Simon FitzKit...In The Field!

The Dragon*Pros Are Far Outweighed.

September 4, 2008
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This past weekend, Dragon*Con took over half of Atlanta (the Underdark half, if you were wondering), and that means thousands of my nerdly brethren descended on every hotel in a ten-block radius of wherever Nathan Fillion was standing at the time, and that 8/9 of those thousands came in costume.

Costume. The word calls to mind equal parts ‘Halloween’ and ‘a theatrical production,’ which –8/9 of the time– translates to ‘scary’ and ‘a flop.’ I kid, I kid. There certainly are an unbelievable number of amazing outfits present every year, showcasing just how many hundreds of dollars and manhours some people are willing to spend to be confused with a Sci-Fi Channel Original character actor. But then there are those poor souls who go that extra mile to call themselves out, to draw uncomfortable attention to their potato-sack body-type or their incomprehension of the fact that there is a time to stop mashing up concepts (See: Garth Vader, Darth Parton, Bart Vader, Darth Vedder, Darth Vader Zim, Perth Vader, Ollie North Vader, Darth Vanadium, Darth Vega, Darth Avida, Dorothy Vader, and…Hello Vader).

Oh, but pictures do help, don’t they? Let’s see who we have out on the floor…

Let’s steer around the Boba Fat jokes (Foba Bat?) and go straight to the problem of thinking that 2(Awesome) = Awesomer. Reese’s are the exception, not the rule. I mean, what would happen if Samuel L Jackson dressed up as Wesley Snipes? This. What would happen if Samuel L Jackson dressed up as Professor Xavier? This. What would happen if Samuel L Jackson dressed up as Nick Fury? This.
Plus, if you only look at him from the waist down (and I’m truly sorry to force that concept on you), he looks like the Dread Pirate Robert(s) …Bob, a Fat Pirate?… damn! So close.


Heh heh…Beavis, Beavis: …Co-Bra Commandos. Henh, henh…

Seriously though, I think these two were created by Gargamel to seduce the other Cobras into getting sloppy. And while it’s still unclear whether he wants to eat the Cobras or merely turn them into GI Gold, one think remains clear: Cobra Commander totally called dibs on a threesome.


Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, Thunderdome Lasertag’s not until next week.

Actually, take a look at her trophies: torn hair clumps at the waistband, red plastic hat at the navel… oh god… Bitch scalped Howdy Doody.


Senator John Kerry, God of Mischief.


Didn’t I fuckin’ just. say., “Not nobody, not nohow?”

ALTERNATE COMMENTARY: Polio took its heaviest toll, however, on the steampunk genre.


And the DownLoadable Content for Team Fortress 2 continues with the “Victorian Safari Skins Pack.” Pictured here: Medic, Spy, Heavy, Scout, and Engineer. Bonus unlockables: The Blunderbuss, the Jumanji Board, and the Doctor Vatson.


Ah, cosplay: The only pastime where blackface is still okay.


Flipping your fins,
You don’t get too far.
Bet a stiff breeze
Would’ve
Knocked you
Over.
Don’t wear a costume
That hinders your
–what’s the word?–
Feeeeeeet!
You think you look neat,
But really, you’re dim. (Some)
guy snatches your shells,
How you gonna chase hiiiiiim?
Let me ask you
Waddle you do,
Pretty nerd…giiiiirl?


Madness? THIS! IS! POTTAHHHHH!
.


Makes mouths happy. MAKES MOUTHS HAPPY!!!

July 10, 2008
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I’ve been laid low by Jumanji Twizzlers.

It waits for some unsuspecting person to find it, play it, and release the evil jungle magic within.

But I’m not prone to opening mysterious board games that wash up on the beach. No, this time the evil jungle magic had to bend itself to my weak spot:

I couldn’t help it. It just popped in there.

Twizzlers. One of the new resealable two-pound pouches that locks freshness in. Like we used to eat at Camp Waconda.

Only this bag didn’t just lock in freshness. Oh no. Let’s turn back the clock to last fall when I came down with an annoyingly persistent flu-like virus that completely floored me. My sister bought me a bag of resealable Twizzlers to cheer me up. No, not healthy for me, but hey, I was sick, and I wanted to feel better in some quantifiable way.

So I had some, sealed the bag, went back to cowering under the covers and got better.

February came around, and, as I was straightening my landfill of a room, I found, buried under clothes, DVDs, PSP games and comic books…

The Jumanji Twizzlers.

Oh, at the time, I didn’t know it was they, but the effect was immediate: I ate a few, and a couple days later, I was going through boxes of tissue like… well, like Kleenex. And I was not in the mood for Twizzlers any more, so they got kneaded back into the bottom of the counter bread machine that is my room.

And then I was sifting through piles of stuff I had recently tossed around (to be able to sleep on my bed again), and there, innocent and sweet, sat…

THE JUMANJI TWIZZLERS.

I carried them downstairs, having only an hour before discovered I had nothing but frozen meals and Pop-Tarts as immediate dining options. I sat down in front of CSI: Miami Season 1, and I had several strawberry-flavored twists.

Now everything above my philtrum is pounding, my nose is gushing, and my throat constantly feels like I’ve gargled with salt. Not salt water; salt.

So, of course, I threw the bag away as soon as I realized where the evil jungle magic had come from.

But now I realize: I didn’t burn it. It’s sitting in a trash bag somewhere, on its way to a dump, in some homeless child’s hands… and the Freshness seal is intact. The Jumanji Twizzlers are pristine inside. And someone will find them… and eat them… and the horror will live again.

Oh, God, I can still hear the drums! The hideous beating of those unearthly bongos, their sheer intensity threatening to drag me into my own personal heart of darkness!…

…Oh, wait. Sorry. I was just playing Rock Band on Nyquil.

Never mind.

Thank you, Seattle. Are you ready to r–BEWARE THE JUMANJI TWIZZLERS!


1) Pata Pata Pon, 2) Pata Pata Pon, 3) Pata Pata Pon 4) Pata Pata Pon

March 5, 2008
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Every time my Patapons go into Fever mode, their call and response sounds like they’re saying “Let the bodies hit the floor.”


I’ve Said It Before And I’ll Say It Again

December 1, 2007
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Last night, I went through a 2-3 hour case of deja vu. It lasted from the moment I walked up to the theater through about 20 minutes after the Mister Diplomat show was over. It included scenes from the show, random conversations before and after, and a very odd moment when I almost pulled lights but then thought, “No, I remember blacking-out this show on a different line.”

I mentioned this to one of my co-improvisers, and his theory ran as follows: “That’s what you get for being at the theater so long. ‘I remember Robin saying that exact thing before, only she was Olivia and we were in an ice cream shop.'”

I can’t agree with that though. Because, as many people have found out, I actually remember those kinds of things, and thus I don’t confuse them with deja vu. I have, in fact, seen improv scenes that are extremely reminiscent of improv scenes I’ve seen before (not surprising, considering I’m fairly sure I’ve reached the twenty-thousand mark by this point), and I’ve had conversations about the same things over and over, but neither of those compares to the very distinct feel of having lived a moment before.

I’ve never really wondered before what false memories must feel like; I’ve always left that particular angst to the professionals…


…but, man, glitches in the Matrix are disturbing when they last for longer than a couple minutes. I should go back and reread Kurt Vonnegut’s Timequake with this newfound understanding.

Hmm. Is it just me, or does it seem fundamentally wrong to reread a book about longterm deja vu?


The Spedometer At That Moment: 88

November 5, 2007
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I got stuck in a temporal loop this morning for a relative 3-4 hours.

I half woke up, growled at the time on my alarm clock: 930
and went back to sleep for a while.
I half woke up, growled at the time on my computer clock: 1027
and went back to sleep for a while.
I half woke up, growled at the time on my alarm clock: 930
and went back to sleep for a while, mildly confused.
I half woke up, blinked at the time on my alarm clock: 930
and, under the assumption that I was dreaming, went back to sleep for a while.
I woke up, stared at the time on my computer clock: 842
I turned to look at the time on my alarm clock: 930
I realized that my alarm clock was stuck on Set Alarm Mode, flicked it to Normal Mode: 945
I picked up my watch: 704
I stumbled downstairs, wrapped in my comforter, and looked at the microwave: 1105
and, slumping onto the couch and curling into a ball, decided to let the world iron itself out and went back to sleep for a while.
I woke up back in my bed. My computer clock: 945
My alarm clock: 930
It was once again in Set Alarm Mode, so I clicked it to Normal: 848
My watch: 359 …and a second later: 400

At this point, I took a long shower and rinsed the 4th dimensional buildup out of my hair.

Time started up again as I walked back into my room just as my alarm clock went off at: 930

My computer clock at that moment: 1027