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!
.


The Sea Ring

July 18, 2008
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The North Carolina Aquariums site has the following advertising the Roanoake Island branch of its operations:

My immediate thought:
THE SEA RING
Samara has returned, and now instead of seven days, she’s giving you seven seas. Ever wonder where that well drained into? The North Carolina Aquariums. Don’t put on your earphones; that self-guided tour can’t tell you what to do now. Samara is in control, and before the night is done, the seas will run red with blood. She’s showing her video on all the fish-info screens, and everyone knows… sound travels faster underwater.


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!


Nurses With Purses In Hearses

June 13, 2008
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Found in this ARTICLE:

Ack! Silent Hill nurses!

As I was too scared to read the article, I can only assume it says something like:

Paris: Louis Vuitton’s new line of designer handbags was inspired by the nurses of Silent Hill. Made of 100% burn-victim skin and stitched together with the finest hair from a six-year-old beauty pageant winner, these purses will make even the most depraved monsters of your nightmares stop in their tracks…for a second or two, at least.


I Guess Jihad To Be There

May 31, 2008
1 Comment

Dunkin’ Donuts ran the following ad, starring Rachael Ray holding some coffee in a park:

It apears to be very harmless. However, it apparently caused an internet blogosphere meltdown in which Dunkin’ Donuts was accused of supporting terrorism. As reported in The Independent:
“The offending item, though, is the scarf, which reminded one blogger of the keffiyeh head-dress worn by Arab men, an item which a second blogger – picking up the theme and running several miles with it – dubbed ‘jihadi chic’. The Little Green Footballs blog, a conservative favourite, accused Dunkin’ Donuts of ‘casually promoting the symbol of Palestinian terrorism and the intifada’.”

And Dunkin’ Donuts pulled the ad, causing ANOTHER blogosphere meltdown, as bloggers called the company cowardly for caving “in the face of an out-of-control conservative blogosphere.”

(PS: ‘blogosphere’ is a fun word, isn’t it?)

Out of control? Maybe, but obviously, we can all agree it wasn’t out-of-control enough. Let’s remedy this situation forthwith.

(turns around and centers self, then quickly turns back around)

What. The F. Has Dunkin’ Donuts gone crazy? A little too much of their Arabic blend? This ad is a blatant promotion of terrorism! Look at that scarf Rachael Ray is wearing; it’s a f**king keffiyeh head-dress worn by Arab men! Arab MEN. And she, a woman, is wearing it out in the g*dd*mn park, like she isn’t cowering from God and men’s sight! Put some f**king clothes on, you whore of Babylon (i.e. Babylon in Iraq, you terrorist!) By putting Rachael Ray in that keffiyeh, DD, you’re offending Americans who don’t want to see some kind of g*dd*amn Hamas fashion show…but you’re also offending Arabs who’ll see this ad, think, “That woman is wearing a man’s headdress around her neck, and it isn’t because her husband’s choking her with it! Crossdresser! Abomination! Abomination! Abomination! I’ll bomb a nation!”

And terrorism will ensue.

But that’s not all. Some of my distinguished blogosphere associates have stopped at the jaunty heretical scarf, but not I. No, the men behind this advertisement are unbelievable in more ways than one. They said in their “apology” yesterday, “The possibility of misperception detracted from its original intention to promote our iced coffee.”

“Iced coffee?” ICED COFFEE?!? Sounds like, ‘Iced Kofi’ –as in Kofi Annan, ex-UN Secretary General, who is currently on the board of directors of the UN Foundation– and it is outrageous for Dunkin’ Donuts to blatantly be recruiting terrorists to assassinate Kofi Annan in an online ad like that. Now, my blogosphere enemies (I’m looking at you, Rene Duquesnoy Joomlas on your Ass!) might say that there have been thousands of ads for iced kofi, and I’ve never spoken up before, but I say to you, SHUT UP! Those ads were distasteful, yes, but not necessarily proterrorist.

This ad is special because of all the secret visual handshakes it’s giving to terrorists. Look closer. There’s a building in the background, an American landmark of enormous importance to the citizens of our great country, and it is being highlighted for destruction. I hope our military and law enforcement services are on-site at that building…wherever it is (maybe that’s a gold statue of Jefferson or something? Is it maybe the Holocaust museum? Help me out, blogosphere cohorts!) It’s an American treasure though, regardless of what building it actually is, and Dunkin’ Donuts is outright commanding terrorists to bomb it to kill Kofi Annan, and Rachael Ray is there so they know they’ll only have a 30-minute timeframe to work with.

And under the logo, what does it say? AMERICA RUNS. “On Dunkin'”? Perhaps. “From terrorism”? Definitely.

(…Maybe if I click on ‘Find A Store’ it’ll tell me where that building is.)

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Okay, I’m done.


You Wouldn’t Like Me When I’m In Recovery

March 19, 2008
1 Comment

Found on Marvelous News:


First of all, Operation Hulk sounds like the Mad Lib General Ross fills out every morning at work:
“Hey, Samson. Give me an ‘-er’ noun and your favorite pet.”
“Um…’policer’ and ‘goldfish’?”
“Fine. Tell the men we’re deploying at 1100 hours for Operation Hulk Policer Goldfish. Prepare the underwater officers. Agamemnon, I need a past tense verb and the name of someone at the table.”
“Yawn… ‘broke’ and ‘Glenn Talbot’.”
“Perfect! Send word that, at 1230 hours, we move on Operation Hulk Broke Glenn Talbot. Poor man. Deserves my daughter, but that monster made that impossible. Betty: a gerund and an adverb.”
“Daaaaaad…oh, fine. ‘Moving’ and ‘Gratefully’.”
“That’ll do, I guess. Get the Hulkbusters ready by 1400 hours for Operation Hulk Moving Gratefully…uh…hmm. Oh! Okay, get Century 21 and Atlantic Van Lines on the phone. We need Banner’s house cleared out and all his stuff shipped to the Hulkbuster base by Friday. Gets him out of our hair, am I right?”

Meanwhile, look at Hulk’s hand in that picture: he got in a fight with Voldemort right before this was taken. Maybe that’s the reason that he’s farting noxious fumes: Hulk’s body absorbs the Killing Curse and digests it, shooting the remnants out as a defense mechanism.

And what about those other indentations. Don’t you hate it when you fall asleep on top of your teddy bear, heart and butterflies? I’m surprised he didn’t have a keyboard one on his face, but then, why would Hulk fall asleep at a computer?

And while we’re on the ‘Why’ question: Why are Spider- and Iron Man the physicians in attendance? I’d personally go with Doctor Strange and Mister Fantastic…you know, men with MDs, not just technically smart guys who probably think the heart is on the far right side of the ches…oh wait (looks at box art)…okay, maybe they know better than I do.

I do notice though that this game is meant to be played for 15 minutes. 15 whole minutes, huh? That sure is an entertaining game if you can take a good 20 minutes to pull it out, set up all the pieces explain the rules…and then it’ll keep your 6-or-more-year-old entertained for half the time it takes to cook a pizza. Or, to be fair, as long as it’d take to watch an episode of almost any show on Adult Swim.

Okay, now we should open the box and look at the board itself.


And definitely click on the picture to see it full size.

Okay, so I’m going to try to guess what those are supposed to be. I assume I’ll be hitting on at least a couple of their bad puns, but probably not all of them…
1) Missile Toe
2) Bear Foot
3) Sea An(kle)nemone
4) Never-Changes-Pants Crotch Sweat
5) The Bruce banner (get it? get it?)
6) Pulled Hamstring?
7) Butterflies In Hulk’s Love Handles? Moth-Eaten Clothes?
8) Hulk’s Heart Isn’t In The Right Place
9) Shoulder Boombox? (Is that supposed to be a rib cage?)
10) Lightning Reflexes? Shooting Pain Up Your Left Arm? The Shocker? General Thunder Ross? The Thunder Of Mighty Guns? Waitwaitwait: it must be misplaced from his hands. It’s Thunderclap.
11) Green Thumb
12) Form Of A Fist Made Of Ice…

I think my favorite, by far, is that apparent sea anemone. What the hell is that? From when Hulk went wading near the Great Barrier Reef? Or when he landed in the Danbury Aquarium? Ridiculous.


In-The-Field Manual 1: Emails

February 10, 2008
1 Comment

And Now, a Simon FitzKit In-The-Field Manual…

E-Mail Addresses:
Several Varieties That Just Do NetWork For Me

In the olden days of radio, television and Commodore 64 computers, there were only two modes of personal communication: telephones and letters.

This is not to say that talking face to face, HAM operating, Morse code, smoke signals, flashlight-blinking, drawing The Dancing Men, using Navajos in wartime, and body language were not around, per se…it’s just that for purposes of simplicity, this reporter will not be counting them as ‘modes’ of communication, but rather as ‘medians’. A fine distinction that all lovers of mathematics are sure to appreciate. Tangent complete.

Both telephonics and epistulature allowed for decent-sized messages to be delivered from sender to recipient in a fairly timely manner, and this was due to one thing and one thing only:

STANDARDIZED CONTACT INFORMATION.

When you found yourself wanting to contact a business associate of personal acquaintance via telephone, you simply rotary-spun their seven uniquely-stringed digits and added three more if they lived in some distant mecca like Chatanooga or Newport News.

And when you put your feet up on the desk and dictated to Miss Maxwell a four-page editorial that the Post never printed –much to the paper and the general public’s loss– you made sure she typed out an envelope with FIRST LINE: Name, SECOND LINE: Street, and THIRD LINE: City, State and Zip Code…possibly adding a fourth line if the letter was to be Attention of a particular individual.

However, today, the youths use “E-Mail.”

Short for “Electronic Mailing System Using Computers Instead Of A Postal Service,” E-Mails were created to make communication speedier and more readily available for perusal. However, somewhere along the way, people… got Stupid.

Take a look at these examples:

unycornwomyn@hotmail.com

Obviously, ‘unicornwomyn’ and ‘unicornwomon’ had already been taken. And while it may be more genderally acceptable to spell ‘womyn’ with a ‘y’ instead of an ‘a’, there can be little argument that horses with a horn in their foreheads don’t normally try to buck patriarchal oppression. People aren’t going to easily understand your wacky alternative spelling any more than they do your wacky alternative lifestyle, so if your first choice was taken, change words, not letters.

shtkckr@netscape.com

Same thing to you, sir, with an added warning. Deleting letters is as confusing as changing them, and your choice of words makes contacting you that much more difficult. “Yes, please do E-Mail me, prospective employer. My E-Mail address is shit-kicker…only leave out all the vowels…at netscape dot com. What’s your E-Ma… oh I shouldn’t E-Mail you, you’ll E-Mail me? Oh. Oh, right then. Good afternoon.”

henryrichardforrest-marchester@gmail.com

Now, this young man went with the usually valid and admirable tack of making his E-Mail his name. However, he got a little carried away with himself… as it were. ‘henrymarchester’ would have been fine. So too would have been ‘henry.marchester’ or ‘henry_marchester’ or if that hyphenated last name is so important, go with just ‘forrest-marchester’…but the full-on johnjacobjingleheimerschmidt treatment is a trifle too much. Just think of the poor PTA member who compiles the school’s E-Mail list into a handy booklet. Think of how hard she has to work to format those columns to fit on one page-width. Think of how it takes more time to write your E-Mail than it takes most people to write the alphabet. Think on that, Henry Richard Forrest-Marchester…Think.

thetimehascomethewalrussaid@earthlink.net

Too long. No clever phrase is worth the annoyance of typing it out over and over every time you have other things to talk about. Save that kind of witty one-liner for use as the case-sensitive password to your first apartment’s Wi-Fi connection. Or, alternatively, learn embroidery and make yourself another be-sentenced pillow for your drawing room.

wierdyoghurt@excite.com

Hey! Brighteyes! Learn to spell. Meanwhile, your doppleganger over at ‘weirdyoghurt@excite.com’ has been spamfiltering all your party E-Vites…or has she been…accepting them? Om-in-ous-Chord!

bulbasaur494@comic.com

Trust me on this, it’s not worth it to only be the 494th person at comic.com to want to be contacted via ‘bulbasaur.’ Regardless of how kicking and radical his vine-whip attack may be, your friends aren’t going to remember what number ticket you pulled in the E-Mail queue. If you’ve got so little fear of public humiliation, why not ‘iambulbasaur’ or ‘hugabulbasaur’ or ‘bulbabulba’… or even ‘istillwatchpokemon’. All equally pathetic but infinitely easier to recall.

angelinajolie@aol.com

No. You’re not Angelina Jolie, and you’re not going to trick me again. NEXT.

ar653020@appstate.edu

Now, this wasn’t young AR’s fault. It’s the school’s idiocy. “Want to email your classmates? All you need to know are their first and last initials…and a random 6-digit sequence.” Plans are probably in the works to make these emails more readily available and more easily attributable to their owners, but that road, unfortunately, leads to bar-code tattoo parlors.

basgegcon@gmail.com

This reporter sees what you did there. “Scrambled ‘EGGS’ in ‘BACON'”…scrambled eggs and bacon. Very clever. It’s short, sweet, and at gmail.com. This reporter is all for it…except for the anagramming of EGGS into gobblety-gook. For you see, you can’t tell people what your E-Mail address is. “It’s scrambled EGGS ‘n BACON at gmail dot com”? No. That gives away your joke, and your doppleganger over at scrambledeggsandbacon@gmail.com will steal all your friends. “Anagram EGGS and put it inside BACON”? Too vague. “Anagram EGGS and put it after the ‘a’ in BACON”? We still don’t know what gibberish anagram of EGGS to use. “Bahs-gehg-cohn”? That’s the most promising route, but try saying it aloud and imagine having to transcribe it.

Oh, prattle. Now this reporter’s just needlessly nitpicking; basgegcon@gmail.com is possible the most bully E-Mail considered to date. Way to go, Basgegcon, you’ve won my admiration, and the official Simon FitzKit Piranha Trophy!

Until next time, this is Simon FitzKit…IN THE FIELD!


Whoa-whoa-whoa, Barack Up A Second!

January 29, 2008
1 Comment

I don’t think people understand equality any more.

From the video (for when the video is taken down at some point in the future):
“They have found themselves a good Negro, and so they’re going to vote for him. Now that’s the kind of Negro… ‘Now Jesse Jackson…Look over there at…’ –Here’s what all those middle-America white folk are saying…Here’s what they’re saying, all those liberal bleeding-heart white folk…here’s what they’re saying: ‘Jesse Jackson, look over there. Now if you’ll be a good boy like Barack and don’t talk bad to us, don’t smart-mouth us, don’t talk about us, don’t say nothing about us, we’ll vote for you too. See, Barack’s a good Negro.'”

So now not bringing up race is being a race-traitor? A bright new future boils down to repeating the horrors of the past? I’m sorry, Mr. Honorable James David Manning, but you’re not helping The Dream out any. You’re saying you want to be separate, that being a black politician demands that you denounce white politicians at every turn. That’s separation from white folks, and I’m pretty sure I heard your father and his friends looked down on that sort of thing a few years back.

Of course, I also heard that politics was about making friends with as many people as possible so they like you and your ideas enough to completely fill in the bubble next to your name on any given Tuesday… but maybe I’m getting American politics confused with a popularity contest or American Idol or something similarly exactly-like-American-politics. So, you’ll understand if I’ve been working under the assumption that making people not like you is a good way to get people to not vote for you.

But then, I shouldn’t really expect that kind of consideration from you, since you do have videos on your site titled “Reverend Manning Repents” and “Sing O Ye Barren” — and both of them do begin with a short speech by a young woman identified thusly:

Not the kind of thing you want to associate with “barren” or “repenting” is all I’m saying.


PSP: I Love You

January 1, 2008
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I saw this article a while ago, but I haven’t thought about it while able to blog until now.

From the article:
“Users have been reporting that Remote Play has been secretly updated in the last firmware revision. With PS3 2.10, PS3 owners that have a Remote Play-ready system will be able to play any PS1 game on their handheld.”

Yes, that’s right: You can now plug in your PS3, turn on your PSP and play PS1 games on the tiny screen.

…What!? I understand the seductive draw of ports and backward compatibility, I do. It just seems that, at some point, you’re going to reach critical mass…like so:

1) Drop your PS1 game onto the mousetrap.
2) Mousetrap springs, flipping the disc into a balloon.
3) Balloon pops, dropping the book it was under.
4) Book (the hardcover guide that came with Lunar: Silver Star Saga Complete) flattens disc on conveyor belt.
5) Impact disturbs cheerleader pyramid of Lego Star Wars figures, all of whom fall into cup.
6) Extra weight in cup activates pressure plate below, turning on conveyor belt.
7) Disc and book travel down belt, under hanging (pivoting and spring-loaded) pencil. Lunar guide pushes bottom of pencil forward, then passes under.
8) Pencil springs back, rotating so far that its top smacks domino on shelf above conveyor belt.
9) Dominoes tumble, pacing the disc and book below until final domino hits racquetball.
10) Racquetball bounces down narrow wooden chimney and hits pressure plate below, stopping conveyor belt.
11) Lunar guide simultaneously runs into another hanging pencil.
12) The impact knocks over bottle of acid, which spills into torus-shaped tube and drips out onto conveyor belt, just past where disc is held fast by pencil.
13) Acid eats through conveyor belt in circle, and a disc-sized circle of the belt falls down into beaker below.
14) Weight of belt circle and extra acid is enough to activate pressure plate, turning on conveyor belt again.
15) Disc is held still by pencil, but belt moves underneath it. Soon, hole wraps around bottom of conveyor belt and comes up under disc.
16) Disc falls through hole into PS3 below.
17) You left on vacation, like, an hour ago, and you’ve turned on your PSP on the bus to the airport.
18) You may now play KISS Pinball.

Alternatively:
1) Turn on PSP.
2) Play Exit.


At second glance, it said something different

December 22, 2007
1 Comment

Norton Antivirus has detected
the traitor on your computer.


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