I am, was, a student of the dearly departed Dr. Albert Oxford. I was with him at the peak of Mount Everest when he tragically fell and careened off the rocks like a rag doll in the winter of 2007. Now that I have been acquitted of any wrong doing in my esteemed mentor’s tragic demise I can finally continue his work in the field of movie critique. And so I give to you the following.

50 Reasons The Star Trek Movie Sucks

1) Elves in space?

Elves have been popular ever since that dreadful “Lord” of the “Rings.” So this movie slaps on some elf ears to bring in the gay-elf loving crowd.

2) Shameless use of STAR.

First there was STARgate, then there was STARwars and now STAR TREK? Way to be original Hollywood.

3) You’d think they could have found someone the same age.

In some scenes Spock is seen as a 30 year old and in other scenes he’s seen as an elderly man. Did the young guy quit because he knew the movie would hurt his career?

4) Name thievery.

What, they couldn’t think of an original name for their spaceship? This name is a blatant rip-off of the NASA space shuttle Enterprise.

5) False advertising.

Having a main character named after Dr. Benjamin Spock is a cheap trick to lure parents to see this under the false pretense of this movie being about child care. Note: This movie is NOT about child care.

6) Calling Dr. Spec Ops!

Spock grabs Kirk by the neck and Kirk suddenly passes out. Spock is a scientist, not some special forces super commando that knows pressure points. A tranquilizer gun would have been more believable.

7) Continuity.

The next time Spock grabs Kirk by the neck, Kirk doesn’t pass out. What is wrong Mr. Abrams, did Spock lose his special ops training over the course of ten minutes?

8 ) Bad Editing.

Kirk and Sulu are falling to their deaths when suddenly there’s some flashes of light they are both back on their spaceship with no explanation. What were those lights? Magical fireflies?

9) Magical fireflies II

This time the fireflies take Kirk and Montgomery Scott to a water park.

10) Magical fireflies III

The magical fireflies can zap everyone to safety except Spock’s mother? Are the fireflies misogynists?

11) They never show the man behind the curtain.

If you’re going to have these fireflies appear out of nowhere all the time at least show the wizard casting his spell. You show us elves but don’t give us wizards? That makes no sense.

12) Magical Fireflies, the final screw-up.

Scotty tells Kirk and Spock that they will be magically edited onto Nero’s ship in an area free of bad guys. Two seconds later Kirk and Spock appear in an area FULL OF BAD GUYS. How can you forget what you said just 2 seconds ago Mr. Scott?

13) A Rainbow Coalition.

Why is everyone wearing different colored uniforms? These people are in the military, not an Old Navy ad.

14) No pockets.

You would think that military uniforms would still have pockets for holding vital equipment, but no, that would probably clash with the ship’s décor.

15) A rose by any other name is not a fucking rose.

The doctor is called Bones despite not being a skeleton.

16) Recycled footage I

The movie starts with Captain Kirk and his spaceship fighting Captain Nero and his spaceship. The movie ends with Captain Kirk and his spaceship fighting? Yeah, you guessed it, Captain Nero and his spaceship.

17) Lighting problems.

In the bedroom scene (was this perversion really necessary?) the lighting is horribly off and makes one of the women appear a sickly hue of green.

18) Kleenex on scene 12.

An elf kid is shown sitting with a green blob on his lip. They should have cleaned that up in between takes.

19) You call that fencing?

Sulu says he knows fencing but during his fight he does not use a fencing sword. Were rapiers and epés outlawed in the future?

20) Wictor, Wictor. What did you just say comrade?

The ship is called the USS Enterprise. That’s United States Spaceship. No Russians allowed.

21) Do they shine in the daylight?

Spock (and his elderly stand-in) are shown flying a ship fueled by blood, an attempt to cash in on the popular Twilight movie.

22) Hey Harold, where’s Kumar?

They might as well have had him, you’d need to be stoned to enjoy this movie.

23) I didn’t see Joe Rogan anywhere.

How many places did this movie steal from? The bug eating scene is clearly taken from Fear Factor.

24) Time Travel problem.

You can’t travel through time without a Delorean. Everyone knows this.

25) Two parachutes.

Kirk parachutes onto a platform. Then he parachutes off the platform with Sulu, where did the second parachute come from?

26) Flagship.

They call the Enterprise the flagship despite the total lack of flags inside and outside the ship.

27) Security Cameras catch Kirk and Scotty at the water park.

Is this a spaceship or a 7/11?

28) Recycled footage II

We see Spock watch Vulcan get destroyed. A few minutes later we see Spock watching Vulcan get destroyed again.

29) Uhura’s Neck Bolt.

If Spock and Uhura had a baby would it be part elf, part Frankenstein?

30) Something seems fruity.

Apparently eating an apple gives you the ability to win an unwinable scenario. Did the orange lobby not offer enough money?

31) No Robots?

How can they make us believe the movie is in the future if they don’t show any robots?

32) In the pocket of big apples.

Throwing out the cores saves the day? Think we wouldn’t notice this subliminal message Mr. Abrams?

33) Two races of elves.

Was there a sale on elf ears at Costco? There’s no other reason why the Romulans should look so much like the Vulcans.

34) Ship? More like Shit.

The design of the Enterprise is crap. It looks like a tampon attached to a tea saucer.

35) Spaceshit II

The ship is not aerodynamic in the slightest. They would go a lot faster if they had some fins and a spoiler on the rear.

36) Whatever happened to Baby Jim?

After the birth of baby Jim we never hear about him again.

37) Disobedient crew.

Someone yells “Raise shields” and not one crew member lifts up a shield.

38) Audio Problem.

Sometimes during scenes in space there is no sound. The rookie in charge of the sounds, named Ben Burrt, should have been fired.

39) Should have had a closed set.

During some scenes, if you look closely you’ll notice that a 20th century car is in scenes that are supposed to take place in the future.

40) Say what?

The elderly stand-in for Spock tells Kirk, “I am and always have been your friend.” No he hasn’t. Spock and Kirk are enemies, was the old man not paying attention to what the real Spock actor had been doing in the rest of the movie?

41) Ahh’ll be Baack?

Early on the movie has a screen that says TERMINATED on it for no apparent reason other than to be used in promotional footage to trick people into thinking this is the new Terminator movie.

42) Where did all the elf boys go?

Early on there are a bunch of elf boys fighting. These kids are never seen again in the movie.

43) Hair Club for Elves.

Spock’s hairstyle went out with the Beatles in the 60′s.

44) Development Hell.

You know a movie will be bad when it takes a long time to make it. This movie has been in production for at least a decade. The action figures for the movie came out over 10 years ago.

45) Elves have poor memories.

Nero is angry at Spock and wants to kill him, but Spock acts like he doesn’t know who Nero is. This is illogical.

46) Elves have rheumatoid arthritis.

It seems weird to give an entire species a crippling condition that makes their fingers stick together in pairs everytime they raise their hand.

47) Guard rails.

These futuristic ships don’t have simple anti-fall-to-your-doom technology that we have and enjoy today.

48) Yelling out the wrong name.

At one point the actor playing Spock messes up his line by addressing Uhura as Nyota. You’d think the editors would have caught this one.

49) Blatant product placement.

In the bar, Uhura orders a Sluhso. Couldn’t get enough funding so you had to whore yourself out to big-Slusho Mr Abrams?

50) 4+4 = 1?

In the bar, Kirk is facing four guys when he tells the lead guy that he should bring more guys to make it a fair fight. How can Kirk be a genius if he doesn’t even know simple math.

Once again, I have been Dr. Lucius Cambridge, PhD. Thank you.

Anyhow, this is all a very roundabout method of telling you lovely people that update droughts like this are not something we here at TLG plan on making a habit of, and in that spirit, here’s a little poem Jay whipped up in honor of Memorial Day.*

FUCK YOU, THIS IS A MEMORIAL DAY POEM

By Jay Thomas

Twas the day of Memorial, as I sat in my room
Watching t.v., and tripping on shrooms.
While a dragon and elf made love in my bed.
I sincerely hoped they were just in my head.

The summer was sweltering, humid and hot.
“Shit! I need fireworks.” I said as I thought.
Excited and smiling, I rose to my feet.
Then the elf winked at me and said, “take a seat.”

I ignored the elf and his lover the dragon.
And got in my car, a Ford Taurus Wagon.
With a wizard beside me, I rode into town.
And searched for fireworks while I came down.

I stopped at a station and pumped some gas.
Saw an old shopkeep and thought I would ask.
“Sir, I need fireworks. Where might they be?”
“Not here.” He said. “Them’s illegal in Tennessee.”

To Alabama I went, despite my head being clearer
When I noticed the gas pump, in my side view mirror.
I stopped and trashed the hose, right next to a sign.
“Welcome to Alabama – where we don’t like mine… orities”

When what to my wandering eyes should appear
But a specialty store, selling fireworks and beer.
I walked in and demanded I be sold some wares.
And walked out with Chinese explosives bundled with care.

I started driving back home, feeling just super
And saw the blue lights of TN state trooper.
He tapped on my window, but I stepped on the gas.
“Eat my dust, you hole of an ass!”

I floored it back home, not feeling dumb
Lit up a rocket and blew off my thumb.
“Holy shit! Holy shit!” I said with a shout
as ounces of blood. Wait. No. Pints poured out.

My douchebag neighbor, Ted called 911.
And the paramedics arrived, stopping my fun.
The police came with them, arrest warrant in tow.
“Fuck you, Ted! I blame you, you homo!”

I was put in a squad car, still minus a thumb.
And seated beside an old smelly bum.
The hobo turned to me, coke dust on his nose
“Who are you? And where are your clothes?”

“Quiet down back there.” Said the cop in the front.
I hated that guy. He was such a huge cunt.
It’s Memorial Day, so go have a blast.
As I await trial and cover up my ass.

*Of course, being Canadian I don’t celebrate Memorial Day. Unlike citizens of some nations, I had to work today. I mowed sixteen goddamn lawns while you yanks were shoving firecrackers up your nostrils or whatever it is you do on you queer-ass holiday.

(Alternative Title: SECOND-BEST AT WHAT HE DOES)

What can we say about Wolverine that hasn’t been poorly spelled in all-caps before? He’s Marvel’s most bankable mutant and currently appears in about every third comic Marvel publishes. They have even taken to specifically labeling comics which don’t have Wolverine on them. Yes, seriously.

Use these to recognize the increasingly-rare Wolverine-free Marvel titles!

In the comics Wolverine seems aware of his best-selling status, missing no opportunity to talk down to his teammates and trash-talk his enemies, generally glowering at everything and wishing he could fuck a dead woman. This would all-be par for the course in comics but, dammit, he’s just so cocky about it, as are his fans. Well I say we take Wolverine at his word and see whether he really is the best there is at what he does.

What exactly is it that Wolverine does, you ask? Let’s check his stats:

KILLING

Want context? Purchase "The Dark Phoenix Saga" trade paperback and hold on to your balls.

One thing that always drew fans to Wolverine was how lethal he was. Banshee would yell at you, Cyclops would look at you, Professor X would make you think bad thoughts, but Wolverine… he will stab you. As time went on this aspect of Wolverine’s character was played up more heavily as fans couldn’t seem to get enough of Wolverine losing his shit and killing a room full of dudes. One of the things that catapulted Wolverine to fan-favorite status was him cutting up an entire building of dudes after getting left for dead in the sewers.

GRADE: B-

Apart from cannon-fodder henchmen, Wolverine really hasn’t killed as many people as you would think. Of those he has killed many of them really had it a long time coming, so the whole “loose cannon” angle just doesn’t work. He probably would have scored higher if not for the fact that he has failed to kill so many of his arch enemies when killing people is his whole deal (see below.)

HEAD OF THE CLASS: TOMMY MONAGHAN

I could have said “The Punisher” because both of them have pretty impressive body counts but A) the Punisher didn’t really start killing a lot of guys for a long time (since he was a Spider-Man character and mostly hung around threateningly) and B) Tommy Monaghan killed a shitload of guys in way fewer issues than the Punisher ever did. Still, both characters held mainstream titles and killed way more people than Wolverine ever did. For those unfamiliar with him, Tommy Monaghan starred in DC comics’ Hitman by future Punisher scribe Garth Ennis and his book was pretty righteously funny in its own right, which earns him some extra credit.

ADAMANTIUM

HRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNNNNNNNGH

Wolverine’s bones are coated with an alloy called adamantium, an ultra-dense material that is virtually indestructible once it solidifies. This means two things: he can withstand an astounding amount of punishment and his claws can cut through damn near anything. This does make for some cool moments and lets him go toe to toe with people like the Hulk or giant robots. (If you’ve ever seen the X-Men fight Sentinels you know that the whole team is over in one panel attacking one’s foot while Wolverine cuts off like four of their heads in the rest of the page.) For years the exact process and origin behind Wolverine’s adamantium was unknown since its creation was a state-protected secret.

GRADE: C

Wolverine’s adamantium is great and all, but he could withstand massive punishment without it (see below,) so it’s not strictly necessary. It’s also a bad idea to have a metal skeleton when the supervillain you fight every goddamn Tuesday has magnetic powers. Magneto finally wised up after 20 years of Wolverine’s bullshit and extracted the adamantium from his skeleton in the form of little sperms.

"Okay, I'll be the first to admit that I didn't really think this AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH"

It was at that point that it was revealed that Wolverine didn’t even need adamantium claws since he’d had big bone claws the whole time which could still cut through the side of a bus. (Kids! This is not how science works; no matter how sharp I carve a stick of butter it is not going to slice through a piece of construction paper.)

Moreover, the mystery and uniqueness of adamantium was a bit dulled by the fact that over time everybody got themselves some adamantium, even Wolverine’s old enemy Sabretooth. Bullseye has an adamantium spine. Doctor Octopus had some adamantium arms. Doctor Doom made some adamantium armor. Marvel’s mafia families have adamanium robot bodyguards. Wolverine’s vengeful ex and even his bastard son got their hands on some adamantium. I think even Gambit had an adamantium stick now. Gambit. Jesus.

HEAD OF THE CLASS: ULTRON

The very first Ultron resembled the Fruit Fucker from Penny Arcade but it wouldn’t be long before he upgraded and the Avengers had to deal with an entire killer robot made of adamantium who also shot face lasers and had an army of lesser robots. It bears repeating that he shoots death lasers out of his face. The height of Ultron’s being-awesomeness was when he built a metric shitload of copies of himself out of adamantium and basically marched across the entire fakey country of Slorenia and burned it to the ground. Oh, he also sort of took over space a little. Eat a dick, Wolverine.

SUPER POWERS

"Hey guys, I found some bullets."

Wolverine’s super powers include a super-fast healing ability and heightened senses. That means that writers can have him do all the bad-ass action hero stuff in the world and have an excuse for it. How did he know that ninja was right behind him? Oh, right, super-smelling. Did he just jump out of a plane without a parachute? Oh, right, regeneration. If you watched the X-Men cartoon in the 90’s you know that the infected Wolverine with the Legacy Virus (a flimsy analogue for AIDS,) and cured it with his hyper-immune system’s antibodies. They never tried that in the comics though because none of your damn business, that’s why!

GRADE: C-

Wolverine’s regeneration isn’t as common in comics as, say, super-strength or wearing nothing but panties and calling it a battle suit but he’s neither unique or the first in making regeneration his whole deal. The whole point of the Spider-Man villain the Lizard was that his origin had him regenerating a whole god-damned arm before he even got turned into Crocodile Dundee’s arch nemesis. Not only that but Wolverine’s first opponents — the Hulk and Wendigo — also have healing factors, as does his arch-enemy Sabretooth. And Wolverine’s other enemies, Bloodscream and Cyber and Omega Red. Deadpool has a synthetic healing factor based off of Wolverine’s. The fucking Green Goblin has a healing factor, as does Doomsday (the guy who killed Superman a little,) and a random ass cop in the pages of Flash. Oh, and the cheerleader. Even Hawkman has a healing factor these days. You’re as cool as Hawkman, Wolverine.

As for the super-duper senses: A) that’s Daredevil’s whole deal, B) half the people listed above also have that, C) Superman owns them all.

HEAD OF THE CLASS: LOBO

Lobo (the version of Lobo that caught on, at least,) was an indictment of the over-the-top gruffness and violence that defined characters like Wolverine and the Punisher. He was so over-the-top, in fact, that people fell unironically in love with him and supported him in a whole series. Lobo has super-senses as well, not that he needs them. His healing abilities are so powerful that he can re-grow a body after his head has been severed. If completely disintegrated, a new Lobo will still regenerate out of a drop of blood. Add to that the fact that he’s effectively immortal since both Heaven and Hell have literally kicked him out, and Wolverine looks like a pussy boy in comparison (though to be fair, Clint Eastwood riding a grizzly bear looks pretty sissy next to Lobo.)

BEING A DANGEROUS LONER

If there’s one thing that fans associate with Wolverine above all else it’s the attitude of the dangerous loner. Why does Jean fall for the pint-sized furball? Girls love a troubled bad-boy. If there’s something to be done Wolverine is ready to do it himself and the hell with all your regulations, Lieutenant! When a naked man is chasing a woman through an alley with a butcher knife and a hard-on, I figure he isn’t out collecting for the Red Cross, Bub! SNIKT!

GRADE: F

Wolverine’s big break was as the irascibly surly guy on the All-New, All-Different X-Men, where it was revealed that he had previously been a part of Alpha Flight, prior to which he was a member of the Weapon X program and part of Canadian Special Forces (they’re the branch of the Canadian military who’re allowed to use the one tank, provided they pay for gas out of their own pockets.) Since then he’s been a member of the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, the Secret Defenders, X-Force… there’s really no group of idiots that Wolverine won’t hang around while complaining about being a grizzled loner. This is without even mentioning the fact that he apparently collects mutant jailbait sidekicks: first Sprite, then Jubilee, and now he’s got characters named Pixie and Armor under his hairy, surly wing. Yes, the names are getting slightly less terrible as time passes, but the bottom line is still that Wolverine is more or less the world’s angriest babysitter.

The funny thing is, he’s not even the best at being bad at being a grizzled loner, an honor which we all know belongs to Batman; never minding the Justice League, the Outsiders (his own super-team), and a seemingly never ending parade of Gotham vigilantes who operate under his watch… at this point there have been five different Robins.

"Can we make this fight quick? Robin 8 gets colicky if I don't read to him before beddy-byes."

HEAD OF THE CLASS: DEADPOOL

Wade Wilson’s affiliation with the Weapon X program was the last time he was a part of anything except for a passing camaraderie with professional super-villains and a shape-shifting ex-girlfriend. Sure, he tried to bang some jailbait member of X-Force and was occasionally pressed into service by an even badder villain here and there but always for a lark, always as a gag. The only people Deadpool regularly associated with were hostages. The closest thing he has to a friend is the murderous psychopath Bullseye, and even that relationship involves them trying to kill one another half the time. The only real way you can get Deadpool to hang out with you is to pay him lots of money, and even then he’ll probably spend the whole time insulting you and might set fire to the dog.

LOVE

Wolverine has banged a lot of chicks. Most of these chicks have been Asian, redheaded, super-heroes, super-villains, or some combination of the two. He’s been married a couple of times and even fathered a couple of children (one of them with a cave-woman. Yes, that’s true.) He even has a sort of “just friends” relationship with Daredevil’s main squeeze, Elektra, which may in fact be “friends with benefits.” Most famously, Wolverine has repeatedly acted as the third side of a romantic triangle with teammates Cyclops and Jean Grey. Even after the two were married Wolverine still kept at it and teases of the two kissing or having a relationship were constant. If you’ve read any straight X-Men fanfiction online it probably involved Jean and Logan fucking.

What? Don’t look at me like that, you bastards.

GRADE: D

First off, in Marvel’s Ultimate X-Men title Wolverine did finally nail Jean Grey… when she was jailbait. Neat, huh?

The other thing you have to realize is that a lot of the women Wolverine has been with over the years have sort of died or tried to kill him or both. This is because they usually get abused, thrown over, abandoned, killed, sent to hell… bad times, basically. One joined a terrorist group. One shoved giant metal spikes into her fingers and led an army of cyborgs. It takes a hell of a lot of scorn to drive a woman to that. If you think dealing with the hair he leaves on the soap is the worst thing about knocking boots with Wolverine, think again. Wolverine doesn’t protect his girlfriends for shit.

One of them even died from blowfish toxin poisoning, like Homer Simpson almost did that one time.

HEAD OF THE CLASS: TOM STRONG

Created by Alan Moore as a sort of Doc Savage-Captain Marvel pastiche, Tom Strong doesn’t look a day over 38 even at 108 years old, which means he got some seventy solid years of crazy sex with his wife, who kind of was a princess. Together they stopped robot people and alien invasions and total craziness and managed to raise a teenage daughter for sixty years. So, like a lot of Alan Moore comics, it runs on its own little put-put logic engine. If you buy that, though, Tom isn’t exactly a player or a cooze-hound but he does run a loving home in spite of absolute craziness and keeps his loved ones safe, at least. Plus he was raped by a Nazi superwoman in his sleep. I think we’ve all had dreams like that after watching Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS.

Then again, if we’re rating on a strict cooze-hound scale then Wolverine still loses out to a lot of characters, especially Jack Horner from DC’s Fables. Yes, the same Jack Horner who sat in a corner, jumped over candlesticks, and fought giants. In this comic he gets more pussy than some sort of Hugh Hefner-Wilt Chamberlain cyborg which makes up for nursery rhymes being the second lamest form of expression… right below Hallmark cards and right above Uwe Boll movies.

STYLE

Wolverine’s blue and yellow spandex isn’t entirely intimidating, and is hardly the best superhero costume out there. There are also more than a few people who thought it was a little gay. In fact Frank Quietly, artist of the Authority and JLA, has said almost that exact thing on more than one occasion.

GRADE: F

When Quietly got the job of redesigning the X-Men, he set out to make Wolverine look absolutely not gay at all. Not. Gay. At. All. So he designed this:

Whoa. Um. Geez.

HEAD OF THE CLASS: JUST ABOUT GODDAMNED EVERYBODY

Even the superheroes who look more than a little gay are still better designed than… this. Not to mention even his original costume has always been kind of arbitrary, like many of the X-Men. Then of course there’s his hair…

SMOKING

Anybody who grew up reading Marvel comics knows that Wolverine is rarely without a nice big stogie in his mouth. His healing powers mean that he never has to worry about cancer or, hell, probably even yellowing teeth.

GRADE: F

As per an official policy put in place by current Editor-In-Chief Joe Quesada, Wolverine can’t smoke. He can never smoke. Neither can Nick Fury or the Thing or anybody else who smokes… all people whose unique physiology makes smoking not a problem. But no superheroes can smoke. Because smoking is evil. Only supervillains can smoke. This is a rule.

HEAD OF THE CLASS: HELLBOY

Hellboy’s love of cigars has crossed from comics to film to even direct-to-DVD cartoons. Before a film was even a remote possibility, Hellboy had his own cigarette lighter. These days he has like eight. Wolverine, by comparison, appears on candy cigarette packages. Only they don’t call them candy cigarettes: they call them “candy sticks.”

If you want to see Daniel talk a lot more about comics, a good place to do this is over at his blog, the Comic Book Closet.

Chapter One: DEATH FINDS A PHALLUS

I could see them in the distance. They were fighting.

Sparks flew into the evening air. I stopped, scratched my itchy ass and began to move closer. The two fighters were still a few rooftops away and I wanted to see this battle up close. I’d never seen a live sword fight before, and even from this distance the sight was entrancing.

I was walking among the rooftops for my own security, I wondered why these combatants were dueling up in my domain. Well, it wasn’t really my domain, but I walked the rooftops most mornings and nights, avoiding some of the tougher residents on my block. They didn’t seem to like me and I quickly found out that I was allergic to punches. I suppose had I been taller everything would have been easier. An extra foot and I’d be 6’6″ or is it 6″6′, I don’t know. At that height my 200 pound frame would be normal and I wouldn’t be constantly out of breath.

I guess I don't really live in that great an area of town.

I was now two rooftops away and could feel the energy of the fighters coursing through the air. Both men had long, slender swords. Neither of them talked, except for the occasional grunt when their swords hit each other hard. My heart was throbbing and pulsing like crazy. I didn’t even know who to cheer for.

If it had been two women fighting I would have sided with the hottest one, but these were dudes and I wasn’t strong enough to accept that a dude could be hot. The men never noticed me. Their bodies moved as if they were in a big, gay, musical dance. I quietly moved up to the rooftop adjacent to the two men and hid behind an exhaust vent. I could smell sweat mixed with exhaust fumes and some other scent whose name was on the tip of my tongue.

It was then that I saw that the men weren’t always holding their swords and yet somehow the swords stayed upright. I looked closer and realized the truth:

Those weren’t swords; they were dongs.

I had heard rumors at school and on the internet about cockfights but never believed them. My cheeks blushed as I realized that these guys were better endowed than a bailed out bank. It was like watching a car accident, you wanted to look away and yet you couldn’t help but look at the dongs- I mean, the severed arms.

The whirling motion of their cock battle made it hard to see where one dong ended and the other began. The red-haired fighter was on the offensive, thrusting furiously and forcing the dark-haired fighter dangerously close to the edge of the rooftop.

IT WAS JUST LIKE THIS

“I’ve got you now!” said the offensive cocker (I was later told is the proper term for a cock fighter) as he raised his gleaming metallic phallus for a kill stroke.

“Kill me and you’ll never learn the secret!” said the defensive cocker.

“What secret? I wasn’t sent here to gather secrets.”

“That’s because Lord Steele doesn’t want you to find out, lest you try to overthrow him.”

“That’s just bullsh-!”

The red-haired cocker was interrupted by a quick thrust from the dark-haired cocker who spun away from the roof’s edge and flopped around until he was back in the middle. I decided then to root for the dark haired man.

The red-haired cocker charged and slashed. The dark-haired cocker dodged to the right and spun around, delivering a roundhouse phallus slap to his dongponent’s face. The mushroom shadow on his face already forming, the red-haired cocker yelled out a primal scream that sounded more bestial than human.

The fight raged on, thrusts and parries coming frequently. The red-haired man jumped back from the action and tried to spin his dong around for a side swipe. The dark-haired cocker saw this used his arm as a shield. The sound of an arm bone snapping echoed into the sky.

“You Goddamn cockblocker!” shouted the red-haired man.

The dark-haired man winced for only a moment before recovering. “Try that again and you’ll be back to having just two legs,” he said.

The red-haired devil of a man came charging, yelling profanities as he went. The dark-haired cockmaster jumped into the air, far higher than a normal human should be able to, and landed his mighty weapon on the red-haired assailant’s shoulder, splitting it open.

The red-haired cocker fell down, splayed against the rooftop like a rag doll on top of a broom.
The dark-haired cocker made a motion as if he were going to turn his back to the red-haired man, but didn’t. Turning your back on an opponent is a really stupid thing for a hero to do. He went towards the fallen man and stabbed him in the face with his meat sword. The large metallic dong went right through the man’s head exiting out the other side.

“I guess you could say… you’re a dickhead.” said the dark-haired champion. He looked around as if wanting to have an audience for that quip.

I wanted him to get the laugh he deserved SO BAD.

I was nervous now. If I didn’t do anything soon the man would likely run off; I highly doubt he wanted to explain a dead man on the roof top with a penis the size of a python.

The man tensed up and looked like he was concentrating extremely hard, then I noticed that his weapon was shrinking! It slithered back into his pants, normal sized. The man pulled a small shiny patch out of his pants pocket and put it in the crotch area, covering the large hole that had been there during the fight.

He smiled.

Then he slipped on a banana peel and cracked his skull.

“Nooooooooo!” I cried, I don’t know why.

I ran over to the man who was now breathing heavily. “Who… are… what are…” said the man in gasps.

“I’m Jesse,” I said. I took off my jacket and placed it under the man’s head. “You’re going to be okay,” I told him. But he wasn’t, I could see blood pouring out of his wound.

“I’m dying,” he said.

“Yeah, sucks to be you,” I said. I realized I can really be an asshole at times. The man didn’t seem to care, he laughed instead. He tried to lean up to see me better but his head fell back after a few seconds of effort.

“I… I…” he sputtered. “That man I killed, he was part of an evil clan of cockfighters.”

“Cockfighters?”

“Yes, that is what we are called. What other name would you give to guys who fight with their schlongs?”

“I don’t know,” I said. I thought hard for a moment. “Dick fencers? Dongbatants?”

The man sighed.

“Never mind that. I’m dying and I need your help.”

“What could I possibly do to help?”

“You must take my power and use it for good”

Thoughts started flooding into my mind like sperm into a pornstar’s face. Take his power? Would that mean I would have a mighty long dong? I liked the idea, but then there was all the talk about fighting evil cockfighters.

This was one of the images that flooded my mind. I don't know why.

“I can’t,” I said at last.

“You must, otherwise the world will be destroyed.”

“Oh sure, I don’t do this and the whole world gets destroyed. You’re the one who tripped on a damn banana peel.”

“I know, I, Falush Bonerty, have failed. My dishonor is complete. But there is still hope. Take my power and my apartment.”

“Apartment!” I replied. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” (I was really sick of living with my parents.)

“What do I have to do?” I asked.

Falush grunted and reached for his crotch plate, removing it. His normal sized dong sprang out and almost touched me. I jumped back.

Falush squeezed his eyes and concentrated hard and the normal dong turned into the mighty meat sword once again. This time it did hit me and knocked me on top of Falush.

(If you’ve ever been dying and had a 200 pound man-child fall on you I can assure you it’s not fun, because that’s what Falush told me immediately after I got off him.)

“Now I must invoke the spirits of manhood.” said Falush, straining with each word.

“What do I do?” I asked again.

“You must suckle the weapon.”

I threw up on Falush, which he also did not like.

“I was joking, you dumbass,” he said. “Just hold my hand and repeat after me.”

I grabbed his hand. He started to chant.

“Sacktu Ballsada Dickto.”

I repeated the words with him. He kept saying them, and although his voice was weakening, the words seemed to grow stronger. In a swift movement, Falush took my hand and placed it on his junk. He screamed out “SACKTU BALLSADA DICKTO ERECTORALI!” and his hand and his sword went limp.

The power flowing through my junk at that moment was indescribable.

I felt a surge of power running through my veins. My groin started to hurt as if something was crushing my manliness. I realized I was growing, down there, in my penile area.

I struggled to pry off my jeans (Goddamn button fly.) My pants fell down to my ankles. A mighty meat serpent coiled around my leg. It went from a peachy pink to a shiny gray.

I felt like a man with a cannon between his legs. Nothing was going to stop me. I gazed at my mighty cock sword for 2 hours. It got very cold up on the rooftop and my manhood began to shrivel.

“Shit, shrinkage,” I thought to myself. I wanted to preserve this moment but it was going away. I threw my jeans atop my bulge trying to keep it warm, but it was no use. After a minute I was back to normal (well, normal for me.) It got the job done is what I’m saying.

I felt a tingling sensation in my hand, the hand, I realized, that had held onto Falush’s dong. I looked at my hand and it was burning. Steam rose from it and I swished it away with my other hand. There were tiny words on my hand, as if they had been burned in with silver. I didn’t know then but know now that Farush had used dongscription to write some final instructions on my hand. It was a list.

It read:
1) Apartment: 4004 Wellingston Apt 503

2) Password: ferretfarts89

3) Stay aroused.

4) Don’t tell anyone your secret.

5) (Unless it’s for sexual conquest.)

6) Choose a name.

…and that was all that was written.

The apartment was on the other side of town, I wouldn’t be able to make it there on this night. But I wanted to pick my name right away. I rubbed my balls for a while, thinking of various names with puns and dozens of different ways to say penis.

Then it came to me and slapped me like a $20 transsexual hooker (see Chapter 3 for an explanation!)

I stood on the edge and thought of Lindsay Lohan, not skinny, drug addict Lindsay, but big boobed barely legal Lindsay.

The surge in my loins warmed up my body and I sprang to life, larger than life really. I opened my mouth and shouted

“I AM IRONCOCK MCLONGSHAFT!”

Then I went home and looked at porn.

"You passionate lovers are in for it once the Internet tells me what to do about your shenanigans!"

As so often happens with threads like this, most of the responses either consisted of unfunny people trying to take the original poster seriously, and funny people taking the piss out of those people and the original poster. Then ominousoat (Micheal’s handle on the forums,) said this, which got my motor running (the motor in my brain, not the one in my pants*. Micheal’s the crazy pervert, not me:)

*Why yes, my junks are gas-powered.

“Yes, but if I don’t defend boning, who will?”

Googling "boning" turns up the expected gamut of porn and fish mutilation, but I also found this guy, whose name is actually "Duane S. Boning." He seems like he's got it together; I don't think he needs defending.

A lesser man might have let this go, but I am very large and thus was instantly inspired. I recall thinking to myself: “Hm, Micheal’s doing a pretty good job of making himself look like a sex-obsessed maniac… but I can probably one-up him.”

And so it was that I wrote and published the following chatlog. It’s important to remember that even though the entirety of what you are about to read is completely fictional, this is still a fairly accurate approximation of what it’s like to associate with Micheal Rader.

———————————————————————————————————

Oh Christ, not this again.

Dude, I get that everyone has their pet cause, but it’s really annoying when you make every conversation about boning.  Do you not remember the conversation we had about it online the other day?

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: hey dude

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: you got a sec?

OatLuvs8008135 says: JUST A MINUTE FINISHING SOMETHING UP

OatLuvs8008135 says: whoops capslock lol

OatLuvs8008135 says: but yeah no seriously I’m just having some pretty wild sex with a lady right now

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: again?

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: oat, this is the third damn time I’ve tried to talk to you about important shit and you’ve been too busy fucking to care

OatLuvs8008135 says: whoa, chill out

OatLuvs8008135 says: I can do both at once probably

OatLuvs8008135 says: hang on, I’ll ask her if she can hold the laptop

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: um, no

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: that’s alright, I’ll wait

OatLuvs8008135 says: cool, peace

OatLuvs8008135 is now known as OatIsHavingSex

OatIsHavingSex is now Away (Message: “Sorry, but all this sex I’m having has gotta come first, lol”)

OatIsHavingSex is now known as OatSexPlease

OatSexPlease is now back from being Away

OatSexPlease says: okay what’s the haps

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: wtf I thought you said you were almost done

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: I had time to watch last night’s Lost

OatSexPlease says: was it a good one?

OatSexPlease says: did they have sex in it?

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: I guess there was a little sex

OatSexPlease says: I KNEW IT

OatSexPlease says: I like sex

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: yeah um that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: the article you just sent me is kind of weird

OatSexPlease says: you mean “80 Words I Can Type With My Penis”?

OatSexPlease says: what’s wrong with it?

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: well for one thing I thought we agreed that you were writing about “The 7 Burliest Lumberjacks”

OatSexPlease says: oh yeah well Prometheus thought that topic blew

OatSexPlease says: so we had a little brainstorming session and it all just kind of ‘came’ together

OatSexPlease says: lol

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: Prometheus?

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: oat, please tell me that’s not your dick’s name

OatSexPlease says: what?

OatSexPlease says: he brings the heat

OatSexPlease says: he’s got a big heart and a poet’s soul

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: so you’re telling me that you just smacked your cock against a keyboard eighty times and sent me what came out

OatSexPlease says: only seventy times actually

OatSexPlease says: I had to bring in Wilbur and Orville for a consult on the last ten

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: oat

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: oat, why on earth would you name your testicles after the Wright brothers

OatSexPlease says: they’re very lively

OatSexPlease says: all they want to do is fly

OatSexPlease says: that reminds me, we gotta wrap this up

OatSexPlease says: Prometheus and the fathers of powered flight have got some surly bonds to slip, if you get my drift

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: oat I think you’ve got a problem

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: maybe you should take a break from sex

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: like, just for an afternoon

OatSexPlease says: man fuck you

OatSexPlease says: you’re not my mom what you do care

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: you just sent me an article that you wrote by humping your keyboard for five minutes, I’d say that’s pretty serious

OatSexPlease says: I’ll have you know that that didn’t take nearly five minutes

OatSexPlease says: shows what you know

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: listen oat just get some help

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: I’m begging you

OatSexPlease says: oh yeah speaking of sex

Shenanigans4Lyfe says: what

OatSexPlease says: gotta motor

OatSexPlease says: (boat)

OatSexPlease says: lol

OatSexPlease has Quit (Message: “My dick’s got a table at Chez Vagina and he’d hate to miss his reservation.  Later Hater.”)

———————————————————————————————————

I should emphasize that this wasn’t the end of my fictional-chatlog-creation days. A little while later in the thread, the talk turned to a possible excursion for that meatiest of loafs, meatloaf. Obviously, my fictional self was determined to try and break fictional Micheal out of his self-destructive downward spiral:

——————————————————————————————————–

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: hey oat

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: buddy

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: some of us are going out to get some meatloaf, how ’bout you come with?

OatFuriousDickings says: sure that

OatFuriousDickings says: sounds like

OatFuriousDickings says: a good plan

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: oat, why are you talking weird

OatFuriousDickings says: got my leg stuck

OatFuriousDickings says: in a sex swing

OatFuriousDickings says: can only reach

OatFuriousDickings says: the keyboard by swing

OatFuriousDickings says: ing back and forth

OatFuriousDickings says: alright, grabbed the desk, we’re good

OatFuriousDickings says: that was a lousy six hours

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: um

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: do you want me to come get you down

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: oat are you still there

OatFuriousDickings says: sorry typing with one hand

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: oh, right

OatFuriousDickings says: not that that’s much different from how I usually do it

OatFuriousDickings says: lol

OatFuriousDickings says: but yeah my vision is getting pretty spotty and I swear I can hear the lamentations of dead relatives

OatFuriousDickings says: it’s killing my boner lol

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: oat, I would consider it a personal favor to me if you didn’t have a boner when I came over to cut you down from your sex swing

OatFuriousDickings says: no promises

OatFuriousDickings says: no regrets

ShenanigansInDaHowse says: whatever, I’m coming over now

ShenanigansInDaHowse has Quit (Message: “Don’t die, because then we can’t go for meatloaf.”)

OatFuriousDickings says: yay

OatFuriousDickings says: meatloaf

*Why yes, my junks are gas-powered.

"Oh look, TLG updated. I guess I owe Todd in HR a dollar."

(I’m not going to link to the thread that today’s bit comes from, not because it was an especially terrible thread or anything, but just because it’s in a restricted area of the boards and a good part of you wouldn’t be able to see it anyway.)

So in the Cracked Writer’s Lounge, someone had started a thread asking about the pay scale for writing articles. It was kind of a dumb question, since the answer is plastered all over about eight different places (the answer is fifty dollars, no matter what. In case you were curious.) However, it led to someone else making the joke that they had thought that we were paid by the dick joke, which served as my inspiration for the coming three-hundred-and-fifty-word travesty.

"Wait, he just mentioned dicks! I LOVE dicks!"

There really isn’t a funny story to go along with today’s update. I just remember being in kind of a dumb, over-caffeinated mood and wanting to see just how many times I could use the word “dick” in a single post. Some TLG readers may be shocked to learn the answer: a whole bunch.

Now, with the preamble out of the way, let’s wait no longer before stumbling headlong into my explanation of the majesty that is Cracked’s approach to a dick-joke-based economy. For your enhanced pleasure, I have modified the original post in order to highlight every single reference I make to the male genitalia. Enjoy!

RANDOM FORUM USER: “Wait, I thought we were paid by the dick joke.”

That’s how it used to be in the old days when Cracked was the only place on the internet to find penis jests. But pretty soon that shit went mainstream and we entered the period of time most commonly known as the Dick Boom. No matter where you looked, there were people giggling about cocks; anonymous sources telling the Drudge Report that George Bush had eighteen ballsacks, people buying face-penises for their avatars on GaiaOnline. 4Chan was so inundated with dick jokes that simply typing in the web address caused your monitor to turn into an actual severed penis. It was bad, but it didn’t get really bad until people started trading dick jokes on-margin. Do you know what happened then?

The price of dick jokes plummeted overnight to a rate of 400 dicks to the titter.

Sorry, fellah. That last sentence isn't nearly as filthy as it sounds. We're talking economics, not bukkakenomics.

Panicked dickvestors rushed the dick-banks to make mass dick-withdrawls, causing the banks to exhaust their dick supply in less than four hours. Millions went dickless, jokeless. Wailing filled the internet, and sorrow reigned. The Dick Bubble had burst.

Luckily, while frenzied investing was ruining the American dickonomy, David Wong had predicted the dick market crash and began exploring dick futures overseas. He managed to convince a consortium of wealthy Greek aristocrats not only that Cracked-flavor dick jokes had value as exotic tourist attractions, but that he would also personally guarantee a minimum of fourteen such dick jokes in ever Cracked article from thereon. A rate of fourteen thousand drachmas to the dick joke was agreed upon, and thus when dickvestors were losing their shirts the country over, only Cracked.com managed to stay afloat. Thanks to Wong’s guidance, Cracked was once again free to bring the magic of laughing at cocks to a new generation of internet users.

(David Wong would later realize that he didn’t know the drachma-to-dollar exchange rate, and decided that it probably worked out to about fifty dollars an article because “You know, what the hell.”)

Cracked: The Purest Dicks, Into The Future

I’ll do my best to provide context and background, and also correct some of my more glaring mistakes of formatting and punctuation. Oh, and if this whole business seems uncharacteristically lazy and narcissistic, then you obviously haven’t seen my Twitter account.

Let me put it this way: Dane Cook LOVES my Twitter.

Okay, today’s forum bit was inspired by 5 Ways To Stop Trolls From Killing The Internet, an article by Cracked editor David Wong, and was posted in the discussion thread on the forums. It’s a script of an idyllic little father-and-son scene that will play out in the not-too-distant future, after the Internet has been legislated to death.

This script contains a lot more ridiculous scene-setting than I generally trouble myself to do in comedic scripts (I find characters and what they’re doing much more interesting than where they are. This is a bad habit, and seeing how well this script turned out makes me think I should really break out of that rut.) I inserted this ludicrous imagery because I had recently been reading through the archives of Anthony Clark’s site, Nedroid. For those of you not in the know, Clark is an inexhaustible fountain of riotous whimsy, and this was my attempt at aping his staggering imagination.

In addition to being very funny, Clark is an amazing artist. He also recently started doing the colors for Dr. McNinja, so you should really go check him out.

This script is also something of a record-holder in how fast I turned it out. All 500 words of it were written between 10:00 and 10:30 on the morning of November 11th, 2008. November 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada, and I was meeting my sister to attend the Remembrance Day ceremony at 11:00. Remembrance Day is sort of a big deal in my family, and neither my sister nor I have ever missed a ceremony, so I wasn’t about to bail because I was too busy making dick jokes on a comedy forum. However, I also knew that the images in my head wouldn’t survive the ceremony’s proceedings (paying respect to our nation’s fallen being something of a somber business, you understand.) Thus, the finished product suffered somewhat in terms of formatting (I normally agonize over every bracket, space, and italicization,) though you will be enthused to note that I have cleaned the errors up for this occasion.

So, with no further masturbatory rambling, I present to you: THE FUTURE!

Ooh! Aah!

The scene: a quaint suburban backyard. Father is on the deck in some comical apron, barbecuing all-American meat products. A robot drifts casually by, as though this sort of thing were completely unremarkable in the near future.

Suddenly, the virtual holo-door performs its opening animation and through dashes Junior, looking cute as a button and wearing impractical future-clothing.

Father: (Seeing his offspring approach, he lets go of his tongs. They continue to flip bratwurst independently of foreign impetus, looking totally rad.) Junior! I didn’t expect you home from E-School so early!

Junior: Father, you know that we get half the day off for the remembrance of the LoLocaust! You know, the day all those years ago when all those brave lawmakers gave their lives to scour the Internet of trolls?

Father: Ha ha! I remember, now that you’ve reminded me! Of course, in my day-

Junior: (Wearily cutting him off.) -in your day, you called it Christmas. I know, Father. You’ve told me before.

Father: (Embarrassed.) Yes, of course.

They stare off into space for several seconds. In the distance, three more robots float by, followed closely by a dinosaur.

Junior: (Obviously anxious to break the silence.) Father, I stumbled across something queer during my mandatory government-ordered three hours of browsing Wikipedia.

Father: Oh? And what did you find in the single largest and most trusted repository of human knowledge?

Junior: I’m not quite sure what to make of it. (He pauses. His voice quivers with uncertainty.) I was looking at the memes, you see. They all seemed rather foolish, but then I came upon what I thought must have been an error.

Father: (Leaping back with a start.) An error in the infallible Wikipedia!?

Junior: I could scarcely believe it myself, Father! The article was entitled “Milhouse” and the body consisted entirely of “Milhouse is not a meme.” It confused me ever so greatly, Father.

Father regains his composure and chuckles easily to himself upon hearing the source of his boy’s consternation. He walks over to and sits down in a deck chair, which morphs into a Lay-Z-Boy-brand recliner at the push of a button. Neither father nor son appear to regard this as remarkable, which is stupid, because it is. Father beckons to Junior to sit on his lap. Junior obeys.

Father: (Picking his words carefully.) You didn’t find any error, my boy.

Junior: But Father -!

Father shushes Junior.

Father: You didn’t find any error, but what you did find was one of the strangest artifacts of the wild days of the Internet.

Junior is rapt.

Father: You see, Junior… (He pauses, savoring the melodrama.) “Milhouse is not a meme” is, in fact, a meme.

Junior ponders this for a very long time. He scratches his head and furrows his brow. While he thinks, Father again stares into the distance, where the dinosaur can now be seen to be wearing rocket-powered rollerblades and sunglasses. Finally, Junior speaks.

Junior: That’s… stupid.

Father nods sagely.

Father: Yes, my son. (A single tear rolls down his cheek.) Yes, it was.

Fini

Michael Scofield is the brains of the operation on Prison Break, which may not be saying much considering he’s been in prison, escaped, caught, thrown back in prison, escaped, caught, and put under house arrest and forced to work for the government under threat of, you guessed it, being tossed back in prison. He’s a smart guy, sure, if by smart you mean totally retarded but really smarmy about it. And he really sucks at this whole “freedom” thing.

"Jailed again, excellent! The escape continues according to plan."

I would totally own him in a fight. Scofield carries himself with a sense of smugness and superiority that would have to be a hindrance in a brawl, and I’d like to see how smarmy he is with my foot up his ass. He’d be plotting wildly for how to use physics or whatever scientific garbage to his advantage, but MacGyver he is not, and he’d waste those precious few seconds before his face was met and pummeled by my Irish fists of fury calculating how to spring a perfectly concocted scheme that requires everything to break just so.

This time, Scofield, the only thing that’s going to break is your face. Booyah.

4. Peter Bishop (Fringe)

As the brilliant and mysterious Peter Bishop on Fringe, the artist formerly known as Pacey gets to walk around solving mysteries Scooby-Doo style while brooding half the time and showcasing his butter knife sharp wit the rest. In a battle of smugness, he’d likely topple even our old friend Michael Scofield. Plus, he’s got the added bonus of having more range than just playing the guy who squints and scowls and talks at just above a whisper. Sorry, Scofield.

Okay, I'm not really sorry. Look at him!

But let’s move on from our old Prison Break pal and focus on Peter Bishop, the son of an eccentric jailbird scientist who helps the government track down the culprits behind some really fucked up shit. Kind of like Mulder, only with less street cred.

I’d own him. There’s not even a question, is there? I mean, come on. This is Joshua Jackson we’re talking about. The little Mighty Duck would suffer the mighty wrath of my mighty overhand right to the forehead, followed by my own version of the flying V, which is really just code for a flying jump kick that deserves a fancy and ironic name, that would send him splashing down in Dawson’s Creek. And then I’d lay waste to James Van Der Forehead, just for good measure.

3. Jack Shephard (Lost)

We move now from smug and brilliant to selfless and brilliant, with a hearty helping of self-destructive mixed in. Jack, the de facto leader on Lost before he miraculously escaped and grew a bitchin’ beard and became a full blown alcoholic, is a good if tortured man who likes to make speeches and not put any moves on his excessively hot fellow castaway Kate, who anyone can tell totally wants it.

He’s a reluctant savior, rushing headlong into situations without always thinking them through and making rash decisions, which seems odd given that he’s a spinal surgeon who, one would think, is prone to things like “logic” and “grace under pressure.” But oh no, not Jack.

"I sprinted into the ocean for reasons I can no longer remember. Now I am wet and cold."

And that’s the primary reason I’d open a can on his scruffy-looking nerfherder ass. It seems like it’d be easy to trick ol’ Jack into a nice solid clothesline. I could just wait behind a door, yell out that Kate is in trouble, and right on cue Jack would come rushing in without trying to actually come up with one of those pesky “plans” that people are so high on. When he comes charging through, I’d just stick out an arm or a leg and watch the good doctor go sailing, and proceed to work him over to the point where, ironically, he’d need a doctor himself. He’d probably get stuck with someone like Hurley trying to take care of him. Hilarity would ensue.

I know better than to try fucking with Hurley, though. He's more nimble than he looks.

2. Peter Petrelli (Heroes)

When he’s got his powers, sure, Peter Petrelli is one bad dude. Not unlike the old school arcade game, similarly titled Bad Dudes. Did you ever play it? Totally boss. But with or without his powers, there’s one thing Peter Petrelli can’t overcome: he’s a total bitch. And a retard. And he’s too busy moping around and being emo to really be an effective hero. He’s basically a rebitchemotard*. It’s like his kryptonite, really.

"I find your lack of faith... disturbing."

Whether it’s getting owned by Sylar or Adam Monroe or having his powers sucked away by his father; getting manipulated by his mom or, well, basically falling for any scheme anyone ever throws at him, Peter Petrelli basically sucks at life.

For a guy with seemingly unlimited power, he really doesn’t know how to use them, or when. And when I locked horns with the little momma’s boy, I’d just say something that got him to unleash his power of being super emo. And it’d be way easy, too, because pretty much anything can drive an emo person to super emo status. Seriously, insult them and it feeds right into their mopey gayness. Compliment them – and rest assured they hate being complimented – and it will double the normal rate of descent into angst territory because 1) a compliment makes people happy, and emos hate being happy, therefore the compliment would make them super sad about being happy, and 2) the fact that they hate being happy in and of itself works, because hate leads to anger, anger leads to suffering, and you best believe that Yoda ain’t clownin’.

"Terrible, your poetry is."

And then I’d proceed to take him down while he was busy weeping and crying and spouting various forms of “woe is me.” On the bright side, getting his ass whupped would probably only fuel his emo-ness, giving him one more thing to brood about. Other than looking and acting like a little girl, that is.

*Don’t worry, I’ve already contacted the people at Webster’s about getting this added to the dictionary. I was supposed to e-mail Emmanuel Lewis for that, right?

1. Jack Bauer (24)

No, just kidding. Jack, I said I was just kidding! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it! Jack! Jack! No, please, Jack! JAAA–!

"Ok! Ok! Lost Boys was the greatest movie ever!"

But wait! I hear you saying: “How am I going to attain success, women, and job security when I have been effectively crippled by years of sedentary existence? I have spent so many hours re-posting memes on 4Chan that my muscles have atrophied to the point where I can no longer convey myself around my grandmother’s basement under my own power! It has been some days since she last came down to check on me or bring me food, and I fear that she has either moved without telling me or passed away. I sit here in front of my monitor, unable to act, unable to stand, unable to remove myself from the ever-growing pile of my own waste, idly wondering whether I shall die first from starvation or suffocation. How will your handy Primer help me?”

Well, to you I reply: “My Primer is only for the living, or more specifically, those living still able to stand upright under their immense girth. Please search for a handier Primer than this one.”

But to the rest of you I say: “Read on! You have nothing to lose but your chains, and maybe also a few pounds, fatty.”

Getting Your Head In The Game – Harnessing Your Powers of “First” Posting

I’m not going to sugar-coat it for you, brave denizen of the Web: it’s a tough job market out there. Friends backstabbing friends! Co-workers ripping off co-workers! Dogs eating dogs, and dogs don’t even have jobs! You’re going to need every scrap of every second just to get ahead.

Why, things are even tight in the Primer-writing business! You see, I had a friend in my old office. His name was Jimmy Chan, and he was an Asian. We worked together on many a Primer, and I thought that Jimmy Chan was my friend, but I thought wrong. Late one night, when Jimmy Chan and I were finishing up one particularly long Primer about fish or something, I felt a surge of brotherly affection for Jimmy Chan and decided to share something with him that I had never shared with anyone before.

“Jimmy Chan,” I said, “because I respect you, I want to show you a secret project of mine. It is almost complete, and first thing tomorrow I will be bringing it to our manager.”

“What is it, my friend?” asked Jimmy Chan, bowing or something.

I took a deep breath and showed him my laptop screen. “This, Jimmy Chan, is possibly the most important Primer ever written by mortal men.” I was quivering with excitement. “Primer-writers will speak my name in deep reverence, and powerful men will invite me eagerly into their ranks. Jimmy Chan, this… is the Primer for writing Primers!”

At this, Jimmy Chan’s eyes widened. I think I started to cry, I can’t remember, but I was so happy just to have revealed my magnum opus to another human being, after nights of torturous Priming. I went home in such a tizzy that I forgot my laptop at work, which was where Jimmy Chan put his devious plan into motion.

The next morning, I rushed to work early, not wanting to spare myself a single moment of my manager’s adoration. The sight that greeted me upon entering the office chilled my blood – Jimmy Chan, walking out of my manager’s office, holding my laptop. My manager was shaking hands with Jimmy Chan, as if to say “Good work, Jimmy Chan. Good work on the Primer that I have no doubt you created with your Asian hands. Good work, much better work than your lazy co-worker who has only just entered the office.”

Things get a little bit foggy after that. I remember rushing Jimmy Chan and knocking him down, and I suppose I may have struck him once or twice. I don’t remember the racial slurs the half-dozen witnesses claimed that I used, and I certainly don’t remember pointing out that Jimmy Chan had “huge, deceitful teeth.” I sort of blacked out around the point that witnesses claim I leapt up in search of a blunt object to “finish the job with.” Needless to say, due to Jimmy Chan’s treachery, that was the last Primer I wrote for that company.

How does all this relate to you and your surely-impeccable “First” posting skills? Well, to be honest, I got a little preoccupied with Jimmy Chan and forgot exactly what my point was. I suppose the mental alacrity requisite to attaining the first post on any online item that allows comments might give you an edge in outsmarting wily Asians, as I should have done in my anecdote. Or perhaps your keen senses of observation would have allowed you to deduce that Jimmy Chan had merely been holding on to my laptop for safekeeping, and was shaking hands with my manager because his Asian wife had just given birth to Jimmy Chan Junior.

Anyhow, I’m a little emotional right now, and I think I need a little bit of time alone to collect my thoughts on how best to continue this Primer. Check back tomorrow for the second installment!

These, and many more, are the names attributed to my junks. Once upon a time, my crotch rocket commanded not only the love and adoration of the people, but also the grudging respect of many elected officials. There were many who spoke in breathless whispers of my genitalia’s logic-defying, world-rocking abilities, and many more who pined after the merest glimpse of my man machine.

However, as with all of my sweaty, multi-partner fuck sessions, the good times have come to an end. Several testimonies delivered by chesty broads whose worlds I may or may not have rocked have come forward, saying that I allegedly blew their minds so hard they needed several surgeries and months of physical therapy to function normally again. Accounts of repeated aggravated property damage caused by my robust lovemaking have surfaced, and even the Surgeon General of the United States has issued a statement likening close encounters with my phallus to ‘a series of tactical missles delivered straight up the vagina’. As might be imagined, I and my schlong were stung by these allegations.

Well, me and my l’il Apache Chieftan have come to set the record straight. That’s right, I’m sitting down to an exclusive one-on-one interview with none other than that international superstar, MY PENIS!

(Applause, cheers)

MY PENIS: Thanks, Malcolm.

MALCOLM: My pleasure, My Penis. So tell me your reaction to the media firestorm regarding the damages allegedly caused by your irresponsible lady-taming.

 MY PENIS: First off, Malcolm, let me just say that I have nothng but the deepest respect for the chesty broad community, and sincerely regret that my incredibly diverse pursuits of satisfaction within that community may have been interpreted as malicious.

MALCOLM: That’s fair.

MY PENIS: Thank you. Secondly, I put it forward that these attacks have been orchestrated by some malignant third party, bent on destroying friendly relations between myself and the chesty broads, who I cherish so sincerely.

MALCOLM: You mean, someone motivated by pure jealousy of your ludicrous sucesses inside the vagina.

MY PENIS: I couldn’t have said it better myself. To that end, I am offering a substantial reward for the live capture of this third party, whoever and wherever they may be.

MALCOLM: That’s right, folks. You heard it here first, My Penis is offering not one, not three, not five, but TEN rock-and-rolling below-the-belt encounters. Why don’t you tell us a little about them, My Penis?

MY PENIS: Malcolm, all I’m going to say is that if you aren’t delirious, weak in the knees, and babbling in tongues by the end of Encounter Number Four, then you’re likely paralyzed below the waist.

MALCOLM: Are there any restrictions to this phenomenal payout?

MY PENIS: As you know, I typically reserve my services to broads of the chesty variety.

MALCOLM: Who could forget?

MY PENIS: Given the urgency of the current situation, I am lifting this ban and extending the olive branch to broads of all denominations, provided they don’t have disfiguring skin conditions!

MALCOLM: Wow!

MY PENIS: You said it, Malcolm, and you’ll be saying ‘Wow’ too if you’re the lucky little filly who clears this whole nasty business up, allowing us to get down to some nasty business of our own.

MALCOLM: Thanks again for joining us, My Penis. Always great to have you.

MY PENIS: It was a pleasure. So was your girlfriend.

MALCOLM: Ha ha! She sure was!

So there you have it. Lines heading directly to my trouser trunk are now open, and standing by, waiting for your salacious theories. My Penis is also welcoming all fan mail through these channels, though he is asking that they are kept below two pages.

Hope I’ll be hearing from all of you soon!