According to Variety a federal judge refused a motion to throw out 20th Century Fox's lawsuit against Warner Bros., claiming that the company (Fox) still owns the rights to Gibons and Moore's Watchmen. And, right from the horses mouth...or rather an unnamed person who's "close to the litigation", Fox does not want the movie currently in production from ever seeing the light of day.
"The Wizard Wolrd that Wasn’t" Part One
Current mood: focused
Before things get too serious (and because it's taking much longer to get all out in a coherent manner) here's a quick opener for "The Wizard Wolrd that Wasn't".
So, as most of you know this year I was slimming down the on the Wizard Convention in Chi-town from the normal four to three days to just one. Mainly because I wasn't able to finance the hotel all by my lonesome and that even I get burned out on nerdery with that much of a concentrated dose. Also, it gets damn expensive trying with all the little taxes and hidden surcharges of the surcharges so that you can end up spending more for parking and bottled water than you would on your Hulk Hands or the replica bust of Spock. Well, not me but you know, poor people would...ok poorer people.
Anyway.
So morning of I get all my various shit together: List O Shit: Check Backpack: Check Digital Camera: Check Money:...damint
"Ok, no biggie I think, I'll just hit up the local branch round yon corner and grab some greenbacks then scoot to Gerald's place."
"Damn they're closed, what the hell was my ATM pin...ah that's right."
"Enter, enter, enter, enter"
*WRONG CODE DOUCHE BAG!*
"Huh...ok that was a little more lip than I like to see from an inanimate object but let's try again."
"Punch, punch, punch, punch"
*STILL WRONG, ALSO SPHINCTERSAYSWHAT?*
"What?"
*AHAHAHAHAHA*
"...damint"
After being outsmarted enough by the ATM I raced back home in the hopes of finding the small scrap of paper I wrote my pin down on so long ago. A quick panicy search later through a pile of crap and I turned up the fabled code and promptly smacked myself as I had been one number off!
Now I was back at the Bank, correct pin number in hand, ready to withdraw my hard earned money, and be off on my way for a day of geeking out and replenishing the ranks of my bookcase until this happened...
*ACCOUNT HAS BEEN LOCKED*
"What the hell! After two fucking tries!"
*YES*
"But I was only off by one number!"
*TOUGH TITS*
"..."
*BY THE WAY, YES IT IS A FEDERAL CRIME TO DAMAGE THE ATM*
"How the hell did it know what I was thin.."
*SKYNET*
"..."
*BY THE WAY, YOU DON'T HAPPEN TO KNOW WHERE I COULD FIND JOHN CONNER DO YOU?"*
"Oh fuck this noise."
So it turns out that a certain chain of banks will lock all accounts associated with an ATM card if you incorrectly enter a pin number twice. For twenty-four hours. Something I wish they had bothered to warn me about prior to the morning of a excursion out of state where I was counting on using a large amount of money. Not only was I unable to get money out of an ATM I also could not use my card, period. That means no debit or credit.
So at this point I've put off Gerald and the gang long enough and make the trip over to the meeting place and try to work out my options. Unfortunately the only one that comes up is trying to get a hold of someone at the banks customer service to reverse the hold.
Up next: How to telepathically kill someone over the phone on "The Wizard World that Wasn't" Part Two!
"How the fuck are we going to kill a White Dragon?"
So first off, the "new" Rockhead's. Apparently the old owner sold the place lock stock and water logged copies of Captain Carrot & the Zoo Crew so that he and missus Comic Book Guy could retire down in Florida with all of those Jewish supports of Pat Buchanan. First impression of the new owner is the man seems to be a slightly smaller and more softly spoken version of Hagrid with gray hair.
Aside from the man standing behind the counter no longer looks like he's perpetually trying to pass a kidney stone the place is pretty much the same with better lighting. Come to think about it that may be some kind of passive aggressive way to get the disheveled masses that gather at the comic shop to spend a bit more time on personal appearance. Seriously people, it's called a comb, it won't kill you. Also, Axe aerosol spray is no substitute for soap and water.
We eventually shuffled into the store and made our way to one of the far tables and made some small talk while we waited for one a DM and more people to show up. This was were Gerald made the mistake of talking about the printer version of the new 4th Edition books that he had snatched from Pirate Bay, where he was scolded by someone's mom for stealing, told he should have known better being a teacher (which he isn't), and Blake (who is a teacher) died on the inside.
After Gerald stammered his way out of Nerd Mom's ire, we noticed the tables had been adorned with bowls of various chocolate covered diabetes and some kind of nuts, although the one thing the place really could have used was a deodorant bar or attractive girls in chain-mail bikinis that were not two dimensional and entirely fictional. After Blake and I mocked Gerald on his fear of partially hydrogenated oils we got down to business of picking out our crash test dummies for the afternoon.
Gerald and Blake made quick work in dissecting the character sheets laid out before us. We had a total of five characters to work with: two warriors, one caster, one cleric, and one Little Timmy rogue. Blake naturally gravitated towards the short and hairy Dwarf warrior that would let him hit things very hard and Gerald went for the Cleric (and insisted on taking the one healing potion that would drop in the run and then promptly died shortly afterwards) leaving me stuck to play the female caster, mainly because I'm the only one who doesn't think that makes you gay (which it totally doesn't) and I wanted to see if the caster classes in 4th edition weren't a steaming pile of crap that they were in 3.5 (spoiler alert, they still are).
Soon two more victims and the DM came along and we got the thing started right. Standard adventure fair, Gvewn Stacie (no fucking joke) sends you on a quest to rescue two of the local troglodytes that had been whisked away to an ancient crypt by your standard evil emo elf. Enter our brave band of misfits and adventure ensues! The highlights of the trip include; having to repeatedly tell the other warrior (played by the 15 year old son of Nerd Mom) to not open the fucking tombs andnot to jump on the sarcophagus full of burning oil, our healer looting the one and only healing potion, having our healer smacked into oblivion by a statue, forgetting how to subtract 8 from 23, still not being able to come up with the answer after using my fingers, eventually saying "fuck it" and scribbled something down that looked like a K sodomizing a 3, and lastly our entire party dieing in the last encounter because the DM decided to spring two near invincible stone golems on us in the middle of a battle with the emo elfand four skeletons that could land a crit on a pixie with their eyes closed.
It was fun, not so much because of the game but more in spite of it. In fact while I like the idea of D & D I find actually playing the games to be an exercise in equal parts frustration and puppy stabbing anger. The main reason I keep going is that they provide an immense opportunity to make peoples laugh. While the warrior is worrying about how to take out the room full of orcs, I'm trying to figure out the logistics of launching a cat across the room and onto a nearby catapult with a bound and gagged orc aimed at a pit of spikes and having it launch said orc at said spikes. Granted it would have been easier to just shot out the rope from across the room but I felt that would have been a waste of the cat's true potential. Also I get to make funny voices.
So, chances are good that if you've got yourself a mint in box LotR replica Sting or still live with your parents you know that the new D&D 4th edition books just came out. From the looks of the things it's essentially a streamlined version of the rule set. Redundancies with skill sets and some of the more arcane game play rules have been taken out back thrown on a giant refuse pile with the other bad ideas, like gnomes.
Because my life is as barren and empty as the acting in Clone Wars, I'm being dragged along to the Rockhead's (under new management) to test run some pre-mades through an adventure and see if the thing has legs. The main attraction of the day is to see how long it takes Blake to get so pissed off that he throws his twenty sider like a little girl at the rack of indy comics. I'm going to say under a half hour.
Will put up a recap of the nerdy shenanigans when I return.
So it's come to my attention that quite a few of us regularly encounter/create drama llama bombs of epic (and hilarious) proportions when they drink. Now, far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to be entertained from other's misfortunes; I still feel it behooves me to put out these simple guidelines to determine if you should take that 5th Irish Car Bomb or not.
NOTE: Failure to follow these guidelines absolves me of any wrong doing in mocking your activities of the lush kind.
1.) If your people have ever traded large masses of land for glass beads while under the effects of "firewater", you should not be drinking. Also be wary of free blankets.
2.) If your body weight is less than your height in inches and the majority of said weight is located in two areas of male interest, you should not be drinking.
3.) If you have ever said the following aloud, "I wish I wasn't such a good guy", you should not be drinking.
4.) If you are prone to random acts of the gymnastic kind while wearing garments that would make a tavern wench blush, you should not be drinking.
5.) If you have been banned for life from an IHOP or any variation of pancake house, you should not be drinking.
6.) If your wingman has ever contracted an STD "from a toilet seat" or had to make use of RU-486, you should not be drinking.
7.) If you think evolution should be taught as a science, you should not be drinking. You also should re-read the Oxford definition of what science means.
8.) If your people were almost destroyed by a PO-TAE-TOE, you should not be drinking.
9.) If you have ever voted for Ralph Nader, you should not be drinking,
10.) If you have ever thought that Scientology sounded like a good idea, you should not be drinking. You should also stop making movies. I'm looking at you Fresh Prince.
11.) If you once had a foursome with two random whores and/or walking gutter slime, you should not be drinking.
12.) If you're prone to writing whiny love ballads about the 16-year-old cashier at American Eagle, you should not be drinking. You should also turn in your balls.
13.) If you are over the age of 20, have no job, and are not in school, you should not be drinking. You should also stop writing on My Space so much and get a fucking job. Loser.
14.) If people have a hard time telling if your a boy or a girl from a good distance, you should not be drinking. You should also not be doing shrooms on your way to "Mordor".
15.) If your idea of a good time is getting punched in the face/and or punching others in the face, you should not be drinking.
16.) If you have ever dated someone below the age of consent while you were above it, you should not be drinking.
17.) If you have ever dated someone above the age of consent while you were below it, you should not be drinking. Also, show where bad uncle Brain touched you on Mr. Bear.
18.) If you thought 'The Da Vinci Code' was a good book, you should not be drinking.
19.) If you didn't know 'The Da Vinci Code' was a book, you should not be drinking.
20.) If you have ever paid more than retail price for a used, sweaty article of clothing from a guy in clown make up, you should not be drinking. Also, eeew.
21.) If you feel that any of these examples were about you, YOU SHOULD NOT BE FUCKING DRINKING!
Wolverine Presents: A Wolverine Production, Staring Wolverine!
Current mood: now with even more WOLVERINE!
... and some other shmucks...
.. Did I mention it has Wolverine in it?
I like the looks of it. This is an extended look at the new series (an early trailer was floating around the web in February that sparked a lawsuit from the Foo Fighters for unauthorized use of their songs) Seems to be an amalgamation of different story arcs from Whedon, Morrison, and others. Rumblings say it's due for a spring '09 release for one of the Nick Toons channels.
It might be the editing but anyone else find it odd how quick the prof shunts Cyclops aside so that ole' cutlery knucles can take over? "Thanks for the years of leading these guys into various deathtraps and what not but you've got a bit of the 'whiney bitch' syndrome and I need my team captain to be butcher than December's 'Bear Monthly' centerfold.
Stop Shitting in My Sandbox [Spider-man: One More Day]
Current mood: aggravated
What the hell is wrong with Marvel? More to the point what the fuck is wrong with Marvel E-i-C, Joe Quesada? Seriously are they actively trying to get fans to stop buying their book? Is this all some nefarious plan to put Marvel back into Chapter 13 bankruptcy by systematically dismantling thecorebooks? Is Joe Q really a skrull? Or does the man just love shitting all over one of the few funny books I still enjoy reading? What has me so pissed off is the last arc of J.M. Straczynski’s run on Amazing Spider-man: One More Day should have been a masterpiece of a swan song after nearly a decade on the title. Instead it almost single handedly drove me from main stream books.
Here’s a quick recap: Spider-man’s a fugitive after the brouhaha that was Civil War and on the lam with MJ and his aunt May in tow. During a quick layover in a dive motel, May takes a snipers bullet meant for Peter and is put in a near death state (for like the 5th time). Peter does his normal spaz act and runs around trying to save his aunt from the inevitable two step off the mortal coil when Mephisto (a.k.a. The Marvel Devil) steps up and wants to sell him on a slightly used lemon but (in your best M. Night Shamamamalyan voice) with a twist. The Devil You Know offers to save Aunt May, not for Pete’s immortal 30-something soul but for his marriage. So Spider-man, the every man hero, the paragon of virtue, who does whatever a spider can, of course…agrees? Huh?
That’s right folks; Spider-man just did a literal deal with the devil. He, along with some nudging from the ’love of his life’, gave up their marriage in order to give Aunt May one more reprieves from death. However it doesn’t stop there. Peter and MJ’s holy union isn’t just over, it never happened. That’s right; Mephisto undid the deed itself and in the process unraveled the events of the past 30 years including most of the growth the character had seen during Michael Straczynski’s run. Oh and for shits a giggles no one remembers Pete=Spider-man, Aunt May has her house un-burned down, and Harry Osborn has somehow been brought back from the grave. Apparently The Devil was having a fucking summer sale.
Look, I’ve had shots with the man so I know he’s not a complete ’it puts the lotion on its skin’ psycho but this four issue arc makes it hard to think otherwise. So what exactly was he thinking?
In short, he hated the marriage;
"Bottom line, there are so many things that twentysomethings are doing with their lives that a married Peter can’t. He needs to be a single guy. Sure, he can have a girlfriend -- that adds something to his story -- but a married Peter just cuts off too many avenues for good soap opera. Could you have soap opera within a marriage? Sure. But after a while, there’s only so much tension you can bring into Peter and MJ’s marriage before you make him seem like a louse of a husband, or her, like a bickering wife. In contrast, you can only play them as a happy-go-lucky couple for so long -- that adds up to zero tension within the relationship and takes away a crucial element of Spider-Man stories: the soap opera."
Fine then, I’d say if I wanted to read about an un-married Parker, then I’d go read Ultimate Spider-man! Also, it sounds like there is a very back handed remark to the entire Marvel writing staff as essentially the head honcho just said ’none of you can come up with a good enough story so I need to step in and do it for you’, or is the case more likely that Joe can’t think of any good stories so obviously no one else could either.
Last time I checked the whole point of having the Ultimate brad was to invite new readers to the characters in an updated and more modern setting with out the need to do a major jarring restart of the core, or 616 if you’re that much of a nerd, universe a la DC’s Crisis. But that’s exactly what this is. This is ret-con of the highest order. Not only has nearly 30 years of story been thrown out the window, (or to quote the braying jackass at Marvel spin control "it happened but just not the way you remember it", the fuck does that even mean? Did they just imply they’ve date rapped the entire Marvel U? Cause I’m pretty sure getting drugged and then having your anus violated still leaves you with a burning rectum) but Joe. Q has also thrown away one of the key turning points of the Civil War mega event; i.e. Spider-man unmasks on national television. Hell, it even throws most of the lead into the event into question as it essentially removes Peter as Tony Stark’s Jiminy Cricket taking away the core heart and humanity from the event.
Another point that many, many people have brought up is that they could have just had a divorce. However Big Jo had a problem with that idea as well because of the negative light that would put the character in;
"However, how would a parent feel when they had to explain to their kid that Spider-Man just got divorced from his wife? How would that headline read across the AP or on USA today? The same can be said with an annulment. Sure, divorce is a reality of life, but Peter Parker and Spider-Man are not the types of characters that would do that."
Right, because making a deal with the goddamned, literally, devil makes him seem so much more like a hero! How does the same father try explaining that to his kid?
Even if I were to excuse the epic fail that was the reasoning behind the story and concept, as a writer I could not forgive them for how they went about it. JMS explains the biggest problems I have with the whole arc:
"To explain, here’s the conversation I had with Marvel, in sum:
"So what does Mephisto do?" I ask.
"He makes everybody forget Peter’s Spider-Man."
"Uh, huh. So Aunt May’s still in the hospital --"
"No, he saves Aunt May."
"But if all he does is save her life and make everybody forget he’s Spidey, she still has a scar on her midsection."
"No, he makes that go away too." "Okay...:
"Then he wakes up in her house."
"The house that was burned down?"
"Right."
"But how --"
"Mephisto undoes that as well."
"Okay. And the guys who shot at Peter and May and were killed, they’re alive too? Mephisto can bring guys back from the dead?"
"It’s all part of the spell."
"And Doc Strange can’t tell?"
"No,"
"And the newspaper articles? News footage?"
"Joe, it’s been forgotten."
"I’m just asking is that stuff there or not there?"
"Not there. And Peter’s web shooters are back."
"Is this the same spell or a different spell?"
"Same spell."
"How does making people forget he’s Spidey bring back his web shooters?"
"It’s magic, okay?"
"I see. And Harry’s back."
"Right."
"And Mephisto does this too."
"Yep."
"So is Harry back from the dead, or has he been alive? If they ask him, hey Harry, what did you do last summer, will he remember? And the year before? And the year before? If he says they all went on a picnic two years ago, will they remember it?"
"It’s --"
"Because if he now has a life he remembers, if he’s not back from the dead, then you’ve changed the continuity you said you didn’t want to change. Those are your only options: he was brought back from the dead, and there’s a grave, and people remember him dying --"
"Mephisto changes THEIR memories too."
"-- or he’s effectively been alive as far as our characters know, so he’s been alive all along, so either way as far as our characters are concerned, continuity’s been violated going back to 1971. How do you explain that?"
"It’s magic, we don’t have to explain it."
And that’s the part I had a real problem with, maybe the single biggest problem. There’s this notion that magic fixes everything. It doesn’t…"
This has to be the biggest example of fourth grade recess ’do over!’ horseshit in major publishing today. Essentially they just pulled ’Because I said so’ and when you’re in charge of an entire universe worth of unique characters you need to have you shit together to the point where you know Emma Frost’s cup size, so being this cavalier with such a deus ex machina device and then not even bothering to back up your reasoning is an epic fail as an editor.
For fuck’s sake, even J.K. Rowling (who penned an entire goddamn series about magic) never pulled this amateur tripe to explain away inconstancies in the plot. Okay, there was the slightly Terminator-esque time travel bit in the third book but even that wasn’t flippant with the plot device and managed to remove it in subsequent books so that when something bad happened the pimply wizards couldn’t just say;
"Huh, Dumbledore sure did go splat. Let’s go grab one of those nifty neck size DeLoreans"
Rowling realized that overpowered literary crutches need to be used sparingly and with a light touch in order for their existence to not break the rules of the fictional world they have created. To do otherwise is sloppy writing and poor forethought.
So to Marvel E-i-C Joe Quesada and all the yes men that stroked the man’s ego instead of smacking him in the nose like a Lapradoodle with irritable bowel syndrome, stop shitting in my sandbox!
Currently
reading
:
Spider-Man: One More Day
By
J. Michael Straczynski
Release date: 09 April, 2008
So, for some reason Blake and I decided it would be a good idea to buy a bottle of the Capt. and see how long it would be before we stopped feeling feelings. Since I'm a lazy bastard, I'm going to use this as the Blog Bell for the night. Soooo lets see where this goes.
9:00 pm: Blake opts for a shot and then Dr. Pepper, and I go for a mix, half way through the shot he remembers that alcohol=poison and tries to down the the good doctor in the hopes his throat will stop burning like Saddam Husein's new summer home. Shots: Blake: 1 Nick: 0
9:09 pm: Blake takes his second shot, "Ghuuuuuuauarrr" Blake: 2 Nick: 0
9:11 pm: I take my first shot, it tastes like burning. apparently though I take them "like a pro" according to Druky McTavish. Blake: 3 Nick: 1
9:21 pm: Blake begins the normal process of taking phone calls from half the phone book. I take a shot to dull the thoughts of taking out his kidney at night. Blake: 4 Nick: 2
9:25 pm: Apparently been trying to set me up with a friend of a friend who needs a booty call. I use the term *try* in the same context as someone can claim they've taken the SAT because they've gone to a testing center, sharpened a no.2 pencil to a dull point, sat down, opened up the test book, and then stabbed them self in the jugular with a protractor and ran screaming from the test center. I realize that was a long way to go for joke but I'm too pissed to be witty. Blake: 5 Nick: 3
10:31 pm: Blake's phone begins to die, he commanders mine to continue his intoxicated whorebaggery. Blake: 6 Nick: 4
10:35 pm: My bed has just been taken over by the law of Emmenant Softwarmthingcauseyourroomistoofuckingcold.
10:40 pm: I've had to enact the "Your hands must stay above the sheets AT ALL TIMES" Proclamation of aught 8.
10:42 pm: My decelerations seem to be taken as seriously as normal society takes LARPers.
10:46 pm: Make that vampire LARPers. Blake: 7 Nick: 4
10:50 pm: Note to self, burn those sheets. Blake: 8 Nick: 5
11:03-12:07 pm: Blake attempts to play a various selection of 360 games while inebriated. Blake: 9 Nick: 6
- Devil May Cry: Blake gave up on the game after, and I quote, "That nigger Dante be cheating!"
-Viva Pinata: Blake "Where the fuck is the game disk? What did you do with it you son of a bitch!" Nick "Blake that's your game, so I'm going to say it's back at your house." Blake "Nooooooooo! My Wormles!"
-Call of Duty 4: Blake "Nick, Nick, Nick, where's the M-15?" Nick "It's right in front of you on the desk." Blake "NO! the M-15!" Nick "I know it's that one right there, it says M-15 on it." Blake "God damnit Nick! Where's the M-15!" Nick "Turn the guy all the way around and see if it shows up." Blake "Hey there it is! On the desk!"
Blake "Where do I go now?" Nick "Turn around until the circle is in the center of the compass then go straight." Blake "THE CIRCLE KEEPS MOVING AROUND!" Nick " I know, it moves when you move." Blake "HOW CAN I GET TO THE CIRCLE IF IT KEEPS MOVING! IT'S A CONSPIRACY!"
Nick "Blake, stop shooting your commander in the back" Blake "He keeps calling me Soap!" Nick "That's your name." Blake "I'll teach that fucker to call me by my name!"
Blake "FLASH BANG!" Nick "You're going to want to get out of the room befo... *FOOOOOOOOOOSHM!*
- 12:10 am: I decide to to catch up to Blake and down three shots in rapid fire succession. Boooosch. Blake: 9 Nick: 9
- 12:21 am: Try to watch the last episode of Lost. Realise that liquor doesn't help when trying to follow the Gordian Knot that is the show's plot.
-1:11 am: We crash during the new Frisky Dingo. Man does Sin have a sweet robot rack.
-1:23 am: Blake's passed out and I'm debating the merits of shaving his head and drawing a portion of The Screamer on it.
I've decided that Jack Frost must have irritable bowel syndrome and has been using us as his giant porcelain bowl to shit a fuck ton of snow out on. It's the only explanation. Well, that and we live in Wisconsin next to a large fuck-all body of water...but that's just crazy talk.
Now normally I'd be in a puppy blinding rage over having get on the road with morons who drive like a drunken caveman who just invented the wheel out of woolly mammoth feces; trying to get to work to sell games to the same said morons who had nothing better to do that drive out in the middle of a snowstorm for a copy Breast Physics IV: The Quest for More Jiggles.
I however have left that godforsaken job, with it's godforsaken customers and it's godforsaken idiot managers of every region, in that godforsaken mall, next to that really nice smoothie place that served concoctions up with tiny little umbrellas (umbrellas, of course, were forsaken by god back in great Hawaiian Punch uprising on the Fourth Day).
So now when I wake up to an endless unplowed glistening white sheen of motor-vehicle death, I just smile. After the first few weeks of this, the novelty wore off and the desire to actually leave the house once and a while kicked in; just to make sure we hadn't been overrun with frost zombies or a swarm of abdominal snowmen who had some leaflets they'd like us to read about our Thetan levels.
One small problem. That's right, there was only one logical conclusion! Boba Fett had captured my roguish car on the cloud planet Bespin after a stylish dinner party and dumped it into a vat of liquid carbonite! Or it could just be normal snow.
Going off the second assumption, I went to work on the Beast with a series of heating lamps tied to the backs of small woodland critters...which resulted in most of them setting the others on fire and one who tried to cast Meteo but just kept muttering "spoony bard" before it caught on fire. Thankfully the winter months see a surplus of wayward, singing, orphans who work for choreography lessons and the car was soon exhumed.
But a week later, this happened:
And then it happened, like, five more times.
Every time. E V E R Y T I M E I clean the damn thing off, God feels the need to renew his loathing and utter dislike of everything Nick and proceeds to dump a fresh load of the fluffy white death down on top of the car. Well fuck you too buddy and your kid's a crappy carpenter!
Like I said, it's probably for the best that I don't have to be anywhere.
amused
focused
adventurous
fermented
aggravated
cold
