Ten reasons why I admire THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW despite it being a dumb, dumb, dumb movie:

In no particular order:

1.] It's a summer blockbuster with no villain. The Vice President is the closest thing to a heavy, and he's only a horse's ass.

2.] The survivors in the library never even consider burning furniture, and they burn books in the least effective manner possible -- They might as well be warming themselves with road flares for all the difference it would make -- the set-up is too Bizarroly stupid to be any commentary on the value of books. Cracks me up, though.

3.] The movie creates a world where Dennis Quaid can play its smartest man. DENNIS QUAID. That takes moxy to even attempt.

4.] The girl and the mom are cute.

5.] Perry King makes a remarkable George W. Bush stand-in -- engaged, yet baffled -- despite looking more like some Democrat's senior aide. Physically, I mean, not because his character shows all that compassion and determination to save as many citizens from the natural disaster as possible. Although I guess there is that, too.

6.] It's a major Hollywood-studio film based on a book co-written by beloved wingnut and COAST TO COAST AM host Art Bell.

7.] The director paid for the film to be a carbon-neutral production.

Hey, some quizmaker on the Internet thinks I'm funny, sorta.

the Wit
(71% dark, 38% spontaneous, 26% vulgar)
your humor style:

You like things edgy, subtle, and smart. I guess that means you're probably an intellectual, but don't take that to mean pretentious. You realize 'dumb' can be witty--after all isn't that the Simpsons' philosophy?--but rudeness for its own sake, 'gross-out' humor and most other things found in a fraternity leave you totally flat.

I guess you just have a more cerebral approach than most. You have the perfect mindset for a joke writer or staff writer.

Your sense of humor takes the most thought to appreciate, but it's also the best, in my opinion.

You probably loved the Office. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/theoffice/" target=_blank.

PEOPLE LIKE YOU: Jon Stewart - Woody Allen - Ricky Gervais

The 3-Variable Funny Test!
- it rules -

[I've never seen or don't remember ever seeing THE OFFICE, by the way. I hear it is indeed, the shit.]

I'll take an even $11,000.00

Especially since Blogger thinks I'm a spambot again. This certainly has been a lesson to me!

My blog is worth $11,290.80.
How much is your blog worth?

The 490th step on the last road home.

Let's tempt fate and the Blogger.com spamhunter

I just have to share these nutty headers from my gmail spam-filter folder:

FROM: Jules Gardner
RE: re [12] -
BODY: It's nice College Football Blackout rescue whats going on Titanic catch me [acropolis.GIF]

FROM: oqxHarry Meadow
RE: So I'm a jerk.
BODY: Do you think I care what you think? - 76993 YEAH, HE'S A JERK. But he's richer than you. Face it...you want to be rich, and Â…

So long as stuff like this doesn't show up in my actual inbox, it amuses. It's like the ghost of Helene Smith has taken a job at a marketing company on Mars and is automatic-writing these emails.


I keep forgetting to mention that my colleague Gojira Kijou has returned from a very long summer vacation and has resumed blogging, and a fellow named Peter MacDonald has launched a swell record-collection-review blog. Visit both often, won't you?


So I bought a comic or two the other day, just to stick my little big toe back in the pool, then I see this and this. And I see that they're just one Marvel Masterwork volume shy of reprinting the entire Kirby run on THE FANTASTIC FOUR in color.

I don't think I care that the ESSENTIAL GODZILLA is in B&W -- it's not like color would make those comics any better; besides, they always color the headliner wrong anyway -- but the Kirby [and, in most cases, Ditko] stuff needs to be in color. Even a collection of early TALES TO ASTONISH comic books. Cheap nerds be damned, this material was drawn for color, it should be presented in color.

Just before I heard that there was a second volume of DOCTOR STRANGE Masterworks, I was flipping through my copy of ESSENTIAL DR. STRANGE Volume One, trying to decide if it was worth keeping to have the last 50 pages of Steve Ditko's run -- Marvel's Doc MM ends on a cliffhanger, the bastards -- and I realized how much of Ditko's STRANGE work looks and reads like gibberish without color. There are lots of comics that deserve to be reprinted on the cheap -- as in pages cut into individual panels, with each panel printed on a segment of actual toilet paper [a real bathroom read] -- and there certainly are cartoonists and freelancers who genuinely have an indifferent-to-hostile relationship with color [Charles Schulz, Carl Barks, Alex Toth, Gene Colan] and should have their work presented in glorious black and white.

Regardless: Stingy nerds, please knock it off and buy the swankier color reprints whenever they're available. If you look for more than five minutes online -- which any self-respecting nerd should do anyway -- you can find a half-dozen stores that sell the good editions of this stuff at a 40% discount and free shipping. Even you deserve better than the cheapest production.

Cats, with inhalers

Reuters, by way of ABC News, 10.19.2005:

"Cats are blamed for triggering asthma attacks in humans but veterinarians in Scotland say it may also work the other way around. Irritants such as cigarette smoke, dusty homes and human dandruff can increase inflammation in feline lungs and worsen asthma in cats. ... [one in about 200 cats] suffer coughs, wheezing and shortness of breath caused by asthma. Pedigree oriental breeds such as Siamese cats are more prone to the respiratory problem than other cats, according to the researchers."

Uh, duh? Little Man could have told them all this without the hassle of testing and trials; my cat has even more respiratory problems than I have personality flaws, but he does much better the less he's in a dusty, smoker's house.

Gaming Gray

I just saw this interesting article on BUSINESS WEEK's site. [The article links to Old Grandma Hardcore, who clearly kicks ass.] When we got my mother a proper cell phone for Xmas last year, it absolutely had to have TETRIS on it; Mom's now totally addicted, and I think uses the phone more to play the game than to make calls. I think we all must go through a period of TETRIS addiction to fully live life. Anyway, I think the general acceptance of gaming compounded by the expanding old-folk demographic goes a long way to explain a lot of the, shall we say boring, video-game franchises; the sequel games you see at adult-friendly A/V stores like Best Buy and wonder who the hell bought the original version in the first place.

The 486th step on the last road home.


Linkblogging is the thing to do
If you have the time to kill
And a low IQ
He did a good job
Cleaning up the place
But his bosses didn't like it
So they shot him into space
Hey there
There goes the Little-Man

[All Hail Chuck Berry and his six distinct song shapes]


So, while I was getting the Wiki entry for CAPTCHA for the last post, I came [no jokes, please] across this little chestnut. [I'll let you guess how I wound up on the topic of Figging when I was looking for CAPTCHA information.] Man's ability to use everything for sexual satisfaction never ceases to amuse and amaze me and somehow this explains why the waiter grinds fresh pepper onto my tossed salad [again, no jokes] from a rather phallic grinder.


Some people have asked about John Westmoreland's records. Hard to believe, but there's more than one John Westmoreland, and the one I knew was not pasty white, didn't play acoustic guitar and never recorded an album. I'm sure the Westmoreland above is a swell guy, but he's not the man here. While I'm at it:

This is not the Guy Davis mentioned on this blog, although I don't doubt that the blues guitarist above is indeed chocolate to the bone. What's more,

this is not the Eddie Campbell often referenced here. This album, however

is indeed a lovely album of "mob hit" pop standards and Italian folk music that Spider-Man recorded and self-published after he and his major label split following the mass misunderstanding of the ROCK REFLECTIONS OF A SUPERHERO record. Think of it as THE HOUSE CARPENTER'S DAUGHTER of the Marvel Universe.

Huzzah, Blogger.com doesn't think I'm a spambot anymore.

It did most of this afternoon, though. The prospect of having to fill out a CAPTCHA every time I posted was galling enough; that the jpeg of the letters was so teeny-tiny I couldn't make it out and there was no sound-file option [like every other CAPTCHA test on the Web] added injury to insult. Whee.

The 485th step on the last road home.

Quizin in the wind

It's been a while since I've posted something that underlines what a rotten unpleasant man I truly am, so I went to Quizilla.com and took some personality tests.

You're Laurel Gand, Andromeda!

Which Legionnaire are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Who the hell is this? I'm disappointed that I didn't at least rate a Legionnaire involved in "Composite Superman, Asswhipper" stories.

Mr. Vice President, we shake under your power. We
all know that it is truly you who run this
country and fear that when the moon is full you
will turn into a wolf and devour our children
and elderly.

What Republican are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Well, I'm evil but not incompetent.

Bob Kane's Batman
You're Bob Kane's Batman. You're a dark, mysterious
vigilante who often kills his villains, and
uses a gun. Your girlfriend's Julie Madison, an
aspiring actress who thinks you're nothing more
than a playboy millionaire. At this stage,
you're fighting foes such as Dr.Death and the
Monk, but they're only the beginning.

What kind of Batman are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yes, the power of Batman With Gun know no boundaries. The bit where I date actresses who have no idea what I really do is funny because it's true.

The 476th step on the last road home.

The 475th step on the last road home.

Sunday Mash 10

You know the moment in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, just before Dave Bowman enters the Star Gate, when all the planets are perfectly aligned? This past week, my computer's technical difficulties were finally cleared up, THE COMPLETE CALVIN & HOBBES was released and Little Man knocked over a stack of papers that included my mash strips, where I saw that the Sunday I was about to scan when my laptop died a few months ago was done on October 09, 1994, eleven years to the day. Weird, huh? I don't remember making this one, but I do recall getting a second wind about strictly using just the material from that Sunday's paper.

So crank up Richard Strauss' "Also Sprach Zarathustra," click the panel and read "Extensions Will Be Granted To The Clueless," starring Calvin, Susie, Hobbes and whatever her rabbit's name is.

[Past mashes can be accessed here.]


Stately Stately Wayne Manor avoids being destroyed by fire, continues its living death as The Crappy Beatle's Property.

I'm not surprised to hear the other mansion is the one that burned down, since Nature has taught us time and again that anything that directly connects ROCKY V and BEING THERE cannot survive for long. [Yeah yeah, it's been 15 and 25 years since the place was used for the films, but that's almost nothing in house years.]

The 472nd step on the last road home.

i see dead presidents ...

i see them all the time ... chester a arthur sleeping in my garage, near the toolbox in the back corner ... rutherford b hayes pacing in the parking lot at the adult bookstore/strip club on upper court street, waiting for it to open ... eisnerhower browsing in the soda isle at wegmans ... thirteen george washingtons in my wallet ... like the living presidents, they see only what they want to see ... and i, i am very tired ...

The 471st step on the last road home.

The 470th step on the last road home.

Watching this morning's White House press conference

The shlight shlurring, the general wobbliness, the diarrhea of the mouth, the barely contained belligerence bubbling near the surface, the boozles floating around his head -- Holy shit, Bush really has been drinking.

A Commissioned Tribute To An Icon: Wildcat

[WEDNESDAY 09/05/05 UPDATE, 1pm: Figures that the day my image host, photobucket.com, starts seriously crapping out is the day The Mighty Spurge puts up a very nice link to my Wildcat tribute. Sorry folks; if you don't see any images below, check back later. And often, visit often. Endemic Treponematosis sucks. Warranty void if case is opened.]

I got Paypal'ed to post something really long that's comics-related, and since I've written bits & pieces about this issue in blog-comments sections for a few years now, I might as well get it out of my system:

If you were to poll cartoonists and discerning comics nerds on who their top-five favorite DC characters are, Wildcat would be in almost all of them. Why? Because he fucking rules.

No powers, no origin to speak of, a streamlined costume that still manages to be tacky and no accessories save for the occasional stock motorcycle. Give this unstable asshole a tank of gas, a case of domestic beer and a pack of cinnamon gum, point him toward the nearest docks and he'll raise hell and cave ne'er do well's heads in all night long. He's like Wolverine but without the pussifying mutant healing factor, the creepy knuckle-knives and the pathetic projection fantasies of dozens of comics writers who wish they could have been badasses and turned the tables on their childhood bullies. You never see Wildcat giving long soliloquies about how he's the best at what he does or that he's King Shit of Fuck Mountain so no one dares to mess with him. You know why? Because he's a real badass -- or at least he will be, so long as he's not written by puny writers -- and the only drinking-class hero in comics.

Here's a textbook example of how Wildcat rules, from JSA #54. The Justice Society and Justice League are having their Thanksgiving meal together, and while it's being prepared, the teams are mingling and chatting up in the penthouse. Wildcat is apparently the only hero with a rational set of priorities when it comes to choosing between tapping an open bar or chatting with bland tools like the new Dr. Fate or Firestorm.

I'm violently allergic to alcohol, but even I would be pouring it back in order to avoid long conversations with The Atom, who I imagine as the Scott McCloud of Earth One.

Wonder Woman, written here with an invisible broom handle up her ass, is lecturing some of the womenfolk:

Click for larger image

Let me do the math on this panel: Wonder Woman's ass + Power Girl's boobies + the word "syphilis" - the word "smallpox" x the word "genocide" = a boner at half-mast, memorializing the death of no one.

Wildcat shows his stand-up comedian skills by saying exactly what we're all thinking:

The artist really likes drawing sneers on faces, whether they require them or not. Alcoholics could make an excellent "Elvis face" drinking game out of just this issue. [Look at Wonder Woman and say "Priscilla!" It's fun.]

Wildcat elaborates on the above thesis, leading to this confrontation:

Click for slightly larger image

At first glance, I could swear there's a fly or two buzzing around his head every time I look at these panels. I admire any man who takes the the time to palm the back of someone's head but doesn't put his drink down in an argument. See how ramrod straight Wonder Woman is? Invisible broom handle.

THE MONEY SHOT, SO PAY ATTENTION: Power Girl, having no personality of her own, decides to act on Wonder Woman's behalf:

Click for slightly larger image

Let's take a moment to think about this. Wildcat is:

1. without the power of flight.
2. without the power of flight, a grappling hook or anything other device to save himself.
3. very old.
4. very old and very very drunk.
5. flying head-first out of a skyscraper's top floor to his death.
6. flying head-first out of a skyscraper's top floor to his death, and the only person who seems troubled by this is Stargirl.
7. Not staring at Power Girl's ass like you dorks are.

Captain Marvel and Superman save Wildcat on the next page -- without asking any questions about his being shotgunned out the window in the first place. No wonder these dipshits were almost outfoxed by the leader of The First Wife's Club Revenge Squad. By the way: Just to show that DC characters have feet of clay, note that Wildcat failed to achieve a W.C. Fields and hold onto his bottle as he rocketed out of the building.

Anyway, how unsavory a character is Wildcat, you ask?

Click for slightly larger image

So unsavory that even Captain Marvel will lie [lie!] to keep Wildcat's warty dick and saggy nuts away from his sister. Even making an unwarranted Elvis Face in the second panel isn't enough to pry Mary Marvel's digits out of Senor Shazam. [And she fucked Swamp Thing once! Solomon Grundy watched and masturbated.] Wildcat: The Fictional Embodiment of Lenny Bruce's Bit About How An Injured Man Could Be Dying But Still Make A Pass At The Nurse.

Mr. Westmoreland once told me that a man has to be good at at least two of four things to live a full life: Three of them are Drinking, Fighting and Fucking. A great man is great at all of them. This is what makes Wildcat a hero to us all.


Some leftover images from that JSA issue I thought were too funny not to share:

Click for larger image

More "heroes" should trash-talk and threaten each other while brandishing drumsticks.

A freelancer friend of mine told me that the Batman-as-Asshole character cycle is winding down, so perhaps Bats will have some potatoes next Thanksgiving. Why would he sit down to eat if he's not eating? One of the wretches at the kids table would be delighted to have his seat, the prick.

Click for larger image

A pair of obscure villains attack, of course. The bowl on Power Girl's head just fucking slays me every time.

The teams take turns beating the crap out of the villains and order pizza pie instead: twenty "meat lovers" [which always sounds dirty to me] and one vegetarian, because superdupers love their crapping to be irregular yet high-volume. It takes two guys to just deliver the pizzas -- who knows how many minimum-wage slaves to make them -- on time, but Batman tips both teams 25 percent at best. What an asshole.

They forgot a thought-balloon here; the deliverymen thinking "YOU STINGY COCKSUCKER" which gives the free-breadsticks line the piquant aftertaste it deserves.

The End. Paypal jar and e-mail are to your top right; go in peace.