03.02.04: Here is a puzzlement I was forwarded... could this be Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars: Episode III, after his climactic battle with Obi-Wan Kenobi? (DON'T LOOK if you want to be surprised, or have never been in a burn ward.) Note that, beyond the obvious cybernetic arm, the wounds on his head correspond with the scars we see as Darth Vader removes his helmet in Episode VI. I'll leave you to make up your own mind, but as for me, one thing's for damn sure...

I'm excited as FREAKIN' HELL about next year's final Star Wars chapter. (As well as the upcoming Clone Wars cartoon serial continuation April 8, and not just because I'm dying to see what General Grievous [SPOILER ALERT] looks like.)

Here's something else I'm really excited about: Here's some exclusive pictures of Transformers' new Megatron, which, as you can see, is an homage to G1's Galvatron. Sure, he's sky-blue, but hey, maybe it's time for some pastel colors to represent pure, unadulterated evil. Also, if you've dreamed your whole life of being Autobot legend Optimus Prime, and you have a thousand bucks to burn, your prayers have been answered. That should complete your obsession, since the idea of changing your name to "Optimus Prime" has been taken.

And lastly, if you're being driven nearly insane by those cryptic Quizno's commercials (oh, for the days of the "raised by wolves" guy), here's some help. Don't blame me if that goddamn song is stuck in your head now.

03.01.04: Okay... perhaps my faith in the Academy Awards was renewed, somewhat, last night as Lord Of The Rings: Return Of The King totally (and deservedly) swept the Oscars. Maybe the incredibly brilliant Triplets of Belleville got a bit snubbed (though Finding Nemo got some love), but it was all worth it to see uber-lovable Kiwi Peter Jackson, he who vomited into a punch bowl in Bad Taste, take home an army of little gold men. Plus Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara performed "Kiss At The End Of The Rainbow" from A Mighty Wind as Mitch & Mickey. Good stuff.

Speaking of good stuff, you know what the opposite of it is? That would be Destino, a short animation resuscitated from the Disney vaults after 60 years. Originally a collaboration between surrealist painter Salvador Dali and Walt Disney, Destino was scrapped during the WWII acetate shortage. Then, recently, it was made into a pointless, ugly, overly computer-animated mess that ironically feels like a Disney-ized version of Dali's work. For some reason, Roy Disney is treating this crap like a slap in the face to Michael Eisner's current cookie-cutter cartoon machine. If anything slaps Eisner in the face, it's Belleville, which is a visual and technical marvel from beginning to end, and and absolute joy to behold. So, if they're showing Destino before Belleville in your area, do yourself a favor; show up late and miss it. Even if you don't, Belleville will make you forget all about it. Just mah two cents.

And back to the Oscars... how 'bout that great bit with Blake Edwards crashing into a wall in a wheelchair?!? C'est just!

02.24.04: Just checking in here... it's gonna be a little while before I can get back to updating regularly. There is just too much work outside of the site to be done. I wanted to finish up my reviews for Gigli (yes, that Gigli) and Bumfights 2: Bumlife, but I'm smack dab in the middle of a major job right now, and it simply has to take priority. Don't despair, when all is said and done I'll definitely make it worth your while. (Think of the name "Bonk".)

I, of course, also wanted to write a detailed analysis of the tear-jerking climax to the ultra-sublime Surreal Life, but there just ain't no time to do it justice. Let me just say this: I take back everything negative I've ever said about Rob "Vanilla Ice" Van Winkle on this page, or elsewhere. Not only is he just a straight-up great guy, but he went through nothing short of a major psychological breakthrough on the show two weeks ago (no joke). Now, Sally Jessy Raphael... there's a venomous harpie for you.

Alright, I gotta go. Here's some great news for you. Toot toot! Eat your spinach.

02.19.04: Sorry it's been a few days since an update, but work has really ramped up. (Unfortunately that also means I gotta keep this short.) But anyway, here is officially the coolest Photoshop contest Fark has ever hosted, and lord have they had some doozies.

And to "bustedson007", who says "Transformers suck"; actually that's your mom you're thinking of, you anus-hopping ass-clown.

02.14.04: Happy Valentine's Day! And if you haven't already caved to my near-constant bugging you about it, check out A Magic Belly Bears Valentine! If you neglected to get your sweetie a box of candy or whatnot, it's just the thing to save your bacon.

And hey... if today has set you to a real bitter woman-hating mood, check this out. Maybe it'll help. Or, for the ladies, if you've worked yourself into a V-Day man-hatin' lather, have a look at this. The Pod is here to help!

02.12.04: Cool beans- A Magic Belly Bears Valentine came in 3rd Place on NewGrounds! Not bad, eh? Thanks again everybody! And remember... V-Day is only two days away. Send it to someone you love/hate!

I got a Transformers Alternator Side Swipe a few days ago. What can I say. Just goddamn get one. He's unbelievable. Damn. And, here's a place you can go to freshen up those old 1984 Transformers in the back of your closet. Check it out- they even have stickers to make Optimus Prime evil!

02.11.04: Listen... are you too cheap/broke/negligent to get your sweetie a special sumpin' this Valentine's Day (Saturday!)? Don't sweat it, soldier- The Pod has your back. Check it- here's the first Official Mike The Pod E-card: A Magic Belly Bears Valentine! You can send this e-card one of two ways; either right-click on the link above and save the file to your hard drive, or you can use this link in the body of an email you send:

http://www.mikethepod.com/MBBvalentine.swf

The second way may be better, since the virusmeisters are kickin' it high-style and most people know better than to open email attachments (some, like me, don't even receive them). So get to it, and with the help of the Magic Belly Bears, you might just get you some! Or, she'll... never speak to you again. We assume no responsibility.

Here they come... Heartsky, Starbert and Moonglow, the Magic Belly Bears! LOVE THEM!!! THEY LOVE YOU!!!

02.09.04: Folks... it's gettin' to be about that time again... no, not Valentine's Day, though that is just around the bend. Time to archive this section of idiotic blog, the page is way too long. I think I'll move the links of the Janet Jackson boob slip to the new page as well however, they've been great for my traffic. So anyhoo, I'm gonna keep my post-Surreal Life rant short this week, not just to keep from fattening up this page further, but also because I missed the first half-hour, when I forgot the show came on at 9 and opted to watch an admittedly hilarious episode of Malcolm In The Middle.

However, I saw enough to know this much: TRACI BINGHAM SUCKS. Yeah, I've said it before. It bears repeating, ad infinitum. I guess her sub-moronic ad shots for sub-moronic food fascists PETA- you know, "it's better than posing for Playboy since it's for a 'good cause', plus everyone still gets to see my naked ass, heehee"- allowed her pea-brain to memorize all manner of looney rhetoric. Too bad it wasn't a Baywatch script; she might have possibly done a better job of haranguing Erik Estrada and Rob Van Ice, as they innocently attempted to grill some animal meat for a late-night barbeque. As it was, her childish platitudes only cemented her status as plastic laughing-stock. First she asked Ice if he would consider eating his own daughter, likening an actual human infant to a moo-cow or piggy. Then she made some crackheaded comment about how when you cook a bird, no matter what species it is, it magically "becomes" chicken, even if it's oh, say, a parrot. I prayed she would lean close enough to the Weber grill to cause her implants to explode. Erik summed it all up beautifully, as this ridiculous walking pile of doll parts and nonsense made her way to the house after being roundly laughed at; "Should we tar and feather her now and roll her down the hill, or wait until morning?" All this, after she magically transformed from cock-crazy naked freakazoid to demure and faithful sweetie-pie (literally on bended knee) after her fiance made a surprise appearance at Ron Jeremy's "Porno BBQ", and politely requested that she forgodsakes put some clothes on. I have a special message for Traci- I'm eating Chicken McNuggets right now, and I hope, just for you, that whatever exotic South American insect maggot they were made from was tortured real good. You gotta be the worst spokesrack vegetarians could ask for, short of Colonel Sanders himself and his vast concentration camps of chicken torment. And if that poor bastard marries you, you better hope like hell he doesn't believe in female castration. But hey, at the wedding, you could have Ron Jeremy be the ringbearer. Just imagine where he could bear it.

(Just so we're clear, I don't agree with unethical treatment of animals in regards to them being processed into meat, but I do eat meat, and I get pretty pissed when people come down on me because I do so. By no means do I believe that all vegetarians and vegans are fascists, but you have to admit there are quite a few bad examples, just as there are with any large group. Just like Christians. Here's what I'm talking about. Remember, if you're not a Christian, "you're craaazy!" But you're in good company, what with my agnostic self, my Wiccan girlfriend, and my Jewish friends. We're all crazy, doncha know, Mr. Nazi Pilot? Ahem.)

Shit, did I say I was gonna keep this rant short? Damn! Alright, I'm wrapping it up on this note: I'm continuing to dine on crow (sorry again for eating "chicken", Traci!) for saying Vanilla Ice was a prick a few weeks ago. He gets cooler every episode. And Tammy Faye is just beyond adorable.

02.08.04: If you're a huge Transformers fan like I am, and you're also an adult, non-retard, or both, no doubt you're appalled beyond measure by the steaming hunk of elephant shit masquerading as the new TF cartoon, Energon. In my opinion, Energon makes the positively execrable Robots In Disguise cartoon from a couple years back look brilliant. Anyway, to help you heal from this, the latest of Hasbro's nut-shots at its most precious fan base, pick up Dreamwave's latest issue of TF: Generation 1 (#1). Not only is it completely and utterly bad-ass (as with all Dreamwave's TF titles), but there's appearances from a buttload of obscure "variant" TFs, such as the insanely-cool Sunstorm. I found a picture of his rare toy, here. Maybe that'll ease the agony, no?

02.07.04: Hey, I figured it out... I did mention Keisha Knight Pulliam and T'Keyah Crystal Keymah on this site, like two years ago! I was ranting about how if men use three names, they're a killer of some sort, and if women use three names, they're an actress of some sort. So there, I ate some crow on that one. (I was all like, I've never mentioned them on this site! Never!) I wouldn't bother reading back through this blog like I did though, it's all rancor and cusswords. I just thought I'd let you know.

02.06.04: Okay, so, like most webmasters (I assume), I get a report of all sorts of stuff concerning ol' MTP HQ here. Where people came from, what pages they visited, how long they stayed, what browser they use, it goes on and on in great detail- last but not least, with a tally-me-banana of my hits (which have been way up lately, thanks everybody!). One of the sections is "search strings"; words people type into search engines like Google that refer them to my site, in case you didn't know. Here's what confuses me. For months now, and I'm serious, we're talking months, some one person has been typing the following phrase into some search engine, and inexplicably it's led them here:

keisha knight pulliam nude

WTF?!? Before now, I've never even mentioned her, let alone posted nekkid pictures of her. How the hell does that phrase lead them here? And... isn't that the name of the little girl from The Cosby Show? (Don't email me with an answer; I don't really care that much, and I don't feel like looking it up.) Granted, she's older now (maybe not by enough), but still, far as I know, most people would know her as a sitcom child. Do you have any idea how goddamn creepy that is?

Ugh, I just realized that by writing this blog entry I'll probably bring them back here again. But hey, if you want a gander at a definitely-legal (though armored) black booby, whoever you are, scroll down three entries for a link to Janet Jackson's titty!

You know what? I'm gonna post some more of these search strings... some are pretty funny. Some make sense, some don't. You be the judge.

velma dinkley nude : Alright, Velma Dinkley is Velma from Scooby-Doo. I don't have any naked pics of her either. Unfortunately, nor do I have any nude pictures of drop-dead gorgeous Linda Cardellini (she played Velma in the live-action movie), if they exist beyond the realm of Photoshop fakery. Which I doubt. I could draw you up one, but it'll cost you. Let's talk.

meecrob : No mystery there. Meecrob is Invisible Inc. Agent #36. He wears a parka and has a friend named Voot who looks like a lemon. I'm sure whoever typed that in was looking for the ass-flavored Thai dish, though. (It is Thai, right?)

hugo weaving epilepsy : ...Elrond has Grand Mal? Christ, I hope not....

tight pants : Bad news. They give you nut cancer. I sure as hell don't wear them. I like my nuts. No tight pants of any kind here.

cartoon crap, crazy crap : I can see why those led here. That's MTP in a nutshell. See, told you I like my nuts.

cky jenn tits : Obviously a by-product of discussing two of my favorite topics; CKy videos and my girlfriend Jenn. Though Bam Margera also has a girlfriend named Jenn, whose tits you can clearly see if you watch Haggard, don't count on ever seeing my Jenn's titties here. (Though it has been surmised by some that the boobs in the picture for the mikethepod.com Review on the Reviews page are hers, in truth Jenn's are several billion times nicer. Sorry.)

bling bling (many variations thereof): Yes, Bling Bling rules. Rest assured, as soon as my copy of Bumfights II arrives, there will be a Review (on the same page with the titties), and I'll get you up to date on everyone's favorite crackhead. (Also... if you order a $5 copy of Tailothepup's Insincere, you'll hear a guest sample from the Bling himself on "Hyperneurotic"...)

t'keyah keymah nude : Hey, at least she's not known for being a Cosby kid. Still no nude pics of her here, or even a mention of her. Unless D.P. is sneaking these names into the Reviews I didn't write. Like me, he tends to get fixated (I had a weird thing for Monica Lewinsky that was a side effect of some anti-depressants I was on), but unlike me, with him it's much more adorable. Am I boring you yet?

boob slip family feud exposed : I have no idea what this means. But if there was a boob slip, and I wasn't informed, then I have to admit I'm heartbroken. Sigh. Unless it was a weird-lookin' shrivelled-wineskin granny-boob. Then thanks but no thanks, pardner.

celebrity rabbit owner, pictures of evil demons, et al : Alrighty, my head is starting to hurt. No more of this for today. Ah kin take n'more, cap'n!! Tune in again soon, I'll have pictures of evil demon celebrity rabbits for all! Rabbits for all!

02.05.04: I thought it was an absolute gas when Dave Chappelle sang the classic "Diff'rent Strokes" theme on Chappelle's Show last night, backed up by John Mayer and ?uestlove. Dave's show has been knocking 'em out of the park consistently this season, but him singing was especially great. Tailothepup have always been huge fans of the Diff'rent Strokes theme; if you listen carefully to that strange ascending-pitch whistle on the song "HCHO" off of Insincere, you'd never be able to tell that it is indeed the theme to everyone's favorite Gary Coleman show, played backwards and run through a series of filters. If you can tell, then damn, that's pretty spooky, dude.

02.04.04: What an honor- The Tiniest Restaurant In The World Chapter 3 made the Daily Feature on NewGrounds! This definitely makes all the hard work worth it. If you haven't seen "TR3", it incorporates sections of frame-by-frame animation, and not just tweens; far more time-consuming for one person. But, I like the look of frame-by-frame, so once I start, it's hard to go back to plain ol' tweening again. Kind of like (if you noticed, which I hope you did) the fact that all three chapters have been lip-synched, which also takes an assload of time to do. I used to be cool with just running a jabbering-mouth loop (see any John's Arm movie), but that just doesn't cut it anymore. Lip-synched animation just looks too damn slick, and it makes the animation and audio mesh so much more nicely. Anyway, speaking of jabbering mouths, I've blathered on enough about this crap. Expect TR4 in March, and don't worry... all those other animations I said were comin' (The Hoarch, Phone Call To God, The Bear With Searing Gas Pain Out Of Hibernation Special, etc.) are still on the way, they're just on the back burner. Toodles!

02.03.04: Hey... check out that date, huh? Pretty cool. Come to think of it, I bet I said the same thing on January 2nd of last year. I'm not gonna go look though. The hell with that.

Anyway, The Tiniest Restaurant In The World Chapter 3 is here for your viewing pleasure, or disdain, whichever. It's about damn time. Enjoy.

02.02.04: Happy Groundhog Day! Speaking of things that pop out of nowhere, here's a picture of Janet Jackson's exposed breast after Justin Timberlake's bodice-ripping bout of jungle fever during last night's Super Bowl halftime show. I'll post you an uncensored picture as soon as I can find one where it doesn't look like Janet's nipple is made out of barbed wire. Or is that thing supposed to be stuck on there for some reason? Is Janet afraid of being nursed, so she glues on a special titty shuriken to keep the advancing hordes of mewling brats at bay? I didn't actually see the game, so I don't know. Those of you who know me know that if I said that I watched the Super Bowl, especially the often sniper-tempting halftime show, I've obviously been replaced by a doppelganger of some kind.

**Addendum: I found more pictures, and there was some weird thingy glued on Janet's nip. Here's some more pics: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 . Freakin' weird-ass Jacksons.

If you've ever been pestered by someone on your IM, (say a relative, or semi-friend) where you don't want to be rude and tell them to F off, but you don't want to shut down your IM dealie either, I have just the plan for you... and it'll work. Here's all you do: copy the following phrase (substitute "she" for "he" if you're a li'l girlie):

, he says, with forced aplomb.

Now, all you gotta do is paste it at the end of every single sentence you type to that person. Don't slip up and miss once, it'll blow the whole deal. After the first couple times, your friend will no doubt be confused as to why you keep typing it. This is when you tell them that your IM has fallen prey to a virus called FRCDAPLMB.exe, that adds that phrase to every sentence, he says, with forced aplomb. Tell them you're sorry, but that's how it is, and you can't do anything about it until you find the extractor program, he says, with forced aplomb. As long as they don't go emailing Norton, you should be able to get rid of them with this simple trick, he says, with forced aplomb. Because no one wants to read the same snotty epithet over and over, he says, with forced aplomb. Try it today! Er..., he says, with forced aplomb.

01.31.04: Okay, here's what's up: the third chapter of the MTP documentary series The Tiniest Restaurant In The World will be here for your viewing pleasure next week. As of right now the audio is 95% done, and the overall animation is 60% done. For some reason this chapter has become a real beast, beyond the electrical problems I whined about some days ago. You'll see why when the damn thing comes out, so don't break my balls on the ridiculous delay between chapters two and three. I lose enough sleep about it anyway. Well, not really. I don't sleep much overall. Bats and cotton candy. Bats and cotton candy.

This is a story about a whale. NO! This a story about being happy. Until a whale explodes, dousing you with stinky guts.

01.26.04: Check it out- Invisible Inc. was pictured in Defis magazine, in France! Ooh la la, as Philip Glass would say!!!

It looks pretty official: Seth McFarlane's brilliant animated comedy Family Guy is crawling its way back from the TV graveyard. You can read more about it here. They don't know where to "put it" yet (which seems strange, what with the very-popular syndication on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim), but they're whipping up a whole new batch of episodes. Here's hoping the new ones are the same incredible display of timing, wit, and overall controversy that the now-classic original ones were. And if they come up with another gleaming gem like the sexual harassment episode, I'll sing Seth's praises on into perpetuity.

And yes, after my Surreal Life rant last week about what an a-hole Vanilla Ice is, I am retracting (at least for this week). Not only did he gallantly fend off Trishelle's sweet-yet-winesoaked advances, I thought he was really gonna kick a psychic's ass. He seemed positively chivalrous as he hollered at this lady psychic, who'd reduced the admittedly naive Trishelle and Tammy Faye to tears almost with just her mere presence. For once his anger management problem came in pretty handy. And when Ron Jeremy was given the task of directing the whole group in a play to be seen by fifty kids- in five hours- Ice stole the show as The Weirdo Pirate, despite all his histrionics during rehearsal. Well, he stole it until Trishelle jiggled onstage as "The Wiznitch", in a black vinyl S&M outfit that no doubt caused the balls of many little boys in attendance to suddenly drop. When all was said and done, and Ron's Resident-style "Hairy Monster" outfit was no longer traumatizing children by the truckload, Trishelle summed the whole experience up with a phrase you could etch on a plaque, it's so goddamn good:

"Not only do kids annoy me, but I'm also hung over."

Give this girl her own TV show. I fucking mean it.

So... maybe I'll start calling Vanilla Ice "Rob". Or better yet, I'll call him "Johnny Rocket", like Erik Estrada does. He should think on that. There may be a second career in that name for him. For the love of Gosh, see this show. Your life depends on it.

01.22.04: Well, it's likely I'll be taking the plunge on a new animation in the days to come- the electricity problem still isn't fixed, but then, it doesn't always affect my room, so we'll see. In any case, I have another reward for you, for being patient and not browbeating me over the lack of new animations so far this year. It's the first new track off the new Tailothepup album, Throw Up Throw Down. Normally I would take this time to give you a vague release date, but I'm not doing that this go-around, because this one track took us hella long to record, edit and mix (think months). I think it was definitely worth it though, we're really pleased with the final outcome. Aw, what the hell- let's say the album will be available summer 2004. That's not so bad, eh? Sure. Anyway, the track (if you haven't already stopped reading this palaver and clicked the "Stick This In Your Ear" button on the menu bar) is called "Just A Pickle", and it's a humble li'l tribute to a good friend of ours. Please bear in mind I had to squash the file down into a less-DL-forbidding MP3 file size of around 2.8MB, so the sound quality is NOT on par with the actual track (at least not to our hyper-critical ears). Remember, kids: MP3 is a "lossy" format, meaning a lot of what's there is sacrificed for the sake of low file size. So basically, if you like the song, when Throw Up Throw Down comes out, it wouldn't kill you to send us a fiver for the album itself. Plus you're gonna get a bunch of other songs, and some really, REALLY neat-o cover art (the operative term is "secret decoder"). We're not gonna go all Nazi on you for downloading our songs, like the you-know-who (cough-RIAA!!-cough), but we're not millionaires either. And check it, our other albums are still available for five bucks a pop! You can't beat that with a sharp stick!

Also, the new Bands I Useta Like strip, "Meat Loaf", is now up in the Comics section. Mmmmm... meatloaf. See you soon.

01.19.04: Happy MLK Jr. Day. On another, far more flippant subject (sorry, but I have no inspiring MLK stories), I recall back in 1990, when I, a freshman at the "college" I briefly attended, honestly thought that in my entire life, I would never hear anything as skull-rapingly awful as the music of Vanilla Ice. MC Hammer was a close second, but Ice, with his retarded-monkey "dancing", his dumb, sloe-eyed, proto-whigger expression, and his Gummo-esque, buzz-sliced pompadour, had Hammer beat. Honestly, at any given time back then you could switch on the TV and be treated to either of these two imbeciles bobbing away in their expensive clown suits like a crackling electric cattle prod was fused in their anuses- or perhaps you'd be doused in another torrent of music-video excrement; for instance, uberfakers Milli Vanilli, unintelligible Gap clerks INXS, the cat-in-a-thresher vocal stylings of inbred human dumpster Axl Rose of Guns 'N Roses, or record-label-darling ballbags that refused to curl up and die, like Depeche (Douche) Mode, The (Queer) Cure and Jane's (A Dick Suck) Addiction. (Complain to me that you love any of these bands- especially because any of it happened to be playing in the background while some homely fart-bag licked your penis in high school, and I'll mail you a huge pile of AIDS.) Really, I go off all the time about the extended amateur hour that was 90's "grunge", but even that was slightly more standable than the oozing, infectious tripe that came before. And Vanilla Ice was King Shit of that mountain. Is there a point to this ridiculous, out-of-the-blue, bile-hurling diatribe? Yes. I never realized back in 1990 what a PRICK Vanilla Ice is.

Yes, I'm calling him Vanilla Ice. I don't care if he hates it. After last night's The Surreal Life on WB, I am no longer sympathetic to him in any way. I was after I watched that Behind The Music or whatever a couple years back, where he was all sniffle-sniffle about what he's "gone through". I felt sorry for the guy. Maybe he was roped into the whole image thing by greedy record-company sharks who are always conveniently nameless. Maybe they cooked up that insanely-stupid, only-a-moron-would-believe-this story about losing half his blood in two gang fights on the same day that were miles away from each other (The "True Ice Bio"). Plus he saved his money, so even though just about everyone living on this planet thinks he's a joke, he still cools his heels in a gigantic mansion, and drives a car of which only a handful were made. I had to respect that, especially after Hammer blew all his savings flying his ridiculous, 100-man-strong "posse" all over the globe with him.

But all that's gone out the window. Ice is a jerk. If you missed last night's Ice/Gary Coleman tete-a-tete on last night's show, you missed a display even more embarrassing than Ice insisting he didn't sample that Queen/David Bowie song he sampled, because "theirs goes 'doo-doo-doodoodoo-doo', and MINE goes 'doo-doo-doodoodoo-doo'". I won't give it all away for those of you who haven't witnessed this debacle yet (it gets rerun during the week)- let's just say that Gary Coleman should get some sort of Nobel Peace Prize for dealing with the situation. And Glen Campbell should beat Ice's ass bloody for prying open one of the "off-limits" closets in his mansion, just because Ice wanted some salt for his precious eggs. Note to Ice- have you seen this mugshot? The man with that face kicked a COP. I saw what you did to his moulding, prying that door open. Do you want that man's boot up your ass? Because honestly, you look like this to him. And this time you're not just gonna get dangled out a window by your Nikes. Glen ain't no Suge Knight. He finishes what he starts, sucker.

All this aside, Ice had the sheer stones, after all his petulant portrait-slashing and ranting about his former image (despite the adorable, saintly mothering from Ron, Erik and Traci- ADORABLE!) to call Gary Coleman a JOKE. Earth to Ice- people all over the world still love Gary Coleman. He's overcome ten times the personal hardship that you have. He slugged that woman a while back, and everybody forgot about it. Girls melt when they see him (Trishelle included). Most people laugh at you- especially when you bring out another one of those haggard rap-metal laugh-riots you crap out every few years, to try and prove that you're still "hard". That's if they're not thinking about your image circa 1990. Refresh my memory again- who's the joke?

However, Ice did win some respect back from me later in the show; after witnessing a drunken yet engaged Traci Bingham literally clawing away Ron Jeremy's pants off to get a look at his legendary wang, Ice faced the camera and stated firmly that if Traci was his fiancee, she'd be kicked to the curb. You go, Ice. Traci is a ho. But if you fuck Trishelle on next week's show when she drunkenly comes on to you, we're done. Learn from Erik Estrada. Such a nice man.

(I'll say it again. The Surreal Life is one of the greatest TV shows in the history of the medium. Watch it if you don't believe me. You life will forever be changed for the better. Also, White Pepper by Ween is probably one of the five best albums ever. It's better than anything the Beatles ever did. There. I said it.)

I had this weird dream last night where I was on The Surreal Life, and Tammy Faye's ex-husband Jim returned and started beating her. I straightened out a wire coathanger, bent it in half, and began violently lashing Jim Bakker with it until he started crying and ran off. Tammy thanked me, but the trauma of the incident compelled her to leave the show. She was quickly replaced by... Sting, who had a huge pot-belly. WTF?!?!

Alright, time to end this babble: Here's some links I bookmarked to work into this section, but either they didn't fit with whatever I was ranting about, or I just forgot about them. I'm cleaning house, so here you go:

Gollum has cats to thank!
Starsky and Hutch are back- YEAHHH!!!
Here's the testing equipment the watermelon was stuck in in Buckaroo Banzai!

Huh. I thought there was more... oh well. Go buy that Ween album. Now.

01.15.04: Do you like sushi, like I do? I bet you would if it came on a plate like this! Good ol' Japanese food!!!

There's new Ridiculously Short Stories today, too- go have a look! And don't forget to send in your own. I'm thinking of putting up a haiku section too, what do you think?

01.14.04: Okay... here's the skinny on the delay on Tiniest Restaurant episodes... there are some weird electrical problems in my room/office, which cause my UPS to pop an "AC Fail" window on top of whatever I'm working on. This, and the attendant power fluctuations, make it very difficult, if not nearly impossible, to do any serious animation work. I know this all sounds like a big excuse, but trust me, it's not- I can only deal with so many vein-busting temper fits per day. So hang in there, hopefully this matter will be resolved soon. In any case, the script for John's Arm 5: Five Fingers Of Fury is around 30% finished, so we're looking at the usual late-spring debut. TRITW #3 shouldn't be much later than a couple more weeks, whenever this mess gets worked out. Until then...

Here's a great site I found that debunks fake nudie celebrity photographs. Not only is it a great primer on what not to do in regards to Photoshop fakery, but there's tons of titties to pore over as well! Wahoo! And...

I have officially started The MTP Ridiculously Short Story Section. It's ideal for those of you, like me, for whom concentrating on a normal-sized book is a Herculean exercise. Plus, you can submit your own Ridiculously Short Stories! Are you one of those folks who always wanted to write the Great American Novel, but can't get past the opening paragraph? Dream no longer! You have found a home! Just follow the posted examples, and if I like your story, I'll post it for the whole wide web to see! Get crackin'!

01.12.04: After only one episode, it already looks like this year's Surreal Life on UPN is going to beat last year's. In case you missed it, here's the roll call: porn legend Ron Jeremy, recovering televangelist Tammy Faye Messner (nee Bakker), surly has-been rapper Vanilla Ice, ever-handsome CHiP Erik "Marco" Estrada, Baywatch flotation device Traci Bingham, and Real World: Las Vegas skank Trishelle (also of Steve-O's gut-wrenchingly funny new video Out On Bail, where the producer lit her hair on fire, undid her bikini and pissed on her, before some dumb frat boy licked it off), all living in Glen Campbell's old mansion, for twelve days. So. Here's my take, after the first (amazing) episode... and bear in mind I usually HATE "reality" shows, but this one is just so damn GOOD...

Ron Jeremy is just adorable, as ever. No surprise there; he's always been an easygoing, jovial dude. (You'd be too, if you had a pecker the size of his.) Tammy Faye is equally adorable, and when she sees the final cut of the show, and hears Ron's lustful asides about her, it's bound to build up her ego. She is also nearly impossible not to like, and I seriously doubt the woman entertains even the tiniest evil thought. Weirdly, Tammy Faye and Ron are almost an ersatz Mom and Dad of the household.

On 12.30.03 I wondered if Vanilla Ice would repeat his rage-oholic behavior from MTV's 25 Lame years ago. Not only did I predict correctly that Vanilla Ice would be part of the cast, but I was right about the anger too. So far he hasn't raged on anything living, just the portrait of himself from the "Ice Ice Baby" era in the pseudo-Warhol living room collage. In one short hour he hucked basketballs at it before finally X-ing it out with a crayon or something. I thought he might be this year's Vince Neil (start out as a pain in the ass, and slowly reveal a warm and cuddly side, becoming one of the most likeable cast members). I doubt it, and he's not winning any points from Tammy Faye for his guttermouth. Watch this show with other people, like I did, and witness how unlikable anyone who upsets Tammy Faye becomes. Maybe Ice (who insists on being called by his unfortunate and semi-ironic given name, Rob Van Winkle) would thaw a bit (sorry, I couldn't resist) if I recited, verbatim, the rhyme of his I have completely memorized from when he rapped with the Bloodhound Gang... "Stop while I drop this bomb/ Blow up this place like another Vietnam..." etc., etc....

Erik Estrada seems to be a fairly mellow, down-to-Earth guy. Who happens to light up any room he's in with his uber-wattage handsomeness. How either of the unmarried women on the show can keep from presenting like a mandrill when he's around, I got no clue. This is ERIK FREAKIN' ESTRADA we're talking about here. He was all set to take the girly bedroom and leave the women the gaudy 80's-style checkerboard bedrooms, but he felt guilty and, like a gentleman, gave the girly bedroom to Tammy Faye. Who looks a lot more appropriate (and happy) reading the Bible at a vanity chest, than whatever passes for a desk in those other rooms (and probably looks like it fell out of LeRoy Neiman's ass). Erik just couldn't let the poor woman sleep in a closet like she was planning (the decor is REALLY nauseating- Glen Campbell must be rolling over in his grave..). Plus, Erik just let it roll off him when Ice called him "Hasselhoff" during Ice's soon-to-legendary "this is not a supermarket" diva hissy-fit. Again, like a gentleman. Who, as I believe I mentioned, is super-handsome. And I'll wager he smells real good, too.

What's left? Why, it's a skank yin-yang; Traci Bingham and Trishelle. Traci I just don't like. For one thing, those titties look like Pam Anderson's Choice Brand fake knockers, which I hate like nobody's business (don't worry, I won't go off on another anti-fake-titty rant... I've already wasted enough of your time with my lazy narrative). Secondly: HOLY FUCKING ATTITUDE. If a woman were to ask me what I thought of Traci, I'd politely reply, "She's a real see-you-next-Tuesday." (Thank Charlotte from HBO's Sex And The City for that classic euphemism. Figure it out yourself.) If I guy asked me, I'd say, "What a cunt." I might even say "cunny" if I wanted to be especially abrasive. Or "runny cunny" if I was going for downright blue. Because Traci is a living embodiment of vacuous Hollywood attitude. Being that she has to run off for work, she's there the least, and much like Jerri Manthey showing up late last season, it rubs everyone raw. However, I doubt that, like Jerri, Traci will over time become very likable. (Who can forget Jerri wantonly calling the diminutive Emmanuel Lewis into her tent at the ill-fated camping trip?) Now, throw in Trishelle, a cute Italian girl whose only claim to fame is being a mouthy exhibitionist party doll, and TV magic is what you have there, mister. I admit I wasn't crazy about Trishelle at first; she did, after all, come from The Real World, a show I loathe more than smacking an ingrown, infected toenail into a wooden chair leg. She scored major points with me for getting that frat-boy to lick piss off her shapely leg in Cancun with Steve-O; not just any li'l girlie can hold court with those wonderfully diseased perverts. I have to say I like her now. I don't remember why she and Traci started screaming at each other; all I know is she transformed into some kind of sexy wolverine, and I found myself in a state much like Peter Griffin from Family Guy after seeing wife Lois fist-fight with Gloria Ironbachs. Traci tried to pull out that Hollywood "Excuse me, who are you?" jazz, and Trishelle was having none of it. (Obviously no one bothered to teach Traci about Italian girls.) The reason men traditionally don't fight women goes beyond respect and chivalry. It's because women's tongues are like daggers. They go all psychological when they fight, not just physical. And why do guys like me get all hot and bothered when women start snapping at each other? What the hell's THAT about, huh? Anyway. Trishelle gets 1000 points from me. Let's hope she and Traci never get along. And that things come to blows in a hot tub, or something.

So watch The Surreal Life. It's as close to "surreal" as anything's ever gonna get on TV. Honestly, if you haven't seen it, it's like a show that would be seen in the background of The Simpsons or something as a visual gag. And if there's gonna be camping trips, and a talent show like last year, I'll tune in every week. (You GOTTA wonder what ol' hot-head Ice would do for a talent show!!! OR Ron Jeremy... or Erik Estrada... for the love of GOD, what's TAMMY FAYE GONNA DO?!?)

And remember... don't drink and drive. They might let celebrities fart around in your mansion.

01.10.04: Earlier this week, I had a horrible thought. Maybe some folks won't understand why it was so horrible, but I'll do my best to explain it. In case you missed my entry about it (and I'm too lazy to go looking it up, as usual), a film version of the comic strip "Garfield" is on its way, CGI Garfield and all. (I will pause briefly to give you time to shriek.) Okay, now that we're all on the same page, here was my horrible thought.

I had a premonition, a vision if you will, of a scene from this bankably wretched "film". In this scene, either a bad CGI version of Garfield or Odie wreaks havoc in some typical movie-set kitchen. You know how it goes, it's your typical "let's pad the film with some forced antics 'cuz the kids just LOVE that stuff" interlude, with food and sharp objects flying in all directions. (Except in this case, since it's Rocky and Bullwinkle-type crappy CGI, the camera is whizzing in all sorts of improbable directions, ruining any sense of realism.) Here's what makes this vision so damned awful- over this carefully choreographed chaos, "Fat Cat Keeps Getting Fatter" by Squirrel Nut Zippers (from their sublime 1998 album Perennial Favorites) blares full-blast on the soundtrack. It's not that I hate that song. I love that song. It's that I know how movies like Garfield: The Movie get made, and it's always with a cruddy little soundtrack consisting of interchangeable bubblegum (from "bands" with numbers and capital letters in their names) and maybe one decent song from a band that caught a shabby record deal a few years back. I'm not saying Squirrel Nut Zippers got a shabby record deal, but I haven't heard much from them for a while, and that's usually that's the culprit. Anyway, I can just imagine some semi-with-it movie producer dude slapping that song on there, because it's got "fat cat" in the title and hey, the Squirrel Nut Zippers, they're not so rough on the ears. Sure, it's a paycheck for the Zippers, but then their work is slapped, out of context, with no regard for its originial meaning, into this shitty 87-minute Happy Meal endorsement. All in this awful scenario I've imagined. I'd bet money on it or something similar happening though, yessiree.

Okay. I gotta go think pleasant thoughts now.

01.05.04: In cleaning out my desk for some inevitable bullshit I have to deal with, I uncovered a small trove of fortune cookie fortunes, due largely to the enormous amount of oriental food I eat (most of which comes from Doc Chey's sublime Thai noodle house). I'm gonna chuck 'em, so I thought I'd share them with you here, so that their wise words will ring forever in the halcyon halls of internet immortality...

Do not let great ambitions overshadow small success. Okay, that's not too bad. It makes sense, so let's move on from that one.

Time makes someone wise. Ask advice from someone older than you. I don't know anyone older than me. I'll be thirty-two in May. Thanks for rubbing that in, Confucius. Eat a dick with duck sauce.

Ignorance never settles a question. That's groovy, Mr. Obvious. Next.

A heavy burden is lifted with a phone message or letter. Well, my queen-size bed is a heavy burden, and now I have to lift it so the fucking electricians can get behind it. Perhaps a phone call or letter will magically whisk it into the air. Plus there's a gigantic rock in the driveway that has gouged many an oil pan, thanks to the erosion happening around it. Maybe a courteous letter to Tony Blair or Doodles Weaver will render it light as a cockatoo's ass feather. It's worth a shot.

A cautious person leaves no stone unturned. Oh, so... forget the letter, I guess. If I'm going to be cautious about it... hey, wait a minute. If I'm cautious, wouldn't I leave the stone alone altogether? Cause if I turn that thing, it's gonna be triple-hernia time. Not to mention the prehistoric creepy-crawlies that are no doubt partying underneath the goddamn thing. Next.

Welcome each day as a fresh new beginning. Not a bad idea. I tend to welcome each day with the words "Aw, fuck." Sort of like Jack Lemmon in the beginning of Save The Tiger, mixed with Burt Reynolds being rousted by Jerry Reed in the opening of Smokey and The Bandit II (which I watched not once, but twice on Christmas Eve). Read the first issue of J.R. Williams' Crap if you want a fairly accurate depiction of the bright-eyed way in which I greet dawn's rosy fingers. So maybe a little more cheer and a little less vein-bursting apoplexy couldn't hurt.

You have an unusually magnetic personality. Dead wrong. Not only do I have a rare and brilliant gift for alienating humans, but I can't pull out all the iron in someone's bloodstream and forge a weapon out of it, like Ian McKellen did in X-Men 2. If I could, every trip to the mall would be a dream within a dream. (And no lines at Teavana, which apparently has a secret power than makes ordinary people forget how to form a line properly.)

The skills you have gathered will one day come in handy. Jesus Christ, I hope so. Maybe someday I will be Whack-Off Champion Of The Universe. For now I can only hone my skills and pray.

You are offered the dream of a lifetime. Say yes! Uh... I am? Was it the Whack-Off thing? Maybe I missed it. There's no information on the fortune, other than "Lucky Numbers 3, 7, 17, 37, 41, 45", and I'm not falling for that shit again.

You will become a great philanthropist in later years. Haw, that's a good one. If I'm not mistaken, in order to become a philanthropist, you have to have a shitload of money to give away, and seeing as how money generally avoids me like a homecoming queen avoids a hare-lipped retard, I'd say it's a long shot.

You will have gold pieces by the bushel. Oh, well... that settles that, then. Where they at, fucker?

There you have it. Hope you enjoyed that little waste of time inspired by desk clutter. Here's some stuff that's a lot more interesting (but not by much) that I discovered in doing research on The Adventures Of Buckaroo Banzai: Across The Eighth Dimension for John's Arm 5... did you know the Oscillation Overthruster has been around this much? I sure didn't, and I didn't know the Hong Kong Cavaliers had such a large discography, either...

01.02.04: Happy New Year! Time to talk about Transformers again. And why not? Here we find ourselves at the 20th anniversary of the Transformers toy line. Crazy, to think that almost twenty years ago my dad was buying me my very first one- Soundwave, the one that turned into a microcassette deck that you could put cassettes that turned into robots inside. Crazy sidenote on that- around the year 2000, I was looking at my haggard old Soundwave, and for the very first time realized that his weapons turned into AA batteries that could be stored in a "battery pack" in his back. After playing with that damn thing since 1984. Crazy.

Anyway, I made the mistake of stopping into Wal-Mart the other day and, overwhelmed by the selection of new Transformers, was able to make it out of the store with no less than three of the damn things. They had me hook, line and stinker. Not only did I buy Energon Sky Blast and Inferno (both of which are insanely cool), I also bought Alternator Smokescreen. If you're unfamiliar with the Alternators line of TFs but familiar with "Generation 1" TFs, I ask you to recall the sensation you got when you bought an original Jazz, or Mirage, or especially Side Swipe- the sensation that you not only got a really cool robot, but a kickass car toy as well, with rubber tires and everything. Buying one of the Alternators (and Smokescreen only cost me $20) acutely replicates that feeling. Alright, beyond how great a robot Smokescreen turns into (after the 45 minutes it will take you to transform him, if you're a dumb ol' sad sack like me), his Subaru rally car mode is the bee's friggin' knees. The doors have side-view mirrors, and open to reveal seats that fold down, a stick shift and a movable steering wheel. The hatchback opens. The hood opens, revealing an engine that transforms into his gun. The headlights and tail lights are clear/red plastic. There's CHROME. You could turn this thing into a car and no one would know it was a robot. It looks like one of those snazzy car models that your dad wouldn't let you touch. How's THAT for "robots in disguise"? All this and rubber tires. It's easily one of the best TF toys ever (I'm wondering if it's THE best so far), right up there in terms of design and craftsmanship with Unicron and Jetfire. Between this, Dreamwave's first issue of TF: Generation One (so far the only of their "Transformers Month" books I've found), and the super nice-looking Energon toys coming out, the 20th anniversary of Transformers is shapin' up real good.

...If you're interested, check out the G.I. Joe homage Snowcat (vehicle/robot); the Arcee we finally get (vehicle/robot)- not as cool as one of the older concept models, in my opinion, but still neato; a major "what-the-hell?" overhaul for Cliffjumper (vehicle/robot); same deal for Mirage, who is now a boat (vehicle/robot) AND a Decepticon (?!?); the long-awaited return of shafted leader Rodimus (vehicle/robot); a millionth new body for Prowl (vehicle/robot); and a new look for Demolishor (vehicle/robot). All of these toys look completely badass, I think, and will probably work their evil way into my possession sooner or later.

And if anyone out there is still reading this, scripting has officially begun on John's Arm 5: Five Fingers Of Fury. All I can tell you right now is this: remember that 2004 is also the 20th anniversary of The Adventures Of Buckaroo Banzai: Across The Eighth Dimension. Laugh while you can, monkey-boy!!!

12.30.03: At last, on the 11th on January of 2004 we will be blessed with a second season of The Surreal Life, really the only show worth even turning on the WB for. Or is it UPN? I forget. Does it even matter? It's not like their shows are good, or watchable. Anyway. On the 19th of July of this year I made a prediction (it's on the last archived page of this neverending barrage of crap, if you're curious) of who the cast of SL2 would be. Here were my guesses: Corey Haim, Tina Yothers, Carrot Top, Adam Rich, Tori Spelling, Mr. T, Vanilla Ice, and Yngwie Malmsteen. Oh well, I got one right; Vanilla Ice. Otherwise I was way off. But their choices are way better anyway- Tammi Faye Bakker! Ron "Hedgehog" Jeremy! Erik Estrada! In addition to the aforementioned Mr. Ice Ice Baby, whom I can only hope will duplicate his violent, Janeane Garofalo-terrorizing antics from MTV's 25 Lame, this is a lineup so fabulous it'll make you forget all about the inclusion of fakey and gruesome Traci Bingham. (Blech. God DAMN I hate fake tits SO. FUCKING. MUCH.) I don't know who the last cast member is yet, but I'm guessing it's a Brande Roderick type... pretty, sweet, dumb, possibly also with yucky, disgusting, vile bags of chemicals crammed under her skin on top of her pectoral muscles. We'll see. But from what I've seen of the previews, with Ron Jeremy cracking wise with the always unintentionally funny Tammy Faye, I think it's gonna be another great season. However, let's avoid the Vegas trip this go around, si? Don't make me draw comparisons with Jackass' bafflingly abysmal Gumball Rally episode, which I'll wager was buried deep in the San Andreas fault by the parties involved, never to be seen again. (I taped it, but in anger taped something over it deliberately, probably Hair Bear Bunch.)

Alright, enough. Let's talk about Transformers, for frig's sake. I done held out as long as I can. This is boon times to be a hardcore TF fan- and not just because we get an assload of beautiful TF books from Dreamwave in January. I got this book for Xmas, and if you haven't seen it you won't understand why the pages of my copy are all sticky. My ladyfriend confessed to me that if it weren't for the March release date, I woulda had an extraordinarily expensive Masterpiece Prime under my tree. If you don't know what that is (how dare you), click here to see Prime himself demonstrate how you can make up for the fact that he comes trailer-less. (As a testament to the knock-out gorgeous quality of the toy, I hadn't even noticed the trailer was missing until I saw the page. And duh, of course he speaks Japanese.) And for all you other Beast Wars fanatics out there... remember that episode where Ravage shows up, with a spiffy new humanoid body, and kicks up king hell for a while until he gets blown up in a literal blaze of glory, screaming "DECEPTICONS FOREVER!"? Guess what. At long last, here he is. I'm pretty freakin' excited. And yeah, they repainted Unicron for Transformers: Energon, but I'm happier with my original one, which looks like the Unicron from the damn movie. So, ha! Maybe he's a collector's item now! (I kind of doubt it. Last trip to Target there was pretty much a Unicron aisle, but that was before Xmas.) I just hope sales on the bigger-ticket TFs are good, so that Hasbro may eventually roll out a new souped-up version of Fortress Maximus, the only TF too expensive for my parents to get it for me. No matter how many innocent people I tortured.

12.26.03: In case you didn't know, December 26th is that special day where we celebrate one of the most sacred holidays. It's a time when everyone joins hands, and... wait a minute. Did you think I was talking about Kwanzaa? Uh, sorry, no. I don't celebrate Kwanzaa. But if you do, go nuts, and all that. No, I'm referring to the day that we celebrate the fact that Joe Walsh saved America. That's right. I'm talking about...

Joewalshmas.

Most of you who are unfamiliar with this blessed day probably didn't even realize that Joe Walsh saved America. And that's fine. Because that's Joe Walsh's way. In fact, Joe Walsh doesn't even know about Joewalshmas. But if he did, I'll wager he'd laugh a real good hearty belly-laugh. Because Joe Walsh doesn't even know that he saved America.

But he yes indeedy did. He took one of the most played-to-death-popular bands in American history and de-wussified them. Before he began his tenure with the Eagles, you had your "Lyin' Eyes", your "New Kid In Town" and lots of wimpy vocals courtesy of Timmy and Donny. Joe joined the fray, and the tone shifted to "Life In The Fast Lane", and "The Long Run". People heard these songs a million times a day on the radio, and they remembered how to RAWK. JOE WALSH SAVED AMERICA. Not only that, decades later he did it AGAIN when he made The Drew Carey Show occassionally standable.

So best wishes from all of us at MTP this holiday as you and your beloved gather 'round the 'Walshmas lawnchair for the traditional toss into the pool. From us to you...

Life been good to us so far! Merry Joewalshmas, Man!

12.24.03: Merry Xmas Eve/Xmas everybody... I'm taking a couple of days off from the site for the holidays. Ha! How about that? As if I wasn't ALREADY taking a bunch of days off from the site. Ahem. Sorry. Anyway... since I flaked on the animated holiday e-cards this year, I got you a li'l present. Here, as promised by my lazy ass weeks ago, is the Tannenbrood, an Invisible Inc. figurine/ornament that was produced as a special holiday dealie in limited edition of 75 for Art-O-Mat. Created by the oft-misunderstood Dr. Kill-Everybody, the Tannenbrood's only weakness is the gold ring at their top; hanging them as an ornament staves off their tinsel-whipping kill-frenzy! Each one was hand-crafted/painted. No molds as usual.

Have a great holiday. See you soon.

12.23.03: Wowzers. I got a wee bit swamped with orders there for a bit- hopefully everyone will get their Invisible Inc. figures before Christmas. Unless they don't celebrate Christmas, but instead some esoteric holiday I'm unaware of that comes several days after Saint Nick arrives, in which case some of the orders should arrive just in time. See? Everything works out!

Just about everyone here has proclaimed director Peter Jackson "King Shit of Fuck Mountain" (to paraphrase Mr. Show). The haze has yet to clear, so I'm still telling people that Return of the King is the best movie I've ever seen. I know I said that about Bubba Ho-Tep. And that time that I ate all those colorful pills, I said it was Critters 2. But I'm serious. This is a movie with a capital M. It has so much of everything good, is so well-acted and so beautifully filmed, so lovingly scripted, that I don't think seeing it once was fair opportunity to take it all in. It was already great within the first two minutes. As fantastic as the first two chapters were, in my opinion this one blows them all away. If you haven't seen it yet, I won't talk about it any longer. I'll just say one word- Eowyn. And then sigh wistfully. So if you haven't, see the fucking movie. Or I'll kill you.

And if you have already seen it, check out this site for a bunch of great articles about it. Hey... who knew cats were actually useful?

Also... here's a great case of "be careful what you wish for". I remarked some time back that Fight Club would make a great video game. Wellll... I still think it would, but not with the screenshots I'm lookin' at here. Remember the whole POINT of Fight Club, which was that you had average dudes pummeling the snot out of each other? Sure, Brad Pitt was all muscle-y, but if you've seen the movie (I know it's four years later, I still refuse to discuss the ending and be like good ol' End-Revealing Weekly) you know exactly why that is. Ah well, perhaps I'm being to premature to judge.

And sorry there's no E-Cards. I was simply to busy to put them together. Don't fret though, Tiniest Restaurant 3 is on its way after Christmas, and there's rumors of a Bear With Searing Gas Pain "Out Of Hibernation" Special. Stay tuned.

12.17.03: Hey... guess who's playing Dr. Otto Octavius (aka "Dr. Octopus") in the highly-anticipated (well, it will be around here, if Sam Raimi's directing again) sequel Spiderman 2? Think weirdo with the firecracker-throwing Chinese boyfriend at the end of Boogie Nights who loves Night Ranger. Or better yet, think the "throw me the idol, I throw you the whip!" guy who screwed Indiana Jones over then paid dearly for it in the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark. (Yeah... it's the same guy. Crazy, huh?) That's right, Alfred Molina. I hope gadding about as a cyber-souped-up villain makes up for that god-awful sitcom he starred in recently. Personally, I always pegged Leonard Nimoy for Doc Ock, but as he is a tad long in the tooth now, I think Alfred'll do just peachy. Providing the script is good. Italics for emphasis. Dammit, now I got "Sister Christian" stuck in my head. I blame you, Alfred Molina. Especially because your name is easy to type until the last letter. I keep typing "Moline".

Alrighty, I'm off to get Return of the King tickets. Huzzah!

12.16.03: Just a li'l holiday reminder- if you're planning to order any Invisible Inc. figures to give as gifts this year, order ASAP. Otherwise I can't guarantee you will get them in time. Orders are coming in fast, and I do make the figures on demand, so order soon.

In other news, I got this encouraging email from Liam, down under in Australia:

"Probobly hearing this all the time, but GREAT WORK with the flash movies, your site is a true favourite at our high school in western australia, well G'DAY from down under, and keep the good shit happening."

Thanks Liam! I'll do my best to keep it coming. Also, if you haven't seen it already, there's a blurb about Art-O-Mat on Msn.com! How 'bout dat?

12.15.03: So... we caught Saddam. And now he is a prisoner of war. Why am I not as excited about this as I feel like I should be? Why am I not convinced it's him, even though DNA tests supposedly confirm it? Could it be because I'm sure this'll be used as a stunt to get Bush re-elected? What about Ass-ama Bin Fuckhead? Are we done looking for that piece of human dogshit now? Or should we just wait until he wastes another few thousand of us again, now that Saddam can't tongue his furry little asshole anymore? And oh yeah- aren't the pussy-fart Americans due to crawl out of their own asses about now and begin mewling about how we're mistreating Saddam by not giving him ice cream and cookies and li'l booboo kisses while he's in custody?

Eh, forget it. Go us, we caught him. Check out the excellent and hilarious Sealab 2021 promo website Hollywood Actor Beck Bristow.

12.14.03: Surpassing its predecessor, The Tiniest Restaurant In The World Chapter 2 made it to Daily 3rd Place on NewGrounds! So... hopefully, Chapter 3 (due in a couple weeks) will hit 2nd place, and Chapter 4 1st... eh, I doubt it, judging from the quality of the treatments I have written up for the next couple installments. But it's nice to think about, eh?

Speaking of which, I'm gonna try my damnedest to get you some holiday e-cards here in the coming days. And remember to order your Invisible Inc. dudes now... that way there's a much better chance I can get them to you before Christmas.

And hey, here's a classic to get you into the holiday spirit... Elric, The Magical Elf.

12.13.03: Ah, a gap in blog entries... you die-hard MTP fans know what that means. Yep, The second chapter of The Tiniest Restaurant In The World is up and ready for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy. I'm going to go to bed now. Me tired. But remember:

Tiny is as tiny do.

12.08.03: Wanna hear some crazy news? Guess whose hands one of my Invisible Inc. Agents (GREAT GIFT UNDER $10 HINT HINT!!!) made its way into? Take a wild guess. Don't worry, I'll hang out while you do. Ready? Got somebody picked out? Okay. Here's who. Martha Stewart. That's right, THE Martha Stewart. Art-O-Mat was contacted by a senior producer at Martha Stewart Living, and asked for some samples; mine was among them, so it made its way to Ms. Stewart herself! Just think, it could be resting on a shelf in her house somewhere, plotting its next evil deed! MU-HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Or if it's a good guy, maybe it'll rid her house of messy invading alien hordes. Who knows. Crazy world, hah?

Okay... here's what I think is an extraordinarily good idea, so I'm going to hurl it out into the vast void of the information superhighway, in hopes that someone important somewhere will see it through to fruition. Gnaw on this for a while: Pixar makes the movie, a computer animation (obviously). Jim Woodring writes the movie and does the overall design work. Bill Frisell does the instrumental score (think Quartet). Huh? How about that, eh? Could be a 21st century Fantasia. Are you listening out there, Pixar?

12.04.03: Hey... did you know that the (all due respect, 'cuz I luv him) Jack Black movie School of Rock was just a big rip off? Why, you say, Matty Bwah, WHERE YO' PROOF!?! SUCKAH!! Well, I'll tell you- here's my proof, courtesy of the almighty Andre Cholmondeley of the almighty Project/Object! So chew on DAT, beany! Yeah! And again, I think it's great that the great Mr. Black got to cash a mondo paycheck. That's just more Tenacious D dollars.

Oh, and did you hear? Dreamwave discovered the Ark of the Covenant. Think I'm pulling your chain, you fat, grinning bastard? Think again. DW just released Transformers: More Than Meets The Eye #8. It explains EVERYTHING. Size/mass conversion. Space bridges. Quintessons. The Matrix/Prime protocols. How Megatron rose to power. Breems and vorns. The various states of Energon. "Combiner" (gestalt) technology. Sparks (and Starscream's alleged alteration thereof). EVERYTHING. FUCKING BUY IT. GIVE DREAMWAVE THE GODDAMN NOBEL PRIZE.

Peace out.

12.03.03: Check it out... The Tiniest Restaurant In The World Chapter 1 made it to 4th place on NewGrounds! Not too shabby, in my book. I hope to have the next chapter ready to go in a week or so. I'd love to nail these things down to a harder schedule, but honestly, I'm just not that responsible.

Also, before I forget to do this again- I'd like to drop in a plug for my friend Ashley Holt's website, Threadgill. Ash sent me a big ol' care package of great comics and CDs a while back that I've really been enjoying. On his site you can find tons of hilarious cartoons in both gag and strip form, and I haven't heard a CD of his that I wasn't really impressed by (ah yes, a kindred spirit in the form of another Mothersbaugh DEVOtee!). So head on over there and work yourself into some kind of blazing ordering frenzy.

That's it for now. Today's my monthly comic book splurge day. Nummy nums. And don't worry, I'll get those Tannenbrood pics up here sooner or later.

11.30.03: Happy belated Thanksgiving. Did you get lots of good stuff to eat? I did. And yeah, I took a little bit of a Thanksgiving break there. I admit it. Almost ten days without any kind of an update. But I had to. Cuz I made 75 special holiday Art-O-Mat figurines. That's right. 75. In about a week. You ever hand-make 75 of anything? Let me tell you. It eats up some time. But anyway. They were called The Tannenbrood. A small army of monsters that vaguely resemble Christmas trees. With lotsa gnashin' teeth. And the dreaded Tinsel-Tendril Attack. They all shipped out in a DVD player box. That's how huge their combined mass turned out to be. But it was fun making 'em, and having them around. I'll post pictures when I can stand looking at them enough again to edit the pictures for the web. They haunt my dreams now, silently stalking. Ahem.

But hey, in case you didn't read the Front Page, I have an early holiday gift for ya! Just a little something, to make up for the lack of new stuff here at the Pod as of late. It's the first part in a series of animations... that's right, MTP's first official mini-series. Just like Roots, except with more whipping. I hope you like it. I made it just for you. It's called The Tiniest Restaurant In The World, and you can see the first chapter of this magnum opus in our animation section now. New chapters will arrive as often as my periods of sobriety dictate. Probably every couple of weeks. Ken Burns, eat your heart out; I got yer overblown, pretentious mini-series right heah!!!

Not only that, but there's holiday e-cards coming here at MTP real soon, that you can send to your little friends! See? I LOVE YOU PEOPLE!

Enjoy.

11.21.03: Today I have some very bad news; The Plate is dead. Now, you may not have the froggiest idea of what I'm talking about, and rightly so, so lemme explain. If you yourself have ANY of the 250+ Invisible Inc. figurines I've created, or have seen any of the other similar pieces (like the bigguns on the Invisible page) at a gallery show or similar gathering, know that that figure was BORN upon The Plate. And now the noble Plate, upon which so many hundreds of l'il alien critters were whelped, is no more.

I was aware that The Plate was ill for some time. Over the past year or so, the years of being stuck in a 275 degree oven with some crew of clay monsters squatting atop it over and over and over had taken their toll, producing tiny hairline cracks in its edges. A small chunk had even broken off months ago, marking the beginning of the end, and producing many razor-sharp baby Plate shards upon my bedroom floor, one of which threatened my girlfriend's toe. But I bore The Plate no malice for this, for I knew not only that The Plate was over 20 years old (I had salvaged it from the home in NJ I grew up in, back in 1990), but that I was partly responsible, having dropped something heavy on The Plate's edge as it lay sleeping peacefully on my bedroom floor, as it often did.

And, perhaps, I am responsible as well for The Plate's untimely passing, having hucked an Xbox controller at what I thought was a pile of cardboard on my floor, when in truth The Plate was patiently wiling away the hours until its next shift of duder-baking beneath it. I blame Morrowind and its special box I lack the Security skill to unlock for causing my frustration, and in truth I believe that The Plate had already been broken somehow and my controller-tossing merely uncovered the tragic horror of its shattered form (the breakage seeming so much more than my act of blind rage could have caused), but alas. Such sentiments will not bring The Plate back. We are left only to mourn its passing.

So, I write these words in its memory. There will never be another like The Plate. It was there through good times and bad, solid and stern, forever providing a stable ground for tiny alien feet. Maybe some people will think I'm loony for devoting this much space to an "inanimate object". Those people never knew The Plate like I did. So Plate, from me, my friends, and the hundreds of little guys you helped bring into a world you were too good for; Godspeed. We'll miss you.

11.20.03: Did you hear? The "King of Pop/Pedophilia", Michael Jackson, is on the lam! At least he was last night, when I meant to update the site. Not so sure about the situation now, and I don't really have the time to go combing the news sites. I'm just hoping this incredibly weird little blurb will distract you from the fact that I've been so insanely swamped with work that I haven't posted for days. Well, actually, I've been working until around 8pm every night, when I can't freaking stand it anymore and start playing video games until 4 or 5 am. Then in the morning, the cycle begins anew, requisite anxiety attacks and everything! Hooray!

In case you were wondering, the second night of Project/Object at the Vinyl put the first night to shame (plus, as predicted, Ellie's underpants were still dangling from Don Preston's keyboard stand). I'd go on and on about it again like I did last entry, but it really can't be put into words. Let's just say that at any given moment you could easily be fooled into thinking it was thirty years ago, and The Man himself was there onstage. No joke. Plus Dave Johnsen is a better bass player than any Zappa bassist I know of (all due respect to Roy Estrada, Patrick O'Hearn et al), and he goddamn proved it for the ages when he hit the solo on "Apostrophe". Okay... I gotta shut up now, or I won't be able to stop talking about it again. Greatest show ever. Period.

And hey, about Michael Jackson... at least he can't pull that race card bullshit a la O.J. "Slash" Simpson. No judge in the world would believe he's a black man.

11.16.03: Here are as many great things about last night's Project/Object show at the Vinyl as I can remember right now (for those of you who don't know, Project/Object performs Zappa music with the consent of the Zappa family, as well as with several original Zappa cohorts):

1) They opened with "Carolina Hardcore Ecstasy", off of the classic Bongo Fury album, one of my favorite songs of all time. In no particular order, they also performed super-tight versions of "Big Swifty", "Montana", "Pick Me I'm Clean", "Bamboozled By Love", "Florentine Pogen", "City Of Tiny Lites", "Pound For A Brown", "Uncle Meat", "Magic Fingers", and "Stick It Out" (what a joy to be screaming profanities in German along with everybody else), to name just a few.

2) At long last, I got to meet and press the flesh with legendary Zappa compatriots Don Preston, Ike Willis, and Napoleon Murphy Brock (Napoleon even gave me a big hug!). Don's over 70, and to see him up there going off like it's 35 years ago at the Garrick, was really amazing. Ike seemed a little somber last night, but I kind of figure he's the one taking the "conducting" reins for FZ, so it's understandable he'd be a little serious. Napoleon displayed chops on the sax that I never realized he had, and not only is he as energetic and dynamic as ever, his voice is just as solid as it was on 1975's One Size Fits All. (He deftly handled the vocals on both "Florentine Pogen" and the closer to "Montana".) Standing in front of a stage with these people whose music I've been listening to for over ten years was daunting enough, but getting to shake hands with them was the icing on the cake. Plus, due to Don's age (at least that's what the P/O website says), there was no smoking allowed in the Vinyl. How wonderful!!!

3) My friend Joey Pickles gave the wizened and now almost Spock-like Don "Uncle Meat" Preston a pair of his girlfriend's underwear, which Don proudly hung from his keyboard stand. I'll wager they'll be there at tonight's show. And I met him and shook hands with him! I shook hands with Uncle Friggin' MEAT!!!

4) DENNY WALLEY was there (he lives in town- Wampus even met him at Kroger!), performing slide guitar duties on "Crew Slut" beautifully, as well as the vocals on "City Of Tiny Lites". He brought out a '66 Danlectro. HE RULES. RULES.

The rest of the band (check them out on their website) was absolutely freaking AWESOME. André Cholmondeley was sublime on lead guitar and vocals, as was the "Sea Hag" on guitar. I don't know the names of the guys on drums and bass, but HOLY SHIT. Incredible. They kept it going effortlessly, and the drummer sang "I'm So Cute" just like Terry Ted Bozzio.

Alright, I'm gonna shut up now, because I gotta go pick up my girl, and I gotta get ready for tonight's second show at the Vinyl. See you there, it's going to fuckin' RULE.

11.13.03: Alright, listen to me very carefully: you must go out and see Bubba Ho-Tep as many times as you possibly can. You have to understand; everyone behind this film deserves as much of your money as you can spare. This film is a reward for all of us who've suffered immeasurably through this year's deluge of Matrix diarrhea. Bubba Ho-Tep reaffirms everything that is great about life and about living. Look- it's got Bruce Campbell, that limitlessly fabulous god-among-men, as Elvis. And Ossie Davis, tapping into comedic genius I never realized he had, as "JFK". And a mummy. Jesus, I cannot in words stress to you enough how goddamn badly you need to see this movie. If I was President I'd declare martial law and force everyone in Amurrkuh to see it. And you would all adore me for it. Give Don Coscarelli, Bruce Campbell and Ossie Davis some sort of trifecta Nobel Prize. I'm dead serious. The existence of a movie this indescribably grand cannot be overlooked, or we are truly, as a species, doomed. So far, I've only managed to see it once (I will remedy that in the days to come), and it's cracked my Top 5 Movies of All-Time. Time will tell if it hits the top spot. Hyperbole aside, it is simply that f'ing good.

Oh yeah, in my diatribe from the 11th I neglected to mention the huge smoldering piles of fire in the highway medians throughout Mississippi. What was that about? Do I even want to know?

11.11.03: New Orleans was amazing. The muffalettas, the shrimp gumbo, the po' boys, the puking, the guy who looked like an evil version of Tony Hawk eating orange dip out of the garbage while a black Colonel Sanders lookalike looked on with disdain, the margaritas on the balcony of Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville, Bourbon Street, the weirdos who wear costumes and stand perfectly still for hours, the boobs-boobs-and-more-boobs, the incredible live jazz music, the Erte gallery show we just happened to stumble into the opening reception of, the store with all the antique weapons and sunken treasure, the super-cool "European-style" hotel ("The Empress") we stayed in right on the edge of the French Quarter, Armstrong Park and its Satchmo statue and mutant geese, Canal Street, the jambalaya, the unbelievable mall with the little cups of sample-able hot sauce, the gi-normous ships, the bridge, and of course, the boobs. I'll probably never set foot there during Mardi Gras, because if the crowds we dealt with during the off-season were any clue, Mardi Gras must be frigging hell on Earth. But I will definitely go back. Unlike Alabama, which we had to cut through to get there. If I ever go back to Alabama, it'll be with a gun pointed at my head, because I'm obviously being taken hostage to be ass-raped. Fuck Alabama. I'll never go near that honky shithole again. Seriously. Now I understand why people from the North have this ridiculous prejudice against the South. One word: Alabama. The trip to and from New Orleans was practically a dream, save for those hours-that-seemed-like-centuries within Alabama's fetid borders. Look, I'm normally against anti-state prejudice, given that I've lived in oft-maligned states like New Jersey and South Carolina, but I'm sorry. Alabama was a fucking nightmare. I'm not even going to go into the misery we experienced there.

Anyway... here's the recap from the spectacular Mark Mothersbaugh Eyedrum show from a little ways back. Check it out- there's a picture of underground legend Skip Williamson! How did I miss him?!?

11.07.03: Well, I'm off to the "Big Easy", or whatever; New Orleans, for the weekend. It will be interesting to see how my near-constant playing of GTA games affects my ability to drive for ten hours. Until I get back, you can see if you're lucky enough to have Matthew Barney's Cremaster Cycle playing anywhere hear you- I took in 1 and 2 the other night, and I hope to see more. He reminds me a lot of early David Lynch.

Be back in a jif. Save me some pie.

11.06.03: Okay, so a few days slipped by without an update. I got good reason. First it was the "Game of the Year" edition of Morrowind I got for Xbox, which contains the two expansion packs, Bloodmoon and Tribunal. Sure, it's glitchy, but then you do get to run around in an unbelievably vast world, going on quests, or, if you're like me, killing, killing, killing. So I got sucked into that for a bit. (The original version of Morrowind I had I played for well over a year.) Then, yesterday, it finally happened. My confidence in the Xbox was at last rewarded. For the price of one game, I got the Grand Theft Auto III/Grand Theft Auto Vice City Double Pack. Sweet Zombie Jesus, it is INDEED grand. I haven't gotten to play GTA3 yet, I was having so much fun with Vice City. Not only have the so-so graphics been improved for the Xbox and its powerful hardware ("trails" are used to create a blurring effect, so that the character models don't look as choppy), but you can set any car's radio to "tape deck", i.e. songs you've uploaded to your Xbox from CDs. Which means I can carjack someone's ride, then bloody up the sidewalk with pedestrians to the strains of Outkast's "Ghettomusick", or Electric Eel Shock's "Japanese Meets Chinese In USA". Hell, I'm thinking of completing the 80s car theft experience today by uploading The Plugz' "El Clavo Y La Cruz" from the Repo Man soundtrack. How great would that be? I get to be Harry Dean Stanton and Emilio Estevez all rolled into one weirdo package!

Anyway, in other news, it was proven that Simpsons fans are the most psychotically devoted fans of any TV show in history (duh)... and ABC News apparently knows everything about the Kennedy assassination. We'll see. I gotta go do some reckless driving.

11.03.03: Mmmm! Mmmm! Leftover Halloween candy! Candy candy candy I can't let you go! Yeah! Candy for breakfast lunch and dinner! Candy whoo how how!!!

Okay. It's almost 2 am. I been eatin candy. Skittles mostly. So, the possibility of keeping this blog entry coherent is nil. Plus I got a headache. So I'll keep this short...

If you're in Atlanta, Mark Mothersbaugh's Homefront Invasion has descended upon the most wonderful Eyedrum Gallery. Do check it out; Jenn and I hit the opening reception, and I scored a super-cool T-shirt sporting one of the many awesome postcards Mr. Mothersbaugh (probably known to you as the co-founder of DEVO, and the man behind the Rugrats theme) has long been producing, lots of which graced the Eyedrum's walls.

Also, see this movie. And in seeing it, know that the movie gods have smiled upon thee. Lo, how they have smiled.

Did you see that shit with Bam's uncle's toenail on the last Viva La Bam? Holy freakin' Freddie Mercury's mustache! Hope you taped it... I have a feeling that the footage will go the way of the egg-eating contest from Jackass, and never be shown again. Wow. I love TV that tries to make me puke. I go now!

10.31.03: Happy Halloween! Did you expect a special Halloween animation from Mike the Pod? Christ, I hope not! Because I was gonna do one, and then all sorts of other work piled up, and blah. Now it's like 2 in the morning, and damn am I tired. Laziness! Ooh, SCARY!!! Huh? Sure it is.

Anyway, I have to head to bed so I can be all fresh and ghouly for the festivities tomorrow. Here's a link you can show to your girlfriend... though I'm pretty sure it's fake.

10.27.03: I have to say I very much enjoyed last night's Jackass spinoffs on MTV, Viva La Bam (formerly known as the TV-unfriendly Kick A Good Bam's Ass), starring hyperactive-skater-with-more-money-than-he-knows-what-to-do-with Bam Margera and his West Chester PA cronies, and Wildboyz, starring Chris Pontius and the oft-naked/arrested Steve-O. I knew we weren't going to get anything close to the CKy videos, but it was all still a lot of fun to watch. Viva La Bam found Margera doing what he does best; torturing his parents (who are a lot more engaging and fun than Tom Green and his folks, though he technically did it first- remember the "Slutmobile"?), like, say, by building a full skate park inside his parents' house, or ironing little hamburgers on every article of clothing his dad owns. Wildboyz puts Steve-O and Pontius in exotic locales like South Africa, where they engage in local horseplay, like swimming with great white sharks that can jump six feet out of the water, or putting kudu turds in their mouths and seeing how far they can spit them. At last... a reason for me to watch MTV again. I even watched that claptrap that came on afterward, with the guy on his bachelor party weekend in Vegas living it up, while unbeknownst to him his betrothed and her mom are disguised in the background of every strip club he goes to, hidden under prosthetic makeup. Sure they worked it all out at the end, but I'm positive the dude learned a very important lesson that day: women are totally fucking insane. And I say that having watched somebody pick up the shit of a weird animal I'd never heard of before and put it in their mouth.

Anyway, enough of all that palaver. Halloween's a-comin'! And soon. So I hope you've got your costume picked out. Amazingly, I will be dressed the same way I dress every goddamn year, as gonzo journalist legend Hunter S. Thompson. Kind of excuses a lot of bad behavior. And hey, in the spirit of the season, you can read about a REAL monstrosity. BOO!!!

10.24.03: Alright, I have to fess up, I promised something totally disgusting last entry, and I can't deliver, because it'll get Shabadoo in lots and lots of trouble on the ol' Pop-O-Matic bubble. So I have to let you down. How 'bout this as a consolation; recently I slit the corner of my mouth open on a jalapeno potato chip, and it took two weeks to heal up. During that period, while munching on Arby's roast beef, my wisdom teeth pinched the lining of my cheek and split it open with a loud "pop", and my mouth was full of blood for hours. There. That's the best I can do for now. I'll let you know if anything else gross happens.

Here's something that sucks: We lost not only classic movie villain Jack Elam (look at the picture, you're sure to recognize him), but Fred "Rerun" Berry of What's Happening, one of my very favorite shows from when I was a chunkling!! And I just saw him on Star Dates! Granted, it wasn't as entertaining as the one with Butch "Eddie Munster" Patrick cavorting in a hot tub with a slut with gigantic implants, but let's be honest. What truly is? Okay, now everyone, join me in this chant to honor Mr. Berry's memory...

"No Roger, no Rerun, no rent... No Roger, No Rerun, no rent... No Roger, No Rerun, no rent..."

That's the ticket. Don't you feel better now? Sure ya do. Rerun would have wanted it that way. Hey, say it to your landlord! Rerun's gone! I ain't payin' no rent 'til he back, suckah!

In other news... Here's hoping this isn't the end of Marvel's streak of good (or at least halfway decent) movies. And here's hoping as well that they can work in the classic phrase "Giant-Sized Man-Thing". And here's knowing that this is going to be an even bigger lump of crap than 8 Heads In A Duffel Bag. Guy Ritchie, eat a dick.

10.22.03: I think I've discovered one of the main reasons I hate musicals. By musicals, I mean your Broadway type dealies, not movies like Moulin Rouge (but I won't see those at all either). Growing up in the Tri-State Area, I was bombarded with advertisements for the latest gooey blob of Broadway treacle any time I dared to watch television. No matter what time of day, or how idiotic the cartoons were that I was watching, I could be sure that I would be subjected to some horrific tableau not only of the show itself, but of the people in the audience as they departed the theatre. I honestly think that the main reason I hated Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats, and openly celebrated its demise, was that nasal, borderline-Jewish-caricature bitch who honked triumphantly the following two sentences in the lobby on its commercial:

"It's a buuthday pwesent fuh my son, he's twelve...", and:

"It was bettah than Gremlins, bettah than E.T."

Maybe it was two bitches. I don't know. They played that commercial on TV in New Jersey from when I was 7 until I was 800. I blame that advertisement for the delay in my hitting puberty. If that was what human females sounded like, my balls reckoned, they weren't going to drop anytime soon. They retreated again when Fran Drescher began doing The Nanny. Yet for some reason I find Lois' voice on Family Guy kind of sexy. What's that about?

In addition to that fine piece of ass filth, there was the ad for Les Miserables (or as the prancing girly-boys and ego-mad prima donnas I knew from my high school musical department called it, Le Mizz), wherein, during some "bawdy" (I guess) number (it's "Master of the House"), this withered old crone bellows "DON'T MAKE ME LAHFF!!!" in one of those over-the-top, ACT-INNGGG!!-type cockney accents. I haven't seen the commercial in fifteen years, and I can still hear that ancient clam hollering in my head. Goddamn Broadway. In high school, a bunch of kids were going on a field trip to Noo Yawk to see "Lay Mizzz". They asked me if I wished to tag along. I said I'd prefer a blast of buckshot to the scrotum. They went anyway. I wasn't well-liked in high school, much like today.

There was also a commercial I saw as a kid for Ain't Misbehavin' with Nell "Gimme A Break" Carter. I remember not believing that boobs could possibly get that big. Christ.

(I was gonna write this unbelievably disgusting story that Shabadoo told me happened at his job yesterday, but I accidentally erased it. If he's reading this, he should send it to me word-for-word like it was, and I'll print it tomorrow. YEAH! YOU GONNA LUV IT!!!)

10.18.03: This weekend started off kind of a bummer... I had to bid adieu to the latest forty Invisible Inc. dudes as they make their way through the magic of the postal service (HA!) to Art-O-Mat machines across the nation. Series 3 has officially begun, so look for the new boxes to include a chance to win a free Mystery Gift. I always get a l'il choked up when another round of figures heads out the door, so I started taking group shot pictures in addition to the single-figure pictures I take to catalog everybody. (There's a group shot on the front page, on the button that takes you to the Invisible Inc. home page, from mid-series 2.) So, here's the Class of... well, the beginning of Series 3! If you look close, you can see Dr. Kill-Everybody (with his assistant Fronkin Steen close behind him) and the Fod of Knerf in the front row, with the Aphelionic Adepts bringing up the rear. Here's a closer shot of the ten Aphelionic Adepts... some of them even glow in the dark! So find yourself an Art-O-Mat, and give one (or more) of these guys a good home. Sigh. My desk looks so empty now...

...Except for my new Wacom Intous2 platinum drawing tablet!!! The animations should come a whole lot quicker now that I can draw directly into Flash, instead of drawing with pen on tracing paper, scanning it into Photoshop, cleaning it up, importing it into CorelTrace, tracing it as a vector graphic, bringing it into Flash MX, coloring it and THEN animating it. Believe it or not, that's what I had to do with every single piece of an animation, no matter how small. (See why John's Arm 4 took six months to do?) I've been practicing with it all day and it's a total blast to use. Here's the first practice animation I did- it took about five minutes. Here's the second practice, which took a bit longer. Doing full animation has been a dream of mine since I was around 7 or 8, so I haven't really been able to tear myself away from the damn thing yet. Ah. Bliss.

10.16.03: Well, fellow Xbox owners, our patience and faith have paid off. On November 4, Grand Theft Auto 3 and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City will be released- together and for cheap, yet- on the Xbox. So guess what, PS2 dudes: we just plucked your golden goose. And just before Christmas, ensuring a huge spike in Xbox sales. Listen, I haven't been saying that the Xbox is the most powerful console out there out of spite because I bought one, I've been saying