Greetings, Shadow Warriors!

There’s an old saying where I come from, and it goes something like this:

“If you can’t come up with a Spwug article for the week, just make something up.”

How anyone in my home town even knew there would ever be a web site called Spwug some day in the future is a riddle that we may never solve (radiation spill).  Be that as it may, today it just happens to be good advice.  I’m having a frazzleweek (not to be confused with a Fraggle Rock) this week, and it’s making it tough to come up with anything substantial to offer.  So instead, I once again break out the odds and ends that I have come across over the past couple of days, plop them all into a stew pot, add some seasonings, stir, and serve it to you with some blue milk, courtesy of the charred corpse of Aunt Beru.

What?  It’s not like the Lars family was going to be drinking it anymore.  It was just sitting there on the table.

Megaman 10 is out.  Rockman continues to cry at the injustice.

For those of us still clinging to the nostalgia of our 80s roots (and who really isn’t these days?) and were feeling a little like we got repeatedly crotch-punched by the last fanboy-pleasing offering, Capcom once again gives us the retro-NES-looking goodness of Megaman 10.  While the last installment offered Proto as DLC, this time he comes ready-to-play, with Bass being the DLC character this time around.  All of the graphic and gameplay charm of 9 returns, but this time you can save yourself a cranial bruising from beating your head against the wall – Megaman 10 includes an “easy mode”.  Meanwhile, the Japanese continue to laugh at us while they exist in their superior universe.

Final Fantasy XIII also came out this week.  World buckles at the contradiction.

I stopped playing this series a long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away…), sometime after X or XI or XVIC or whatever that one was with the different characters (stupid Roman numerals).  I’ve read that there have been a few changes, one of which is that the battle system is set up similar to Advent Children.  I’ve heard mixed feedback.  A few of my friends seem to enjoy it, while a few others do not.  And still a few other others are still wondering how there are thirteen of them when it’s the “Final Fantasy” (and even more when you count the spin-offs).  I still maintain that three six is the best one Square has ever done, and they will never be able to top just how well that game is.

The new Tron Legacy trailer is online.

Some of you may be a wee bit too young to remember the movie that put CG animation on the map and laid the groundwork for what Spielberg, Cameron, and Pixar are doing today in film.  Tron didn’t pull in a very large box office when it opened back in 1982, but it has since gained a cult following – enough of one that Disney finally greenlit a sequel last year.  Jumping on the viral marketing bandwagon, Disney has kept the details scarce on this new movie, but has made discovering the details rather fun and exciting.  Most recently, people around the world had the opportunity to go on hide-and-seek missions to find an individual wearing a “Flynn Lives” t-shirt in several major cities around the globe.  The reward?  Exclusive swag, and the ability to unlock an online page that featured dates and locations for a “secret” showing of the new trailer for Tron Legacy.  For those who could stand to wait a few extra days, the trailer went online for everyone this week.  And it is badass.

Speaking of movie trailers…

I’ve got two words for you: “briefcase armor”:

One of these things is not like the other…

Word has it that John Krasinski has landed the role of Captain America for the new Marvel film.  You may know him from the American version of “The Office”.  The rest of you may know him as the guy completely wrong for the part.

And that concludes this broadcast day!  I know I said before that I would be making stuff up, but I decided not to… or, at least not entirely.  One of the things I mentioned above is not at all true (or is close to the truth but not true).  Can you figure out which one?  Ooohh!  Puzzles!  I’m guessing that this one won’t be enough of a challenge to keep you busy until next Thursday, will it?

Probably not.

There’s nothing special about The Don.  He’s just an ordinary program.

Greetings, Madballs!

Holy crap.

I’m sure those of you who own one of the “fat” PS3 systems (like me) became quite acquainted with the issue that occurred last Sunday on the right and straight on ‘til Monday.

In short, the non-slim PS3s all took a huge dump.

In a major snafu that most-assuredly gave Xbox 360 owners plenty of ammo in the “Which system is better?” war, a simple glitch with the internal clock ended up wreaking havoc for about twenty-four hours.  For some weird reason, the older PS3 models tried (unsuccessfully, I might add) to turn over from February 28^th to February 29^th, 2010 on Sunday night.  Of course, the system that only does everything (including ride the short bus) did not get the memo that 2010 is not, in fact, a leap year.  The side effect of that?  February still remains short-stacked against her fuller siblings (I’ve always thought of February as a woman – she sure flirts like one).

So, when that internal clock rolled over to the obviously illegal date, those “fat” PS3s immediately wet the bed, making online connection impossible.  Also affected?  Trophy data was either corrupted or non-existent and almost all PS3 games were completely non-playable.

Sony’s response was amusing, yet horrifying at the same time – “Stay off your PS3!”  Sounding like an septuagenarian who just confiscated your Frisbee (do people even play with Frisbees anymore?), the company that uses the same font for Playstation and the Spider-Man movies admitted that they were at a loss, but that the problem was bad enough to warrant treating your system like a red-headed step child (what a sad moniker – I happen to like gingers).

So, like the stalwart troopers that they are, Sony set their tech experts (who obviously have no concept of the Gregorian calendar or this wouldn’t have happened in the first place) to task to find and fix the problem.  Meanwhile, Xbox folks were laughing at our misfortunes right up to the moment when their 360s got their fifth or sixth “Red Ring of Death”, at which point they swore profusely and immediately throw themselves onto some jagged rocks.

At the same time, I was going through a steady decline as withdrawals started to kick in.  It wasn’t noticeable Sunday night, as the problem didn’t occur until after I had already signed off for the evening.  But by the time I got home from work Monday afternoon?  Well, let’s just say that I never realized just how much I use my PS3 until I found out the hard way that about two-thirds of my couch time in the living room requires the use of the third generation Playstation.  I couldn’t play any video games.  I couldn’t watch any movies.  Every time my instincts automatically queued up my arms to reach for the power button on my system I had to stop myself.  In the end, I was forced to “channel surf” – a past time that I’m pretty sure became obsolete right around the same time that Frisbees stopped being something cool that you did in parks and backyards.

Fortunately for me, the Winter Olympics were just over enough to return one of my 8 PM viewing staples to its proper time slot.  After watching the show I bought a Subway sandwich to keep on the air, “Chuck” returned the favor and kept me distracted long enough for Sony to figure out how time is actually kept track of in modern society.  By 9 PM I hesitantly fired up ol’ Bessie based on some positive rumblings I had read in one of the forums I frequent.  Sure enough, my sleek-black beauty was fine and dandy.  She was a little disoriented, still thinking that it was Sunday, February 28^th, but after a gentle correction I was able to play Fallout 3 with only my usual operational glitches and irritations.  All was now right in the world once again.

At least, until all game systems everywhere instantly self destruct while trying to reconcile December 21^st, 2012.

The Don survived the PS3 Blackout of February 29^th, 2010.  He didn’t even get a lousy T-shirt.

Greetings, Toxic Avengers!!

Valentine’s Day is coming up.  So, in honor of this day of hearts and cupids I should probably do some kind of article commemorating fatal romances in movies, dictating the top love triangles in comics, or listing the love ballads everyone says they hate but secretly love.

I’m not gonna do any of that.

Instead, I’m going to veer completely around that holiday of pinks and purples and make a beeline straight for the twenty-four hours (almost) everyone in the U.S. will be observing (theoretically) the day after: Presidents’ Day.

For my contribution to the day in which we acknowledge the efforts of our leading forefathers, I turn to a medium that – in this day and age – can almost be considered as American as baseball and apple pie.

Comic books.

Presidents have been portrayed in comic books almost as far back as the beginning.  From George Washington penning for an (extremely) early version of The Daily Planet to last year’s run of Obama appearances, every age of comics through the years has had a commander-in-chief show up at some point.  In some cases, especially during times of war, having the president appear in a comic book was a way to rally the morale of Americans, as well as to add some weight to a particular hero’s efforts.  If FDR was responsible for helping Captain America obtain the shield he’s known for today, it must be just and right.

But as much as comic creators like to herald our national leaders, they also sometimes throw our presidents into comics to serve in a satirical sense.  The result is that often our leaders are portrayed in a negative light.  The reason for this is simple: comics, like any other entertainment medium, are just as often used to deliver a message as well as entertain.  It is not uncommon for comic book writers to infuse their own views on politics, society, and pop culture into their stories.  Richard Nixon tends to be a perfect example of this, as you’ll see shortly.

So, here are a few of the more notable moments in comic book history when our nation’s presidents made an appearance, for good or for ill:

Richard Nixon: Watchmen

Might as well start with what is most likely the most well-known appearance of a U.S. president in comics history.  Unfortunately for ol’ Tricky Dick, his role in the award-winning series only expounded upon the less-than-stellar reputation he was forever stuck with after his resignation in the shadow of the Watergate scandal.  In Watchmen, Alan Moore creates an alternate 1985 where Nixon is still president, using him as a tool to portray a country that thinks it is invulnerable.  Moore’s take on how Nixon would eventually lead the country to nuclear war was his commentary against “power politics” and “Reaganism”, a statement that continues to resonate with anyone who picks up this powerful graphic novel.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt: Captain America

FDR appears to have been quite the busy guy in comic books… retroactively.  While not part of the original canon of these books, over the years FDR was retconned into playing a major role in a number of major comic book moments.  Not only did he play a major part in the creation of the Justice Society of America and the All-Star Squadron over at DC, in Marvel’s Captain America issue 255 he makes a cameo appearance to present Cap with his current, iconic shield.

Ronald Reagan: The Dark Knight Returns

Another negative portrayal of a U.S. leader, this time from the pen of Frank Miller.  Miller’s tale also takes place in an alternate reality.  This time, a much older Batman comes out of retirement to reclaim Gotham from being overrun with crime.  Coming out right around the same time as Watchmen, Miller wasn’t afraid to take the founder of “Reaganomics” head on (unlike Moore), portraying him as a slippery-tongued oaf who had only his own best interests at heart.

Ronald Reagan: Legends

Reagan again, only this time, the actor-turned-president was portrayed in a more sympathetic manner.  A semi-successful mini-series that told the story of a Darkseid operative turning the American public against superheroes, Legends featured a Reagan who was a little more reasonable in his decision-making.  Though he initially had to reluctantly issue an order to restrict superhero activity, The Gipper immediately rescinded that edict after the Martian Manhunter saved his life from an assassination attempt.

John F. Kennedy: Action Comics

Kennedy’s appearance in Action Comics issue 309 is distinctive for a couple of reasons – not only does play a major role in the story by teaming up with Superman, he also ends up being one of the few people the Man of Steel trusts with his secret identity.  Sadly, the timing of this issue couldn’t have been worse, though it is part of the reason why this appearance is so notable – Action Comics 309 came out a week after JFK’s assassination in Texas.

Now, before I get comments and e-mails about the bajillion examples I missed, keep in mind that I couldn’t list every single instance of one of our leaders making an appearance in a comic book.  After all of my research, these were the ones that kept popping up the most.  And, for the most part, I think they serve as worthy representatives of a comic book tradition that really shows no signs of letting up for as long as we have presidents in these United States.  And I’m sure that we’ll continue to see them portrayed both sincerely, as well as satirically.

Or we could just get Lex Luthor as president again.

The Don doesn’t get sworn in.  He gets sworn at.

So I hear there was a sacred ritual in America this weekend. Supposedly it consisted of humans gathering in big groups with large amounts of fried food and chips, watching sweaty, muscled meatsacks ripping the flesh from a large hog, then tossing the resulting oblong wad back and forth. It is supposed to confirm masculinity, and geeks like me (particularly rather NON-masculine geeks like me) are generally not welcome at such events. Somehow, though, I found myself attending one this past Sunday, partly to satisfy my morbid curiosity.

You’d think, having lived here all my life, that I’d be more familiar with this religious ceremony. Instead, I spent the evening staring at the proceedings with a kind of horrified fascination.

I’d been invited by friends. These are people I see on a fairly regular basis. We’ve known one another for years. I know their hobbies, their likes, dislikes, their dreams, their fears…but I did not recognize the people I sat with during this game of feet and balls as the friends I’ve known so long and well.

“We’re having the party more to watch the commercials than the game. Most of us aren’t big football fans,” they said. So I attended expecting food, camaraderie, and boisterous conversation. What I got?

Oh, there was food. Plates piled high with offerings to the gods of feet and balls–chips, barbeque wieners, pretzels, sodas. But the camaraderie and boisterous conversation? I began to worry I’d stepped into a cult gathering. There was no punch bowl, luckily. When the “game” started, my lively, entertaining friends became fixated on the TV, jaws hanging open, possibly with little streams of drool running out. I don’t know. I kept my distance. When they spoke, it was to yell obscenities at the screen. Anyone making a comment unrelated to the happenings on the television was largely ignored.

I avoided looking at the screen which had turned my friends into grunting shells of humans. Something wasn’t right here.

Then the twisted ritual of men dogpiling onto each other and patting each other on the buttocks (”But we’re not gay, no, even though we grope each other and shower together and sleep together and live together on the road, why won’t you BELIEVE us?!”) was interrupted by advertisements for OTHER arcane, evil rituals. That was when things got really scary.

As soon as the ads started, my once-friendly comrades started angrily shushing the few brave souls who’d tried to engage in the “boisterous conversation” I’d come to this party specifically to experience. The vehemence made no sense to me; the DVR was recording the game. If you missed a few seconds, couldn’t you just pause during the brief conversations and then rewind so everyone who wanted to could see? (And they did rewind for particularly amusing ads people wanted to see again. Frequently.) I had been pretty quiet since the game began, unsettled by the rapt attention my pals were giving the talky box and not to one another. I made a silent note not to speak for the rest of the evening, fearing for my safety.

And what was happening on the screen wasn’t holding my attention at all. Even the famous “Super Bowl ads” were more annoying than entertaining–and what was up with the steady theme of emasculation in them this year, anyways? Maybe I was immune to the spell that hypnotized the rest of the room. I wasn’t going to give it a chance to seize me, either. About forty-five minutes into the satanic ritual, I quietly snuck my roomie’s PSP out of my bag, found a mercifully open outlet for the adapter, and began to play the Second Quest of The Legend of Zelda. (If the PSP serves any use beyond playing old Nintendo-console games, I haven’t found it.)

The ceremony continued. The angry comments at the screen continued. The impolite shushing of conversation for Commercial Time continued. After an hour or two, someone remarked that I must be bored because I wasn’t watching the game. I froze, taking a hit from an Ironknuckle in the process. Caught! I wondered if I would leave this place whole, or even alive. I quickly mumbled some lie about pausing the game to watch the ads, and this seemed to satisfy the others. Or maybe they were so deep under the TV’s spell that they couldn’t bear to look away for long. Either way, they left me alone then. I gave a discreet sigh and continued playing, only mildly annoyed that I now had to go looking for Hearts to get my sword-laser back.

And so it went. When my friends weren’t shouting vulgarities at the screen, they were hissing venom at each other for commercials. I finished one dungeon, then a second, and began looking for the White Sword and the Blue Ring.

Then several people behind the couch began having a conversation during the game. Was the spell breaking? One of them asked me a question while the others kept talking. Cautiously, I started to answer–unfortunately, just as commercials started. “SHHHHHHHHH! Shut up! Commercials!” someone at the far end of the room hissed rather pissily. I wasn’t sure if they were talking to the others, who were sitting right next to him, or to me across the room.

But I was getting pretty angry myself. I had had enough of this satanic event turning my friends into angry d-bags, when I’d come for a party. And if they were talking to me, who was that, to tell a supposed friend to shut up when they’re trying to be polite and answer a question? I shot an obscene phrase at him under my breath just in case he was addressing me, something I won’t repeat here, but which rhymed with “Ducking dock writer.” Luckily for my life and limb, everyone else had been enraptured by the TV again and didn’t hear. I muttered angrily, and started to go back to my much more important NES game–only to realize that I had just been as ferocious as everyone around me. Cold fear stabbed through me. Was the TV’s spell reaching out to me as well now?

There was only one way to resist–I buried myself in the magical Land of Hyrule and didn’t look up for the rest of the evening. By the time I had finished the third dungeon and acquired several hidden items in the Overworld, the evil game on TV was over, and I was safe. I cheered along with the others, but for different reasons.

And now the spell was broken. My friends were acting like friends again!–for the five minutes it took them to gather their coats and leftover food and exit out the door. Ah, well. At least they were all safe and whole again, and perhaps more amazingly, *I* was safe and whole.

I was happy. I said my goodnights and goodbyes and hurried out to the car. Once inside, I realized I had finally, truly escaped the wicked spell of the Super Bowl…until next year, that is. I would have to prepare intensely between now and then in order to better resist Super Bowl 2011’s occult charms.

I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough. 2011 may be the end of me.

At least I finished three dungeons in Zelda.

(P.S. This was a work of humourous fiction. The party and people in this post should not be mistaken for the party and people that I actually rocked out at/with. But writing an epic tale of struggle and betrayal and redemption is far more interesting than writing “I went to a Bowl party, it was fun, Betty White is hardcore, we ate too much, I played Zelda, and then we all went home!”)

Greetings, Fire Gang!

This past weekend I once again had the honor of guesting at Marscon with my 2wcOnline cohort Danny Valentini.  It was a laid back, relaxing affair, just as it is every year.  Our obligations are usually light – do a couple of panels, spend the rest of the day wandering about and enjoying the sights, as well as spend time with friends.  And fortunately for me, my body realized that it was not without sin, therefore it did not cast the first (kidney) stone at me.  Without that little meddler, it was quite an enjoyable weekend.

It’s at this point that it occurs to me that some of you may be wondering which Marscon I attended, as there are two (that I know of) in the Oosa – one is in Bloomington, Minnesota while the other is in Williamsburg, Virginia.  So, to help everyone tell which one is which, I have constructed this handy-dandy notebook reference tool:

Marscon MN: Situated in a region that knows its summer from its winter.

Marscon VA: Situated in a region that gets confused as to what day of the year it is, let alone what the weather is.

Marscon MN: Home state is known as the “Land of 10,000 Lakes”.

Marscon VA: Home state is known to consume large quantities of “Land O’Lakes” butter.

Marscon MN: Has had an impressive array of television actors since its inception, from shows like “Doctor Who”, “Star Trek”, and “Farscape”.

Marscon VA: Has a nice variety of guests, but they’ve been crazy enough to have us for the past few years.  I think we cancel each other out.

Marscon MN: Their web site has this pair of evil eyes watching you from the top of the page and this cool fadey thingey they have going on when you scroll up or down.  Best experienced with a bowl of Spaghettios.

Marscon VA: They keep their web site simple and elegant, with sparklies all over the place in the top page banner.  It goes better with a bowl of Beefaroni.

Marscon MN: Takes place in March, which is notable because that’s when my birthday is.

Marscon VA: Takes place in January, which is notable because that’s when my birthday is not.

Marscon MN: Offers “Progress Reports” on the site that allows potential visitors to see what’s in the planning stages.

Marscon VA: Doesn’t believe in the current grading system and allows its con-goers to progress at their own pace.

Marscon MN: Has Rob Balder as a guest.

Marscon VA: Has Rob Balder as a… guest…  Hey, waitaminute…

Marscon MN: Is held at a Holiday Inn.

Marscon VA: Is held at a Holiday Outt.

Marscon MN: Suffers from Dementia.

Marscon VA: Suffers from relaxation.

Marscon MN: Was founded in 1999, when everyone was partying like the Prince song.

Marscon VA: Was founded in 1990, three years before everyone was partying to a song.

So, as you can see, there are distinct differences (Curse you, Rob Balder, for messing up my stats!) between the two.  I’ve never actually been to the one in Minnesota, but I would love to check it out some day.  I’m sure that I’d be welcome with open arms.

Until they stumble upon this article.

The Don wants to make an evening of it on Mars.  He’s bringing his sandwich Linda.

Greetings, Banana Splits!

There comes a time in every child’s life when they must put away childish things and become an adult…

…or they can say “To Hell with that” and continue to have fun by going to conventions like Nekocon.

Guess which one I did this past weekend?

To be fair, I was there in an official capacity, as my partner-in-crime Danny Valentini and I were invited to the convention again this year to be guests.  Supposedly, we do this web comic together called “The Draconia Chronicles” that grows in popularity every year.  Now, I would just chalk this up to rumor for now, because everyone knows that there are no such things as web comics.  That’s just a story parents tell their children at night to scare them so that they won’t grow up to get online degrees.

You should know the drill by now – I do a quick recap of my weekend at a convention, you skim over it feeling unfulfilled, then we both reluctantly agree that we need to see other people as we give back all the items we borrowed or gave to each other.

I’m still waiting to get back my copy of the “The White Album.”

As con Fridays go, this year’s Neko offered pretty much the standard fare – I show up at the convention center about two hours before the Opening Ceremonies.  Heading up to the “Con-Ops” room, I procure my Guest badge.  After some spirited conversation about topics I have no recollection of discussing, I make a dotted bee-line for our table in the Artists Alley.  I say dotted because one can never just go to where they are going at a convention.  Invariably, there will be many stops and restarts as you run into old friends for a quick chat, pose for pictures, stop to take pictures, notice something shiny, pause to ponder the secrets of the universe, stop because you’re chewing gum, or hesitate because the all-powerful con gods sent a messenger to you with a gift consisting of this confection called “Pocky”.  And no, I don’t mean the owner of Spwug.

As I survey the landscape of the cavernous region known as the Artists Alley, I catch up with more fellow AA (not Alcoholics Anonymous) commoners as I wait for my cohort to arrive.  I also wait for time to slowly transport me into the future, for that is where the Opening Ceremonies await me.

When the Hour of Trying to Fool People Into Thinking You Are Someone Important in Front of a Medium-Sized Crowd is finally at hand, my recently arrived partner-in-crime and I make our way into the even more cavernous region where the Ceremonies are to take place.  After a series of horrible attempts at humor that are the reason my parents gave me up for adoption, Danny and I – fully convinced that no one knew who the heck we were – remove ourselves and head back over to “Con-Ops”, where we trade our silly old Guest badges for shinier and cooler “Neko Bazaar” badges.  With renewed vigor, we return to the first cavernous area of which I had already mentioned previously.  From there, we set up our table, and begin the attempt to peddle our wares for the rest of the evening.  And that, little Christopher, is how babies are born.

Saturday finds us arriving early, long before noon’s rising sun can greet us.  We have a panel to host and candy tied to strings so that we can lure entice the con masses to our little panel room.  We are able to capture accrue a respectable number of individuals despite our outlandish buffoonery on display.  In fact, I do believe that a couple of them even stop screaming long enough to ask us questions about our web comic.  I call that a success.  Then again, I call not getting maced in the face when I ask a woman the time a success.

From there, we return to our temporary abode in the Artists Alley for more shilling, more debauchery, more talky-talky…blah blah blah…  You’re already asleep, so we’ll skip ahead…

Two in the afternoon!  We have another panel!  But our princess is in another castle!  Dejected from finding yet another one of those stupid Toadstool weirdoes (where do they all come from?  Do they multiply like rabbits?), we make our way back to the same room our last panel was in.  In a strange case of déjà vu, the room looks exactly the same as the last time we were in it.  In fact, maybe this really is the first time we are in it, and the first time really wasn’t the first time, but instead a strange message from the future telling us what lie in store for our fates.

Nope, same room, different panel.

This time we are joined by real artists and writers as we try our best to sound like we know as much as they do about making web comics.  I think we have them fooled right up to the point where I mention something about the right amount of tension needed on a loom when interweaving the threads of a web comic.  I’m not sure where the audience got the pitch forks and torches, but it makes for an exciting conclusion to what I think was a successful panel.

As my counterpart and I make our escape back to the Caverns of AA, we easily slip back into our respective roles – he’s the DJ and I’m the rapper.  Sales seem to be going well on our new “Men of the Quadratic Equation” calendar, as well as a few other items we have somehow managed to fool the commonfolk into believing have magical powers – mainly some Shamwow!s, as well as a few pounds of Mighty Putty.  Throughout the afternoon and evening we get several con-goers who stop by claiming to be fans of our web comic.  But, I know the truth.  After being visited by them as often as I am, you tend to recognize evil spirits when they show up to haunt you and ask you for favors.

It is at this point that I also have a vision that my wife is in an 80s glam-pop band.  I shiver from the delusion, then down a couple burgers that are really cookies.  My life is strange.

The greatest highlight of Saturday has to be in the evening when we go to dinner.  It isn’t often when an evil spirit actually tries to get you drunk so that they can take advantage of you.  Joke’s on him, though.  I would have said yes sober.

Sunday seems to be a blur.  No, I mean every Sunday seems to be a blur.  I think my brain just hates living in my cranial cavity so much that it just decides to shut down every seventh day as a middle finger to me and my ancestors.  I can’t fathom why.  I mean, it isn’t my fault that the Waltons aren’t real.

Now that I think about it, I do seem to recall some events took place on Neko’s Day of Sun.  We have a final panel wherein we are usurped by dark forces who yank the proverbial rug out from under us by yanking the actual rug out from under us.  I think we still manage to do a fairly adequate job of teaching the wailing masses how not to create or develop characters.  At least, I pray to Bill Cosby that we did.

A few more hours of trying to prove to the con folk that we are not wax statues and the con is officially over.  As my main squeeze who is not my wife but is really the artist who draws the web comic I scribble words for and I break down and cry our set-up at the table in the AA Caverns, we say our goodbyes to a few of the fellow artists who were crazy enough to talk to us.  We make our way to the bar in the hotel that is across the way from the convention center.  I remark as we head over that a way looks an awful lot like grass and asphalt.  Once inside the bar, a friend buys me an apple pie – except that this pie is really liquid and I have to drink it instead of eat it.  But hey, in today’s economy everyone has to make sacrifices – even our American icons.  I heard that baseball is currently just gardening in order to save money.

With the evening now upon us, we make our way to Olive Garden.  There, a free meal awaits all of us who were sneaky enough to convince the staff that we were Guests Neko Bazaar attendees.  But first we stand outside the restaurant to play a game called “Parking Lot-to”.  The object of the game is to stand out in the parking lot until the number of people in your party matches the number called.  Our group makes it to the bonus round, where we win some fabulous prizes – including our meals, as well as a copy of the home game.  I can’t speak for those who are still in the parking lot after we are seated, though I’m told that “manicotti formaggio” is Italian for “convention stragglers”.

I’m glad I ordered the chicken alfredo.

The Don would like to give his heartfelt thanks to everyone at Nekocon for their gracious generosity and hopes to be invited back next year!

…congratulations to Richard and Katy, the supreme rulers of the Spwugniverse!!!!!

They are the essence of everything that is Spwug.  Without either of them, this site wouldn’t be here to bring you a daily dose of all things geek.

It was an honor and a privilege to witness the joining of these two forces of good.  They are my friends.  They are my family.  I am proud to be the head writer of something they envisioned, and I am proud to be a part of their lives.

My best wishes to both of you, Pocky Rich and Katy.  Here’s to bigger and greater things.  With your powers combined, anything is possible.

You’ve likely already seen the G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra movie reviews from our very own Donnie Sturges and Krellion. Their reviews are much better than mine, for the sheer fact that they ARE reviews. I bring you…more of an anti-review. A hopeful handful of laughs. A mockery, if you will.

Does that mean I thought the movie was awful? Heck, no! I had a blast! (Not as literal as the explosive blasts in the movie itself, mind you.) I went in expecting nothing but a lot of cool explosions, and I was not disappointed.

But the greatest thing about G.I. Joe is that it refuses to take itself seriously. It’s self-aware. Of its toy-line past. Of its 80s cartoon roots. Of the fact that it’s taking a cheesy, cartoony concept and ramping it up to eleven. As Donnie Sturges inspired me to say after the movie, the sheer meta of it all threatens to collapse in upon itself into a gigantic black hole of self-referencing. And it’s awesome.

That said, there’s a lot about this movie you can laugh with. And, sometimes, laugh at. I scribbled down numerous things that stuck in my head, and I now present them here for you. Please note: not all of these actually happened as I present them–not beyond the first line of each, anyways. Mostly, they’re more…things the characters should have said/done, but didn’t, except for in my head at the time. If you see this movie, you’ll probably find similar conversations running through your own noggin. These are also completely out of order, by the way. Are there spoilers in here? How should I know? It’s a brainless fun movie that may or may not even actually HAVE a plot to be spoiled! Read at your own risk, children.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt/The Doctor: I’m the Doctor.
Christopher Eccleston/McCullen: No, you bloody well are not! I’m the bloody Doctor! Where’s the TARDIS? Where’s my agent?
Lackey #1: Sir! Your accent! You’re supposed to be Scottish in this movie, sir!
Christopher Eccleston/McCullen: Bloody hell! I mean….Away, an’ bile yer heid, banger!
David Tennant: (Off-camera) If thae were wantin’ a Scottish Doctor, thae ought t’hae asked me!
Lackey #1: (Whispering to Lackey #2) I thought Gordon-Levitt was that kid from “Third Rock from the Sun.” Didn’t he, like, retire or die or something?

(Introducing Duke and Ripcord to the Joes)
Scarlett: Hello, boys, I’m Scarlett. I’m a hot redheaded bombshell who knows stuff, but don’t worry about competition–the women in this movie are only strong female characters when it’s beneficial to the plot. (Male cast: *Whew*) The rest of the time we’ll just be showing off our bodies and playing hard-to-get. I’ll be sure to scream your names in a girly voice when I think you’re in danger.
Ripcord: I think you should only scream MY name in in a girly voice, when you use that kung-fu action grip to–
General Hawk: This is only a PG-13 movie, soldier! Now you know, and knowing is half the–
Audience –Yeah, we saw that one coming.
Ripcord: Heh heh. That’s what she said.

White House Staffer: Mr. President, we must take you to the bunker. The whole world is in grave danger.
President: You mean–?
White House Staffer: Yes, sir. Your accent won’t stop changing.

(Snake Eyes does something typically risky)
Scarlett: SNAKE!
Otacon: Snake? Snake?! SNAAAAAAAAKE!
Scarlett: Who the hell are you?

Scarlett: SNAKE!
Snake Eyes: (Hand signals that translate to “What is it now, woman?!”)
Scarlett: Why are you white?

In another part of the world….
(Badly-rendered CG polar bear can’t live with his jerky animations anymore and commits suicide, seconds before an enemy aircraft lands on the ice)
Baroness: We’ve captured a Joe.
Storm Shadow: Handcuff him. If you put one of the world’s top soldiers in handcuffs, he’s TOTALLY helpless!

(Because you should always trust the evil Japanese ninja who’s actually a Korean man.)

The Doctor: It’s time for the COBRA to RISE up and reveal itself.
McCullen: O I C WUT U DID THAR

(Ripcord steals an enemy jet)
Scarlett: Is it true what they say about black boys?
Ripcord: That they know how to handle their big, black…stolen jet toys? You know it, baby.

Ripcord: I CAN’T VOICE-CONTROL THIS JET THAT I STOLE. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT I’D BE UNABLE TO COMMAND A JET I’VE NEVER SEEN BEFORE.
Scarlett: Maybe it responds to McCullen’s ancestral Scottish moonspeak. I speak Celtic!
Ripcord: Since when, cracka chick?
Scarlett: Since it was convenient to the plot!
Ripcord: Hey, wait, there ain’t no single Celtic langua–
Scarlett: DON’T WASTE MY TIME WITH YOUR POINTLESS REAL-WORLD FACTS.

Cobra Commander: DUUUKE. I AM YOUR–**
Duke: Daddy? Is that you?
Cobra Commander: ….Ex-girlfriend’s brother. What the eff is WRONG with you, man?
Duke: DUDE. HOW DID I MISS THIS TOTALLY OBVIOUS PLOT TWIST.
M. Night Shyamababallamaramalamadingdong: Wut a TWEEST!

**Yes, I know the correct Star Wars quote is “No, I am your father.” Don’t ruin my feeble attempts at humour!

This last one actually happened exactly as I write it (bonus TRUTH!):

White House Staffer: Mr. President, telephone. The French are very upset.
Numerous people in the audience and also the voice inside my head: Of course they’re very upset! They’re French!

Bet you can’t wait to go see the movie now, can you?

YESTERDAY – With the launch of the Nintendo DSi, the “upgraded” dual screen, portable gaming system that has dominated the handheld market since its release, a well-concealed legal war between the Nintendo and Apple corporations has come to light. The two media giants have apparently been duking it out for years over ownership of the letter “I,” and have subsequently been pumping out products using the letter in an attempt to claim domination.

The story broke when some gaming journalists, who regularly pour over patent information in hopes of finding leaks and being able to post about said leaks on the internet before other journalists can do so, stumbled on a rejected patent by Nintendo to lay ownership to the letter.

It seems that in 2003, Nintendo had offered to simply buy the letter from the alphabet for an undisclosed sum, reducing the alphabet to 25.  However, the bid failed. The rejection letter from the US patent office stated, “The absurdty of ownng an entre letter s utterly nsane. ‘m sure ths rdculous sentence s more than enough evdence to reject the clam.”

Tracing back the apparent letter war, its origins become fairly clear. With Apple producing products such as the iPod, the iMac, and later, the iPhone, they claimed a very early lead. However, Nintendo was quick to catch up by releasing the Wii, which featured not one, but “i’s, and only yesterday, the DSi.

When questioned, a Nintendo representative stated, “The “i” is just so hot right now… It’s not as cumbersome to write as its H and J neighbors, and to not capitalize it, like, totally defies every English convention since freakin’ English was invented. It’s rebellious, and people dig rebels.”

Apple representatives had a less amicable response. A letter stated, “Nintendo thinks they can claim the letter because they have a lower-case “i” in their name? Never. When we unveil our next product line, the iiiiiiiiiMe+You+Weiiiiiiiii, they will have no choice but to admit defeat in sheer amazement of our pronoun usage.”

Since the news became public, Nintendo has capitalized on the battle to call out Apple, challenging them to a game of Tetris for ultimate ownership of the letter. Apple, however, has declined the challenge, stating that Nintendo would have an unfair advantage with Tetris, and issued a different challenge in response. “Whoever can get the highest score on 10 shitty iPhone games should be the true victor,” stated the release.

With as much publicity as the war has garnered for Nintendo, Microsoft and Sony have been quick to jump in. Microsoft PR representatives are working around the clock to show their strong affiliation with the letter “X”, as it is used in Windows XP and in the X-Box 360.

Sony, however, seems to be jumping on the iBandwagon. Playstation bigwig Kaz “Hir-I” is reportedly having a hard time figuring out how to add “i’s” to current generation Playstation consoles.

Dear Nintendo,

I’ll get right to the point: Stop screwing with me. My name is Link. I’ve been called the Hero of Time, I have wielded the Master Sword, and I have slain Ganon and his minions innumerable times. I am as much a synonym of your brand as that plumber guy, and I practically carried the company when you thought it was a good idea to stick to cartridges for that whole “N64” thing. ……So what in the name of the Triforce am I doing DRIVING A DAMN CHOO-CHOO TRAIN?

I always wondered when it would come to this. Over the years, you’ve transformed me from a heroic youth into a deformed, anime-eyed midget who probably needs a Ritalin prescription more than a sword or shield. But that’s cool. Me and the fans have dealt with it, and moved on. Wind Waker was apparently quite an enjoyable experience for many, despite how ridiculous I looked. That’s why I never played it. Here’s a quick memory jog for those of you who have fogotten where everything went downhill:

Okay, so Twilight Princess was a step in the right direction. But must every right step be followed by a step backwards? Disguise it all you want in that trailer, but I’ve got the Triforce of Wisdom, bitches. What you’re really saying is, “OooOOOoh, look, fanboys! This train shoots cannonballs!” Since when have I NEEDED cannonballs? Heck, since when have I needed a TRAIN to get places?

And while I’m talking about fanboys, I’ve heard some rumors on this internet thing that you are all quite happy that Zelda is included in this game. Excuuuuuse me? Did someone drop you all off Death Mountain? This series isn’t called Legend of LINK. (It should be, but that’s another rant.) It’s called The Legend of Zelda. And there’s a reason for that.

Because, for as badass as I am when you bother to draw me correctly, ultimately, that worthless broad Zelda is more important than I ever will be. So let’s get this straight, fan boys – you’re happy she’s included, because at some point they took her OUT? You’ve done a bang-up marketing job, Nintendo. Somehow you’ve confounded the masses into congratulating you when you include the title character in the games now.

Really, I am all for change. I know I’ve been doing more or less the same thing for the last 25 years. You’re trying to draw a new audience into a series traditionally reserved for the hard-core fan base that supported you in your infancy as children, who are now being all but forgotten. I know I’m no Wii Fit or Wii Sports, and you don’t need me like you used to.

But seriously. I’m DRIVING A TRAIN. The Hyrule theme is being performed by fiddles, and Zelda is about to knight me or something while I’m wearing a conductor’s hat too small for my deformed little head.  Get me off this train and put me back on track. Er… Off of them. Far, far, away from them.

Thanks guys, and best regards to Miyamoto-san,

Link

P.S. It’s a new century, and I’d kinda like to have a spoken line. Samus got one…