Today being the anniversary of America’s liberation from the tyranny of over-taxation, mandatory tea time, and comedy comprised almost exclusively of men in dresses, we could — like most other media outlets on national holidays — present to you a series of re-runs, a long stream of themed “marathons” which let our viewers know that, yes, we are indeed on vacation, but we left Otis here so that you may still be entertained. Do not feel bad for Otis, no one likes him.
We could do this, but we won’t. While the idea of putting Ectomo on some sort of auto-pilot while we gorge ourselves on alcohol and roast entire animals over raging fires is tempting, we could not, in good conscience do that. So instead, here is some animated insanity to occupy your time, whilst we go skewer a cow.
M dot Strange’s We Are The Strange is a film that you will either
• a) love
• b) hate
• c) be totally confused by.
I am firmly in the “c” camp. Strange’s “Str8nime” style of animation leads to some very interesting and, at times, beautiful imagery but there are just as many times when the animation — in conjunction with the voice-acting — conspires to undermine the film. You can decide for yourselves though, as Strange has deigned to place the film, in its entirety, on YouTube. At the very least it is better than watching a Real World marathon.
The Bureau of Labor Statistics reports that in 2007 64% of high school graduates enrolled in college. For a multitude of reasons I have never been one of their ilk. Yet I’m told that college is a place to broaden one’s horizons; to learn new things and experience things you might not otherwise have experienced in your isolated pre-post-secondary schooling world, a place to question ideals long held as true and expand upon one’s own repertoire of knowledge. A kindergarten for the real world if you will, but with liquor and venereal diseases.
Apparently the hordes of apple-cheeked co-eds fueling this idea are all acting as agents of subversion and deceit; sowing falsehoods throughout society in an attempt to create a society of unquestioning automatons adequately prepared for the endless toil of an office. But only after being bilked out of thousands of dollars.
Thankfully, there are people like Miss Priya Venkatesan working from within the system to undo this previously obfuscated treachery.
Some pages from a 1950s pamphlet entitled “Protection from the ATOMIC BOMB” which outlines the proper procedures when a nuclear cataclysm occurs. This is easily my favorite page. Indeed I was previously unaware that, should I witness a flash of light brighter than the Sun, I should immediately do a face-plant and stay down for one minute because really, once your retinas have been seared by an atomic explosion, there’s not much else to do. After that one minute though, you should be able to get up and go about your business, safe in the knowledge that you’re too smart for those Communists.
Unspeakable horrors lurk in the dark, neglected spaces carved out by men; fueling themselves on the hatred and rage we store in these pits of despair. It was only a matter of time before something from beyond our most terrifying imaginings took root; thus ripening the fruit of the poisonous tree.
After a dozen years of tyrannical Prohibition, the people of our once proud and great nation had finally cracked. I know it sounds far fetched but bear with me, the mental decimation of North America at the hands of 12 years of sobriety at gunpoint and poisonous, bathtub concocted tonics explains everything.
It’s comforting in a way to know that one’s paranoid theories of powerful men bartering with the lives of millions of people as if they were human Pokemon are, in some ways, not so paranoid after all. Documents recently released by the State Department’s historical office detail a particularly enlightening conversation between Chinese Chairman Mao Zedong and US Secretary of State Henry A. Kissinger:
“You know, China is a very poor country,” Mao said. “We don’t have much. What we have in excess is women. So if you want them we can give a few of those to you, some tens of thousands.”
Mao circled back to the offer a few minutes later. “Do you want our Chinese women?” he asked. “We can give you 10 million.”
Kissinger noted Mao was “improving his offer,” and the chairman is on record then saying, “We have too many women … They give birth to children and our children are too many.”
“It is such a novel proposition,” Kissinger replied. “We will have to study it.”
Novel indeed, Henry. Certainly it can be argued that Kissinger’s stance on Cambodia during the Vietnam War puts the man in a light that may be less than flattering but I think everyone can agree that this shows full well the depths of the man’s depravity. I mean what kind of animal turns down an offer to supply the citizens of his country with Chinese women.
The official stance of the Church of Scientology on homosexuals:
“The only answers would seem to be the permanent quarantine of such persons from society to avoid the contagion of their insanities and the general turbulence which they bring to any order, thus forcing it lower on the scale, or processing such persons until they have attained a level on the tone scale which gives them value.”
Although official statements have been released that this is no longer the case, and that Scientology in fact does not care about the sexual practices of its members, I am inclined to doubt them. The Fair Game policy of Scientologists states that any church member may lie, cheat, or steal to destroy the enemies of the church. Misinformation is standard operation procedure.
A study was recently released that compiled survey data from English children. The purpose of the study was to determine the most comforting, entertaining, and healthful decor for children’s hospitals, which in my experience has ranged from vomitous pastels to vaguely confusing jungle scenes.
A University of Sheffield study of more than 250 children, aged four to 16, found the images were widely disliked.
[…]
Researcher Dr Penny Curtis said: “As adults we make assumptions about what works for children.
“We found that clowns are universally disliked by children. Some found them quite frightening and unknowable.”
This study surprised me in the same way that studies showing a correlation between soft drink consumption and obesity confuse me: jesus freaking shit, NO DUH. Clowns are only enjoyed by adults, who are either perverse, facetious, or political enough to use their fearsome greasepainted rictuses (rictii?) for some purpose, such as sexual gratification or internet humor. I can safely say I have never loved a clown. Much less wept for one. Especially not a simpleminded, gape-faced horror of a clown.
Until now.
Something Awful goon Gaspy Conana, pixel artist, posted the preceding few panels in a thread titled “They are kicking Dropsy out of the circus. Please help him.” Using inspiration from the thread’s reader suggestions, oldschool LucasArts adventure games, and the gently probing finger of God Himself, he brought the story through dozens of episodes, several animations and songs, and thirtysomething pages of comments, cementing Dropsy firmly in the goon consciousness as friend and hero, and solidifying his own internet stardom. It was awe-inspiring to see hardbitten goons begging, literally begging, Conana to never draw Dropsy crying again. And the story wrapped up today.
This is a new kind of participatory media, my friends. Something lovely and funny and entertaining, something that combines nostalgia, art, and originality. I could not love Dropsy more.
Meet Danny. Danny is lonely. Danny just wants to meet a woman; a woman who’s attractive. She should have features like eyes, legs, and, perhaps, automatic windows or at least a cup holder. Danny wants to take you out on a romantic date, complete with a candlelight dinner, roses, hand holding, music, and, because he knows how you women folk jibber-jabber, lots of talking. On the beach. He has a wild streak as well, once having run across the street without looking. He’s a wild man alright.
Watching this video I wonder just how closely related the man’s parents were or if the place where they made their home was riddled with high levels of radiation. I also wonder just how honest Danny is being in this video. Does the key to the city of his town even exist? Does he really want to talk or is he just looking for a real life woman to replace he crusty, worn blow-up doll? Lastly, do specific features matter or does he just need them to fill out the ever growing collection of body parts he stores in his basement?
My father and I have long maintained a correspondence of epic intellectual proportions. Usually these take the form of discussions on science and science fiction, Rick Gauger being an award-winning science fiction author, and all-around life of the party.
Recently I sent him a link to a collection of cartoons on the fashion wars of the early 1800s, which were as vicious as they were short-lived. Men and women abandoned the stiff, straight-laced wardrobes of the 1700s and briefly adopted a more modern, flowy, comfortable look. This was the famous Regency era, in which Jane Austen lived and wrote. Unfortunately for fashion, it was quickly destroyed by the severe repression of the Victorian age’s corsets, high heels, and silly hats. Dad, armchair fashion historian, elaborates [with my notes appended, thusly]:
Yes, I’ve always thought it odd that women went out of, and back into corsets in the early 19th Century. In our own time, the 60s got over in a hurry, as women went back to makeup and hairdos in the early 70s. In my century [Dad is 64], I think that the corporations panicked as they saw hair styles, makeup and tailored clothing apparently becoming obsolete, and they put on a major propaganda offensive. The majority of people (including women) never understood the 60s anyway, so they were ready to buy into it. We had a last hurrah of big cars, just at the moment when we should’ve been changing our ways.
Another reason for the quick loss of those styles was that a woman really has to be very good-looking [such as my mother, 54, who to this day refuses to learn how to use an eyelash curler, probably because she’s too busy beating men away from her door with a stout stick] to be able to go without makeup and tailoring. There were a couple of girls among the grad students of 1965 that made me froth at the mouth; most others, however smart and sweet they might be, just didn’t have what it took. One of them was the girl who welcomed me back from my first tour in Vietnam. She came out in a nightie that made her look like a joke. I would have rather died than hurt her feelings at that moment.
I recently re-watched Little Miss Sunshine, a movie almost perfect in its spherical sort of completeness, its finely-tuned meshing of pathos and joy. As entirely burnt out as I am on anything even vaguely related to blogging, you will have to forgive my scant commentary. Long story short, I am convinced that this documentary was a major inspiration for the pivotal event in Little Miss Sunshine, the child beauty pageant.
There is an homage in the film that is subtle, but crystal-clear: a quick shot of Olive playing with a sliding-tile puzzle toy, exactly as tragic Swan Brooner does in the documentary. Watch for it.
Living Dolls [YouTube]
Categories: America Posted at 8:53 pm on January 17, 2008 1 Comment -
For those who don’t know, the gentleman in the video, Tay Zonday, created quite a stir six months back (or roughly ten thousand Internet years) with his song “Chocolate Rain”, a repetitive and horribly infectious tune which dealt with the issues of racial injustice and rage, societal tensions, and stepping back from the mic to breathe in. Combine this with the mocking adoration of two radio imbeciles and you have a video that has racked up millions of hits.
Enter Dr. Pepper®, a company who has chosen to prove once again that corporations will take any trend, no matter how insipid or fleeting, and use it as fodder for advertising. For their new cola, Cherry Chocolate Diet Dr Pepper, they have produced the YouTube video “Cherry Chocolate Rain” featuring Mr. Zonday doing a “pimped out” sequel to his original hit complete with beats that one might describe as “phat” if one were so inclined, an unknown enthusiast of the rapping arts, Mista Johnson who, according to his site, goes by the alias Felonious Monk in an insult to one of jazz’s greatest composers, and, of course, scantily clad women gesticulating with the enthusiasm, coordination, and talent of someone being cleansed of demons or in the throes of a grande mal seizure. Lest one forget that this video references “the interwebs” a stuffed squirrel, complete with shocked expression, is also featured near the video’s conclusion.
I suppose that in a way, ridiculous as this ad may appear, it is perfectly functional for the purposes it was made to serve. Memes rarely last very long, perhaps just long enough to cover the life of a limited edition beverage. In this regard it seems perfectly suited. However, one has to wonder if that is even long enough, or if companies even have the resources or foresight to take advantage of these trends. Considering the internet community’s ADHD-esque tendencies and the random appearance and instantaneous popularity of videos like “Chocolate Rain” it seems to me that advertisers will be perpetually late to the party.
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.
