SLOW NEWS WEEK:

Greeting Citizens! Well we've spent another glorious fortnight in service to the Emperor and reveled in the protections and benefits that come from our continued loyalty. GLORY TO HIS NAME!

(Just go with it and don't make any suspicious moves, he's always watching!)

Seeing as there have been no uprisings, no acts of sedition, no talk of rebellion and zero examples of blatant free will, I am pleased to announce that absolutely NOTHING worth reporting has happened in the last ten days.

(Simply sit there and stare at the screen. If he even catches you blinking wrong he'll send the Personality Wolves to devour your ego and shit you out the other end as a mindless skin bag!)

So in light of the current state of bliss we seem to be enjoying thanks to His benevolence, here's some random and harmless news items and opinions from around the Empire. And again… GLORY TO HIS NAME!

(I curse the day Seacrest got so powerful. We're all damned! Damned I tell you!)

So this is how liberty dies… with extreme handsomeness.

HARMLESS ITEM #1:
There's a big deal being made these days about rude people texting while others are talking to them. Seems like I can't go seven good seconds without hearing some in-bred Luddite crying about technology killing the social graces and making polite conversation a thing of the past. Well of course ya thunderhead, who the hell wants to talk to you if all you're gonna do is whine about how no one wants to talk to you?

"Because textin' is like readin'…
and readin' leads to Satan."

But to a certain extent I agree. If you and I are in the middle of a conversation and I whip out my phone and start twiddling on it, yeah… I'm a jerk, my bad. No excuse for that, no matter how f@%king boring I might find you to be.

However, that being said, the same applies when it goes the other way. If you see me all alone, minding my own business, happily tapping away on my phone, checking Facebook, Twitter, playing Angry Birds, downloading music, porn or even porn music, (some pretty catchy tunes in skin flicks) then it's likewise as rude to start yapping at me about your… your… well whatever banal shit you feel the need to yammer on about while I'm otherwise engaged. Like just this morning I was checking results from the Stanley Cup Playoffs and this guy comes up to me and… all right, put your f@%king phone away! I get it, touché, you don't care about hockey. Fine, moving on.

HARMLESS ITEM #2:
One of the younger guys at my job lost his grandmother last week. And in a show of ultimate compassion, our boss advised him to throw himself into his job, not let grief keep him down, put in some extra hours and let work help him to move on. Also told the kid that it would probably be best if he didn't take a whole day off for the funeral.

Now all that shit is true, no joke, really happened and raises an important question: What the f@%k is wrong with young people today? I ask this because that shit happened and there was no ass-whuppin' as a result. I may not be much of a fighter — Not that much of a lover either if you were to ask my wife. Seriously, why you talking to her anyway? — But in my day, back when my grandmother passed, if my employer had said some shit like that to me, cops would've been involved because a hate crime would've been committed. Not a racially motivated hate crime or anything like that, just simply me hating that asshole enough to beat him into a liquid state with a desk lamp, all the while crying for my Nana.

"Sorry boss, thought I saw a Volkswagon roll by. But please,
do continue talking shit about my dead grandmother."

Yet in the here and now, it didn't go down anything like that. My boy just politely thanked the boss for his advice and walked away leaving the bastard to douche another day. Probably the grumpy old bastard in me talking, but I just don't understand kids today. I blame the Mormons though. No real reason, I just blame them for everything.

Especially for that.

HARMLESS ITEM #3:
The other night I was at CVS and a woman at the pharmacy counter got charged $576 for some medicinal cream that her insurance wouldn't cover. Now I have no idea what she's trying to get rid of, and I was too busy staying far away from her to ask. You know… in case it was contagious or something. But for that price it might be easier to just drop $10.59 on a tube of Mary Kay Cosmetics concealer, (and with her complexion I'd recommend Beige #2) cover up whatever she's got growing on her epidermis and simply learn to live with it.

And never mind how or why I know so much about concealers, all right?

Unless of course the stuff she was buying had something to do with her boobs. You wanna be keeping that area free and clear of all blemish as a public service. Or maybe it was some kind of breast enlarger type stuff. Do they make creams that promote boob growth? Then it'd be totally worth it, whatever the price. That shit's important! And what kind of world do we live in where a product like that wouldn't be covered by insurance?

Oh my God, they totally do make this stuff!
Does it come in different flavors?

HARMLESS ITEM #4:

That looks like it would be the
greatest theme park attraction ever!

Saw Cabin in the Woods last weekend. Good film, lot of fun, if you have any interest in seeing it at all then get to the theater now before some jackass spoils the twists for you. Shit happened to me a few times in the past. Some nutcup spilled about the chick having a dick way back in The Crying Game, couple years later another asshat tells me about Bruce Willis being dead the whole time in The Sixth Sense. I realize that technically I should've have thrown up a SPOILER ALERT before I said anything about those two flicks, but really, they're like 20 and 14 years-old respectively. If you hadn't seen them by now then you were never gonna so most likely I ain't spoiled shit. Not like I'm spilling that the titular cabin in the woods turns out to be a mental institution for alien abductees run by the Church of Scientology. I mean that would be… oh shit.

Kidding… really. But that would be a good movie though.
(Note to self: Call my agent.)

Not spoiling anything though by mentioning that Chris Hemsworth stars in this film and it's just one of three that he's got going on this summer movie season. (Even though Cabin in the Woods came out two weeks ago and it's not really summer yet… I know and SHUT UP!) In about another week Hemsworth the Hunk will officially help kick off the season as Thor in The Avengers. Then about a month later he'll keep it rolling in Snow White and the Huntsman as… well as the Huntsman. I don't think the character even has a name.

Meanwhile Will Smith who used to rule the summer movie season is starring in just one film, Men in Black 3. First movie he's put out in like four years in fact. Been pretty busy I guess, turning his offspring into tiny cash machines and shooing Marc Anthony out of Jada Pinkett's skinny ass.

But don't worry, Will's gonna be back on the cinematic horse soon enough with the release of several just announced projects sure to recapture the crown from that Hemsworth punk. Let's see, he's making Bad Boys 3 and I, Robot 2 and… um… Hancock 2 and probably a bunch of other films that are sure to make us sad for many summers to come.

It's all right Will, you were dreaming about Independence Day
again. Go back to sleep for a few more years. Chris has got this.

HARMLESS ITEM #5:
Actress Sofia Vergara — star of the show Modern Family as well as a frequent guest star of dreams that cause me to wake up in a puddle of my own shame — was denied admittance to a cast party for Ghost: The Musical at New York's Ava Lounge a few nights ago. Reason for this was that she had no ID and couldn't prove that she was over 21 even though she's actually 39.

"Rrrrronald, Mi vida, I wan chu to come over here and…"
That's as far as I ever get in the dreams before… puddles.

Now while that's all well and good and as unreasonably hot as Ms. Vergara may be, I think the thing we really need to focus on here is… HOLY F@%KING SHIT! THERE'S A MUSICAL BASED ON THE MOVIE GHOST? WTH?

Yup, this shit's really happening.

This news is an even bigger cause for concern when you consider the fact that Ghost joins The Color Purple and Sister Act as Broadway musicals with lives that began in the fertile womb of Whoopi Goldberg's film career. Now… (Urrp!) Excuse me… mentioning Whoopi Goldberg and womb in the same sentence has made me a little queasy. (Beeelch!) I'll be okay.(PHHHHFFFFTTTTT!) I sharted.

Anyway, please God, in your infinite wisdom and with your awesome power, put a stop to this trend before someone gets it in their head to produce musical versions of other Goldberg gems like Jumping Jack Flash or Clara's Heart or Star Trek: Generations or… actually God, let's not be so hasty on stopping that last one.

Yeah I'd see this at least twice…
a month… for like a year.

SHAMELESS PLUG:
Lastly, got this little comic strip my friend Terri and I are kinda putting out there as part of our court-ordered community service. Not really sure how this actually helps the community at large but that's the kind of decision that gets made when you sell your kidney for money to bribe a judge. Hey, it keeps us out of prison and serves me right for letting Terri drive the van. Six trash bags full of weed in the back and she cuts off a cop at a Dunkin Donuts drive-thru looking to get her munch on.

But I don't hate her… anymore. Still, we have fun doing it and hope you'll enjoy reading it. If you dig it, check back for more as I'll be posting them here as fast as Terri can pump 'em out. Also, you might wanna check out Terri's personal blog at http://dearassjack.blogspot.com where she'll be posting these as well as other bits of crazy wonderfulness that fall through the cracks in her mind and hit the web with a sickening splat.

Of course if you don't like what we're doing then keep that shit to yourself. No one likes a Negative Nellie.

Well this now concludes our broadcast day. Stay tuned for a message from our Luminous Leader followed by the Imperial Anthem. You'll then have 30 seconds of personal time before the Iron Matrons come to force you into bed and administer your sleep injection. So until next time, good night and…

SLINGS AND ARROWS

I know, I know… I've been neglecting you. You're feeling abandoned and forsaken like most of my natural children. (And those little bastards are legion.) You're probably also starving because I forgot to leave food out before I left. Sorry, my bad. Couldn't be helped, been out of touch, down in Maryland trying to get my hands on that "misplaced" Mega Millions lottery ticket. But don't be thinking I wasted my time searching through every McDonalds in the state looking for the thing based on that bullshit fable that loon Mirlande Wilson has been spreading. No, I went right to the source, the horse's mouth so to speak, tried to get it straight from Wilson herself.

The trucker cap says it all my friends. "Sweet Swine" indeed.

She made me do… dirty things, I ain't gonna lie. Some things were worse than others, some of the things were pretty degrading and other things were downright illegal even in Amsterdam. But there was no pot of gold at the end of that dark, disturbing rainbow, only failure and lies. When it was over I was just happy to get the hell out of there with the few pints of blood and what little dignity I had left in me. I'm kidding of course, I didn't have any dignity before I went down there. Alas, it wasn't meant to be between Mirlande and me but we'll always have Paris. Paris was this transgendered friend of hers and the three of us… you know what, let's just move on.

So have you seen The Hunger Games yet? Have you read the books? Do you even know what the hell I'm talking about? Well if you don't then you're alone in the world because the books have been read by some thirty million people, the flick's raking in the dollars and little girls all over the world wanna be like the story's bow slinging heroine Katniss Everdeen as played by Jennifer Lawrence.

"What does Marsellus Wallace look like?
Does he look like a bitch?" 

And by "wannabe" I mean that the number of girls signing up for archery classes in the United States has seen a pretty significant jump from like whatever it was before to whatever the hell it is today. Now I can't give you actual figures… because I don't know how to count good. Also as you could tell from that last sentence, I don't talk english good either. (I am not a smart man.) But whatever that number is, it's sure to get even higher in the summer when Disney/Pixar releases the animated feature Brave with its CGI, flame-haired mistress of the bow, Merida. 

Is it just me or does it look like
she's lining up for a crotch shot? 

Even the recent release of Wrath of the Titans got in on the act with the character Andromeda — played by that sultry bit of Brit hotness Rosamund Pike — picking up a bow and… well going completely unnoticed since no one really saw that film because they were still packing the theater next door to make The Hunger Games number one for a third straight week. 

"I have a bow too! Care to come watch me shoot stuff?
Please? No? Sod off then you wankers!"

But even though Rosie and the Titans failed to grab any headlines this week, the rule of threes still applies. Three movies, three chicks with bows, three reasons to be afraid. (See, there's three things right there. Scared yet?) Or perhaps I'm just overreacting since this is not a new phenomenon. Movies and television shows of such a nature as the action/fantasy genre have often handed the bow to the ladies when there's a battle to be fought. Gives them something to do, keeps them out of the way, lets them feel like they're making a contribution to the fight. And it's just so gosh darned cute. 

I have got the weirdest boner right now. 

Probably one of the most famous bow chicks of the genre is that blonde honey Legolas from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. That movie franchise raked in somewhere close to a gazillion bucks and didn't spawn any kind of female archer apocalypse. And if a gal like Legolas couldn't inspire women the world over to turn their bra straps into bow strings and storm the halls of authority in some sort of Girl Powered revolution then I'm probably just worrying much over nothing because… Wait, what's that now? Legolas was a dude? You sure? Played by Orlando Bloom? Wait… Orlando Bloom is a dude? Really? 

Well that boner just got a lot weirder. 

And while that last exchange was uncomfortably horrific, it does serve to segue us to a very good point, men have been shooting pointy sticks at shit for far longer than women have even been allowed to leave the house. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was a dude that invented the weapon in the first place, probably to impress a chick. But that just goes without saying. I mean really, what don't we do to impress chicks? Hell, trying to impress a woman is why I write this damn blog in the first place. YOU WILL NOTICE ME SOMEDAY, HILARY CLINTON! 

Oh she acts like she doesn't see me, but behind those
sunglasses… sexy eye roll.

Not as if archery is like field hockey or the balance beam or synchronized bathroom trips or any of the three or four other sporting events that are strictly the purview of the fairer sex. Katniss and Merida can be as badass as they want to be, they'll never get anywhere near the popularity of the most famous fictional archer of all time. Yeah, that would be Robin Hood. In fact, I think he might even be more well-known than any real archers that are or have ever been. Quick, name an actual archer… GO! Can't do it, can you? But the legend of Robin of Loxley's been around forever, been played by dozens of dudes, sometimes even when we didn't want them to. Talking to YOU Russell Crowe! 

A grand legacy of robbing from the rich and giving to the poor.
But then the poor just go out and spend it all on booze.

And though there's no cinematic trips to Sherwood Forrest being made anytime in the foreseeable future, the Y-chromosome set will be represented well this summer amidst the Amazon hoards when Jeremy Renner takes to the silver screen (Can we still call it that in the digital age?) as Hawkeye in The Avengers. 

"Hey Scarlett, I got this. What say you make like the 60's
and go fix Daddy a drink? There's a good little girl." 

So you girls wanna pick up a bow and a quiver (that's the little backpack thingie where you keep all the arrows) and learn to shoot like the boys, whatever. It's all good, we ain't threatened by it. Bring it on ladies. Get as good at it as you want to, doesn't matter, cause at the end of the day you're never gonna look as cool doing it as my man Burt Reynolds did back in the day when he was rockin' it in Deliverance. That's the pinnacle right there, dude was the motherf@%king Mack! 

"If the arrow don't kill it then my awesomeness will
because I'm Burt Reynolds, dammit." 

Guess that settles that. Now we can all just get back to… hold up, what have we here? Seems that little Jennifer is back playing Katniss again. And look, she's got herself a leather jacket this time and… and… and… Shit, that is pretty cool right there. 

"Hey Ron, when you're done being wrong, go make Mommy
a sandwich, would you? There's a good little idiot." 

Stupid, stinky girls gotta go and ruin everything!

GOT ME STRAIGHT (ROAD) TRIPPIN', BOO!

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OH THOSE WOMEN DRIVERS

I'm a little late posting this one, was gonna put it up a few days ago but I got sidetracked by… something. Don't really wanna say what it was, it's embarrassing and… all right, if you must know it was cupcakes! That's all I'm saying, I'll speak of it no more.

But enough about me and my weakness. Last week out in San Diego, local FOX News sports reporter Ross Shimabuku was suspended without pay for calling NASCAR driver Danica Patrick a bitch on the air. Well, he didn't come right out and say the word bitch, more that he alluded to her bitchiness, said he thought she was a word that began with a B. Come to think of it, he didn't say the word rhymed with witch or pitch or any variation like that. So he very well might have been calling her something else entirely. Bubblehead perhaps? Maybe bed wetter? Just playing Devil's Advocate here.

"So I go up there and take a left? Then another left?
Then another left? And then another… oh this is bullshit!"

Reason Shimabuku said it was in response to an interview Danica gave where she dropped the following quote on a gaggle of reporters: 

"I don't quite understand why when you're referring to a girl, a female athlete in particular that you have to use the word sexy? Is there no other way to describe me?"

Well gee Danica, the reporters weren't talking to any other female athletes at the time, they were talking to you and they were talking about you. But you do kinda have a point. Why would they refer to you as sexy all the time? 

 I mean, I just can't understand it. 

 What would give them that idea? 

Why does a word like 'sexy' come to mind when talking about you? Hmmm?

And those were just twelve out of the first twenty images that came up when I Googled her name. Not even like I had to try.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not condoning what Mr. Shimabuku said and I think he was a word that begins with a D for saying it. (Begins with D and rhymes with Numbass.) But I do kind of understand why he said it, what he was actually trying to say. And when the incident occurred on air, news anchor Kathleen Bade argued Patrick's case. That her attitude might stem from the pressures of being a pioneer in a man's sport. I've spoken here on women's issues before and just as before I want to preface this by admitting I may be speaking out of turn here. But I don't really see how bending over the hood for FHM Magazine helps prove that you can be just as good as the boys. Though I'm not criticizing her for it, not passing judgements or calling her a… whatever. 

"Oh no, don't look at me, I ain't sayin' shit."

But as far as her being a pioneer is concerned… not really. All right, kinda but Janet Guthrie was a true pioneer of the sport. Guthrie was the first woman to qualify for both the Daytona 500 and the Indy 500 back in 1977, five years before Danica Patrick was even born. She blazed the trail Danica's currently driving along by competing with the boys without ever resorting to taking it off for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. 

No no no, Janet, that's okay, you don't have 
to do that! Well all right, if you really want to.

And before Guthrie, there was professional drag racer Shirley Muldowney who was showing the boys how it was done as far back as the mid-60s. Granted, Muldowney did do a few photo-ops in hot pants and thigh-high leather boots, but so what? It was the 60s, free love and all that bullshit. Plus, she was cool about it! Not like that little crybaby Danica. 

"Boo-Hoo! Why does everyone
keep staring at my tits?"

Well zip your f@%king fire suit as well as your mouth and get behind the wheel already, dammit! Take a lesson from the other women racers out there in the field these days. Women like Sarah Fisher, Ashley Force, Sloan Henderson, Erin Crocker, Leilani Munter… and… and… 

That would be Leilani Munter right there.

I'm sorry, I lost my train of thought for a second. And my pants. In retrospect, using the public library's computer to post this was probably a mistake. Should really wrap this up before security gets here.

To be fair, I know it's been a few years since Patrick's last sexy photo shoot. She is trying to change her image and be taken more seriously as a race driver. Good for her. But she just has to realize that it's not so easy to get the shit back in the horse. And unfortunately, as Leilani has been kind enough to show us, other female athletes are keeping it plenty sexy. (God love them for that!)

A good next step for DP might be to hook up with a new sponsor, because GoDaddy.com is really not helping the cause. My humble suggestion: Vagisil. Spend a couple racing events walking around with the logo of America's #1 sour patch remedy plastered on her back and sexy flies out the window. Guaranteed.

KILLS SEXY DEAD.

NOT KOOL!

All right, gonna get serious here for once. I want to take this opportunity to speak to you all about something very near and dear to my heart.

Nah, I'm messing with you. I'm just here to f@%k around as usual.

So let's go back, shall we? Let's climb into the time machine of our collective imaginations — because there's no such thing as a real time machine, you know. There's only meth junkies who say they're from the future, con you into climbing into a phone booth with them by asking you to go back in time and help prevent the recession from happening. But then you find out it's all a lie when he punches you in the junk and steals your wallet, leaving you penniless, coddling your sack and crying in a glass box on the mean streets of NYC. Well who knew there were still phone booths around in 2011? I figured he had to be on the level. I've seen Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, that shit could really happen. I did it for America! 

"It happened right there, Officer! No I will not calm down!"

But I'm not here to punch you in the nuts. (Unless you're into that sort of thing.) I'm here to take you back to the year 1984. For some of you that sparks recollections of big-ass hair, shoulder pads, piano ties, parachute pants and Members Only jackets. For others it means absolutely nothing because your daddies hadn't even met your mamas yet. And I hate you young mother f@%kers for that. Anyway, in 1984 rock legends Van Halen released an album titled, appropriately enough… 1984. Great album, instant classic, one of my favs. Being young and having the freedom from responsibility and the spare time that I took for granted and now miss with every breath that brings me closer to death, I wanted to see Eddie and the boys when they came around to play New York's Madison Square Garden. But alas I found myself to be a little cash poor at that point. That whole freedom from responsibility thing translates into my not having a damn job back then. But my boy Andy stepped up and was all like: "I'll spot you on this one. I'll pick up tickets and you pay me back when you can." (Paraphrasing of course. How am I supposed to remember his exact damn words?)

"Um… guys, maybe you shouldn't all be grabbing it like that.
That's looking kinda… never mind. I'll just take the picture."

So imagine my surprise a day later when Andy informed me that he didn't get me a ticket. Oh he meant to, had every intention of doing so… until his girlfriend Joanne — whom he'd just hooked-up with like a day before — told him she wanted to go and there wasn't enough cash in the coffers to spot us both. At that point what could I do… but break them up? Oh yeah, that bitch had to go. To my credit though, I never lied or did anything underhanded to achieve this goal. Understand that Joanne was a whore and I just made sure Andy knew it. And she didn't make it all that difficult either. Getting regular transvaginal exams (Topical Phrase Alert!) in parked cars with dudes other than Andy provided me with plenty of opportunity, ammunition and witnesses to help prove my case and get me my damn ticket. Ahhh… memories.

"Are you sure wearing a seatbelt counts as protection?"

Annnnd we're back to the present. And just like twenty-eight years ago, (REALLY?) Van Halen's back as well, kickin' it once again with David Lee Roth, a new album and a new tour and I'm once again too broke to get a ticket. Doesn't really matter as much today since I wouldn't want to go even if money weren't an issue. Not gonna be breaking up any relationships all in the name of rock 'n roll, so all my buddies married to unfaithful sluts can just relax. You dudes should probably check your bitch's phone records though. Just sayin'. But your marriage is safe from me at least because I don't want to see Van Halen when they hit the road this year with Kool & the Gang as their opening act. Wait…WTF?

Somebody's agent must have lost a bet.

Holy shit! A pairing like that simply defies explanation. I'd wanna see that just out of sheer morbid curiosity alone. But alas it's a moot point. According to the tour sheet, when Eddie and Diamond Dave get here to Connecticut, Kool & the Gang will not be joining them. Only spot out of about thirty-two states that those glorified wedding singers won't make. What the hell, Kool? You're too good for the Nutmeg State or something? 

Now my wife with her bright side mentality is giving them the benefit of the doubt. She's like that, always trying to see the best in people. (Wasting her time with me though.) Since the CT show is at the Mohegan Sun Arena she's thinking maybe Kool or one of the Gang might have a gambling problem or religious aversion to playing a casino. Yeah, that sounds plausible, until two weeks later when they're playing New Jersey's Boardwalk Hall in the heart of Atlantic City. And okay, maybe that's different, that's just a concert hall and not actually in the middle of a casino like Mohegan Sun. So maybe their religious beliefs or 12-step program will allow that. But what about two months after that when they're playing the MGM Grand Garden Arena in the MGM Grand Hotel and CASINO in Las Vegas? Las Vegas, that place with so much vice they call it Sin City. What up with that, huh? Where's your God now, Kool?

Obviously Mr. Robert "Kool" Bell (As if his mama really named him that.) doesn't have any addictions or vice aversions or religious beliefs that prevent him from playing here. That motherf@%ker just has a problem with my home state. And that being the case, I now have a problem with him. So f@%k him and f@%k his gang too! Not even a real gang anyway, bunch of posers! What kinda gang dresses in shiny satin jumpsuits and plays party music? This ain't no West Side Story! 

Okay, not really jumpsuits, more of a leisure separates
kind of thing. So I stand corrected. But still… DAMN!

So along with calling bullshit I'm also calling boycott! From now on I call for the song Celebration to cease being played at all weddings and other such affairs in the great state of Connecticut. Kool & the Gang don't wanna play here, then they should stop being played here as well. In the future, all resident happy couples looking to jump the broom (it's a black thing) should do so accompanied by the more apropos tune Jump by Van Halen, since they don't seem to have a problem with us. 

Of course on the other hand, Mohegan Sun's the only spot on the tour owned by a Native American tribe, so it might be a racial thing. Which would mean Kool and his boys don't have a problem with all of us, just Connecticut Indians.

If that's the case then… is it wrong that I'd be okay with that?

FUTURE FASHION

Found myself feeling all spring-timey yesterday, getting kinda geeked about baseball season coming up. For that reason I walked into work wearing my long sleeved Red Sox batting practice pullover. Penny, one of the women in my office (that I haven't sexually harassed… yet) commented that I looked like a red shirt ensign from Star Trek. Then oddly enough, later in the day my friend Terri made a joke on Facebook about me wearing a red shirt like a doomed ensign as well. And to my knowledge Terri hadn't seen me and had no idea what I was actually wearing. Unless she's ignoring the restraining order that is. It's possible… she's kind of obsessed with me. Now while Penny's observation was just her trying to make me smile and Terri's was more a desire to see me obliterated by some alien death trap, (I didn't say hers was the good kind of obsession) it was still a weird coincidence that I took a sign from above. I guess I'm supposed to talk Trek today. Oh well, who am I to thwart the will of fate?

So pretty. I'd totally hit that.

Just so happens that the 2009 film remake has been playing on FX Network all week and I've caught it once or… all nine times they've shown it. (That's normal behavior, right?) And something that's stood out for me every time I've watched are the uniforms. Well that and the fact that it's a really crappy story made enjoyable because of terrific special effects and a lightning pace that never lets you think about how truly asinine the plot is. Pretty much the type of film Michael Bay tries to make every time. But back to the uniform thing… who the f@%k dressed these people? Like I said before, I wore a damn baseball shirt yesterday and I looked like I belonged on the Enterprise. As if I could've just walked onto the bridge, taken a seat and no one would've noticed the difference. Just headed out into space, going to other planets, getting off this f@%king miserable rock. Maybe get myself a phaser and be all like "Pew-pew… suck it Klingons, ya punk-ass bitches! Commander Savage is all up in your space!"

I'm sorry, how long was I gone this time? Anyway, Starfleet's a military organization, the Enterprise is their flagship, the standard bearer and the entire crew looks like they just rolled out of bed late for finals. To illustrate, I've put together a graphic that shows Starfleet uniforms in chronological order. Because I have that kind of spare time since hiding from Terri means I don't go out much.

One of these things is not like the others. Which one's more ridiculous, can you tell?

Granted, they're all pretty much dressed like a bunch of futuristic bellhops, but notice how everyone else looks nice and neat, clean and pressed. Kinda like they're at least trying to get a decent tip for lugging your bags. Even Kirk in his golden years was all spit-shined and polished. Yet back in his wilder days when he was on a five-year mission to seek out new life and new hook-ups, he couldn't be bothered with ironing things I guess. And why toil around with concepts as mundane as belts or tucked in shirts when it's all just gonna just get beamed off at the first sign of poon anyway?

"Oh dear… my shirt didn't… beam in with
the rest… of me. And… you're welcome."

Wasn't all bad though. There was one nice aspect of Kirk and crew's less than formal attire: mini-skirts.

How YOU doin', Uhura?

But all things considered, it could've been much worse. Looking like a star-hopping slumber party is still a hundred times better than what those assholes looked like a long time ago in a galaxy far far away…

And of course we can't forget this guy.

"I AM YO DADDY!"

Cant forget him because he's the lone touch of awesomeness in that whole hot mess of a universe Lucas created. There are those who would point to Boba Fett being pretty cool as well. But really, that walking hood ornament died like a little bitch, so don't even. Yeah, I know, we started off talking about questionable clothing choices and veered into… wherever the hell we are now. But that's just the sort of thing that happens when I start talking sci-fi.

Come on man, pound out some of those dents,
slap on a coat of paint, show some damn pride!

Many Bothans died to bring you this post.

See now if you were a true Star Wars fan you'd be LOLing all over yourself right now. Of course if you were a true fan you'd be pretty pissed about all that other stuff I said before. Like Terri, she's a Star Wars fan and I… shit! I think I done stepped in it this time. Probably on her way over right now and I'm gonna die soiling my britches and screaming like a little girl… just like Boba Fett!

YEAH, I SAID IT! COME AND GIT SOME, STAR WARS NERDS!