DC Comics has decided to end Bruce Wayne’s run as Batman. I know killing off an iconic character got geeks and lukewarm comic fans alike to buy your graphic novel last time, DC Comics, but this is reeking of desperation. Take a page from Marvel Comics playbook and ditch marketing your printed books altogether and instead throw all your capital towards mediocre movies about second-tier characters. Another Batman movie has got to be better than Ghost Rider or Daredevil, right?
As my seed festers in my wife’s baby maker, I have been laying awake at nights and pondering life’s important questions. Will I turn into the cold, unforgiving man my father was growing up when my unborn child arrives? Will I be able to afford diapers and a college fund? Will the wife and I stay happily married with the added stress of a newborn baby? Could DJ and I get away with beating Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt to death? I keep coming back to one nagging query; do I hate my job or do I hate my career? While I acknowledge I do not have the worst professional life by a long shot (I could be languishing in data sales, for example), I cannot say that I am satisfied with where I am currently at career-wise (nor, for that matter, have I ever been satisfied). I love what I do but I am finally acknowledging that I am running on creative fumes. A new job may be the answer. A full-time stab at freelance may be the answer. Writing the book I told myself I would write a long time ago may be the answer. In short; I am dealing with a lot of shit. Confucius once said “By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest.” F’in A, Confucius. F’in A.
As a youngster I would go for dinner at my grandparents house at least once a week. My Italian grandmother was an amazing cook and made some of the most glorious feasts (her lentil soup and pot roast can never be duplicated). After dinner we would retire to the family room to watch some Golden Girls. I recall my grandmother laughing hysterically at Sophia on a regular basis. Maybe it was because they had similar personalities. Or that they were both Italian. Or they were both five feet tall, one hundred pounds and intimidating as hell. Whatever it was, Estelle Getty will always hold a special place in my heart for being able to continually crack my grandmother’s iron resolve.
DJ: The Elliot Spitzer prostitute flow chart.
Me: See, now this is why I hate society. I mean, who cares if he buys a whore? Aside from killing her I am cool with it. Even then, it is circumstances such as these that killing a hooker seems acceptable.
DJ: So basically you just want a class of disposable people?
Me: Have you ever been inside a Wal-Mart Super Center on a weekend? I would say we are already there.
Last night I walked downstairs to adjust the settings on the sprinkler control box and noticed a mess of feathers strewn about the basement. There I found our kitten, MJ, sitting cocksure over a dead bird with her smooth, serpentine tail slapping against the cold concrete floor. I caught her primal gaze and a bursting sense of pride welled up inside me. “Take that you stupid bird,” I thought. Then I did what any parent would do after they learned their child had just committed murder: lavish praise on said child (or in this case, said kitty) and than dispose of the body.
Today a lone gunman killed 32 people (including his best shot, himself) and injured 28 at Virginia Tech, making it the second worse school-related mass murder in US history. Number one on the list is still the 1927 Bath School Disaster, followed by the 1999 Columbine Massacre and finally the 1966 Whitman Tower Shootings at the University of Texas. Being a veteran of the Columbine Massacre media frenzy (the shooting was less than 20 miles from my house) here is a list of things you can expect to happen in the next year:
- Local news media will interview individuals that had no involvement in the event save that they were enrolled at the school at the time said event occurred. Most normal family and friends close to the victims will grieve in private rather than talk to guys like Geraldo.
- Comparisons will run rampant between similar school shooting tragedies. Most news agencies will lead in tonight’s broadcast with, “Only four days away from the eighth anniversary of the Columbine Massacre…”
- An analytical breakdown of the killer’s lifestyle habits including what video games he played, what music he listened to, what books he read, what movies he watched and how disturbing his writing was on his Blog/MySpace page. Armchair psychologists will then diagnose the killer with a host of disorders that would have indicated he was going to commit mass murder sometime in the near future.
- The authorities will be blamed for not responding fast enough or for covering something up.
- Proposed knee-jerk gun control legislation will be drafted/enacted to prevent a tragedy like this from ever happening again.
- A fabricated religious subplot will unfold and parents will exploit their dead children by writing books about them (like this and this).
- Virginia residents will be able to commemorate the tragedy by registering their State’s own “Respect Life” license plates (like this). Fellow drivers will then be able to relive the horrific event everyday during rush hour traffic.
Kurt Vonnegut died late last in Manhattan. He was 84. He is one of my favorite writers and I know the world will miss him. He witnessed the firebombing of Dresden firsthand and based parts of his most famous work Slaughterhouse-Five on the experience. He wrote many books, but in my opinion, A Man Without A Country was one of his best. He ends the book with this fitting poem:
When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
“It is done.”
People did not like it here.
I’m sure Kurt is up in heaven now.
Minutes ago I heard sirens nearby and instantly thought the authorities were raiding another meth lab in the neighboring apartment complex or that another unit in our town home community was on fire. I set foot outside to witness paramedics wheeling out a dead body four units down.’Burb livin’ is hardcore, yo. Represent.
Anna Nicole Smith is dead from popping a handful of sedatives and choking on her own vomit. Glamorous. Is anyone shocked? Anyone besides other drugged out bitches with balloons surgically implanted in their chest cavity? It was just a matter of time before Anna Nicole’s major organs exploded due to heavy narcotic intake. I am done with the major news outlets already; especially those comparing her to Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn was a smoking hot sexpot and had talent. Anna Nicole had a big rack and a penchant slurring her way through interviews. Marilyn had a stable that was the envy of most straight women of her era: JFK, RFK, Joey D and Arthur Miller. Anna Nicole’s stable included a billionaire that looked like an exhumed corpse, a Jewish lawyer that weighs a buck twelve and random strip club patrons that paid her $200 for a champagne room hand job.
- Wikipedia for Halloween.
- Halloween costumes for sluts. My personal favorites: Teacher’s Pet, Alice In Wonderland and herpes bear. Disturbing items: Homo-erotic Roman Warrior costume and the sexy plus-size costume section (note the complete lack of realistic models that could adorn the “three-man tent tarp” size). A note to sexy costume manufacturers everywhere: Your plus-size section should consist of one costume; a king-size white sheet with eye holes cut out labeled “Sexy Ghost That Eats Too Much.”
- Anna Nicole Smith is facing the possibility of exhuming her son’s dead body.
- Wikipedia for Samhain (the festival, not the bag of assholes band Glenn Danzig fronted after the dissolution of the Misfits).