Nine straight months of radio silence! That’s pretty impressive, assuming you’re the type of person who is impressed by Dickensian levels of neglect.

Yes, like it says in the title, shit is getting red-hot awful soon. The end of my schooling is drawing tantalizingly near, which means that my priorities once more place writing stuff for the internet at the top of the heap!

So stay tuned – Jeff, Jay, Michael, and myself are going to be tearing it up on this comedy dance floor, just you wait.

Until then, why not check out this absolutely fucking incredible music produced by Alijah Ladd, a young fellow in my game design class? He deserves the attention!

I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know a lot about webcomics. I know what they are, of course, and I know that in many cases they revolve around misunderstandings that result in dark and often grotesque shenanigans. You know, sort of like your average episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. On crack. Dirty, tainted, acid laced crack.

So that’s basically where we stand on the whole webcomic issue. I will admit, I’ve thought about doing my own webcomic, because back in the day I enjoyed cartooning and I try on occasion to be somewhat humorous. Plus, I just feel like there are oodles of visual jokes that can be made about woodchucks chucking wood. Seriously, oodles.

Right around the time I was considering doing my own webcomic, Malcolm shot me an e-mail that consisted of, for the first time since I began writing for The Last Gaffe, an actual assignment.

“John,” the e-mail began, as Malcolm clearly seemed to have forgotten my name:

Leave it up to Malcolm to send an e-mail on parchment paper, right?

Despite the fact that he called me by two wrong names and seemed a little too fascinated by the fact that concoct sort of sounds like a slang word for penis, I thought it was a worthy endeavor, and something of particular interest due to the whole me wanting to do a webcomic thing. It was serendipity, only without John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale and with actual humor.

And then it happened. I began looking up some webcomics, and I realized, to my horror, that Malcolm was indeed a heartless, soulless, possibly sexless bastard. Ladies and gentlemen, I learned what many of you already know. Amateur webcomics fucking suck.

Now, I don’t want to rag on people who are trying to be creative and putting it out there for the world to see. That takes guts, and I certainly appreciate that. Hell, it’s no different than what I’m doing right now, or what I was doing the other day when I was wagging my genitals in the front window of my house. I’m just putting it out there for the world to see, and hoping they enjoy it.

But apparently, there are some things that should just never, ever be put out there for the world to see, like another High School Musical movie, or more importantly for the sake of this article, some truly horrific webcomics.

Take this one, for instance:

Animals In The Workplace

EDITOR’S NOTE: In the three or four weeks since Jeff sent me this article, the comic in question has vanished from the very face of the internet, rendering it impossible to grab any example strips. Since it would be remiss of me to have an article on webcomics without any sort of visual aid, I’ve whipped up a facsimile of the strip Jeff’s discussing, taking great pains to preserve the flavor of the original.

They are animals, in a workplace.

The title isn’t lying, it really is about two animals dressed up in ties and, presumably, in the workplace. Of course we never see them doing any actual work, so it’s amazing that they haven’t been fired yet. Perhaps their boss is too terrified of the fact that he’s employing animals that can speak and make bad jokes.

In the comic above, we seem to have one animal, which I guess is a cat, asking about life on other planets. Terrible grammar aside, it’s a decent enough set up for a joke, I suppose. He’s there asking what I guess is a monkey if he has thought about life “out there.” When the monkey says no, the cat just seems confused.

For some reason, he’s under the assumption that the monkey would be curious about life on other planets. I don’t know why, though, it’s not really explained. Are monkeys from space? Does he really like X-Files? Was this monkey the one who went up in the space shuttle? It’s never explained. And neither is the joke. I sat there looking at this thing, thinking perhaps after the first panel, we may have an actual joke. But apparently, the point of the comic is that you… shouldn’t make assumptions about monkeys’ interest in space? Yes, let’s go with that.

Lakitu

Lakitu seems to be someone’s attempt to create a comic strip based around the creatures always trying to get that rascally Super Mario. In concept, it’s not a bad idea really. A lot of humor could be gotten from the hapless underlings of Bowser as they fumble around and fuck up every chance to stop a fat Italian plumber from ruining their boss’s day. Unfortunately, we’re left with some dude mistakenly thinking he’s spotted Mario, and some other dude who reiterates to himself that there is, in fact, a bridge. Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.

Dragon Ballz

I immediately regretted this decision. I should warn you, if you click on that link you’ll see a badly drawn penis. I’m just throwing that out there right now to save you from what I had to see for the sake of this article.

I’m still not sure what the hell was going on in this comic. Apparently, it’s about some dude named “Rabbits” who comes to earth looking for the titular Dragon Ballz. Apparently, these Dragon Ballz will make him a true man. From the looks of him, I’m thinking “Dragon Ballz” is code for “penis enlargement.” And if you’re like me, by the time you get to that last panel you’ll be wishing the author had named the comic “Dragon Pantz.”

And at that point, I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t go on, looking from one horrifying webcomic to the next. What would my innocent eyes be forced to look upon next? Donkey Kong joining those crazy kids from Latiku and swapping stories about the time they almost had Mario? Pikachu fucking a horse? More horribly executed jokes than a Carlos Mencia stand up routine?

But for the sake of this article, I decided to look at just one more. Maybe by happy mistake I’d click on one redeeming webcomic, which would give me hope that maybe, just maybe, all hope was not lost, and that I might not be completely dissuaded from making my own foray into what, up to this point, had struck me as an awful, awful place. Surely, there would be one comic that might restore my faith in humanity, right?

Numa Numa

Apparently not.

This past Christmas, my son received a Star Wars branded fishing pole from a relative. It was literally a small child-sized fishing pole with Darth Vader on the reel and R2D2 on a disk at the end of the line. It made no sense whatsoever. Even I, one who had never seen the trilogy before had a hunch that there was little to no fishing involved. Unless I was about to stumble upon a touching reconciliation-themed fishing trip between evil dark overlord and son, I’m pretty sure someone would have mentioned a desire to toss a line over the hull of the Millennium Falcon on their bucket list. But, as baffling as that toy is, I really dig it. The kids rarely pay attention to it, preferring instead the far more logical Spongebob fishing pole. That leaves me to absent-mindedly flick it across the room while sitting at the computer. I think it’s because the pole and I are a kindred spirit of sorts.

If you take the entire genre of science fiction out of the Nerd Equation, my geek pedigree is as pure and true as toothless and sickly British royalty. I was in the marching band (brass playas, holla), I was an organizer of the high school Renaissance Fair, I played weekly D&D games, and I followed Kevin Smith movie with a zeal that would rival the most pasty of virgins. Science fiction was just something I never got into. So ignorant I was of even the most basic of references, I sometimes felt like a branding mistake. No matter how thick my black-rimmed glasses were, my knowledge was as relevant as a Star Wars fishing pole.

This might soon change. I actually really dug The Empire Strikes Back. So much so that I had to stop myself from reaching for the next installment less this article be soiled by too much knowledge. But lets get the surprises out of the way first:

* I was expecting more action.

* I was expecting Billy Dee Williams to be an active rebel who turns out to be an Imperial spy.

* I was expecting Han’s “I know” to be a completely different tone.

* I was expecting Luke’s hand to stay off.

The Empire Strikes Back was about a thousand times better than A New Hope. Both the actors and the characters were more mature and more interesting to watch. Instead of a whiny teenager, Luke’s now a petulant young man and a cross between impatience and hubris. Which sounds unpleasant, but is actually refreshing in its realism. Darth Vader’s vulnerability is more apparent, but I’m not sure if they hinted at this in the first one since I was slightly drunk. And although Han and Leah’s Sam and Diane shtick was overplayed, annoying, and retardedly dialogued, it mercifully stopped when Billy Dee’s smoooooothness came into the picture. Smooth.

Plus, there was the added bonus of finally getting pathetically specific references!

"HNNNNNNNNNN"

"NRRRRRRRRRRRRR"

-words from a cartoon-

-words from Star Wars-

I know there’s more, but I’m working backwards here.

Oh, man and there’s so much more in store for me! Finally caring about Randall’s Death Star rant on Clerks! Finally getting about one quarter of the Craption submissions at Cracked! Not being made fun of by Derek over at the comic book store! (I hate him so much.) But I don’t see this turning into a faggathon in the way of dressing up at conventions and whatnot. I just think it was a very cool movie that I’ll probably watch again one day.

Now, on to Return of the Jedi!

——————————————————————-

AND NOW, THE SITE NEWS WITH MALCOLM

Finally, look for me to be posting some of the wacky shit I’ll be making as part of my school assignments. Technically everything I create while attending VFS is property of the school, but apparently they will very politely not sue me so long as I don’t sell it. So don’t nobody go giving me huge sums of money for the things I make, because that would be awful.

COME BACK TOMORROW AND MAYBE I’LL HAVE STOPPED TREATING TLG LIKE A GODDAMN LIVEJOURNAL.

Tomorrow will be my first day of classes in Vancouver Film School’s Game Design program. It’s an odd sensation – I feel as though I’ve been waiting for this my whole life, when it’s really only been the past few months. And yet the feeling is appropriate; this is my first real step in becoming what I really want to become.

Just a few months ago, I was desperately unhappy for reasons I am certain will fail to titillate: I was toiling unsuccessfully towards a seat in UBC’s Creative Writing faculty with little to no plan for my future (this very site actually began as a frankly cynical attempt to establish one more source I could site on my writing resumé.) I had been rejected by the faculty once before while a friend of mine got in (now that I have left UBC, I can say my goodbyes and wish both him and the faculty nothing but prosperity and success (which is writer-speak for “fuck them and their mothers too.”)) I was running low on money, I was about thirty-five pounds overweight, I was depressed to the point of mumbling philosophical ramblings to myself on long walks through the mist, and my sleep patterns could have at best been described as “erratic” and at worst as “insane.” I wasn’t so much in a downward spiral as I was in a full-on nosedive into a black hole.

Things are, um, better now.

For one thing, I’ve lost a ton of weight and have gained some nifty-looking muscles with which I have no clue what to do. I offer the following image of my right bicep as evidence (I actually didn’t just take this; it was taken several weeks ago as an accessory to a fairly convoluted Gaffe Station post telling Micheal to fuck himself sideways. It… it made sense at the time.)

And I’m going to a school where I’ll work towards something I want in courses I’m actually passionate about in a city full of life, color, and sound while surrounded by young people who want the same things I do (but who I’m also convinced don’t have ideas that are anywhere near as good as mine.) So there’s that.

I hope I don’t fuck this up. I know I’m essentially repeating what I said back when I started the site in October (not that most of you will remember that, what with the post where I said it having been deleted for several months,) but trust me – this time I’m serious. Not only because I doubt I’ll get a chance better than this, but also because it’s good to be happy again. It’s not pure happy, of course – it’s not the white-hot fanfare of trumpets on the front of your brain that is joy, and it’s not the electric whip-crack flavor of love – it’s just the dull, low-intensity contentment that comes from knowing that you’re doing the right things for once.

Sorry if this comes off as smug. It’s just good to talk about it.

Some actual site stuff for those of you that have remained conscious through my rambling: this program, incredible as it is, is also very intense and a ridiculous time commitment. I will be taking thirty hours of classes a week and doing an estimated thirty additional hours of homework. I have been doing my best to organize site affairs before classes start (such as the forums and the ads (which have earned me a whopping six cents so far,)) but content production and publishing has always been the major time-suck.

What I’m saying is that barring a mass attack of brain hemorrhages in my contributors that causes them to turn in their articles on time while neglecting family and work obligations, as well as a bout of divine intervention that puts approximately thirty more hours into the week… longer updates might come a little slow. To compensate for that, I’ll be attempting to do more of these shorter, bloggier thingies between the longer feature pieces. I don’t doubt that I’ll be short on inspiration.

This is normally where I might say something like “And if that isn’t good enough for you then fuck off because we do this for free,” but I don’t feel like saying that today. We do this for free because we love to do it, and we hope you enjoy the things we do. That’s the beginning and end. I want to write comedy because of gasping, gut-wrenching belly laughs. I want to make games because of unreserved, jaw-dropping joy. I want to do things I love because of love.

Today I am happy.

I’d love to say that this was a really hard decision that I struggled with for a long time due to a conflict between my socioeconomic situation and my artistic integrity, but that would be a boldfaced lie. The only reason TLG didn’t have ads from the get-go was because of my kitten-like meekness in the face of CSS, which I am now slowly overcoming step by itty-bitty step.

So have I sold out? Is everything different now? Does The Man have my balls?

Yes, yes, and emphatically yes.

I can’t lie, I love money. I love it to a fetishistic degree, to the point where I cannot achieve orgasm unless a thousand dollars in mixed currencies is in plain sight. There is no act too despicable or depraved that I will not perform for the right price, and my price is laughably low – in the fast-food joint of life, my soul remains resolutely on the Valu-Menu. As for TLG’s other contributor’s, let’s be honest: they always knew I would sell them down the river one day, and it was only a question of when.

It is thus with piggish glee that I announce: advertisers, step right up! If ever you have wanted to dictate content on a small-but-growing comedy site, now is your chance! Don’t let it slip through your fingers, swollen though they might be from counting your millions!

On a note unrelated to capitalist excess, there are going to be a couple of pleasing additions to TLG’s masthead soon. One old face and one new, both of whom I hope will receive a warm welcome.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to dive into a vault full of small coinage.

It may sound weird to some readers, but I haven’t listened to pop music since N*sync broke up. I shudder to think that there is a correlation there, but I digress.

"Music peaked with N*Sync" - TLG Contributor Jay Thomas

Don’t get me wrong, I still listen to the radio, but only for sports talk, because I’m a man. A man that loves sports and steak and boobies and any combination of those. But I prefer listening to uncensored, uninterrupted music on my mp3 player rather than going through the torture of local DJ’s and what I assume is shitty music. But that is really an unfair assessment. After all, how can I judge what I have not listened too? It is with that cavalier attitude that I resolved to listen to a few popular songs.

Boom, Boom, Pow – The Black-eyed Peas

"Fergie gives me boners" - TLG Mouthbreather Jay Thomas

I know what you’re thinking, but unfortunately this song (if it can be called that) is not an homage to the classic 1966 film, “Batman” starring Adam West and Burt Ward. The reason? A song about that movie would kick ass, while Boom Boom Pow eats ass.

In the tradition of Bobby McFarren’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” most of the so-called music on the track actually comes from the band saying, “boom, boom, boom” like fucking Bam-Bam. The first verse is pretty painless, but then the silky smooth auto-tuned voice is transformed into some kind of ungodly shrieking and yelling from Fergie. There is a musical interlude involving more shouting of, “Boom! Boom!” followed by an inhuman voice saying something along the lines of, “Let the beast rise.” I thought maybe I was hearing things, before I realized that, in fact it was part of the arrangement. This is just terrible.

Lyric Of Note:

“I’m so three-thousand eight, you so two-thousand and late.”

What the fuck does that mean? Hypothesis: Fergie is actually a 3008 year old succubus that thrives on the misery of others.

So, the first song was a bust. Let’s see what this 3OH!3 is all about.

3OH!3 – Don’t Trust Me

"3Oh!3 give me double the boners that Fergie does" - TLG Ladyboy Enthusiast Jay Thomas

There is some good advice here in the form of, “Don’t trust a ho, don’t trust a ho, NEVER trust a ho.” (I could be mistaken but I’m pretty sure they lifted that line from a Bob Dylan song.) The song then takes a fairly dark turn when the femme-voiced guy starts talking about some girl who is drunk and bruised. This horrifying image is then paired with the lyric, “Shush girl, shut your lips, do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips.” Taken at face value, this line informs the listener of Helen Keller’s main mode of communication (talking with her hips,) but I see a scenario of a womanizing, cheating, wife beating, alcoholic taking advantage of underage girls. For shame, 3Oh!3. For shame.

Lyric Of Note:

“Don’t trust a ho.”

This statement alone should be integrated into our education system. Millions would be saved.

3Oh!3 was more enjoyable than the Black Eyed Peas, but less enjoyable than getting a cavity filled so let’s continue onward and hopefully upward.

Lady Gaga – Poker Face

"Though I would not touch Lady Gaga with the dick of a dead man, I am entraced by her dog's come-hither gaze" TLG Pyronecrobestiality Expert Jay Thomas

There is an immense pressure building in my skull. OH SWEET LORD, MY EARS ARE BLEEDING!!!

Lyric Of Note:

I don’t know. The last thing I remember before blacking out was “Show him what I got.”

Pitbull – I Know You Want Me

"This full, luscious ass fills me only with distrust and rage" TLG Cocksucker Jay Thomas

I’m not going to lie; I was kind of hoping that this would sound like “I Want You To Want Me.” However, it proved to be a perfectly serviceable hip-hop/dance single, except for the fact that I could only understand like 8 words in the entire song. I realize that some of it is in Spanish, but a good 2/3 is just random words assembled in what appears to be a message derived from the nonsensical ramblings of someone who just suffered a brain injury. It’s clear from the lyrics that Mr. Bull knows that he is desired by an attractive lady, but everything else is up for debate. Lest you think that my white, suburban ears are casting some kind of prejudice on Pit, here are some lyrics:

Mami got an ass like a donkey
With a monkey
Look like King Kong, welcome to the crib
305, that’s what it is
With a woman down here
The shit don’t play games

What the fuck does that mean? Intrigued, I looked into Pitbull’s other songs to see if this was a one time anomaly. What I found was truly disturbing:

Mami, feel me let me see you touch your toes
or shake that thing and talk wit’ your ass

I may be in the minority here, but even if you are quite a prolific ass-talker (Jim Carrey,) it isn’t the kind of thing that would put me in a taxi straight to bonerville.

Lyric Of Note:

See above.

Even with the confusing lingo, I still liked Pitbull’s song. It was energetic and a little dirty (I think) which is what a club hit is supposed to be.

So what have I learned from my experience with current pop music? Based on the sampling I had, I can safely say that ¾ of all current pop music is absolutely terrible. But the other quarter is inspiring, disturbing, arousing, and disgusting simultaneously.

EDIT: The night I finished the draft for this article, I was wooing this cute girl at the club. Feeling like I should let her know how hip I was, I told her that she had a “talking donkey ass” and was quickly and mercilessly shot down and spat upon. In retrospect, Pitbull is a jackass and all pop music is terrible.

EDIT II: I realize that calling Pitbull a jackass may be misconstrued as a flirtatious gesture in some circles. Allow me to clarify. Fuck Pitbull.

EDIT III: Shit. “Fuck Pitbull.” I didn’t mean this literally. I meant to say that Pitbull is not a nice man and that I care nothing for him or his music.

EDITOR’S AFTERWORD: Those of you paying close attention to the picture captions may have noticed a slight discrepancy between them and the opinions Jay puts forward in the rest of the article. I know nothing about this. However, I do know that if I were the kind of person who insulted Canada every chance I got, I would not be very surprised if my Canadian editor altered one of my articles to make me seem like a deranged mental pervert.

Great article, Jay!

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.

Malcolm: Sex! It’s fun, everyone wants it, and there are any number of ways to get it. But where can you go if you’re creepy, spastic, ugly, or just generally unfuckable? The Internet, of course! The Internet is choc-full of creeptastic homebodies hungering after a few sweaty minutes with the person of their choice; some of them are women, most of them are men, and they’re all downright terrifying!

Lucky for you, TLG is on the front line, keeping you safe from scary old men who want to fondle your parts by making ass-fun of the terrible personals they post. For every installment, two TLG contributors will make accounts on one of the many dating sites that populate this web of ours, be immediately inundated with moist fuck-mail, and reluctantly pick out several choice profiles to riff on.

In this inaugural installment of TLG’s newest feature, Michael and I will be examining Seeking Arrangement, a charmingly upscale little slice of webspace dedicated to connecting hot, lazy, young people with rich, horny old people in a process that is just this side of prostitution. In other words, it’s where sugar daddies come to find sugar babies, and that means some truly alarming personals. Let’s jump right into it!

“Muy intersante!  Verdad?”

Michael: Oh… oh man.

Michael: He’s almost 70.

Malcolm: The description of the type of arrangement he wants is what terrifies me the most.

Malcolm: “Satisfying.”

Malcolm: That could mean any number of gruesome things.

Michael: It could mean pumicing his feet for all these unassuming women know.

Malcolm: Or it could mean feasting thrice nightly on the blood of virgins pure.

Malcolm: He looks almost a little too proud of that boat, you know.

Malcolm: I am willing to bet all the cash in my wallet that it was carved from the bones of orphans.

Michael: “I will expect you to fuck the boat. Fucking the boat is a must.”

Michael: “And I will watch.”

Malcolm: “Fucking not of the boat will have consequences. The boat will ANGER.”

Malcolm: “The boat will fuck YOU.”

Michael: Was the boat made in Soviet Russia?

“Metal Guy”

Michael: This man describes himself as “metal.”

Malcolm: Well, “Through the Fire and the Flames” came on just as I clicked that link, so I think he might be onto something.

Michael: Somewhere, Dee Snyder feels a great disturbance in the force.

Malcolm: I wonder what “self-employed” means?

Malcolm: Does he live in the woods?

Malcolm: Michael, I think he lives in the woods.

Michael: Lives in the woods, fighting bears with the power of rock.

Malcolm: You know what, I think he might be a druid. The more I look at this picture, the more convinced I am of how awesome this guy is.

Malcolm: Look at that smirk. That is the smirk of a man who knows that at any given moment he could summon forth a Gargantuan Earth Elemental to smite his foes.

Michael: I can completely picture him wailing on his axe during a thunderstorm, somehow harnessing the awesome powers of nature as an amp.

Michael: Standing atop a mountain, buxom nymphs clambering at his feet.

Malcolm: His “Arrangement I am Seeking” section is a little vague. I bet he’s looking for a second party member to tank for him while he casts Harness Nature’s Rock IV.

Malcolm: Wicked long casting time on that.

Michael: Probably about as long as it takes to play the solo in Freebird.

Malcolm: “Freebird” is totally this guy’s druid name. Agamemnon Freebird of Elad’ras.

Malcolm: He describes himself as a “light smoker.”

Michael: He literally smokes light.

Malcolm: I think we need to move on, or one of us is going to marry this guy.

“Play with Daddy in His Paradise”

Malcolm: You know, on the one hand, I want to slap him heartily on the back and congratulate him for being so sure of what he wants at his stage of life.

Malcolm: On the other hand, Jesus.

Michael: I don’t know, I think he’s got this whole life thing figured out. Here we all are toiling away like chumps when we could be whisked away to this island paradise and live like goddesses. Er, sorry, I get a bit too caught up in my alter ego.

Malcolm: You have to admire his willingness to admit that he can’t get a boner. “Unsuccessful with all viagra-type medications.”

Michael: He finally found the cure men have been seeking all along: hot, bisexual women.

Malcolm: Is it odd that the thing I find most worrisome about this profile is that he used single apostrophes to form quotation marks?

Michael: Freakshow! What does he think he is, British?

Michael: Oh snap, he has a newsletter:

Michael: http://www.pepeshideaway.com/newsletter.php

Malcolm: Huh. That’s actually pretty well-designed. Way to web, creepy metrosexual seventy-year-old dude.

Michael: I’m beginning to think this might not even be a sexual thing.

Michael: This reminds me more of that Simpsons episode where Kang and Kodos whisk the Simpsons off to share with them the wonders of their culture. I believe Pepe is just trying to share that magic he feels everyday with a few nubile bisexuals chicks.

Malcolm: Didn’t Kang and Kodos also want to devour the Simpsons in that episode?

Malcolm: …ooooooooooh.

Michael: No, no, Lisa only thought they wanted to. It turned out they were on the level.

Michael: In the same way, you and I are skeptical of the joys Pepe wishes to share.

Michael: You think he may want to… devour us, metaphorically. But I think there might be more there.

Malcolm: He also has a six-foot-tall statue of what looks like a hippogriff, Michael.

Michael: So, he has a hippogriff. Big deal.

Michael: More and more I find myself pining for this island Xanadu, cursing my father for giving me that damned Y-chromosome.

Malcolm: Dammit, this is supposed to be a “look at these creepy old men” article, not another “Michael wishes he were born a woman” article!

Malcolm: I think we’d better move on before any more uncomfortable epiphanies are reached.

“Gentleman”

Michael: I would certainly say he’s an unforgettable character.

Malcolm: This is what Oompa-Loompas grow into.

Michael: Oompa-Loompa Doompaty-Doo
I have got another riddle for you
What do you get when you make lots of cash?
The ability to buy yourself ass

Malcolm: I know he looks like such a sweet, cherry-cheeked old soul, but make no mistake: he will cut your throat and step over your cooling husk.

Malcolm: As he says, “There’s plenty of time to sleep in the grave.”

Michael: That is essentially the only advice in his book, the rest is just eyebrow grooming tips.

Michael: Step 1. Disembowel your competition and place their head on a stake outside your skyscraper.

Michael: Step 2. I suggest using geri curl for that “interested yet in control” look.

Malcolm: I don’t know why this punk is expecting anyone to respond to his ad. I mean, he’s only got a SMALL library named after him in Oxford University. Pssh.

Michael: You know what they say about guys with small libraries.

Malcolm: They don’t not know too much?

Michael: Also that they are grotesquely wealthy, cherubic millionaires seeking protege/fuck buddies online.

Malcolm: And, presumably, somebody to hang out with their 15-year-old daughters.

Malcolm: That must be one well-adjusted kid.

Michael: “Misty, look! I bought you a friend online.”

Michael: “I’m also totally going to ream her later, hopefully this isn’t weird for you at all.”

Malcolm: “You can play with her just after I’m good and done dragging my moldering sack across her brow.”

Malcolm: I love how we went to the exact same place with that. There is no way this guy doesn’t tell his daughter all about his freaky sex habits.

Michael: It’s pretty well the logical conclusion.

Michael: Imagine that dinner table.

Malcolm: It’s probably shaped like a map of Earth, with a flag planted in every country where he’s banged a hooker.

Michael: “Honey, did daddy ever tell you about his trip to Thailand?”

Malcolm: gestures to thick clump of flags

Michael: “It was when I first discovered my taste for ladyboys.”

Malcolm: impish wink

Michael: “Daaaaad!” *rolls eyes*

“Iron hand in the velvet glove”

Michael: Here’s one I’m sure you already have, but he sent me an e-mail, so it’s important.

Malcolm: What did his e-mail say?

Michael: You me he didn’t e-mail you?

Michael: I feel special.

Michael: “I am intrigued by your profile. Would you consider a dominant man in his late 60’s that would spoil you when good and spank you when bad? If interested write back.

Michael: “Master Mike.”

Malcolm: Holy shit.

Malcolm: It says here he’s a consultant. Do you think he shows up to meetings wearing a leather corset and assless chaps?

Michael: “Gentlemen, the key to any effective corporation is the principle of ‘iron hand in the velvet glove’”

Michael: “If you would allow me to demonstrate.”

Malcolm: “If you don’t leverage your synergies in accordance with Cisco 4.1 while tonguing my dusty taint, I will leave you in the harness overnight.”

Michael: When I first saw his picture two thoughts occurred to me.

Malcolm: Do share.

Michael: Thought 1: What the hell are the white spots in his picture? JPG artifacts or lice?

Michael: Thought 2: Holy shit this guy looks like the minster from the Baptist church my family attended when I was young.

Michael: Which just makes this one a bit too uncomfortable for me.

Malcolm: Well, that, and the fact that he’s got the same name as you.

Malcolm: Hey, maybe this is you from the future!

Malcolm: You have to admit, a lot of it fits.

Michael: Well, I do get sexually excited when I electrocute a woman’s nipples.

Michael: I figured that was normal.

Malcolm: And I remember you frequently expressing your fondness for over-sized old man indoor-outdoor sunglasses.

Malcolm: You know, I’m feeling better now. At least we know that in the future time travel will be developed, and that you will steal the machine and use it to go back in time to score some submissive tail.

Michael: Good God, I’m having a very existential moment. I’ve seen the path in life I will inexiorbly follow.

Michael: I’ve seen this dark future of knife play and rubber hoses shoved up colons.

Michael: And I’m loving it.

Malcolm: This has been a good entry for everyone, then. Moving on.

“THE HOLLYWOOD PARTY KING”

Michael: Hey! It’s Pat!

Malcolm: Pat?

Michael: It was a Saturday Night Live skit about an adrogynous person and no one could figure out their gender.

Michael: It was turned into a movie.

Malcolm: Yes, but this is very obviously a clay golem in human shape. Duh.

Malcolm: Don’t bother using magic against him, by the way. They’re properly immune to that shit.

Michael:

Malcolm: Okay, I find myself slightly swayed.

Michael: Is he hanging out with Courtney Love in that second picture?

Malcolm: Is he? Is Courtney Love the horrible mockery of the human form that appears to be undergoing an agonizing melting process?

Michael: Yes. That’s Courtney Love.

Michael: He obviously already has a hideous, empty gold digging harpy in his life, why is he on this site?

Malcolm: I hear that if you leave Courtney Love out of the freezer for more than a week, she starts growing mold and smelling like wet leaves, so he probably needs someone for every other week.

Michael: So we’ve established his motivations. I think we should discuss how incredibly WACKY he is. I mean, look at what a fun guy he is, he’s sticking his tongue out! Will wonders never cease.

Malcolm: I also like how he used ALL CAPS in every possibly place where you could enter text.

Michael: In that first picture he’s STANDING AROUND LOOKING AWKWARD WITH A DRINK IN HIS HAND ALSO SOME TACKY CHRISTMAS LITES ARE ATTACHED TO A PILLAR BEHIND HIM. Haha! I want to party with this wild and crazy guy.

Michael: I IMAGINE HE’S ALWAYS TALKING LIKE HIS WORDS ARE IN CAPS! GOSH GUYS THIS PARTY REALLY IS SWELL! I’M THE PARTY KING!

Michael: REALLY! I KNOW COURTNEY LOVE!

Malcolm: The other fields might’ve been dropping him subtle hints about his typography, but FUCK THAT SHIT. THE HOLLYWOOD PARTY KING IS BIG AND LOUD AND IF THE INTERNET CAN’T HANDLE THAT THEN HE’LL FEED IT TO COURTNEY LOVE.

Malcolm: Maybe we should move on. Courtney Love is starting to seriously unnerve me.

Michael: LOOK AT HER FEET! HAHA WACKY!

“Like No One You’ve Ever Met” (Picture split into two parts because… well, you’ll see.)

Malcolm: B-Ben? (Note to casual residents of the internet: you’re probably going to want to check out the videos we link to have any idea of who Mr. Metzger is.)

Michael: If not Ben Ryan Metzger, it’s his spiritual successor.

Malcolm: PLEASE BE SERIOUS ABOUT MEETING (atop the mountain where I have planted the flag with your name on it.)

Michael: Note the numbered list at the bottom where he explains that he’s the only genuine man on SA.

Michael: Admittedly, his list is incredibly accurate.

Malcolm: Wow. The other dudes were creepy, but this guy actually manages to be a cunt about it.

Malcolm: That’s practically zen.

Michael: Somehow Roissy in DC collided with Ben Ryan Metzger and the result…

Malcolm: An incredible cunt.

Malcolm: THE incredible cunt.

Michael: Faster than a speeding tractor tire rolling down a hill.

Malcolm: I don’t think it can be overstated: this dude is a massive cunt.

Malcolm: I mean, Jesus, look at his requirements.

Michael: So I can’t think of much more to say about this guy other than, man fuck this guy and his extreme cuntitude.

Malcolm: If Obama wants to fix your economy, he just needs to tax cunts.

Michael: And disband the disastrous Bush Tax Cunts.

Malcolm: Shut up, I’m serious. Fine someone a hundred thousand dollars every time they’re photographed on a jetski.

Malcolm: Add another fifty thousand for every time they use the word “natural” in online dating ads. BAM, GNP sorted out.

Malcolm: Hold up – that photo of him standing in front of Angkor Wat – does that look Photoshopped to you?

Michael: He definitely looks like he belongs somewhere else…

Malcolm: Hm…

Michael: Hm…

Malcolm: Well, that does it for this installment of Don’t Fear The Creeper! If you have any especially creepy dating sites that you’d like us to hit next time, don’t hesitate in leaving a comment or e-mail us your suggestion! ‘Bye for now!

I began attending bible camp during the summer at the earliest age possible, 8, and started working there at 13. My memories of camp at an early age are fuzzy at best and completely missing at worst. I’ve never been able to pay very much attention to my surroundings; often I was completely absorbed in doodling, flicking pieces of paper into the smelly kid’s hair or reading Song of Songs* and wondering what it was like to touch a boob. A girl boob.

Pictured: Girl boob, flourishing in its natural habitat.

All I recall from my first year is that I couldn’t remember my camp counselor’s face or name and often wound up in the wrong groups for activities, I vaguely remember getting hit in the face with a pillow and breaking my glasses, and I every so faintly recollect having a friend, “His name was Matt…or Mark…or something with an M,” I explained to my mom. She never could understand why I wanted to go back every year.

My third year at camp I got lost during a nature hike on a sheep farm.

I was severely out of shape at that age due to a vicious rooster my older brother kept that would attack me if I stepped outside. The days of my early youth were spent imprisoned in our home, staring longingly out the window at the sun-soaked planes of Nebraska while that vile creature strutted about freely, raping chickens and crowing victoriously.

That was tangential, but I think it’s important for you to know I was terrorized at a young age by cocks; it sort of sets the stage for the rest of my life.

Thus established, I was incredibly out of shape, and by midweek during my third year my leg muscles were soaked in lactic acid; every step was agony. I was not thrilled when they announced we were going to hike. “On a sheep farm,” the activities director said, grinning broadly and looking at us expectantly as if he had just announced the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were coming and they were bringing each of us our own personal Terminator. Our reaction was less than enthusiastic.

"Cowabunga, dude! We brought you pizza, our friendship, and robot! The robot beats up bullies with lasers."

The sheep farm was in a small grouping of bluffs, a rare change from the typical flatness that defines Nebraska. Our hike consisted of wandering through the bluffs, throwing pine cones at sheep and being told several times to “stick to the buddy system.” The “buddy” portion of my buddy system was my best friend at the time, Derek. He was a preacher’s son who somehow managed to out-dork even me. I think it was because he regularly used the phrase “Neato Frito” and said Crumb instead of Crap. Derek was; however, quite athletic and it didn’t take long for him to get sick of my hobbling pace, so towards the end of the hike, after all the other campers had already passed us, he told me he couldn’t stand going so slow and he jogged ahead. The counselors that were supposed to stay at the back of the line and shepherd campers forward also ran ahead of me, presumably to make sure the rest of the campers, now a good half-mile ahead of me, were behaving.

"Think we should go back an check on the gimpy one?" "Nah, the bears will look after him."

I was alone.

I continued staggering forward on the dusty, sheep-driven path. My legs ached, and I had made the mistake of bringing orange soda to drink instead of water. About a mile after the counselors had left me, I reached a point in which the path diverged, and unfortunately, much like the Robert Frost poem, I took the road less travelled by.

I realized my mistake after I walked another mile on the wrong path and ended up in a deep valley filled with sheep. Alright, I thought, so I’ll just climb up and out of the valley and hope the buses are there. I took a swig of my orange soda, girded my loins and I climbed the hell out of those bluffs. As I climbed, I imagined what waited at the top of that valley. I envisioned Derek, sobbing deeply, telling the activities director of his failures as a buddy, I could already see the counselors panicking and wishing they had been patient enough to trail behind that poor little boy with the achy legs, I imagined girl boobs, and what it would be like to touch them. I pressed on, emboldened by the prospect of one day touching a girl boob.

All great men, deep down, are driven by this desire.

Filled with the energy and determination which can only be supplied by crystal meth or boobs, I crested the hill, ready to fly into the arms of the nearest female counselor and blow a raspberry at Derek. Unfortunately, I reached the top just in time to see the final bus driving away.

They had fucking left me.

Still imbued with an unholy burst of energy, I ran after the bus as fast as my stubby 10-year-old legs could carry me. The bus driver, the consistently avuncular camp director Rick, spotted me just before turning onto the highway. The bus stopped suddenly and reversed, beeping comfortingly, as if to tell me I was safe as long as I wasn’t standing behind it. As the bus rolled to a stop next to me, a counselor jumped out of the side door yelling “Why didn’t you stay with your buddy!?” I simply shook my head, exhausted, and dragged my broken, dehydrated body onto a seat next to the smelly kid. I looked back at Derek, who was sitting next to a lithe, red-headed boy. “Why didn’t you tell them I was missing?” I asked.

Derek shrugged, “I didn’t really notice, I was hanging out with Lane.” He gestured to the ginger kid next to him.

Hey, Lane? Eat a dick, Lane.

I didn’t care; I got my revenge years later by touching girl boob before him, and when I got home later that week, I hit the rooster with a five gallon bucket, effectively asserting my dominance. By god, I was a man.

* Better known as Song of Solomon by those not raised Baptist. It is a book of poetry in The Bible concerning King Solomon boning his new wife, later this is used to paint an analogy about how much God loves Israel.

LOGASM

You’re probably saying to yourself right now “Hey Malcolm that is all sorts of tits, how about you and me head over to that seedy alley for a congratulatory handjob,” but alas: your handjob would be misplaced. I had almost no hand in the creation of this thing, which is probably for the best because when it comes to art and drawing I have all the natural talent of a bowl of oatmeal.

The original artwork was created by Cracked forum user Lotharian, in the very first response to the thread I created whoring the site out back in January. I was pretty floored, seeing as how the best idea for a logo I’d had up to that point was “TLG” against a metallic disc (I wasn’t kidding about my utter dearth of artistic talent.)

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, when I was advised by another friend that my current site design was a big pile of dicks, and that a bunch of changes (including getting a logo,) would really help it look more professional (and you cunts know I am all about professionalism.) I remembered that I had this sweet-ass giraffe picture floating around, and I press-ganged Bobby into helping me make it presentable. The result is above!

Insanely big ups to Bobby, Lotharian, and Curtis (the dude who told me my current site sucked and that I should go on a two-week-long redesign binge, which I quickly did.) Without you guys, the site would not be the sleek, presentable bitch that it is today. I couldn’t be happier with all this.