boogers after picking his butt.  Go away.

“Your kid is a moron.”

4. Please, please, please do not be the person who brings up the big family secret in the middle of dinner.  I don’t care if Uncle Chester rubbed up on little Johnny when he was three and Johnny has had to attend years of therapy to come to grips with his sexuality.  The turkey is delicious so shut the f*ck up.  Mommy and Daddy are cheating on each other?  Not the venue.  Grandpa’s been parading around the town in a sequins dress?  Doesn’t matter.  Thanksgiving is about many things to many people, but it’s not about divulging or making known the secrets of your family to anyone — that’s what Halloween is for.

“And now it’s awkward…”

5.  Finally, keep your kids under control.  I don’t care if he is family, I swear to the Pilgrim and Indians I’m going to celebrate the holiday authentically and scalp my nephew if he tries tickling me one more time.  Whether balls have dropped or not, a kick in the sac hurts and that’s exactly what I’ll do if your kid hits me with his toy one more time.  It’s not that hard:  Take your child, give them hot chocolate (spiked with Kahlua), take them upstairs and lock them in a room.  When the government-recognized adults have finished eating and celebrating we can let the bastard out.  And for a real good time, we can tell him that he’s adopted, which is why he wasn’t allowed downstairs (that doesn’t break rule 4 because it’s after dinner).

“Bad Turkey! Goooood Tuuuurkeeeeey…”

Be safe folks.  Don’t drink and drive.

Mr. Wolff

PS:  As Christmas gifts go, MYTHOI is a pretty great idea…

Women in comics is a touchy subject.  Some people think women are objectified, other feel like they may be objectified and still others want women to be more objectified.  Opinions are over the place, but as a general consensus, everybody agrees on one thing:  There should be more objectifying women in comics.

As a critique to last week’s blog on CW’s fecal kryptonite-powered fecal receptacle Smallville, Alex wrote, “Future, feminist-approved rant idea: Comic books should feature more scantily clad (and preferably bearded) men, and then maybe more girls would read comic books and blog for Semantink.”  Many of you may be thinking that I’m going to disagree — but I’m not.  I think Alex is on to something…

Up to this point women have been considerably objectified in comics.  Most female characters have large breasts, small waists and butts worthy of quarter bouncing.  This is all largely in part to the predominately male following of the comic book world.  Recently the demographic has shifted — while it is still mostly boys reading the books, some girls are taking a more active role in what used to be a male-focused medium.  As far back as I can remember the art depicting women has fallen under one of two categories:  Good Girls and Bad Girls, but not like you’re thinking…

Good Girl Art (GGA) is defined by Richard Lupoff in his book The Great American Paperback as, “A cover illustration depicting an attractive young woman, usually in skimpy or form-fitting clothing, and designed for (mild erotic interest).  The term does not apply to the morality of the ‘good girl,’ who is often a gun moll, tough cookie, or wicked temptress.”  So, what’s so “good” about them?  The way they look, of course!

Women are always standing naked in the window, right?

“Two at once? No! NOOOO!”

So many stereotypes here; taboo-delicious.

Well, if “good” girls are bad, or at least good in the sexually motivating sense of the word, what are “bad girls”?  “Bad Girl Art likes to feature all the women as perhaps even more scandalous while retaining a tough persona, like Elektra. The era of this particular art is most commonly seen as the 80’s-90’s and one of its most famed publishers is Chaos! Comics, with Brian Pulido’s line of numerous ‘bad girl babes.”  Okay…  So Good Girl Art features sexually attractive and morally ambiguous women, while Bad Girl Art highlights even more scandalous, bad-ass women?  Awesome.  For purely scientific purposes, here are some examples:

Sexist? No. She seems…talented.

Yes. Even with the green hair, yes.

Bad Girl OG.

The feminine role in comic books has evolved quite a bit in the last few years — sort of.  There have been lesbians, feminists, independent women and even some truly bad ass attempts at breaking stereotypes, but more often than not, at one time or another, they are presented (for at least a moment) as a sexual stimulant for the overwhelmingly male readers (see below).  And sex isn’t the only way women are used in comics — Women in Refrigerators has a list of women whose deaths, rapes, submissions or other forms of punishment were used as plot devices and that’s pretty much it — but how else do you piss off a male super hero?

Huzzah for feminism and strong female characters!

Okay, so we know how women were used, but now that comics are building a more girl-friendly fan base, what will change?  Probably not much…  Comic books are not about sex or stereotyping.  They are merely a format for both writers and artists to engage in storytelling and at times, political, social (or other) agenda.  Just like any other form of media there will be trashy books and books that aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on, and these books, more than any other will feature sexist, stereotypical and misogynistic images/story lines devoid of any redeeming quality.  I’m here to tell you now that good comics are already avoiding these things to a certain degree.

We may see more men drawn as sexually as the women, but I’m thinking you’re still going to get more scandalously clad women than men and you know what?  That’s fine with me.

So, back to Alex and her “feminist-approved idea” that, “Comic books should feature more scantily clad (and preferably bearded) men, and then maybe more girls would read comic books and blog for Semantink.”  I say, why?  Personally, I don’t need more women to read comics and I definitely don’t want more guys staring at me all sexy-eyed off the pages.  Don’t get me wrong, I think someone should create the comic you’re suggesting (I bet if we looked it already exists), but I’m happy with comics and where they are.  I like beautiful and impossibly-shaped women and tough, blood-soaked battle hungry men.  Misogynistic?  Yes.  But I am also a fan of books without the sex-drive; take the deceptively titled Bone, or the thought provoking American Splendor. I don’t need the provocative women to get me to read a book, but I certainly enjoy them when it happens.

And as far as more women reading comic books?  Well, here is a list of the women involved with the creation of comics and here is an article on some women who currently read comics (despite the current state of the female role), and as I already linked, the female fan-base is already growing!  I believe that the reason women are objectified as they are is because it works — like selling HUMMERS (side note: if you drive a HUMMER you are a douchebag) for public consumption — they’re out there because people spend (a lot) of money on them.

A woman writing for Semantink?  That’s actually a great idea!  I think the feminine voice should be heard more clearly.  It’ll help keep us nerd boys in check.  But before she gets to write she’ll have to vacuum, wear a french maids costume, makes some food, finish our laundry, scratch my back, dust something…

Mr. Wolff

PS:  This is Megan Gale, she was going to be Wonder Woman in George Miller’s never-made Justice League and she’s a fine actress.  Why am I putting the picture here?  Because she is a woman who loves comics.  There, you see, I’m not misogynistic at all.  I’m almost a feminist.

Not at all sexual.

A few years ago I was injured while fighting a bear.  I killed the bear, but not without a price — I sprained my ankle.  Yes, I know it’s hard to believe that I could have suffered injury at the hands of so small a beast, but it is true.  I was out of “work” for a few weeks and I asked my friends and family to give me ideas for things to do while bedridden for a while (it was a very serious sprain).  One of my friends offered me his collection of a show called Smallville, maybe you’ve heard of it?  Well, as someone who loves a good comic book and an on-again, off-again fan of the man of steel, I took up this well-intentioned gift and finished (what was) the entire show in a few weeks.  I was in no way enamored or in love, but it was entertaining enough to pass the time and he gave me the whole collection at once so, there you have it.

If the power rangers were from Kansas…

Now from what I understand  the show is still on after 50 or 60 seasons now and Clark has yet to don his iconic dress and Mr. Luthor left the show — meh.  Normally I wouldn’t care enough about a megacorporation raping established cannon like this, but I heard something the other day that rattled my geeky cage; a young boy was with his mother inside of a Target, begging her for one of the seasons on DVD.  The mother denied him and he went on to say, “But I need to know if Clark and Chloe get together.”  I couldn’t help myself and butted in, “You know Lois and Clark end up together in the end, right?”  The child looked at me like I punched his mother and replied, “Maybe in the comics, but Smallville isn’t like the comics, it’s actually good!”  I then punched the child.  His mother took offense so I punched her as well.  Then I grabbed all of the Smallville DVDs, stole them, and burned them in my backyard as a sacrifice to the continuity gods.

If you didn’t know this before, I’m going to fill you in on a little secret now: Smallville is a piece of sh*t.  It’s not a piece of sh*t the way a person who sleeps with your girlfriend is a piece of sh*t, scheming and conniving.  Smallville is a piece of sh*t the way Ryan Leaf is a piece of sh*t, promising, but stingy and too self-involved.

The show started with a great idea: Bruce Wayne before he becomes Batman — Great!  Wait, huh?  That’s right Smallville was originally going to be Gotham and to be honest, I’m thankful they didn’t.  Who knows how greed-rape would’ve ruined the caped crusader for me…  Anyways, after Batman’s story got axed, Alfred Gough (Shanghai Noon, Shanghai Knights, Spider-Man 2, Herbie: Fully Loaded, and The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor) and Miles Millar (who partners with Gough on many of the previous titles, but also celebrates success with The Hannah Montana Movie) came up with the same formula for Superman — Clark in Smallville.  In and of itself a great idea!

While season one was freak-of-the-week, the following seasons have revolved around greater story arcs involving several DC characters, heroes and villains.  Okay.  Fine.  So what’s the problem?

The problem is that Smallville the TV show isn’t Smallville from the comics.  I know a lot of people defend the show saying, “Smallville is its own continuity,” but to me, that’s horse sh*t.  Why would you make a show about a younger version of the most famous superhero ever, if you’re not going to stick to the details?  It’s the details that make him great!  I can understand a few changes in the name of interpretation, but some of the stuff the CW has done is just bad (I’ll get to details in a second).

A show with this doesn’t need good writing.

And if you absolutely must change things around, do it for a good reason; if the word money comes up in the conversation, it’s not a good reason.  When I say “good” I mean “of moral fortitude,” in other words, if you’re going to have Lex Luthor live in Smallville (for much longer than he should’ve) there better be a good reason behind it.  What you’re doing at that point is changing cannon, not reinterpreting it.  A reinterpretation would be something like, changing the design of Supe’s suit, or making Lois a blonde, but creating a character named Chloe who will exist as one of the most significant characters in Clark Kent’s life is going to change his future, that’s something that’s hard for me to take.  Now, Ready for the list?

Lex don’t love dem hoes.

1.  Lex Luthor.  This guy should never have been in the show, well, at least not until Clark moved to Metropolis, or at least just for a brief stint according to cannon.  If you needed him to be in the show in order to give Clark a nemesis, than maybe a show about Superman before he was Superman wasn’t such a good idea in the first place!  What you’ve done instead is taken a series of events and moved them back in time.  That’s not really impressive…  We know Clark and Lex become enemies, I thought Smallville took place before all that.

Cute, but unnecessary, like munchkins.

2.  Chloe Sullivan.  The idea of Chloe is fine: a high-strung, headstrong reporter who will stop at nothing to “get the story.”  Are you f*cking kidding me?  I have an idea, let’s do a show about Superman before he was Superman and all we really have to do is write about superman with all the people he knows when he is superman, but make them teenagers and give them different names — SHENANIGANS!  We didn’t need Lois Lane in this show yet!  I THOUGHT IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BEFORE ALL THAT!  This was a cheap way to create a relationship that wasn’t supposed to happen to Clark yet…  Chloe Sullivan did not exist in the comics-proper.  I understand the need for more supporting characters in Smallville, sure you can even make some up, but do they have to be copies of people we already know and love?  PS: Allison Mack is cute.

Ginger or no, let Jimmy be.

3.  Jimmy Olsen.  You killed Jimmy Olsen?!  Clark Kent isn’t even Superman yet and you killed Jimmy Olsen?  Are you f*cking kidding me?  I know, I know:  He wasn’t really Jimmy Olsen, but Jimmy Olsen’s younger brother Jimmy Olsen.  Oh, okay.  Let me bend Ms. Continuity over a bit so it hurts less when you f*ck her!

I see: Heroes. CW sees: $$

4.  Flash, Cyborg and every other mucked up ancillary character…  Cyborg was too old, (that) Flash was too young, Aquaman, well he just sucked, Oliver Queen should’ve been the same age as Superman, Papa Kent didn’t run for Senator, and Lionel Luthor didn’t exist…  You’ve destroyed the fictional reality of Superman, please leave the rest of DC alone.

Look, I’m fine with reimaginings, I think it’s neat to see what different people do with different materials.  All I’m asking for here is a bit of discretion when referring to the “greatness” of Smallville.  If you really love the Superman mythology, go support the comic community and buy a book!  Otherwise just admit that you like the Gilmore-Girl-like writing, typical WB/CW teenage angst drama, and keep your nose out of Superman all together.  You can play with Superman, just don’t f*ck with him.

Two good things to come from Smallville?  Kreuk and Durance.  Especially Durance.

Until next time,

Mr. Wolff

**UPDATE: This video is awesome.  Thanks to broken for the heads up!

I realize that I work as a blogger for a start-up publishing house and that would insinuate that I am relatively in touch with at least the basic recognition of pop-culture, right?  Wrong.  I spend a lot of time looking into comics, TV and movies, I even dabble in music every once in a while, and on a real good day I skip rocks across literature.  But I have apparently gotten older much faster than I thought…  Recently a chain of events has unfolded and deflowered mine eyes to the monstrosity that is “hip” today.

It all started with a link on one of the greatest news sites I have ever been privy to: Digg.  Digg is a collection of all things worthy run by the people who visit it, like wikipedia for net-trolls.  A member of Digg (username: RobertWright) posted a link to a video with Christopher Walken.  I f*cking love Christopher Walken!  So, I clicked on the link, and this is the brilliance that unfolded before me:

What may strike some of you as odd is that up to the moment I saw this I had no idea who Lady Gaga was.  I may have heard her name every once and a while, but if I did I don’t remember.  I certainly never heard her music before.  I looked her up and saw the actual video for the song Mr. Walken was reciting, which you can find here (is it just me or did she really try for Tarsem with this?).  I made a decision that I wouldn’t piss on one of her records if the devil was farting fire on it (Walken did it better), but the whole scenario led me to think: what else have I missed in the last few days?  Months?  Years?

Well, apparently Chris Brown beat the hell out of Rihanna!  What?!  Who the sh*t is Chris Brown?  What’s a Rihanna?!  Well, this is a Chris Brown (He is the one being attacked by the hippo in the white pants and yelled at by the blond clown):

Surely his knees hurt.

And this is a Rihanna:

Happy emo hair cuts?

And this is what happens when Chris Brown find a Rihanna:

TMZ — go away.

I was also sad to see entertained thoroughly when I saw that Lindsay Lohan developed Vitiligo, a skin disease that cause once hot (though admittedly annoying and self-absorbed) girls to turn into that evil b*tch from the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

Someone dipped Ms. Lohan in an ugly bath and didn’t dry her off.

Apparently there are a few shows making headlines these days:  The Hills, 90210, Melrose Place, Gossip Girl and a plethora of “Rich Old Housewives [who look haggard without makeup] of [insert city here].”  I’ve done a bit of digging and from what I can tell, these are all the same damned show.  Women sleep with lots of people thinking they are “breaking stereotypes” but only succeed in making themselves look like spoiled, whorish, twats, while the men involved behave more like Yorkshire terriers than men, barking loud pitched screams while the women watch them pretending to care and throwing them treats when they sit or play dead.  Here’s the formula:  Hot people f*cking each other, literally and figuratively.  Done.  That’s it.  The only thing worse than the bad acting and reused plotlines are the annoying, cheese-brained fans who think that something important is going on.  No.  Your “fav” show sucks.  Don’t breed.

After I got all depressed with the celebrity beatings, cute-to-fugly transitions, and terrible yet successful television programming, I went over to Mtv to see what video was currently being prostituted out to number one — Mtv seems to know what’s cool amongst the scenes today, right?

F*ck you.  F*ck every sinlge one of you bastards for doing this to the media.  I hate all of you tight-pant wearing little sh*t heads with your crappy whine-tastic bands and your “A girl loved me, but she doesn’t now” songs.  It’s not original.  It’s just redone.  I’m pretty sure Boysandgirls, or whatever the hell their name is, just ripped off Jimmy Eat World and the Killers in one try.  You sound over-produced, under talented and if you receive one penny for any of this tripe, it’s too much.

All in all I am reminded why I don’t play in pop culture these days.  Not that it was ever “cool” persay, but then again, what is?  I mean one man’s trash is another man’s Dog the Bounty Hunter, you know?  Just think: Michael Jackson was all but abandoned in the last years of his life, considered a child molester or old-timer by many, and now there are more bastards running around claiming to have “always loved him” so they can get a piece of the trendy-time pie.  It makes me sick really.  It’s so sad to see this beast we’ve created called “success” chew people up, spit them out, and then use them as utensils to pick up and eat more people.

You can have it.  All of it.  Take the Twilights, Mtvs, VH1s, American Idols, Dance Shows, Masturbatory Award Ceremonies, unfunny sh*t-coms and all the models turned actors who should have realized by now they were better when they kept still and quiet.

Pop culture isn’t going anywhere, I realize that.  All I’m asking for is a little discernment from the fans before the jump wholeheartedly behind something, whether that something is a bad band, terrible TV show or celebrity gossip…  Let’s just not lose site of what’s important with the world, okay? We don’t need to know about every celebrity beating or who is banging what or how this person look here, or why he’s banging her and she’s banging him…

Oh what’s the point.  This is like trying help a 90-year old virgin pop his cherry before the emphysema takes him, if you haven’t gotten it by now, you probably never will.

Go on then.  Get dumber.

I may not be smart, but I’m not chasing stupid.

Mr. Wolff

In case you didn’t know, Halloween is around the corner.  Companies everywhere are throwing out darker marketing designs, pumpkin flavored whatevers, or spook-tastic experiences — even blogs are caught up in the costumed madness with every other one highlighting something between “The Worst Joker Costmes Ever” and “100 Best Pumpkin Carvings.”  I’ve racked my enormous and beautiful mind for days trying to figure out exactly what my 2009-Blog-Before-Halloween would be and you know what I figured out?  Nothing.  Most things have been said, done or written almost as good as I could do already.  So, in keeping with the popular-costume model, while rubbing shoulders with the comics and/or pop culture design of this site I present to you a little nugget on one of the greatest villains of all time: Catwoman.

Yes, please.

The great Bob Kane and one of his cohorts, Bill Finger, created the whip-bearing cat-burglar in Spring of 1940 as an antithesis for Batman, though at that time she was known only as The Cat.  The chemistry between the beautiful putty-tat and the campy man-bat was instant and has endured through time to represent true love on opposite sides of the law.  Catwoman was ranked #11 in IGN’s Top 100 Comic Book Villains Of All Time List as well as #51 on Wizard magazine’s “100 Greatest Villains of All Time” list.

I could go into the mysterious amnesia/flight attendant/prostitute/abused history of Catwoman, but that wouldn’t be much of a rant now, would it?  So instead, I’m going to focus on two things here: First and foremost I would like to address the unfounded and hopeful rumors that Catwoman will be a player in the next installment of Nolan’s Batman series.  Second, I hope to give some advice to the would-be pussycat theives creating a costume for a party in the upcoming weekend.

Catwoman = sexuality.  There is no way to get around that fact.  If Catwoman isn’t hot then she’s not Catwoman.  Now, in the Adam West TV series, Catwoman was played by three lovely ladies:  Julie Newmar, Lee Meriwether, and Eartha Kitt.  Each of them bringing a little something special to the role but all of them making pants tight for the male demographic.  I know that there is more to the woman than a pair of gigantic, enormous and well proportioned high heels; she is also very smart, physically in tip-top shape and damaged goods to the FUBAR degree.  That’s right, if you’re going to play her right you better be mentally unstable and all flavors of crazy because the Catwoman we all love is nowhere near normal.

Julie

Lee

Eartha

Let’s do a quick comparison, shall we?  Michelle Pfeiffer or Halle Berry?  If you said Halle Berry then you should go watch Monsters Ball until you masturbate to death.  For those of us with taste who said Pfeiffer, let’s find out why…  Catwoman the movie sucked, but I’m going to attempt comparing only the characters so bear with me.  Pfeiffer was absolutely bat-shit (pun intended) out of her mind.  She loved Bruce Wayne, she lusted for Batman, she wore a fantastically redesigned vinyl costume and seemed to know she was nuts.  Berry wasn’t even Selina Kyle (tsk-tsk), thought she was cool, not crazy, and had absolutely no interaction with Batman whatsoever.  Okay, so maybe I can’t do a fair character-to-character comparison without the movies getting involved, but hopefully you picked something out of that metaphorical mess.  The point is this: To be Catwoman you have to be more than sexy, you have to be nuts.  That’s it.  Don’t try to be sexy like Halle Berry is sexy (and for the record, she is sexy), but sexy like Rose Mcgowan is sexy — the kind of sexy that you would never ever hang out with, the kind of sexy that makes you nervous and the kind of sexy that would burn down and Abercrombie and Fitch store out of sheer boredom.

Who do I think should be Catwoman if Nolan uses her?  For years I’ve been in the Jolie camp, but that’s the problem: it’s been years.  Angelina is getting older and while I still wouldn’t kick her out of bed, I’m not sure she has quite the required sexiness to pull off Catwoman.  Though, I’ll be the first to admit she’s got crazy down…

I saw this in Tijuana…

I’ve been hearing rumors that Megan Fox wants a piece of this action as well.  My response?  No f*cking way.  You have to be a lot more than beautiful to play Catwoman with any sort of chutzpah — you have to be an actress.  Megan Fox is not an actress.  She’s played Shia’s girlfriend and a boy-eating demon, which is kind of the same thing anyways…  Megan would make a great piece of art because art doesn’t talk, move, make sounds or change.  From what I can tell (here, here, and here) Megan Fox is a lucky piece of gutter trash with a pretty face who happened to be in the right place at the right time.  She also has nice legs.  And boobs.  And butt.

Model? Maybe. Actress? HAHAHA…

So what we need is an actress who can act, play crazy, be hot, and show proper respect to one of the greatest female characters ever created.  How about these?

I know she’s already Black Widow, but would it suck to see here it tight black outfits twice?

Hey look! She aleaready has the outfit!

Give her a whip and leave us alone…

Or poison Ivy…

If she laid there for the whole movie dressed in black, it would be fine.

Now for the second (and more pertinent) order of business:  Dressing up like Catwoman this year.  If you’ve read anything I’ve ever written on this site then you know how I feel about cosplay, but as a refresher here is my motto:  If you can then do, if you can not then don’t try.  So here are three simple rules to keep your disguise from suck:

1.  If you don’t look like Selina Kyle you won’t look like Catwoman. I’m sorry to those of you with more body than an F-150 but you need to hear this from someone: Catwoman isn’t fat.  If you weigh anything starting with the number two or higher then you shouldn’t be doing this.  Instead, why don’t you go out dressed as the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, then we all win.

Don’t make this real…

Better for chub-chubs.

2. Be Catwoman, not a cat. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen this happen.  Some slutty sorostitute throws on a kitty costume with less matrial than her lingerie and walks around with a whip calling herself “Catwoman.”  No.  Catwoman is not a slut — we wish she was, but she’s not.  Be sexy, not stupid.

Cat. Woman. Lame.

Catwoman. Awesome.

3. Play the f*cking part! You’ve got the body, you’ve got the outfit, now act like it godammit!  Be nutty, say things that make the room go quiet!  Scratch girls’ boyfriends!  Bend over for no reason at all and by the end of the night steal something!  You’re f*cking Catwoman!

Freaky = Magnificent.

That’s it kids.  Have fun this weekend.  Don’t be safe and above all get some “treats.”  And as a final guideline for you Catwomen out there, if some stupid b*tch gets up in your face ’cause your in character and she’s a hoe, SLAP HER!  Catwoman is many things but one thing she’s not is a pussy.

Mr. Wolff

I love Halloween.  I think it’s great that for one day out of the year we all get to dress up like whatever we want without being judged, ridiculed or mocked.  Mostly.  Okay, fine.  Everyone still gets judged, ridiculed and mocked, but it’s not for being weird, instead it’s usually for being uncreative, unimaginative or just plain dumb.  So, daddy has decided to help some your more mentally impotent readers avoid some common costume mistakes this year.  I present to you: Five Halloween Costumes that Nobody Should Wear.

I know that my first recommendation is going to be lost upon many of you because it requires you to have a mate, but if you do make love one-handed, then just scroll down to the next one…  The most absolutely annoying things in the world are couple-costumes.  Now, to be clear, I am in no way condemning those of you who get together with a friend or two and decide that you will attend parties as a unit, thereby leading to the obvious decision that since there are four of you, you will be the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles — that makes sense.  I’m talking to the obnoxious bastards that annoy all of their friends with all of their mutual praise (“Oh my god, I love my b/f, he’s so awesome,” or, “Shit son, you see my b*tch?  She so fine!  I got that punani on lockdown!”), decide the day before Halloween to go to [Never Been to a Good] Party City and buy the most retarded couples costume they can find.  You know the ones I mean, like, “nuts and bolts,” or, “[albino] adam and eve,” or, “lock & key.”  These idiots actually believe that their cheap ass costumes look good, and the men always say the same thing, “I wanted to be a zombie, but Trish [the dish] wanted to do this, ya know?”  No.  We don’t know.  You’re an idiot and you look like something out of a retarded dollhouse.

Your friends hate you.

Get it? My dick is the key! Haha…

Sometime dignity goes with the hair.

Halloween is all about knowing your limits.  If you’re fat, don’t try and be sexy.  If you’re white, don’t dress up in black face.  It’s not very difficult…  So, when that guy in your group (you know who he is…) says, “We should get the whole gang to dress up like the X-Men or something,” jump up immediately and say, “No douche-bag! “  You know why?  Because I can guarantee that at least two-thirds of your friends are going to look like the lamest Wolverines, Rogues, Cyclops and Jubilees ever.  And since you’re with them, you’re all going to be lumped into terrible superhero group costume category.  To be fair, if you look like Lou Ferrigno then dress up like the Hulk, but don’t ask your Fat-Oprah-like friend to go with you as The Wasp.  Single heroes?  Great.  Groups?  Probably not.  Though I suppose their may be a group of friends out there who could pull this off — but its not you, so don’t worry about it.

and sometimes, nobody looks good.

Look around. I’ll wait.

Nonsensical costumes are the easiest ones to avoid.  These are costumes that aren’t meant to look like anything in particular — they’re only meant to attract attention.  Usually people wear things like this at Mardi Gras, or Carnival, or some other mass union of hedonism, but every Halloween, no mater what party you go to, there is always that guy/gal that shows up and nobody has a clue what they are supposed to be.  More often than not, these people are also on drugs.  And old.  And ugly.  And drunk.  And they usually pass out pretty early, ending up with a cumulative mess of random comments scrawled onto their bodies like, “I’m gay,” or perhaps the crude drawing of a rocket-ship-wiener.  The point is if you don’t have a costume (you suck) you should probably just wear normal clothes, lest you find yourself being stared at by the rest of the party being laughed at all night, never laughed with.

Old leopard eating an old Skittle?

Black-face, albino, red-weed, yellow-pant manish thing?

This man is out to kill the dreams of children.

Every single Halloween party in America will have at least one pimp/hoe at their party.  This is typically a failed attempt to veil the donner’s otherwise insatiable sexual appetite.  It may seem is totally biased of me, but I’m not going to ask hoes to stop.  In fact, I’d like to thank them for giving geeks everywhere the closest thing to nudity many of them will ever see.  You, my ladies, are currency in the spank bank of nerdishness.  It is to the pimps that I say, “nay sir!  You don’t look cool!  You’re probably a virgin and in no way at all are you original!”  I get the joke:  You are a white guy with a small penis and and otherwise lonely libido, thus the irony(?) in your uniform for the evening.  I all get it.  I’ve gotten it for years.  The part that bugs me is that you just got it.  Dressing up like a pimp for Halloween is the equivalent of a horny, homeless man holding a sign that says, “Will f*ck for sex.”  It’s redundant and sad.  Now, if you do dress like a pimp and your wife/girlfriend/significant other dresses up like a hoe, don’t be sad when I hand you a $20, tell you she’s overpriced and nine months later you’ve got a kid with eyes like mine.  You asked for it.

No animals were harmed in making these virgins.

FATher daughter pimp and hoe?

If it were real, he’d be broke.

We’ve hit the end of our list my friends.  At this point I hope you’re thinking, “Mr. Wolff, thank you so much.  Now I know not to dress up like: an asshole with my lady/man, a superhero withing an ugly fold of superheroes, a confused array of colors, or a pimp — what else should I avoid?  It’s simple my friend.  Do not, under any circumstances dress up like The Joker.

The Joker costumes after Dark Knight came out were painful.  I have never before seen a hideous coupling of both irreverent tribute and lackluster talent.  I saw the movie.  I know Heath was awesome.  But you’re not Heath!  He was awesome because it was so different and unexpected.  You are a sad little person with bad makeup, terrible wardrobe and the single worst Joker-voice in the history of the world.  Don’t be Heath’s joker.  Don’t be Jack’s Joker.  Don’t even be Cesar’s Joker!  Do not be Joker at all or for any reason!  Everybody who dresses up like Joker secretly believes themselves to be the coolest person in the room — they’re wrong.  Don’t be them.  Don’t be wrong (Hypocritical side note:  in all fairness, this guy is doing a damn good job).  Let me show you my pain:

Dumb & Dumber Joker?

Ginger Joker?

i just… Well… Yeah.

So that’s the list kids.  Go out and have fun this year, but don’t be a tool.

Mr. Wolff

Before I begin please read the title of this article again.  Go ahead, I’ll wait.

That’s right, nowhere in that silly string of words does it say that these are the “only” shows you should be watching or that these are the “best” shows ever made, so please don’t get your panties all wadded up your arsehole (yeah, arsehole) if I don’t mention your favorite show.  I don’t care about half the sh*t on television these days for lack of time and I only use my DVR to record shows that are of particular interest to me based off of a reliable recommendation or previous experience with the show in question.  While I would love to receive more recommendations from you, my intelligent readers, chances are that I’ve heard of half the shows you’re going to say and I probably won’t care.  So, if you think you’ve got something I may be interested in then pass it on, otherwise, keeps your shouts of “Grey’s Anatomy” and “General Hospital” to a dull tone because I’ve obviously been aware of them for some time and I think they’re lame at best.  And on that note, let us begin…

The first show you should set your TIVO to record is Sons of Anarchy.  Some of you may never have heard of this show and that’s okay — daddy’s here to learn you good.  The show was created by Kurt Sutter, husband to Katey Sagal (Peggy Bundy, Lila from Futurama, and Mrs. Morrow on SOA) and tells the story of a motorcycle club in the fictional Northern California town of Charming.  Jax, (Charlie Hunnam) the protagonist, is the vice president of the club and begins to doubt the direction the club is heading under the leadership of his step-father, Clay Morrow (given life by the great Ron Perlman).

Season one is already over, but it’s out on DVD and should be purchased by anyone with a taste for badassery, hotchickacauccas, or motorcyclitus.  SAMCRO (an acronym for Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, Redwood Original) traffics guns to a pair of rival city gangs outside of Charming for income, though they all hold down “day jobs” to keep the law they haven’t bought off their backs.  They have also sworn to keep meth out of their humble little town, which puts them at odds with the local white supremacists, the NORDs.  I’m not going to ruin the whole thing for you, but sh*t gets nutty…  Beatings commence, rivalries erupt, a horny TFA agent molests local law, the lovely Maggie Siff exists, Drea de Mateo is flaunts both her acting and her body, and all of this led by the previously mentioned creator’s wife, Katey Sagal and her gigantic, enormous, lovely-to-look-at, uh… talents.

It doesn’t hurt to watch her. Not at all…

Season two is a few episodes in and so far, so good.  The whole crew is back and Jax is still up to his neck in bullsh*t:  Clay is getting fed up with Jax’s desire to be a more peaceful illegal gun running operation, SAMCRO just adopted a porn company (yeah, that’s right), Mrs. Morrow (Jax’s mother) was raped, and all this at the hands of some new white-loving residents to Charming, Mr. Etan Zobelle and his enforcer A.J. Weston (played by Henry “I’m-never-not-angry” Rollins).

The true excellence in this show does not lie in their ability to throw violence, naked women and awesom motorcycles at the audience each week (though it doesn’t hurt), but the genuine way in which it is done.  The characters feel real.  The situations unfold naturally.  Characters are established, situations present themselves, and then shit blows up in a fashion that seems to defy television law.  For instance, at the end of season one, a particular series of events caused one of the most tragic deaths I have ever seen on screen.  It never felt forced, the whole progression made sense, but by the time I realized where it was going it was too late — I was emotionally invested and my heart dropped as the tragedy flashed before my eyes completely unrepentant.

And there are boobs.

Next on the list is Community.  The comedy was most recently sent to viewers among a barrage of Office-like imitators, creating a refreshing reminder that mockumentary is not the only way to be funny.  The plot is simple:  a sweet-talking lawyer named Jeff Winger has his college degree revoked by the board and must attend community college to finish up the necessary credits to get back to his life.  The twist?  This community college is filled with hilarious stereotypes and laugh-out-loud moments all perpetuated by the socially awkward cohorts Winger has assembled unwillingly in an attempt to bed and spread Britta (the eye-candy played by Gillian Jacobs).

To enhance the already hilarious performance from Talk Soup escapee Joel McHale, the producers threw a ton of well-known and not-so-well-known talent including:  Chevy Chase, Ken Jeong , John Oliver, Danny Pudi, Yvette Nicole Brown, Donald Glover and Allison Brie.  Most of us may know Chevy Chase and of late, Mr. Ken Jeong from everything Judd Apatow, but the true stand out in this lineup is Danny Pudi.  Pudi plays a character named Abed, the only person in the group who doesn’t seem to mind that he’s at a community college and spends most of his time wearing a blank face, throwing out brutal honesty as a result of his Asperger’s Syndrome.

Never have I envied Mickey as much as now.

Is it the greatest comedy ever?  No.  It has moments of unfunny that make me wish hilarity could avoid plot lines on television, but overall it is a guaranteed 30 minutes of fun each and every week.  Everybody is given a chance to be funny and for the most part, they all deliver.  And don’t leave until after the credits or you may miss some of the greatness…

Finally we pay homage to what is, in my opinion, the greatest show on television at this point:  FRINGE.

If you don’t know about Fringe then you are probably don’t own a television, or you use it strictly for porn or videogames.  I’m not going to go into details about the shows plot or characters, suffice to say that J.J. Abrams doing X-Files with a LOST like continuity is a blessing to all things entertaining.  Everything about this show is awesome…  The cases meld with fringe-science giving equal parts fiction and fact to further arouse our nerd-boners; the cast is superb enough to make me buy all of the Mighty Duck films if only to support Joshua Jackson; and the mystery/violence/comedy is all given equal doses mixing into an hour of geeky goodness.

Anna Torv does quite well as a leading lady, especially since she has to use an American accent every week (though that in and of itself is a shame because Austrailian accents are a ten on the you’re-f*cking-sexy scale).  Joshua Jackson pulls off the leading man role much better than I had anticipated, walking the line between mysterious-smart and funny-badass with ease.  And the Emmy-overlooked John Noble is nothing but brilliant as Dr. Bishop, the quirky, insane and often child-like motor for everything in Fringe’s world.

Now say, “Tha’s notta knife…”

Each episode is pretty similar:  Impossible situation explained in somewhat reasonable terms over the next hour until you actually believe it to be possible.  It’s a formula that works, as proven by Fringe’s predecessor The X-Files.  I’ve heard the two shows compared over and over with fans for the X-Files screaming “ripoff” and fans of Fringe crying out “original,” but I’m afraid I have to disagree with both sides…  On the one hand, it would be utterly ridiculous to say Fringe writers have thoughts unmolested by the X-Files.  X-Files was too big, too succesful to not be present in the minds of anybody with a television for the last twenty years.  Even if the writers try to write in a way to avoid X-Files comparison, they are still being influenced.  Now, on the flip side, Mulder and Skully had a very specific dynamic: one was a skeptic and the other a believer in all things supernatural.  And X-Files didn’t try to explain everything, instead, they just showed the audience that the unbelievable was in fact happening and left it up to the audience to try and figure out how.  Fringe is a team of middle-walkers, people who neither believe full-fledged, nor deny wholeheartedly the existence of unlikely events.  In Fringe our heroes accept what is happening and then use science to figure out how to understand it as best as possible.  Is one better than the other?  I dunno…  I’m partial to Fringe, but I’d be hard pressed to argue with a die hard X-File fan the greater nature of either.  The bottom line is this:  Fringe is on and I’m enjoying it.

Damn you all.

In closing I’m sure that some of you may think I’ve gone a littl soft this week and haven’t really complained about anything, so here’s your moment of rant:  I know I’ve already bashed Heroes once this year, but I’ve been (unfortunately) watching, hoping, waiting for the show to get good and it has done the unthinkable; Heroes has gotten worse.  Sylar doesn’t know Sylar — lame.  Peter Petrelli is nothing but an ambulance driver.  Claire is in a sorority — boring.  Hero is sick, a carnie villain isn’t threatening in the least and Matt Parkman has gone completely and totally bitch.  Heroes is like a beautiful woman with a tight premise, supple characters and a nice, round potential — but the crazy b*tch keeps puking on herself!  All she does all day is stick her finger in her butt, smell is and wipe her face leaving a streak across her brow.  Then she throws up on her chest, rubs it all over her body and blows snot out her nose while laughing, snorting and growling uncontrollably.  The potential is there, but she keeps f*cking herself up!!  Somebody please put this b*tch out of her misery.

Until next time,

Mr. Wolff.

I was nine years old when I saw the first Predator movie.  My father thought it would be great fun to rent it from Blockbuster Video (remember those?) while my mother was out of town so we could “bond like men.”  Instead of bonding, I pissed all over him, the living room, and most of the hallway.  I also ended up with a very serious condition for most of my childhood where I would see a blurry figure and instantly sh*t myself.  Thanks dad.

My father told me that this is what happens when you get an STD.

Well, it’s been 22 years since McTiernan’s masterpiece was let lose upon the world and Predator has seen the big screen three times since.  All of them sucked.  It wasn’t always the Predators fault, but more on that later.  Why am I bringing this up?  Well, one of my favorite directors, Robert Rodriguez, is producing the next direct installment in the franchise “Predators.”  He’s got Nimrod Antal directing as of now — he’s the guy who did “Vacancy” with Luke Wilson and Kate Beckinsale in 2007 and most recently “Armored” with Matt Dillon, Laurence Fishburne, Jean Reno and Skeet Ulrich.  When I heard about the talent, I got right on board, but once they announced the cast, I got nervous:

Oleg Taktarov? Hell yeah!

Mahershalalhashbaz Ali? Sure!

Louiz Ozawa? Okay…

Alice Braga? Naked?

Walton Goggins? Really?

*RUMORED Topher Grace? Didn’t we play this game with Raimi?

*RUMORED Derek Mears? Yes to Jason Voorhees.

Now, some of those are bad, but none of them made me as nervous as this one:

Adrien Brody? Wasn’t Danny Glover available?!

One of the reasons the first Predator was great because we got to see The Terminator, Apollo Creed, The Body, and a porn star fight a crazy ass alien with technology, weapons and an awesome outfit that we had never seen before.  Our heroes were bad ass, and it was evident from the get go that our squad of protagonists had no problem killing anyone and were, in fact, very good at it.  But more than that, the movie played with layers of drama most action movies ignored.  We had the relationship between Dutch and Dillon; the bureaucracy and lies fed to troops through their government; and, like any good horror movie, characters who shouldn’t be afraid, sh*tting their pants.  The combination of testosterone, quality VFX, drama, and mystery has been absent in every incarnation since.

Take Predator 2…  First of all, whoever thought Danny Glover was a good choice for a leading man in the Predator series should get shot.  Danny Glover hasn’t been good in anything save the Lethal Weapon series (and that’s debatable) or the time he played that villain who loved naked women in his car.  Match that with Gary Busey, Ana-Lucia’s mom from LOST, The fraidy-cat marine from ALIENS and the Latino guy with the cool hat, and you get one of the worst casts assembled for any movie ever in the history of eyeballs.  Then there was the setting:  Los Angeles — in the future!  Everybody is shooting everybody, there are no white people anywhere (which seemed to attempt implying something), drugs abound, boobs flopping everywhere and gangs rule the street; the whole thing reeked of a studio’s attempt at “hip.”  It was a mess, except for the very, very last scene when one of the Predators gave Roger Murtaugh the pistol from way back when.  Now, the moment itself was lame because those bastards should have shot Danny’s punk ass on the spot — I know they’re hunters but it bugged me that they were so damned eloquent about the whole thing, but what was cool was the implication that these Predators have been using Earth as their own personal hunting grounds for quite some time (it was also neat to see the Alien skull).  Other than that moment, the whole thing was sh*t.  Danny Glover fighting the Predator across rooftops only helped me to realize how out of shape Danny Glover was.  At one point I actually thought, “Hey, if Danny can do it, then I can too!”  That’s a terrible realization to have at a movie you expected to terrify you.

Then we had both of the AVP movies.  First of all, I would like to give a hearty screw you to Paul W.S. Anderson for everything about that 2004 piece of trash.  He may have been able to save something up to the point he turned the Predator into a little b*tch and gave him a partner, fashioning her a shield and spear out of the defeated Alien.  Damn that movie and everything about it.  From the too-quick ingestion and production of face-huggers to aliens, to the waste of Bishop throughout.  That movie should have rocked me so hard my pubes turned gray, instead, I left the theater wondering if Hollywood saw the same Predator and Alien movies I grew up on.  AVP II was better (imho), but the directors should let us see the fight scenes next time instead of shooting everything close up like Batman Begins.

Now, back to PREDATORS:  I have faith in Robert Rodriguez.  I think he’s awesome.  I love El Mariachi, Desperado, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, Planet Terror and I’m looking forward to Red Sonia(?), but the Predator franchise is something should be handled with care and I can only hope that with Rodriguez overseeing everything, that something resembling my piss-happy-inducing days of yore is what he delivers.  I want the Predator to scare me.  I don’t want to feel like I could beat him up.  I want to see people tougher than me get their asses kicked.  And for the love of all things, I want to see the Predator hunt silently, ruthlessly, and with extreme skill.  Looking at the cast we’ve got so far, I’m nervous.  I was nervous for X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE and it made me wish I was blind.  I was nervous for SPIDER MAN 3 and Venom gave me Gastro Intestinal Reflux Disease.  Now, I’m nervous once more and I really, really hope Rodriguez stays SIN CITY on this and delivers something close to source material that kicks me in the balls so hard I sneeze sperm.

Until next time,

Mr. Wolff

Let me first say thank you to James who, despite being a complete idiot for enjoying heroes, has put out one of the best comic books I’ve read in some time (and yes, I’m told to say that, but I do mean it).  For all of you hesitant in purchasing MYTHOI, don’t be — it’s the real deal.  James however, is a moron.  Moving on…

This weekend is the first annual Long Beach Comic Convention.  Ben (my boss) has decided to take James (the schmuck) with him this year…  That’s fine.  The rest of us didn’t want to go anyways.  Conventions are stupid.  All those talented writers and artists, the hot women in skimpy, character outfits, and the breaking entertainment news — who cares about that stuff?  *sigh

So, today we’re going to discuss (and by “discuss” I mean I am going to observe, judge and ridicule) the five types of people James and Ben are guaranteed to see this weekend and at every comic con ever.

1. Jedis who look more like Jabbas.

To be clear, I’m not saying that these protectors of the universe are fat (though they do tend to be), but what I’m saying is they look like anything but Jedis!  I’ve seen all three Star Wars movies and neither Luke, nor Darth ever appeared in any way similar to the pudgy, old, bifocaled weirdos I see at conventions.  Whenever I complain about this fact my friends always defend the not-quite-metachlorine-filled bastards with, “leave ‘em alone, their just having fun!”  Fun?  Really?  Then I suppose it would be okay with you if I dressed up in a red cocktail dress, called myself Santa and had sex with a dog in front of some prestigious hotel?!  Because that’s the type of fun that these awkward, bastards are having at my expense!  They have taken something dear to me  and don it as if they ever had the right…  No!  Enough is enough! I’m sorry that you never made anything substantial out of your life and that your adopted (I know you’re a virgin) children hate you because you say tried coaching them through life with sayings like, “use the force,” and, “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” but for the love of all things sacred stop dressing up like you are the knights of Lucas’s wet-dream!

If I had a son and took him to a comic convention I would demand he close his eyes each and every time we passed by one of you assholes because you’d only give him nightmares about Luke getting old, fat and pathetic.  You know what you people are?  You’re like the movie HOOK for Star Wars.  You’re a reminder of how unfortunate make-believe is, because at the end of the day, when the fiction is done, we don’t get light sabers and mind powers — we get wrinkles, hemorrhoid cream and cancer spots.

Stapler Guy from Office Space?

“Stay back! This child must ride my X-Wing…”

F*ck you. Seriously.

This video has nothing to do with Comic Con and is as old as the internet, but damn it’s funny.

2. “Look at me!  This is funny!”  No.  It’s sad.

I’m willing to admit I don’t know everything about comics, vinyl toys, movies, anime, or manga.  But some of the sh*t you attention whores are willing to wear in order to get somebody to look at or, *gasp, maybe even take a picture with you, is f*cking pathetic.  For some of you, Comic Conventions are the few times a year where your penis has the possibility for fun times, but you seem hell-bent on breaking the will of your mini-man-muscle before you even gave it a chance.

“But Mr. Wolff,” you might say, “It’s not all about sex!  We do this to express ourselves, or to show our care, love and adoration of a certain character!”  Okay.  Fine.  But maybe, just maybe you could find a way to spread your love without losing your pride?  YOU LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT! Not the funny kind of idiot, but the oh my god, that-guy-would-juggle-babies-if-he-thought-people-would-watch kind of idiot.  Don’t believe it can be that bad?

The Grudge 3: Man Maid

Dear Asshole, please see point #1.

I wish it was the apocalypse so I could kill you.

3. Star Trek Fans serious enough to scare a Vulcan.

When it comes to the battle inherent between Star Wars and Star Trek, I’ve always landed on the side of The Force.  Though I’ll be the first to admit that at comic conventions it’s never the jedis who scare me (they just make me angry), it’s the Trekkies.  You see, to these pointy eared bastards, cosplay isn’t a game, most of them dress like they’re in Federation employ on normal days.  Comic conventions are just a way for them to congregate.  Think of them like drag queens…  Most hours of the week, they shave their legs, tuck their balls and throw more make-up on their face than a clown on cocaine.  Gay bars are just a place where they can be surrounded by fellow shims.  Trekkies are the same way.  Exactly the same way.

Trekkies are drag queens.

After this photo, the photographer was never seen again.

All of them should be doing something else. Anything else.

4. Asians (or Americans who wish they were Asian) wearing anime costumes you’ve never heard of.

Now, from what I understand, I should know some of these costumes.  Well, that doesn’t say much for those wearing them.  If I do know the characters they are dressing up as, then they are doing a pretty sh*t job of disguising themselves.  Even more likely however, I have never heard of these characters because they are MANGA or ANIME and I do not like either.  Yeah.  That’s right.  All I see is the same thing every time: kid with big hair and an even bigger weapon running around in brightly colored clothing and usually wearing at least one piece of clothing that stands out obnoxiously from the rest.

Regardless, you all look dumb.

The Walking Placenta?

Okay, I know this one… No. I don’t. Thank God.

Anime or 80s-Chick-Hair bandmember?

I’ve never felt pity for a couch before…

A Parent’s Nightmare on Elm Street?

Your parents don’t love you. I promise.

5. Hot Girls.  Yeah, I know…

It may be hard to believe but there are attractive women at comic conventions.  I’ll admit that the hottest ones are usually there because they’ve been paid to be, but every once in a while we geeks get lucky and meet up with a nerdy hot chick just begging to let her freak flag fly!  Finding these women isn’t hard because they usually have a crowd of slobbering, pasty, fat, bearded men circling them like hyena’s ready to eat a limping gazelle.  Though getting their attention often is…  So while you may look forward to looking at these fine specimens, plan on loving them only in the form of your hand and your memories.

So have fun with all the losers Ben and James!

…and the hot girls…

*sigh

Until next time,

Mr. Wolff

Neil Patrick Harris did a great job at the Emmys.  Granted, I have never, not-once seen the Emmys before, but from what I hear, they usually suck.  Maybe not, but probably — most award shows do.  Regardless, I found Doogie quite entertaining and to me, the whole event was educational, as I have no idea who more than half the people who won are.  There was, however, one awkward moment where I found myself questioning all things right with the world: the reality TV segment.  I know that award shows often feel like Hollywood patting itself on the back, but giving time to “honor” the best in reality TV feels like Superman giving a keynote presentation on the awesome power of his Kryptonian erection to a group of male high school students, it’s just going to make everyone feel awkward and impotent, and it’s not really anything special, it’s just a matter of circumstance.  Superman (reality TV) didn’t do anything to earn his super-dick, he just happens to be at the right place at the right time, but there he goes, blabbering on about how awesome it is, and how his penis could puncture steel if improperly aroused.  I think I lost track of my metaphor somewhere…let’s back up a bit.

And Timmy went to his own fortress of solitude…

Reality TV has been around for a while, but the reality TV we know and love began as a result of the Writer’s Guild Strike of 1988.  Can you guess what show came out of that desperate need for programming?  COPS.  Quite frankly, I think COPS is awesome.  I love watching the crackheads, pimps, hos and drug dealers scramble and run around like animals in a zoo.  The only thing better than that is when we get to see white trash in some podunk town rolling around in his own feces holding tight to a six-pack of PBR screaming out about how much he loves his cousin.  Bless you COPS, bless you.  But COPS isn’t the type of reality TV I’m ’bout to get all flavors of rowdy on…

I blame Paula for this.

I understand the draw for some of these shows, I really do.  Take American Idol.  I know it’s fun for people to get together and vote on who they think is the best singer, essentially making that person rich off of their talent without having to work for it like other truly talented singers — it’s a god complex thing.  That’s cool.  But the problem is this:  Why is it that everyone from California to New York is all abuzz about Paula leaving as a judge and lesbEllen taking her place, when only 1/3 of the American population can name the three branches of our government?  I feel like every single fan of American Idol would live like the fat twats in WALL-E if they could, as long as they were given proper entertainment.

Like cattle…

How about Survivor?  I realize that the title is alluring to the fact that these people have to survive each other, and not the location they are in, but what the f*ck?  They won’t die and all they really do is bitch about each other the whole time.  If I wanted to be entertained by people fighting each other and talking sh*t behind each others backs I’d just go to my family’s house for dinner.  There’s no story being told and at the end of the show nobody watching it is any smarter than they were before, so what is the entertainment value?  And more importantly, why is it eligible for a f*cking Emmy?  For what?  Filming people being people in a place where people don’t live?  Oooh, innovative!  You can try and defend it if you want, but Survivor is one of the biggest mistakes our civilization has ever endorsed.  If you take every fan of survivor and asked them how to spell bug, they’d probably stare at you waiting for tribal council to vote you off the island like a mesmerized twat.

These shows are everywhere:  Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County, The Amazing Race, Project Runway, America’s Next Top Model, Fear Factor, Wife Swap, The Apprentice, Big Brother and Dancing with the Stars… This sh*t has taken over my TV.  I can’t switch through more than five channels without seeing an ad for one show more “real” than the next.  But what are they, really?  I think that giving the general public an insiders look into the lives of crab fishermen is fascinating, I really do, but why do we need to know about bored, rich, white women with nipples under their jaws, more make-up then some geisha-clown monster, glowing orange from fake tan spray?  There need to be a line!

And you know why these shows are on the air, don’t you?  Because of all the stupid dopes in the world who would rather live life vicariously through the boob-tube than getting on with their own.  Put down the remote and try learning the guitar!  Read a book, or a comic book (preferably Mythoi)!  Walk your dog!  Or, heaven forbid, spend time with your family and friends!  Hey, I know, get a lover and make your own reality show!  Who gives a fluorescent-flying-f*ck about who voted who off of which island, boat or house?!  If you said, “I do,” then I need you to do me a favor:  I want you to hold your breath until everything turns black.

The Emmys has a category for reality TV.  Hollywood has been selling us bullsh*t for quite some time.  I, like many of you, allow myself consumption of said feces when the trade off between my time and the entertainment provided is acceptable.  At some point, we let those bastards sell us pictures of ourselves under the banner of “reality.”  They figured out that they can entertain us without great writing, action or directing (aka $)…  They have only to let us see each other — then they cash their six-figure checks.  And now, the Emmys have a category for reality TV.  It used to be that Hollywood danced when we paid for it.  Now, we (the patrons of television) all stand in a room naked, jerking each other off, letting the cameras catch everything — then we pay Hollywood to see it.  And now, there is a damned category for reality TV at the damned Emmys.

*Sigh.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go check out Superman’s boner.

Mr. Wolff