Origins: Super heroes fails.

Dammit it annoys me when us geeks and nerds wax lyrical about "origins."
Bollocks.
Most modern super heroes have mediocre to batshit crazy origins.
Take these for example:

Aquaman:
The hero everyone thinks is a sweetie.
Son of Tom Curry. Not Tim Curry I might point out.
His real name is Arthur.
Yes.
Arthur.
His arch nemesis was his half brother Orm. An amnesiac.
His kryptonite is anti-water. That is, if he doesn't bathe each hour he dies.
He was actually the leader of the Justice League along with...
And get this...
Martian Manhunter, Zatanna, and Elongated Man.

Ok. I'm done laughing. Let's move on.

Ironman:
Nutter arms manufacturer who kills communist Vietnamese agents in the 1960's.
No heart problem.
That came later.
His armour was gray not gold or red and he looked like the michelin man.

Ace the Bat-Hound:
What? Yes Batman had a dog.
Got his super powers from Bat-mite, an imp like Mxyzptlk.
What? Yes. Really.

Speedy:
Green Lanterns off sider.
A heroin addict.

Seriously.
I could go on. But you get the drift.
The pap they splash out on movies to make money has nothing to do with the origin of these loonies.
They're not heroes.
They're nutters.

But...
What the heck.
Good fun.

Pocket Gophers? What?

Ben stumbled on this while perusing a site.
He burst out laughing.

"Pocket gophers!"

He spluttered and we started on some excited banter about it.
I must admit, it had me in stitches.
It's the idea that you'd be sitting quietly and someone:

a) Races over to you with a rubber mallet and starts bashing at your chest frantically or
b) You release "Zipper Ferrets" to get the little furry f**kers or
c) Someone suggests using Wallet Weasels or Sock snakes!

Now don't go saying this is silly.
After all, Paris Hilton has a Purse Dog.
It's not a fashion statement.
She just hasn't been to the Purse Dog Eradication Service yet.

Imagine this.
A dry cleaning service with this sign outside:

"2 hour turnaround! Pocket Gopher removal! Purse dogs a speciality!"

You get the drift.

I am getting seriously sick of historical romances.

Reading this book.
Historical romance.
Name is "Desperate Duchess" by Eloisa James.
Set in the late 1700's.
Recommended reading by a certain group of lovely ladies whom I will not embarrass by mentioning.
Supposed to be a fantastic read.

Bollocks.

I'm half way through and thinking of stabbing myself in the face with forks.
And other spiked implements.

It's like being whacked in the face with a copy of vogue every page.
And a book on chess.
Who the hell cares what trimming her petticoat has?
Endless detail about some frickin' ribbon some dude has in his hair.
And I know that chess is an integral part of the story but why, in the name of Zeus, does it have to be described on every frickin' page?
Then there is the droning on and on about this gown and that gown and the layout of the table...
Even down to the stitching on some dudes stockings.
Endless twittering clever banter for pages and pages and.. Please kill me now... Please...

Where's the smut?
Where's the ninja pirate robot monkeys?
Oh. 1700's. So maybe not so much of the latter.
And bugger all of the former.
And so much frickin' fashion and banter that you completely lose track of the actual characters!
Roberta who? Wait. Who's this dude again? Oh who the f**k cares? Oh look. We're back to waxing lyrical about the petticoats...

If I had to describe this book I'd say it's like a single episode of Blackadder.
Stretched to 8 hours.
With no jokes.
It even has those guys from that episode about "The Scottish Play" making poses and thrusting their hips out.
But not as funny.

I. Must. Finish. This. Damn. Book.
Why?
Because I have to finish it so I can do a massive "rip" on it.
If I give up at this stage, it will only be a an "ri" which has little or no impact.

I soooo need that "p" so I can say "Damn you. Damn you all to hell!"
And ride off into the sunset.

New form of life discovered in fridge!

Oh my laird!
I went downstairs to make Ben some dinner and discovered a new form of life in the fridge.
It was way, way down the back hiding behind some cheese.
Typical.
Bloody new life forms are always hiding behind cheese.

"It was the Camembert Officer!" 

Anyway, Ben suggested we keep it the icebox so that it can't escape like "The Thing" or develop language skills and decide to debate the meaning of the phrase "Hardline Presbyterian."
I had to take a photograph because I figure that my Monday night has been ruined so yours has to be too.

Not as bad as the "Egg Of Cthulhu" shown below:

At least it didn't try to suck my face off my skull.

Haven't posted for a while. So here's a movie review and a suggestion for arming Curiosity.

Been recovering.
Then getting sick again.
Bloody weather.
Although I tend to think it's psychosomatic.
With the emphasis on psycho I fear.
As you will see as you read on...

Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes. That's what I want to blather about.
Movies.
Normally I watch absolutely frickin' ludicrous movies so I can rip on them.
"Two Headed Shark Attack" and the like.
Different last night.
Watched a bevy of old "good" movies.

"Things to Come" 1936
"The Way Ahead" 1944
"It Came From Outer Space" 1953

And "It. The Terror from Outer Space" 1958

Now this is a good movie.

Sorry to bring billy goats into this, but. But...

There are some serious "Wait. What? WTF?" moments in this movie that deserve mention.

So what's this movie about anyway?

Well this dude is the last survivor of an expedition to Mars.

His mates all got grabbed by some strange entity one by one.

In any case, the relief expedition arrives, pick him up and starts to return to Earth.

But they had an extra passenger.

The "thing/entity/badass alien" had hitched a ride. 

So ensues the standard battle between the crew and the almost indestructible thing.

Now it wouldn't have been so bad really. 

The acting was very good. 

The sets were good. 

The effects were good. 

But... 

The movie hailed from the 50s military-industrial complex world we have forgotten about today. 

So all the crew are armed to the frickin' teeth.

I just want you to think about this. 

I grew up in that world, and you young whipper snappers have no frickin' idea what it was like.

Frickin' guns, tanks, nukes, large clanky killing things every frickin' where.

For example I remember whooping at a Vulcan flying overhead.

It had a Blue Steel clearly visible in it's belly.

Frickin' mega-thermo-nuke bastard. There in the sky. Just overhead. In a jet.

And once my father showed me how to field strip his FN.

As a Christmas present.

That world.

Anyway...

At one point, the crew are standing about shocked at the fact that some bad ass alien has just crapped on them.

Then one crew member points at a box.

With the word "GRENADES" stenciled on it.

Wait.

WHAT?

Why the frickin' hell does a spaceship have grenades on board?

Seriously?

They then festoon, and I'm not using that word blithely, FESTOON two air shafts with about 40 grenades.

What the frickin' hell is that ships hull made of?

They all go off. 

It doesn't work.

This bad ass alien is immune to grenades.

They are all frickin' armed to the teeth with .45 calibre pistols, Tommy guns and Garand M1 rifles.

Wait.

WHAT?

This isn't a space ship it's a frickin' space marine assault craft!

They shoot enough ammunition that would mean the frickin' alien wouldn't be able to stand upright for all the bullets laying around.

It doesn't work.

So one crew member suggests gas.

Gas? What frickin' gas?

MUSTARD GAS!?!?!

Wait.

WHAT?

Apparently he "knocked it up on the trip to avoid boredom".

Frickin' tons of it.

FYI: I do not want this man on any international flight I take.

Anyway, they unload enough mustard gas into the level with the alien to suffocate a European city.

It doesn't work.

They try electrifying the ladders.

It doesn't work.

So there they are trapped in the top of the ship.

Facing certain death.

And the alien bad ass is climbing up to them.

And they have...

Wait for it...

A BAZOOKA.

Wait.

WHAT?

They've got a frickin' bazooka?

It doesn't work.

They finally dispatch the frickin' alien by evacuating all the oxygen in the ship.

That works.

Erm... It's never explained how they get home of course.

A dog barks.

Everyone laughs.

Now.

Seriously.

Who was the quartermaster for this trip? Some "Scot Mc-Nutter-Looney-Mc-F**k" I'm thinking.

"Ah yes. Now ye'll be needin' some weaponry. I've packed some basics. VX, Tabun and the like. But also a 45 calibre pistol for each of you, several M1 rifles, a few Thompson sub-machine guns, 60 or so grenades, a bazooka, flamethrower and some assorted maces, broadswords, pikes and a walking tank. Now I know that sounds like a lot, but it's just the basics mind. If this was a military expedition we'd be adding gatling guns, missiles and a company of marines. But you're only a rescue mission, so you just need the basics. Now don't complain about the weight... We've included two nuclear reactors and just enough oxygen to get you there and back."

But it was a good movie.

4 out of 5 stars.

Cheered me up somewhat.

Actually... Now I think about it... 

Let's lobby NASA to allow crew to carry guns. 

Lots of guns! 

Yeah, that works. 

Let's see the replacement shuttle with a pair of 20mm mini-guns mounted on it. 

Let's go back to the days when astronauts all had pistols at their sides. 

Works for me. 

And after all we're not that far from it.

Most commercial air liner pilots have access to pistols and ammunition. 

So why not extend that a bit...

For example, why the heck didn't curiosity have gatling guns and missiles?

"What's that over there? Some interesting geological formation! Let's blow the shit out of it! Oh wait! Is that a foreign space craft landing on our frickin' Mars? Let loose the missiles!"

Now that would have tripled the audience and got the US government on side for more funding.

Book Review: "Dark Seduction" by Brenda Joyce (2007)

Oh my laird!
Well. Think I've found my libido.
It was waiting in this book.
Rates 12 out of 10 on my twitcherific scale.

Massive, muscular, mind-reading, virile Scottish demon hunters in the 14th century.
Young 20th century book seller with an interest in history.
Time travel.

Oh and the smut? Just gorgeous.
If you read this book, you'll need a fire blanket.
And you won't need batteries.

Definitely going to see about getting others in the Warriors of Time series.

O.M.G. Just watched "Mammoth" (2006) the movie

It was actually quite good.
Loads of tongue in cheek.
Tom Skerrit et al.

Anyway, that's not what this post is about.
We accidentally had Swedish sub-titles set on.
We were going to turn them off, but it was kinda fun.
In any case, this post is about the very last frame of the movie.

O.M.G.

Un-frickin-believable.

As the titles said:

"The End?"

The Swedish sub-title came up:

"Slut?"

Wait. What?
Proof:

Off to Google translate.
Yup.
The end is Slut in Swedish.

The synonyms are as follows:

end, closure, tail, close, finish, conclusion

Oh there are so many ways to have fun with this...
We tried reversing to English->Swedish.
What fun.

come-off, net, wind-up, upshot, done in, exhausted, washed-up and disposed-of.

Seriously?
Well I guess the 'Net (and Mitt Romney) is all of those things.

So the next time someone says "It's the end" you can say "Slut!" and when they advance on you threateningly, just say it's Swedish.

And for those crazy people in IT I have one thing to say...
Yes. Yes. I know it was on a frickin' computer and I could have done a screen capture remotely from my own machine, but I was just dumbfounded and grabbed the frickin' phone ok?

Bit of a messy day today

First off I didn't sleep well having a total of only about 4 hours actual sleep.
The rest was thrashing about like a drowning victim.
Which was kinda right since I was sweating as well.

So I was sitting outside trying to wake up with a coffee.
And I noticed something.
A piece of wood.
Staring angrily at me.
Ok ok, not quite at me.
And not so much angry.
More like pensive or disappointed.
And not quite at me.
Sort of at a leaf.

I shall call him "Woody".

Then I made some lunch:

Yes that's a real hamburger. With bacon, cheese, beetroot, egg and pineapple.
After I finished it, I immediately fell victim to drive-by nap attack.

Woke up about 3 hours later going "Wha? Who? How?"

How to make up your own movie names like the SyFy channel

Think I've figured out how SfFy original movies are thought up.

Pick one or two items from this list:

Zombie     Shark       Snake       Anaconda    Croc
Gator      Beast       Octopus     Swarm       Beast
Raptor     Boa         Piranha     Spider      Python
Alien      Mosquito    Moth        Worm        Giant

(If you pick two, you must separate them with 'vs')

Now pick a place they come from:

Triassic   Sea         Swamp       Island      Planet
Ice        Mountain    Mongolia    Earth

And prefix at least one them with one of these:

Dino       Super       Mega        Franken     Two-Headed 
Killer     Frost       Annihilation

Maybe suffix one with "man" or "roid" or "death".

And perhaps addd some extra flavour:

Apocalypse Twister     Storm

So. Here are some suggestions for original movies:

Two-Headed Shark         DinoCroc vs SuperGator
Alien Apocalypse         Boa vs Python
DinoShark                FrankenFish
SharkMan                 Ice Spiders
Ice Twisters             Killer Mountain
MosquitoMan              MegaPiranha
MegaPython vs Gatoroid   Mega Snake
Mongolian Death Worm     MothMan
Planet Raptor            Raptor Island
Sea Beast                Shark Swarm
SharkTopus               DinoCroc vs SuperGator
Swamp Shark              Zombie Apocalypse
Frost Giant              Annihilation Earth
Android Apocalypse       Annacondas
Piranhaconda

Oh wait. All of those have been done by SyFy.
Ok. How about these:

Zombie-Dino-Moth vs Two-Headed-Spider-Conda.
Alien-Triassic-Swamp-Raptor-Man
Mega-Spider-Island

Or you could add your own monsters:

Mega-Lemur vs Swamp-Parrot!
Killer-Puppet-Clowns from Mars!
Franken-Crabs!
Two-Headed-Death-Ponies vs Alien-Mega-Ticks!
Mega-Ice-Kitten-Apocalypse!
Dino-Squirrel vs Croco-Pony!
Bunny-Quake!
Sharko-Pup vs Triassic-Dino-Wombat-inator!
Fire-Owls vs Frost-Hamsters!
Ultra-Fast-Sloth!
Humming-Bird-Swarm!
Franken-Bambi vs Mega-Flopsie!
Dolphin-oid!

You get the drift.
There's an app in this. I called it. It's mine!

Just gave myself a first ever Glycolic Scrub. Frickin' YEOW!

Now I have to say that I have never taken care of myself.
I've never used a moisturiser.
Never been to the gym.
Unless you count being shot at while running scared shitless.

But a couple of days ago I did something I haven't done for... for... well... EVER.
I looked at myself in the mirror while wearing glasses.
ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHH!

Frickin' hell.
I had wrinkles.

So...
I went off and went to a place of medicine (Ben has some words which don't bear repeating here) to see what could be done.
Bought some stuff.

One of them was a Glycolic Scrub.
So tonight after writing up the review of Adam Chaplin I went into the bathroom and studied the instructions.
Squeezed a small amount out and started scrubbing.
Hard.
I stopped.

IN PAIN!
WTF!
FRICKIN' YEOWWW!

Felt like I'd just been dumped by a monster wave in Maui.
Felt like more sand than a cement truck.
Frickin' hurt.

I stared at my gradually reddening face and stared down at the instructions.
Twice a day 3 times a week?
I'm going to look like Achmed the dead terrorist at that rate.
(Haven't got a clue what I'm talking about? Check out youtube. Hilarious)

Ben says it's worked.
Crapola and frickin' bees on steroids laced with acid.
It frickin' hurts.

Sigh.
Gunna keep doing it.
The price we pay...