FUNNY LITTLE MEN

Little men are funny, aren’t they? They aren’t used as comedy relief as much these days, but back in the day, movies and books were filled with funny little men doing funny little things for the general amusement of all who came to see them. Just being short and male seems to have been a stigma in those days. Even my grandmother would laugh hysterically whenever a little guy was on her TV screen.

In fact, the phrase “funny little men” is a direct quote from her.

I’m not sure why little guys have such a tough time of it in our society, but I sure am glad I’m not one of them. I’ve known women who won’t even consider dating a guy based on the fact that he’s short, and some of them have been women who were shorter than the guy they were judging! We’re not talkin’ Amazons and mastodons here, we’re talking women 5”5 and under.

What is the big deal? Why are these guys treated like they have some horrible, disfiguring disease? Simple: They do!!! They’re little guys! Little feet, little hands, big ol’ heads and probably modest to little…well, you get the idea.

I mean, how much must it suck to be neither tall nor a midget? Talk about undignified! Caught in the middle of normalcy and fascinating oddity. How I pity them while insulting them. How I hate them for making me feel like a hypocrite when I say I love all god’s creatures except the filthy Dutch!

Bastards cause more trouble than they can handle from way down there and it’s time someone took a stand!

Now, I’m not saying it’s me, but I do have a 3-point plan for curbing their little asses if you’re interested in subscribing to my newsletter and distributing some pamphlets. I shall read an excerpt from the pamphlet entitled, “WHY LIL’ MOFOS ARE SO OBNOXIOUS AND WHAT YOU CAN DO TO BRING THEM BACK DOWN TO EARTH (WHICH ISN’T REALLY ALL THAT FAR FROM WHERE THEY ARE NOW).”

“It is well-known that a huge number of little guys suffer from what it commonly known as the ‘Napoleon Complex.’ Being a little guy often means having been teased and tormented as a youngster. This is a good thing because they deserve it, but it is often not enough to prevent them from getting all uppity and stuff. Thus rises the Napoleon, a little fella with big ideas and even bigger ego, like a Chihuahua without the cute. Nowadays, little guys don’t have the same opportunities for stabs at world domination, and so they have turned inward to their families and jobs. Thus we now have the little guy with the Kentucky-sized chip on his scrawny shoulders bossing around every kid and animal he sees. It is our duty, mandated by the Gods of Asgard, to make sure these tiny pustules are put in their places!”

Of course, maintaining such an objective tone isn’t easy when dealing with such a volatile topic. I will endeavor to remain scientific. Before revealing my 3-step program for stopping the little guy menace, we must first identify what Karl Jung called the “archetypes.” At least, I think it was Jung; it could’ve been Pat Boone.

The main little guy archetypes I have been able to identify are as follows:

THE TOUGH LITTLE GUY: He will talk the deepest shit you have ever heard and might even back it up. He is angry because everybody looks down at the top of his head during important meetings and because he needs to stand on a milk crate to use the urinal. BEWARE.

THE SMARTEST LITTLE GUY THIS SIDE OF MENSA: He knows all because he is closer to the ground and can hear things us normal height folk miss completely. This fills him with an arrogance everlasting as he strolls through life shopping in the junior section and telling everybody they’re wrong about…everything.

THE LADY KILLER LITTLE GUY: He loves the ladies and the ladies love him! And why shouldn’t they? He’s like a stuffed animal that fits perfectly on their laps. To hear this guy tell it, women everywhere want a piece of him and he is beating them off with a tee-ball bat (You know, ‘cause he’s not tall enough for a normal bat).

THE OVERLY MANLY LITTLE GUY: He is so much man he could wrestle Ernest Hemmingway! He’s the first to jump out of the airplane with a parachute, drive recklessly down the highway, and inject himself with syphilis to show you it’s not that bad. He is alternately known as the “Over-Compensating Little Guy” and his many shortcomings cause some truly stupid behavior…like wearing pants and shirts that are way too big for him so that he looks not unlike a child dressing in daddy’s clothes. He's also a homophone.

THE ABUSIVE LITTLE GUY: Nothing even slightly amusing about this one. He is making the world pay for his stature; you can see it in his life’s eye, or perhaps I should say around her eyes. His kids seem kind of off as well, as if they’ve seen things they shouldn’t, and he barks at all of them like they’re poorly trained dogs. He, above all others, must be dealt with.


MY 3-POINT PLAN FOR DEALING WITH THE LITTLE GUY MENACE, GOOD ORAL HYGIENE AND REALIGNING THE PLANETS:

CONFRONT- Little guys can no longer be allowed to march their loud, over-compensating asses around with bad attitudes without being put in check. An effective and basic method for doing this is to spot them from across the room and start gushing to the person you’re with about the adorable toy robot on the other side of the room. When he grows angry and hostile, start saying things like, “Is there a monkey inside that thing? How do you get it to talk?” He will be sufficiently neutered and will run out so fast you will miss him if you’re not looking down.

RIDICULE- Now that you’ve hounded the little guy you chose, you should follow him to his car or the bus stop and continue laughing and cajoling him. This is the only way to break his self-conditioning and make him realize he will never be anything more than a secondary citizen. Spotlighting the way his stubby little legs pump furiously as he tries to get away from you is always good. He may turn on you and pull a gun. Do what my friend Anthony did when a huge woman drew on him for making non-stop jokes, start laughing even harder (In a public place, of course). Offer to get him a telephone book so he can have better aim.

EXPOSE- The thing all obnoxious little guys fear most is exposure. They exist in a cocoon of their own devising, wrapped neatly in their security blankets that can still cover their entire bodies the ay they did when they were babies. Showing the world what they really are scared children whose bones never fully developed, is the best thing for them. That way they can get over themselves and realize they exist for our amusement and for going into tunnels during wartime to check for hidden enemy bases.


Let’s start the healing today, Say it with me: Yes, I can! Yes, I can!!!



*Disclaimer- The preceding commentary is no way meant as an indictment against all little fellas and is instead a cautionary essay on what could happen if we start letting them think they’re real people*

Being Stalked as a Status Symbol

How many women have you heard claim they’ve been stalked? How many men? How many of these women and men have claimed they’ve been stalked by more than one person? How many of them do you think are full of shit?

I think most of them are. I think they like the idea that they have been stalked so much that they have caused themselves to believe their own bullshit.

Is started in the Nineties. Prior to that, the word “stalker” was more likely to be found in science fiction novels and comic books as a character’s name. Undeniably a very real problem when first given credence, it swiftly turned into the latest thing. Second only to claims of abusive parents, having a stalker was the dysfunction du jour all throughout that prosperous and very self-centered decade.

Suddenly, stalkers were everywhere. My mom once told me there was a similar although far more serious response to the sudden “discovery” of rape in the Seventies. Every guy that walked past a woman more than once was branded with stalker. Any woman who didn’t just go away after having been discarded was one as well. It was “cool” to have stalker. The daytime talk shows reinforced this, and the nightly news remind us how dangerous and interesting it was.

It got to the point where people seemed to feel left out if they didn’t have stalker story to tell at parties. Some of them made up stories entirely, while others embellished their experiences to make them more like “Fatal Attraction” sans the boiling bunny. I even noticed people foreshadowing potential stalkers with labels like “fatal” and “obsessive.”

If a woman was angry over being cheated on and stood outside your door banging on every window and every door, she was a “fatal.” She wasn’t a devastated, righteously angry young woman. If a guy simply stared in your direction for longer than five seconds from across a crowded room, he was obsessive.

I haven’t checked the stats on this, but my instincts tell me more PPO’s and restraining orders were filed in the Nineties than in any other decade except perhaps this one.

Why did people feel the need to be part of the stalker boom? Validation. Fans of South Park might remember the episode where Mr. Garrison went home with much trepidation, implying his father had tampered with him sexually. However, in a brilliant and disturbing comedic twist, it turns out Garrison was upset because his dad never did tamper with him! School counselor Mr. Mackey explains that people have been led to believe they only matter if they are dysfunctional. Sadly, there is some truth to that.

Celebrities, a group of people with actual stalkers, seem to thrive on tales of their dysfunctional and tragic childhoods. It’s become hip to be fucked up. Thank Howard Stern for that. His pioneering in the field of dysfunctional celebrities inspired a generation of imitators with little to compare.

Stalkers are the great intangible that binds everyone together. There’s no need for hard evidence and facts when it comes to making claims of being stalked. Much like alien abduction, the stories are so well—saturated in our minds

The word has become a slang term for anybody who lingers too long. Much like the word “depressed,” stalker has lost its true meaning and power in a sea of superficial usages and pop culture repetitions.

It doesn’t help that stalking takes many forms, from old-fashioned lurking in the bushes to a certain enterprising I.T. professional I once knew who used his powers for evil by tracking down a woman he’d met twice. This brings p another aspect of stalking that fascinates me just as much: The guy who doesn’t know he’s a stalker.

One friend of mine makes it a habit of trolling malls in search of appealing females, preferably employees of the stores in the mall so he can scope them out more than once. He does this for an unspecified length of time then starts creating little encounter moments with some of them, all in he name of “loving women.” As if that weren’t creepy enough to a young girl raised to see everyone a potential stalker, he also strikes up conversations with them in ways that let them know he watches their habits and actions. When I call him on this and try to advise him what this course of action can be interpreted as, he dismisses my words as either jokes at his expense or ridiculous. I don’t think he would ever turn violent or go any further than where he is right now, but for many people that is enough.

You damn well best believe these chicks tell people about the psycho stalker at the mall who walks past their stores on a regular basis with a stupid grin on his face, peering in at them. He has become their party story, their rite of passage, and their confirmation that they are part of something.

The I.T. guy didn’t think he was a stalker, either. IN all fairness, he had not dated anyone new since the early Eighties, so the whole phenomenon had passed him by. But he also saw any assertions of his stalkery as ridiculous and seemed to grow angry with the woman he’d tracked down online. She too now has a story confirming her hipness.

I was accused of stalking once. I too was offended by the accusation, but my incident was different. Following a huge fight with a female friend in whom I had expressed romantic interest, I decided I’d had enough of her flip-flopping and drove over to pick up nothing of mine that had been left at her house. The fact that I did that after a fight then lingered long enough to go to the bathroom brought on the accusation. I remember looking at her as if she was insane.

“No offense intended,” I said, “But you’re not worth the gas money.”

As I left, laughing and saying, “Somebody thought she was important, didn’t she? Didn’t she? Aww, poor baby,” she seemed to get the point. Nobody was gonna use me to get their stalker cred. Dumb bitch.

I have no idea if I’ve been stalked. It wouldn’t be hard, considering the rut I’ve been in since the start of the new millennium. It’s not something I’d want to happen. It’s nice to feel wanted, but not to that degree. I do have a screenplay I’ve been tinkering with for years now dealing with many of the themes mentioned above. Yes, it’s a comedy. This post has inspired me to go back and re-visit that story.

Maybe it will show all those stalkers how pathetic they are and do the same for those who look forward to having a stalker story. If not, maybe I’ll make enough money to buy a pickup truck so I can park outside Eva Mendes’ house without my legs falling asleep~

WHAT I SAID

Did I mean it? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did. Why did I say it? Not sure, really. I guess some part of me thought it was time. It didn't feel wrong when it happened, so chalk one up to my rectum. It's the smartest body part I have!

Did it upset you? I'm very sorry if it did. That certainly wasn't my intent. I'm not sure I even had an intent, to be honest. It was a moment to be seized and old Scribe grabbed the bull by the nadz and went to yankin' and a'pullin' something fierce!

Do I regret it? No. life is too much of a struggle to what feels like the right thing, regardless of what comes next..

Yeah, I meant what I said.

Wait...


Which thing were we talkin' about???

Oh, that!

Well, damn. I thought it was the other...you know, that thing I said when...Um...You know!





Kidding. I meant it :)

A QUICK OBSERVATION

If there is one thing I have learned about the universe, it is that it is a giant man in an enormous pair of bluejeans. Why? Simple: Much like a well-endowed male, the universe must occasionally adjust itself to maintain its comfort zone. When it does this, it likes to remind people like me how fleeting happiness is and how lasting is misery.

Last week I met with my publisher and she handed me an advance copy of my novel to go through and edit and suggest changes as I see fit, since I hold the copyright even after it is released. Since that day I have carried it happily to work with me, reading it on my breaks as if it was a novel I purchased, and showing a select view a glimpse of the finished product.

Finally, my dream, my struggle, my quest for self-actualization and validation had been realized. The only thing I have ever known about myself was that I had to be a published writer or my life would be meaningless. In just a month, that will no longer be an issue.

But I forgot that I'm not allowed to revel in my own accomplishments anymore. Today, having received equal doses of hatred and accusation from two separate parties completely unaware of each other, I can only conclude that the happiness window has closed. Now I find I don't give a fat fickle fuck about the book or anything else. I won't stop writing, but it's been placed back into proper perspective.

Like the man said, "Nothin' matters and so what if it did."

Fuck you, universe.

JUST A BIG OL' PUSSY, AIN'TCHA?

Despite the title, this isn't the first installment of my long-awaited series on the ego-centrism of felines. Instead, I'm afraid we are again dealing with the panty-waist known as "Dude," and his trampy ex-wife Minnie Mouse.



For those who didn't read it or forgot or just really get aroused at the thought of lengthy recaps, Dude is a thirty-something with a reformed slacker's mentality and his now almost ex-wife is a twenty-something with the maturity of a zygote. She felt neglected by him and decided to have sex with the son of the owner of the taco-themes restaurant she worked for. Seven months later she was knocked up, and she and Dude hadn't had sex in 12 months. Now that you've done the math, riddle me this: What kind of man would still accept the phone calls from his unfaithful ex-wife who wound up giving birth to the basard offspring of her affair?

Answer: The kind of guy who would empathize with her when she calls to describe the pain she went through during childbirth.

I can’t make shit like this up, people. Dude actually felt bad for this immature idiot that he never even seemed to find attractive.

For the two years of their marital…bliss? Woes? Abomination against the entire pantheon of gods & goddesses throughout history? All of the above? Anyway, during that time Dude spent a large chunk making sure people knew she wasn’t all that and that he preferred a different type of woman. Sounds like a basis for happily ever after to me! That’s like the guy a friend of mine knew who grew tired of a girl pestering him for jungle love and decided to slam-dunk her a quick courtesy. “I ain’t gonna enjoy this, now,” he said in an oh-so-romantic tone.

As I wrote previously, Dude wasn’t stupid enough to hesitate when it came to drop—kicking his Canadian bride back across the Detroit/Windsor border when she revealed that she’d been carrying her lover’s child for at least 7 months. Yes, I know. How did he not know? I think even God is scratchin’ his nappy beard over that one. To his credit, or detriment if you think he’s lying, Dude did tell me he’d sort of suspected something for a while. He said he knew something was off when she started wearing baggy sweatshirts in the middle of summer. Denial is a powerful force in this universe of ours, second only to the strange hold reality TV has over middle-age women and people under 35.

Eventually, she had an attack of conscience while their minister/pastor/head indoctrinator was delivering a sermon on honesty and forthrightness. Well, plus he saw her giant, low-hanging pregnant belly in the bathroom! Oh, Jesus, I see the righteousness of thy words, and I see no way out of this so I shall tell the truth!

So now she’s gone, back living in Canada with her permissive parents, including a dad who used to frequent the nudey bars with Dude! And while that may make him cool in more ways than one (especially if he ponied up the dough for the lap dances) it isn’t the most encouraging background for a potential mate for a guy who believes in all the traditional stuff. OK, fine. She has a strange family and an even stranger personality. So be it. Have a good life. Nice not knowin’ ya, you done me wrong, etc.

But Dude’s not going out like that. Sure one expects a certain amount of crying and devastation and bitterness and…hunger, probably. Hell, I expect that to last a good year or longer. What I don’t expect, however, is for him to accept her calls about the baby. I do know they had it out a few weeks ago when he lit into her like an invading army, telling her how pathetic she was and how she’s let him down. And she did what she always did when confronted with harsh, grownup reality…she bawled like an infant.

Dude started manning up. It was about time, too. I was starting to think he’d left his groin in Spain when he went there as an exchange student. Now that he’d put her on blast, there was no way in New jersey he would feel any significant connection to her, right?

WRONG!!!

Haven’t you been reading? Start over, right now! Go back to the top of the page and start over. We’ll wait…

...

(Humming)

Ok, welcome back. Dude showed up to work on the day they were celebrating his birthday with his eyes all bulged out and swollen and red, having been crying for most of the day. When asked what was wrong, he said no matter what Minnie Mouse did, she was still his wife and it hurt him that she'd gone through that pain alone.

Yes, that makes sense. Let me send one of my cousin's homies over to rob and beat his ass into raw hamburger meat because this particular homie had a bad childhood and his actions are justified. Not the same? Yeah, it is. SHE CHEATED ON HIM IN THE BACKSEAT OF HER FRIEND'S CAR WITH A COKEHEAD WITHOUT WEARING PROTECTION AND LIED FOR SEVEN MONTHS ABOUT CARRYING THIS PERSON'S BABY!!!

Am I alone here. Is that my own urine fighting the breeze? What the fuuuuuccccckkkkkk!!!????

His crying seems to have been brought on by the fact she called crying about how sorry she was about how she'd fucked everything up and she didn't want him to be completely out of her life. Fair enough. Apology accepted, Captain Neda. (Green gets that one!) She probably is sorry. I would be too if I'd ruined my chances of living in the U.S. and escaping a tiny podunk Canadian town. I love Canada, by the way, but there are an awful lot of those boring, second-rate settlements strewn throughout the country.

I made a bet that the two of them will either get back together or die trying within the next 12 months.. When they first spoke about the baby, Dude convinced her to put it up for adoption. She has since decided to keep it. My prediction is that his punk-ass, out of the same fear of being alone that motivated him to marry her, will make a go of it and try to raise the kid as well. We are, after all, talking about the same guy who got the chance to confront the weasel that fucked his wife and simply told him "Shame on you" and that he'd have to deal with God's judgement some day. Ooo. Way to lay the smackdown, Father Dude.

Pussy. Wus. Bitch. None of these words come close to my opinion of him now.

What ya'll think?

THE "WRITE-OFF PEOPLE"

Ever think you know somebody? Ever made the mistake of thinking you could predict the behavior of a human being and paid the cost? Of course you have. This is a universal experience.

I like to think I don’t make that mistake as often as most people do. My untrusting nature serves me well when it comes to not setting unrealistically high expectations. But, I am still human until the UFO’s show up en masse, so I must contend with the occasional fault in my programming…er, I mean “psyche.”

People will almost always let you down. That means you, me, the creepy guy down the street whose front yard looks like a kill-zone in Vietnam, and the single baby-machine with the hive of ugly kids, none of whom look alike yet all of whom are within a few months of age. And if stalwart citizens like that can betray us, what hope have we with the lawyers, politicians and child murderers?

Men have a tendency to place women on pedestals when we like them or find them attractive. Without getting too deeply into Dr. Phil territory, this is probably due to the fact that we revere our mothers (in most cases) and sub-consciously seek a way to recapture that feeling. Women, however, tend to do the opposite, especially when they are daddy’s girls. No man can ever possibly measure up to daddy even if he is a much better person. Basically, women are better equipped to handle disappointment than men.

In fact, women can be rather cold when it comes to being let down by someone they claim to care about. Cutting a person loose seems to come rather easily to many of them, as if people are mere accessories for a limited time to be discarded when no longer useful. Perhaps this is because time is the major factor for females. Everything is about keeping to the schedule. I can’t criticize since I don’t have the same “biological clock” situation, but it does seem to me that in a rational world some of those base instincts would be easier to suppress.

I don’t dispose of people like they’re snot-rags. It’s just not in me. I think my vultures (regular readers) should know that almost as well as people who know me in real life. Contrary to how I portray myself, I do have a conscience and a set of admittedly flexible morals. I was taught empathy at an early age and am able to place myself in another’s stead.

I don’t find it easy to say, “Well, that person is no longer worth my time, so much for them.” I don’t understand people who do, especially when they claim to be caring individuals. I’ve been on the receiving end of it, though, so I know it happens. One minute you think someone is in your corner, the next they’ve decided those were six weeks of tension they’ll never get back and have moved on. I’m being facetious, of course. It was more like eight weeks.

I guess I’d be OK with the write-off people if not for the fact that they often try to spread their belief system onto people like me. Not unlike demented missionaries (is there any other kind in the Western World?) they try to make others see the light of understanding that dawned upon them long ago. Again, women seem to excel at this. They are so good at it, in fact, that they often use it as justification for extra-marital affairs. And they love to get men to start seeing things the same way when it comes to friends they had before the relationship/marriage. Even more fascinating is when they try to use “reverse-psychology” by making you feel that one of your friends may be planning to divest themselves of you. It’s just that kind of passive aggressive, not-so-subtle manipulation that gives women a bad name and inspires obnoxious hip hop songs.

I recently had a strange experience with a friend who went from close to distant in what seemed to be a span of nano-seconds. I won’t deny it was painful. This was a friend I placed on a pedestal, ignoring all my self-imposed rules form years of bitter experience. As we should know, all a pedestal needs is a high wind to knock it over. When this particular pedestal fell over, it placed me in the uncomfortable position of self-examination.

I started wondering if I’d done something to offend. Then I started wondering if I was actually the one whose pedestal had been knocked down until I realized I’d done nothing different. Of course, that doesn’t guarantee anything. Sometimes people sit and think and think and reach conclusions without recent experience as their guide. But it wasn’t me at all. This is a person with apparently huge mood swings and this one lasted so long it started to look like a new (or revealed) personality.

Gone were the usually jovial demeanor and the smiles and laughs and flirtatious comments that had come to define a growing friendship. In its place were bitterness, resentment and a total lack of communication. It hurt.

Please don’t think I am unaware of the addictive nature of this situation. As time went on, though, I kicked that addiction. I went from texting to see if the person was OK to testing the person’s resolve. True friends don’t let much get in the way when it comes to people they care about. During this period, I sent three true messages designed to elicit a response. None of them did. Not even the one about being stranded on the road.

People who know me also know I am a depressed personality. I have been known to descend into fits of depression so deep it looked as if I’d never climb back out. But when somebody needed me, I threw on my clothes and stumbled out of the house. If I wasn’t able to leave the house, I at least let the person know why. It’s what you do, Godammit.

Receiving no replies at all causes someone like me to speculate endlessly. Eventually, in this case, I reached the conclusion that all was not what I thought it was. Disappointed, letdown, a tad disgusted, I slowly broke myself away from that connection. I still made overtures in person, but most of the time I was made to feel so uncomfortable that I wound up walking away shaking my head and lamenting the time I’d wasted. And for weeks nothing came of it. I stopped texting and visiting and concentrated on other things.

Then suddenly it was as if everything was OK again. Smiles, hellos, flirtatious wiggle-walks and all. I wasn’t biting. I’m not here to wade through someone’s crappy mood and equally crappy behavior like an abused spouse. Maybe I will relax my stance later on but right now I see no need to do so.

That brings me to the concluding piece of the write-off people puzzle. As much disdain as I have for those who write people off immediately, I am beginning to have even more for those who do it temporarily until they feel like it’s time to stop. Like dat Jeevis guy said, “Don’t take crap from others you’re not ready to feed to yourself.”

I come back on my own terms, nobody else’s~

A NEW FEATURE THIS WAY DOES COME!!!

AM I AN ASSHOLE?


Wait!!! Don't answer that yet! I haven't told you why! The point of this here feature here is for me to discuss an action I took or something I said that others might construe as bordering Prick Town on its way to Asshole City.

Here it is:

When exiting work the other day, I noticed some asscrack had parked so close to my car I actually had to throw one leg all the way inside and struggle to get behind the wheel like I was experiencing my own birth in reverse! Angered, embittered, and just plan grumpy, I pulled out of my parking space only to discover how difficult that was thanks to the idiot next to me. I no longer drive a tiny Toyota. I now drive a gigantic Ford Taurus Wagon and that sum bitch handles like a truck when it has no room to move.

Naturally I backed out. I searched my car for a piece of paper and a pen and wrote a note for the fuckstick who had parked to close to me. Then, making sure none of my departing co-workers were the vehicle's owner, I got out of my car and placed the note under their windshield wiper.

What did the note say, you ask? It said:

NEXT TIME PARK CLOSER
AND WE CAN SHARE GAS!!!

Now you may answer the question!

A FINAL WORD ON "THE DARK KNIGHT"

(Except, maybe, for a few more posts regarding the lunacy occuring on the yahoo message boards)



I am what would be considered a “fanboy.” For those who don’t know what that means, it is basically someone who is deeply influenced and into the whole science fiction/comic book genre, although I’m not a huge fantasy fan.

Proud members of an elitist sub-culture, fanboys (and girls) trumpeted their interests to the four winds and kept it sacred for decades before Hollywood caught up and started co-opting the visions of various writers and artist.

I have mixed feelings about the current crop of comic book movies; on one hand, it’s pretty gratifying to see them being made. As a child, I thought the day would never come when someone started making superhero films on a regular basis. Sure there were those four Superman films, only two of which were any good. Yes, Batman came later and created an ad campaign phenomenon that changed the way movies are released forever and, in my opinion, for the worst.

Those are both DC Comics characters, icons of the pulp era dating back to the 1930’s, firmly etched into the public’s sub-conscious and known throughout the world. Marvel Comics character have only been around since the 1960’s and consequently had a tougher time making it onto the big screen in any significant way. There were attempts, of course.

Marvel was purchased by New World pictures, a low-budget film company known for its cost cutting measures. Captain America was their first attempt and although generally derided by fans and Marvel’s employees alike, it was a decent effort that ultimately misfired and never saw wide theatrical release. A Fantastic Four film was also made for a million dollars by producer Roger Corman to avoid losing the copyright. Another film generally despised, but to be honest, it had elements that make the newer ones seem rather juvenile. There was also a Punisher movie starring Dolph Lungren that went nowhere fast. It seemed all hope was lost.

But former writer/publisher Stan Lee is nothing if not tenacious, and he was bound & determined to see his co-created visions translated onto the big screen. I don’t think I need to finish the rest.

The fan community has met the comic book films with interesting reactions. In the beginning, there was predictable resistance to minor changes such as giving Spider-man webs that actually shot out of his wrists rather than web-shooters with re-fillable cartridges. There were some objections to the X-Men wearing black leather instead of their costumes and I remember some people being upset that Hispanic actress Jessica Alba was cast as the very white and very blond Susan Richards in the Fantastic Four.

As time has gone on, however, fanboys seem to have reached a group consensus that some changes are inevitable in order to get non-fans to support the films. On the surface, that seems a very mature and open-minded mentality, but something else has reared its ugly head. There’s a new type of fanboy out there that isn’t necessarily a comic book fan but is a fan of the movies. Similar in many ways to the early fanboys of the 1930’s who saw themselves as a superior breed apart from the rest, many of these people are frighteningly cultish and bordering on psychotic.

If you read my review of the latest Batman film, you might have also read of my experiences with what I have dubbed the “Bat-cult.” This is a group of passionately devoted fans of the Chris Nolan directed newer Batman films who will tolerate no dissenting viewpoint in regards to their sacred film series. I know one of these people in person and he didn’t even want to know what I thought of the film unless I liked it. When I told him anyway, he started calling me names that made me cry like a 6-month old baby girl.

Deciding I hadn’t had enough abuse, I went to good ol’ Yahoo message boards to share my views on what I thought was an OK film with lots of flaws. One would’ve thought I’d just mocked Mohammed considering the response I got! I was insulted, my review was called “inflammatory” and I was even accused of being some other poster because there couldn’t possibly be two people who didn’t think this was the greatest movie of all time. These same people have been attacking film critics via email if they didn’t care for the film and even referred to a Wall Street Journal critic as an “old queen” on some militant website.

Yes, “militant.” These sedentary Mofos have so much free time they actually create websites for the purpose of attacking people who disagree with them about a silly little movie!

What really grinds my gears is the fact that a lot of these mindless drones aren’t even fans of the genre that spawned the films. Or, if they are fans, they are bandwagoners that got on board when the form was finally “legitimized” amongst mainstream audiences. These wackos seem to feel that the slightest criticism endangers their precious holy experience. Much like most Christians I’ve run into, they claim infallibility on the part of what they advocate but fly into a blind rage as soon as someone says, “I beg to differ.”

The other comic book films don’t seem to have garnered this type of bizarre zealotry, but I do remember a severe overrating of the first Spiderman film as well. I am a huge fan of those movies but the first one had its faults. Still, Sam Raimi had enough respect for the original source to avoid turning the films into bastardizations.

In my opinion, Spiderman 2 is still the litmus test for the perfect comic book film. Of course, it has the advantage of having been written by literary author Michael Chabon, whose love for the genre shines through in most of his work.

The Bat-cult finds their particular choice to be superior because of its darker elements. They can feel cool watching it. These punk-ass know-it-alls are ruining the genre with their disturbing activist mentality. Soon what has become an acceptable form of storytelling will again become marginalized as a refuge for angry loners and child tamperers. Like the Catholic Church with illustrations.











(In the days before CGI, Adam West packed some serious Bat-accessories in his Bat-undies!)




I finally understand why Alan Moore despises any attempts at turning his masterful comic book stories into films. Talk about a principled artist, Moore refuses to watch or endorse any film versions of his books, claiming he doesn’t write his stuff for the screen’s compromised visions. When DC Comics allowed the movie studio that made V for Vendetta to claim Moore had watched the film and loved it, he quit on general principle. I am looking forward to the film version of Moore Watchmen next March but I doubt he feels the same way.



If any comic book film has the potential to supplant the Dark Knight and reclaim the genre for the true fans, that’s the one. With any luck, the Bat-cult will go the way of all their predecessors…

Lying dead in some remote compound with the purple stains of poisoned Kool-aid on their lips making them look like the Joker.

A boy can dream, can’t he?

5 REASONS SCRIBE HATES THAT HE ISN'T A WOMAN:

There I was at my local library making copies of a payment agreement for my student loan that refuses to diminish in amount no matter what I pay when I experienced an epiphany. As I sat down at an available computer across from a guy who was practically leaning inside the screen and dozing off to the point where his snoring caused the windows to rattle, I realized I'd left my keys on the copier. That's when I realized why chicks have it so much easier and mo' better-er than guys and came up with this list!







-5 NOT BEING ABLE TO CARRY A PURSE: This is mainly true in North America where a man carrying a bag is seen as a prison-bitch. You see, I'd left my keys on the copier because I didn't have anywhere to put them. Had it been cooler out, things would've been different, but it's hotter than Rosie O'Donnell's closed thighs outside. My GOD! the thangs I could accomplish with a purse. I could even carry my ski mask and duct tape with me for when I see a fine young thang playing hard to get!







-4 NOT BEING ABLE TO GET AWAY WITH BEING A BITCH TO WHOMEVER I CHOOSE: I know women love to say it's socially acceptable for men to be assholes but not for womento be bitches. But they're just being bitches when they make those comments! If a man is an asshole for even five seconds and a woman is in the vicinity, he is branded insensitive and abusive. Somehow women can bark, spit, piss and scream and it's OK because they have hormones (men don't, apparently) and there just might be some blood excreting from their Virginias. I want that so badly! I would be bitchy to all who came before me and tackle them to the ground so I could bleed on their foreheads!







(Oh My God this guy looks like he's high off his ass or doesn't have a home to go to! His eyes are all glazed over and he keeps hitting the keyboard with his face and snoring like a starving hog!)







Where was I? oh, right.







-3 NOT HAVING THE FREEDOM TO YAK-YAK-YAK TIL THE COWS COME HOME: Many’s the time I’ve wished I could just bump my gums incessantly about my private life at work and anywhere else I so desired without fear of being labeled someone who talks too much. Nothing would thrill me more than discussing various orifices and associated hygiene methods as well as detailing every moment of my private life at the top of my lungs.

-2 NOT HAVING FEMALE PROBLEMS: Here’s where they definitely have it over us walking tri-pods! Hmm? Oh. Not everyone has a tri-pod? Sorry, lil’ fellers. Anyway, one can only come up with so many excuses for calling off work or not attending annoying, stupid events like funerals and your kids’ graduation. Groin pulls aren’t common, infected wisdom teeth can be removed, and gunshot wounds only work if you’re a cop or a gangster or a Hollywood agent. But women! WOMEN! They have PERIODS and cramps ands hot spells and horrific headaches and all sorts of issues with internal organs that can fall apart and cause agonizing pain at any minute…GOD how I envy them! I want cramps! Can you picture it? “Scribe, my family is having a little get-together.” “Love to, can’t. Cramps!” “Scribe, it’s the Second Coming of Jesus and he wants all humanity to come unto him!” “Tell ‘im I love his work, but my vag is leaking like a secret in a government office!” Periods are wasted on those who actually have the ability to give birth!

-1 NOT BEING ABLE TO CRITICIZE THE OPPOSITE SEX WITHIOUT FEAR OF HARSH & BRUTAL RETALIATION: This one’s more of a personal cause. I am all for the women’s movement and the freedoms sought by it. What I can’t support, however, is the abuse of status bitter females use to openly mount verbal attacks on men who are just supposed to grin and shrug and take it like a little guy in a prison shower. We are not allowed to reply in kind, however, because that makes us “sexist” and misogynistic. I don’t so much hate the fact that women feel the need to denigrate us, as I do the fact that we can’t return the favor. I have a comeback and argument for every comment a woman makes but society has been brainwashed into believing women can do no wrong. Thank Oprah and all her daytime TV cronies for the false perception. Just once I wish I felt free to air my grievances against women the way they air theirs against…Oh, wait. I just did. I guess I don’t let them control or intimidate me. Should I come up with another reason, then?

Nah. My fingers hurt. Fuck it.

CALL OF THE WEEK

SCRIBE: How can I help you?
CUSTOMER: (Says her name) I’ve got a big problem!!!
SCRIBE: I’m sorry to hear that. What’s goin’ on today?
CUSTOMER: I can’t find my phone and it’s somewhere in the kitchen!
SCRIBE: Oh…I…
CUSTOMER: The battery is dead so I need you to make it ring so I can find it!
SCRIBE: Um…the…um…
CUSTOMER: I know it was here!
SCRIBE: I’m sorry, did you say the battery is dead?
CUSTOMER: Yeah! I heard it ring once when I called it then nothin’! So can you make it ring so I can find it?
SCRIBE: …I apologize, we don’t… have that capability.
CUSTOMER: Oh, you don’t???
SCRIBE: Correct.
CUSTOMER: Oh no! I thought you could!
SCRIBE: Sorry. We’re bound by the same restrictions as you. If the battery’s dead, the phone won’t ring.
CUSTOMER: O, what am I gonna do???
SCRIBE: Not sure…I…hmm…
CUSTOMER: I can’t find it!
SCRIBE: Yeeeaaahhhhh…Ahem
CUSTOMER: It was on my table with a bunch of other stuff!
SCRIBE: …OK…
CUSTOMER: I don’t know what I’m gonna do! I can’t find it anywhere!
SCRIBE: Geez…that’s…yeah…
CUSTOMER: I thought you could make it ring.
SCRIBE: No, I’m sorry we…
CUSTOMER: Now what do I do?
SCRIBE: Well, you said it was definitely in the kitchen?
CUSTOMER: Yeah!
SCRIBE: Yeeeaaaahhhh…
CUSTOMER: It won’t ring!!!
SCRIBE: Was there, um, anything else I could…
CUSTOMER: I don’t know what I’m gonna do!
SCRIBE: …Yeeeeaaaahhhhh…

This went on for minutes on end. No comments or inner thoughts during the dialogue on this one. It speaks for itself.