Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
5 Childhood Cartoons That ****** Us Up
The world we're living in has relentlessly failed to yield any of the things we feel we were promised, like hover cars, hover skate boards, and other things that hover. So we have to wonder what fooled us into having these false hopes.
We need to lay the blame squarely where it belongs: children's programming. And really, it was our horrible childhoods that led us to this position.
Here's five of the worst offenders in making us evil.
Whats cuter than a mouse and the Blue Man Group put together? Why, extremely small little blue people who live in mushrooms and partake in a communist-like society, of course!
The Smurfs spent most of their time thwarting Gargamel, who for some reason deduced that tiny blue people who live in mushrooms have got to be tasty as all get out. (Editor's note: They are.)
How they fucked us up
It's no big surprise that a show with the premise that somebody is constantly trying to eat the main characters might give children nightmares. All the smurfs ever wanted to do was live in their little utopian-esque society and be left alone, but things always turned to shit when "the man" showed up.
Then there is the fact that, apparently, there is only one female smurf to every 30 males. Yes...yes, I know...before you start sending in hate emails about how horribly inaccurate this is, and that Smurfette was actually created by Gargamel, I ask you this...exactly how were they reproducing BEFORE the lone chick showed up? It doesn't take Brainy smurf to figure this shit out.
Papa Smurf was cloning them. Which might explain our penchant for that very practice.
Lasting effects
Well, again we get back to the whole "fear of the man" deal. Add in the fact that we actually look at Papa Smurf as the closest thing to a philosopher and guru that our generation has had and it's pretty obvious why we've become a generation of big business hating, mushroom loving freaks.
Remember Saturday mornings, sitting in your underoos in front of the TV, watching Wile E. Coyote Chase the Road Runner? Oh, how we would laugh every time one of the coyote's plans backfired and he ended up falling off a cliff into some sort of accordion-related paralysis. Or when Sylvester the cat would build a furniture mound to get to Tweety's cage, only to find the little lisping canary at the bottom of the mound ready to knock the whole works over. Oh, there was nothing quite as amusing as this to take our minds off the fact that our Cap'n Crunch was ripping the insides of our little mouths to shreds with every bite!
How they fucked us up
Reach for the stars, kids! But ya know. Not too high. Because there is always someone much smarter than you who will gladly take that opportunity right away from you. No matter how hungry you are for that bird, sometimes it's a safe bet just to take that money you were planning on buying the ACME rocket propelled kill-o-matic with, and spending it on a couple of boxes of mac and cheese.
And again, here we see another example of big business giving us the screw. How often did we see something that ACME had produced simply not work? Or perhaps sometimes it worked really well, but left out the one extremely important safety implement that would have saved the day. Rocket powered bicycle? How about some fucking brakes there, champ?
The fact that it seems all the people in power were probably degenerates that never watched Saturday morning cartoons, and possibly spent their youth watching westerns while their daddy's plotted ways to overthrow the country through manipulating big oil probably says a lot about us. We're afraid of getting smacked down when we try to reach for that really important position of authority, and thus, spend quite a larger chunk of our time reading humor sites than creating national policy.
Plus we know that big business will assuredly screw us. Watch paid programming enough, and you will see half a dozen products at any given time that will kill us in ways way more efficiently than we could think of ourselves. Your normal household knives not sharp enough to cut a metal rod? Buy yourself some Ginsu knives! Guaranteed to take out an artery much more effectively than a normal knife when your wife realizes that you're never going to be any more than a fast food manager at McDonald's and decides to off you! Now there's progress for you!
No list of this nature would be complete without the man (or dog) himself...the Scoobmeister. When our little pre-adolescent minds got a hold of this, we were simply transfixed. Admit it. You were always waiting for the ghost or monster that turned out to be real, weren't you? And there was a feeling of bitter disappointment at the end of every episode, when after the ghost of the week was revealed to be old man Withers in a costume, that:
A) You had been duped once again, and
B) No matter how hard you tried, you would NEVER look that cool for Halloween.
How they fucked us up
There are a couple of subtle messages here, kids. First of all, trust no one. Everybody from the sheriff to the local thugs has got an agenda. And when the chips are down, and everything is going to utter shit, that's when your friends are going to send your happy ass into the haunted house with a talking dog to investigate.
Which brings us to the secondary message: That you can overcome anything as long as you have the proper stimulating motivation. Lets face it, folks. It's never been a secret that those Scooby snacks had to be a helluva lot more than just dog food. Anything that's gonna mellow you out sufficiently to go face a homicidal miner 49er in an old abandoned mine shaft better have more than a slight bacon taste going for it. We're talking a straight up dose of zannies mixed with some killer weed and morphine just to keep you straight. And if your only backup if the shit does hit the fan is a dog that's just as drugged as you are is two chicks and some dude in an ascot, you're definitely gonna need something to keep your mellow on.
Lasting effects
Anybody else notice that in the last few decades the divorce rate has soared, along with the usage of multiple drugs? This little tidbit could be due to the fact that when we're in relationships now. We know it's only a matter of time before our significant other rips off their mask to reveal the horrible fucking demonic bitch that, in our heart of hearts, we were sure was there all along. And this isn't the half of it. The levels of trust for our generation has deteriorated significantly since the day of the Scoob. Quick question: anybody here picked up any hitch hikers lately? No? Thats because we know that at some point after we pick them up, out comes the razor and it's goodnight Seattle.
Then comes the drug problem. As Scooby showed us all too often, if you want to get through a difficult time, you gotta get your synthetic courage on. And hell, lets face it. Life is a scary old mine shaft, and there's a shitload of insane miner 49ers that are just waiting for the chance to punch our ticket. So why wait? There's no time like the present for getting completely smashed! After all, WWSD (What would Scooby Do)?
No afternoon could be complete without coming home from school, and tuning into the adventures of the "Real American Hero" and seeing what hijinx Cobra Commander was kicking up this week. What could be cooler than a cartoon about a military organization that was consistently at odds with a terrorist organization that was hellbent on world domination?
And with the coolest in state of the art weaponry, and some of the most badass soldiers this side of Sylvester "I'll just keep spinning out sequels until somebody flips me out of my wheelchair and beats me with it" Stallone, it's little wonder our impressionable little minds grew somewhat addicted to this show. Every week, there was a new plot that would somehow allow Cobra commander to take over the world or bring the economy to its knees. Sure, most of his plans were half baked and were put down rather quickly by the Joe team, but hell, at least he tried, right?
How they fucked us up
Oh, wow. We're not even sure where to start. To begin with, remember all those cool vehicles and weapons we mentioned earlier? Well, apparently, they were completely worthless. As highly trained as these Joes were, they just could not seem to ever actually hit anything aside from a vehicle or an exploding barrel of some sort. And apparently these little laser guns of theirs were also programmed not to actually hit said vehicle until the occupant had bailed out. Wow! Those are pretty smart weapons! And to think, if those Cobra guys had been just a little smarter than that and just stayed in the Dual-tread Death Bringer Mobile, it may have never gotten blown up! Man those Cobras are stupid!
But no. As you see in the image to the left, it looks as if Duke is about to scream something along the lines of "NOOOOOOOOOO" upon Cobra Commander's latest escape. But don't be so quick with the comforting there, Scarlett. He's just going to quip a joke, and the rest of you are going to stand around laughing about it as Cobra Commander jets off into the sunset more pissed off than ever.
Ladies and gentlemen, we think we've just put our finger on why we've yet to capture Osama Bin Laden.
Okay, let's play a little game here for a moment. Pretend you are a 9 year old boy, and you and your best friend are in the bathroom, playing with the stuff under the sink. Suddenly, out of nowhere a large black man in fatigues appears at your bathroom window (which is conspicuously open for some reason) and begins to lecture you on playing with the stuff under the sink. Sure, the guy is Road Block from G.I. Joe, but that doesn't change the fact that the government is clearly watching everything you do.
Yes, it's true. Big brother is now officially watching you! How do we know? Because at the end of every single episode of the show, it would show kids doing everything from getting into fights after school to playing with their father's handgun in the closet, and mysteriously a Joe team member would show up and read them the riot act for being so fucking stupid.
Of course the kids would do the obligatory "Gee, thanks Road Block!" Which is kid for "Please get the hell out of here before mom comes home and finds a stranger in the bathroom with her kids!" to which Road Block would reply, "And KNOWING is half the battle!"
Which, ironically, became Bush's battle cry when he began legalizing phone tapping and what not for homeland security usage.
So, I think I'm seeing a pattern here. The government keeps blowing money on military equipment that is largely as ineffective as it's military strategy, knows every single thing Jim Bob citizen does, and is fighting an enemy that we can't find.
Fuck, that's eerie.
Okay, quite frankly, we're not going to spend a lot of time on this one. This may have been something your little sister watched. Or, possibly it was forced upon you as some form of torture. In either case, lets make this quick.
How they fucked us up
Ok...so. Cute.
Reality.
Adorable.
....I just crapped myself.
Lasting effects
The lasting impression that for some reason, bears are cuddly little critters. But we guarantee you, that if you dyed a bear hot pink and stapled a heart to it's chest, that fucker is still going to eat you. Slowly. Beginning with your testicles.
Think you can write for WUITS? Then submit your best articles to revrogue@the-iss.com! We're always looking for new talent, though frankly, this is a nonpaying gig...so basically, it's for the prestige of being an interweb published writer! Hey, whats better than being web-famous?
-Rev
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The "Talk"
Think you can write for WUITS? Then submit your best articles to revrogue@the-iss.com! We're always looking for new talent, though frankly, this is a nonpaying gig...so basically, it's for the prestige of being an interweb published writer! Hey, whats better than being web-famous?
-Rev
Monday, December 28, 2009
Friday, December 25, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The 12 Days of Christmas (From a Supervillains Perspective) Christmas Eve Edition
For years us supervillains have had to endure that one time of the year when even we are weakened to the power of goodness (we're not crying, though. There's just something in our eye). It is the one day of the year that even the most hardened evil genius will visit his family (or whats left of their smoldering corpses) and feel the pull of "goodwill" and "generosity." We are of course talking about Christmas, when even Dr. Doom will rock a hilarious-looking Santa hat at the villains' annual Christmas party and laughing contest.
And although as a general rule of thumb, Christmas would be an awesome day for committing crime or perhaps taking over the world, everything seems to go on hold for that day.
One of the biggest issues with this time of year is of course, the gift giving, which frankly, we've never understood the whole big deal about. So, to better understand this ritual of non-super villainry, we will now conduct a study of one of the holiday's traditional songs: "The Twelve Days of Christmas," which is all about giving gifts. Oddly enough, they mostly seem to be birds and people.
First of all, there's the title. There's 12 days of Christmas? Really? Only one of them seems to be recognized by society at large. Might there, then, be 12 Jesuses? We might have to look a little further into this. But for now, on with the song.
On the first day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
A partridge in a pear tree
Okay, so on day one, our true love, who really should have known that we really wanted a new set of huge knives, gives us some sort of inedible poultry and a tree, neither of which we can see much use for. Maybe there's some kind of sentimental meaning here? We're not sure. But there's 11 more days, so let's roll with it.
On the second day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
Fact: the turtle dove usually migrates to Africa during the winter time. So what purpose do these nearly frozen migratory birds serve here? Except to be pissed off that now they are not in Africa and their little bird testicles are freezing off?
Plus we have the addition of another partridge and a pear tree. So, now two partridges, and another tree. Plus two useless migratory birds. This gets weirder by the second. I don't even like pears, and as far as I know partridges and turtle doves cannot be cooked in any satisfactory way. This is why I should always ask for KFC upfront.
On the third day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
Well, at least we can eat the french hens. We think it's possible, anyway. The difference between a french hen and a regular hen isn't readily apparent to us at the moment. Perhaps they smoke cigarettes from those long cigarette holders and wear berets?
(Also of note: More birds, more trees, less garage space.)
On the fourth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
More birds? What the hell is all this about? Calling birds, even. I mean, if you were trying to set up an evil plan to use telemarketers to take over the world, maybe this would be useful. Otherwise, having a bunch of critters around that run up your phone bill is just stupid.
Plus, now another partridge. Another tree. We thinks our true love might be riddled with OCD.
On the fifth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
Finally, something of value. However, the song doesn't mention whether these are magical rings or not. Do they have powers? I mean, I know they're gold, but can they withstand having some degree of electro-magnetic pulse pushed through them to destroy our nemesis? Can they kill Green Lanterns? Can we send tiny little people on years-long journeys to destroy them?
Also, five golden rings must have cost them quite a bit. We're frankly surprised our true love here hadn't already blown their wad (or, more likely, our wad) on trees and birds. Which are still coming, by the way. How about buying us a damn storage locker to put all this crap, or better yet, an arboretum, huh, sweetheart?
On the sixth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
And now pregnant birds. I think we may have been mistaken for an animal hospital at some point. However, if aimed properly, the laying geese might conceivably be used as a weapon. Albeit, a stupid one.
On the seventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
Ok. Swimming swans. And I don't have so much as a swimming pool. I mean, I suppose they could use the bathtub, if they don't mind my alligators. Actually, yes. That's the best place for them. With the alligators, which you gave me last year. Thanks, darling!
On the eighth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree.
Our true love is now sending us slaves, which is, frankly, an improvement.
Trouble is, these are milk maids. And yet we've gotten nary a single cow in the parade of nature that has been our gifts so far. So, what in the hell are they milking? The pregnant geese, maybe? Or possibly the trees. Or is it me?
I don't want to be milked.
On the ninth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
Somehow, we went from poultry to burlesque dancers. Frankly, we're starting to distrust our true love's gift giving judgment here, and think she may be schizophrenic.
No, we didn't really mean that. Thanks for the dancers, honeykins!
On the tenth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
Fuck. Now our true love is sending us eccentric royalty? We swear, if we get busted in some kinda crazy aristocrat kidnapping scam, our true love is going down. This isn't even cool, true love. Now we have these rich-ass, semi-retarded leap-frogging lords hitting on our milk maids, our dancers (Which thinking back, wasn't that horrible a gift now, was it?) and in some cases, our poultry. Thanks a lot.
Also: Where are you getting the money for this? Where is my credit card?
On the eleventh day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
And now we add a bleating din of pipers to the mix.
Well, I suppose having some musicians about would be good background music for all the milkmaid/dancer/poultry fucking now going on. But 11 of them? Shouldn't one of them maybe learn a string instrument? Maybe some percussion? Hell, maybe even a trumpet for some variety? No? All woodwinds, huh? Right. Okay then. All I wanted was a Cool Kids CD, but, you know, whatever.
On the twelfth day of Christmas,
my true love sent to me
Twelve drummers drumming,
Eleven pipers piping,
Ten lords a-leaping,
Nine ladies dancing,
Eight maids a-milking,
Seven swans a-swimming,
Six geese a-laying,
Five golden rings,
Four calling birds,
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves,
And a partridge in a pear tree
Oh, here's some drummers. But we still have way more pipers.
Question: Anyone here ever hung out with a drummer? In general, they are messy, unreliable, womanizing, and semi-psychotic. And that's their good points. One week from now, all the milk maids and dancers will be pregnant, the lords will be leaping around with wedgies, and the Pipers will be pissed cause the drummers don't ever show up for rehearsal. Plus, with all the birds, trees, rings, our lair is now completely trashed.. This is bullshit. I mean, look at this final tally: 40 Milk Maids, 36 Dancers, 30 Leaping lords, 22 Pipers, 12 Partridges, 22 turtle doves, 40 golden rings, 12 pear trees, 30 French Hens, 36 pregged out geese, 35...oops...no, 32 swimming swans. I guess the alligators got a couple of those.
So, now short of starting an aviary with music and burlesque dancing...we're screwed on a massive scale here. And bird crap is everywhere. Is this what the whole "giving" thing is all about? Giving people shit they don't need, have no place for, and will possibly making them hate you? You know, we think maybe there's a place for supervillains at Christmas after all.
revrogue@the-iss.com
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