Friday, February 07, 2020

If You Had Super Powers...



“Hello. Welcome to Nefericorps. What can I do for you today sir?”

“Ummmm, yeah, hi. My name is The Distributor and I’m here to renew my registration?”

“Okay sir. Do you have you filled out your JW1979, THX1138, ABC123 and the rest of the forms required?”

“My what?”

“Sir. Mr. Disputer? You need to have those forms filled out in order to renew your Super Villain registration.”

“It’s The Distributor, and about that…”

“We also need a blood sample, a urine sample, a hair sample, a tooth (for postmortem identification purposes) your first-born son and a permission slip signed by my mother.”

“By your moth…? Listen, that seems a bit extra for a simple renewal. Don’t you have all that stuff on file from when I first actually applied?”

“According to our records Mr. Discotheque, you first registered in 1999. So not only is everything on file out of date (including your son, who got a job and moved away, but he does send the occasional postcard) but after the ‘Diabolic Uprising of ‘15’ Nerfericorps came under new management and many of our processes and procedures changed. Including registration and renewal. Amongst other things.”

“Like what?”

“Well, under our new rating system, you probably wouldn’t be a 4 anymore.”

“An upgrade? That’s great news! What am I, a 7 or 8 as I rightfully deserve? Do I finally get to fight the Paladin?!”

“No sir. A downgrade. You’d be a 2. In fact, if you complete your renewal today, we should be able to set you up with a confrontation with The Canker by the end of the week. So that’s good news.”

“The Canker? You dare suggest that I, the mighty Distributor, Bane of the Virtuous, Scourge of the Benevolent, Walker of the Jays, fight the likes of a guy with a contagious mouth? I would never stoop so low!”

“Well, Mr. Disasterous…”

“The Distributor!”

“Well Mr. The Distributor, The Canker is the only available person in your category who is open for the next few weeks. So you can either fight him, or you can simply not renew your registration.”

“Yeah! I might just do that! Go rogue. Hit the streets like villains were intended. I don’t know why we unionized in the first place. It’s dumb. You guys just steal my money for nothing!”

“Bingo genius. We’re villains. That’s what we do.”

“Alright then…what’s your name again?”

“I never said it the first time, but if you read my nametag sir, you’ll see that my name is Gene.”

“Gene? Hmmm…Gene. That sounds familiar.”

“It’s an extremely popular name. All the LA heartthrobs have it. Now if there’s nothing else, you’re holding up the line. The gentleman behind you…”

My name is Fluorescent Man.”

“The Fluorescent Man, (great name by the way, very memorable) needs our services. Please move out of the way or I’ll call over my coworker Dr. Brooks.”

“I remember you now! You’re the ass I spoke to on the phone six years ago when I was trying to schedule a fight with the Paladin! You couldn’t get my name right back then either!”

“Very possible sir. I talk to many villains, both memorable and forgettable alike. I guess you fall into the latter.”

“Listen you clip-on-tie-wearing, ink-stain-on-your-pocket-having, hairstyle-looking-like-he-just-got-into-90s-episodes-of-ER-George-Clooney-cut-sporting, face-like-a-melting-fetus-left-in-the-local-dump-for-a-week-in-August-looking, smegma-dipped-in-horseshit-smelling bureaucrat: this isn’t over. I’m going to get all my shit renewed and then I’m going to come back and deliver upon you a torture so slow, so painful, so deliberate, that not only will it be a masterclass on how to fully demoralize your enemy and steal their soul, but it will have you wishing you could travel back in time and kill your mom Terminator style so you were never born and would not have to endure such misery!”

“Ok sir. Have a nice day. NEXT!”

Friday, January 31, 2020

Where Are They Now?

Good evening and welcome to Where Are They Now? The show that brings you up-to-date information on the whereabouts of news-makers from the past. I’m your host, Dr. Gooch, here to bring you the what’s-what about the who’s-who that you totally forgot about, because nobody really cares about these social leeches.

Tonight, we begin with the perpetrator of the biggest earworm of 2012. Psy.

PSY: We all remember that little South Korean dough boy and his always handsomely coiffed hair. And the reason for that is because his chart-topping song Gangnam Style was parodied and “memed” in our culture so much that the amount of people who were admitted to hospitals with aural injuries due to them violently shoving sharp implements into their ear holes quadrupled in four short months.
Psy followed up that massive hit with a couple of other songs, but by then it was too late. 

Everybody’s minds had been shattered by his song, and we no longer remembered what the light and the warmth of the sun felt like. So he quietly slunk away back to South Korea, where he could plunder as many Korean thrift shops as he wanted for new clothes. But where is he now?

The researchers here at Where Are They Now? Were able to track down Psy, and where they found him may surprise you. It seems that Psy (real name Alfred E. Neuman) became a deep-sea fisherman of mermaids. It’s not a luxurious job, and the hours and commitment can be quite demanding, but every time Psy and his crew return to shore with even one or two mermaids, it’s all worth it. 

Mermaid’s are valued for their delicious and tender upper body meat. Their lower halves are used for extremely expensive sushi, usually reserved for the very rich and heads of state. The iridescent shine of the scales makes for beautiful dresses and other haute-couture clothing. The rugged sea life has benefited Psy. Gone is his poppin’ fresh belly and love handles. He now proudly wears the squinted-eyes and sun-tanned leathery face of a true fisherman with majestic pride.
All we can do is watch with a tear in our eye as he horsey dances into the sunset.


Up next we have a person who captured the nation’s attention and tugged at our heartstrings for a full five minutes before we all got distracted by the oddly weightless karate people in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, (yo, remember that shit? Back before Ang Lee did movies about gay cowboys and neon green gamma monsters).

Elian Gonzalez: The year: 2000. The place: Southern Florida. The event: Trapped in a closet.

Elian made the news at the turn of the century when he and his mother and mother’s boyfriend attempted to leave Cuba to get to America and make it to Epcot Center before the Body Wars Exhibit was shut down for good. The five-year-old’s mother drowned in the attempt and without a steady stream of “getting some” the boyfriend ghosted the scene. Elian was subsequently placed with relatives in Miami. But his father wanted him back in Cuba, where the cigars and rum are plentiful and the cars are all from 1954.

And thus began an international tug-of-war for Elian’s very soul. So much pathos and drama! Let’s skip all that nonsense.

Eventually, after a whirlwind tour and press junket across these fruited plains, Elian was forced to end his engagement to Rosario Dawson and return to Cuba, where he became best friends with Castro. Although, Castro was on so much medication at this point that he just assumed that Elian was a imaginary munchkin friend that only he could see.
After a few years of living in Cuba, Elian managed to leave again for the glorious shores of America, on a makeshift boat he created out of banana leaves and pelican spit. He made it to shore, but by the time INS reached where he had landed, Elian, otherwise known as the “Cubano Dynamo” had disappeared into the bushes, never to be seen again.

Until today!

Our team was able to hire world-renowned tracker/hunter Robert Muldoon, who led them to an amateurishly built one-room shack in the middle of the Florida swamps. There, we discovered an extremely fast cigarette boat and a table with about five keys of white power in brick form, a money counting machine and a Glock pistol. Clearly, some illicit things were going down in the bayou.
On their way out of the shack, the team actually ran into a bearded hulking man with a machete and a burner cell phone. It turned out that this man was Elian himself, now an autonomous businessman. As it so happened, Elian was in the Swamp Thing hunting trade. He would travel the marsh, seeking the elusive Swamp Things that inhabit the bogs and burn their repugnant bodies into a powder form that he would sell to idiotic tourists as authentic Cajun Seminole Seasoning. He lived on a healthy two million dollars a month and actually had a gorgeous mansion outside of Miami proper. He just kept the shack because it added a touch of realism that the brainless tourists expected. 


That’s all the time we have today on Where Are They Now? Again, I’m your host Dr. Gooch. Join us next time when we discover, where the hell in the world is Carmen Sandiego?!

Monday, January 27, 2020

Josh’s Notes: Johnny Tremain, a.k.a. “Johnny Deformed-Hand” as Bart Simpson calls him

We all remember growing up right? If not, you might have Memento disease and you should seek medical attention. There were a lot of shared experiences we all had growing up: school, homework, wearing high heels and lipstick in the privacy of our own rooms, daily beatings with extension cords. You know, regular stuff.

And one of the most annoying things about childhood was school and the homework. Especially when we were assigned to read the stodgiest books the school board could afford to purchase in bulk*. That’s why we had such gems as One Flew Under the Cuckoo’s Nest, A Farewell to Legs and Hamlet 2: Ophelia’s Revenge.

But today I’m going to talk about that Revolutionary War classic (so called because the damn thing feels like it was actually written 300 years ago) Johnny Tremain. Written in 1943 by Esther “No Relation” Forbes. Johnny Tremain tells the pointless story of some kid with a really shitty life that just so happens to take place during milestone events in American history. It’s basically the literary equivalent of Life of Brian, by Monty Python’s Flying Circus. The story of some chump in the wrong place at the right time.

Johnny Tremain, the original JT, was a 14-year-old silversmith’s apprentice in Boston. He made sure that there were always plenty of silver bullets available for the usual werewolf attacks. You see, not much is mentioned these days, but early settlers and Americans were constantly hassled by lycanthropes. It was really annoying. Babies snatched up left and right. Big old piles of werewolf scat all in the streets and on people’s porches. Those guys were jerks. But I digress.

One day, an older apprentice named Dove (make of that name what you will) was jealous of Johnny. Probably because of his elegant, patriotic pony tail. So he sabotaged a thing Johnny was working on, I think he was patching up a crack in the Holy Grail or something, and Johnny ended up burning the shit out of his hand. Remember that scene in The Fly, where Brundlefly uses his acid puke to melt that dude’s hand into a gross, mushy stump? That’s basically what happened to Johnny. Unsavory.
Now, horribly crippled, unable to marry his boss’s daughter and a complete load on society, Johnny takes up doing opium and laudanum and is found two weeks later, his body rotting in an alley. Forgotten by all.

JK! That would have been a more realistic outcome, but this is fiction damn it! And he’s the protagonist, for some reason, so we gotta keep this story moving!

Since this is America, what really happens is that Johnny decides to call upon the aide of the 1%. Sigh, when will the rabble, the Great Unwashed, learn to be self-reliant? Lift themselves up by their own boot straps and make something of themselves? The goddam American Dream! If I had my druthers, all poor and ugly people would be locked up behind high walls, so I wouldn’t have to see them during my daily constitutional to the Gentlemen’s Club for brandy and a game of Operation. **
Johnny convinces this rich cat that they’re related, which helps him get a job delivering the Boston Observer, a pro-Whig newspaper. Warning: this is where the book gets crazy political and historical and it talks about the growing tensions between Whigs and Tories and everybody who attempts to read the book is suddenly struck with super-glazed eyes, a slack jaw with rivulets of drool falling into their lap and a brain that escaped through the ears and is currently withering to death on the floor. But not today loyal readers! That’s why you’ve got Josh’s Notes!

Johnny and his boy Rab engage in various historical events that lead up to the Revolutionary War. They partake in the Boston Tea Party, the Massachusetts Ice Cream Party and the Philly Beer Party, (most people’s memories were a bit hazy the next morning about exactly what happened the previous night and why they were waking up on top of the Liberty Bell and why there was now a crack in it.)

Johnny ends up being a spy for the Sons of Liberty, the secret Impossible Mission Force arm of the Boston Whigs. And he gets to work with such famous patriots as Samuel “God I need a Drink” Adams, John “Stop Making Fun of Me” Hancock and Paul “Sybil Ludington Actually Rode Further Than I Did” Revere.

Eventually, during the early parts of the war Rab (short for “Rabtastic maybe?) gets a lead ball to the dome and dies. Due to Johnny’s Play-Doh hand, he can’t pick up a gun and avenge his comrade’s death. But that won’t stop Johnny. He has the true grit of a die-hard American patriot! He bleeds red, white and blue! With the help of Dr. Joseph Warren, Johnny is given a robotic Vibranium hand that can crush a man’s skull as easily as a toothpick. And a musket that shoots precision laser blasts like the Predator.

Johnny then enlists in the Army and decides to LIVE FREE OR DIE! YO JOE! The end.

Maybe I made up that part about the cybernetic hand. Maybe I didn’t. You’ll never know because nobody has ever made it to the end of the book. I believe it holds the Guinness World Record for “Most Unfinished Book”. Coming up a distant second is Human Centipede: The Novelization For Kids!  Join me next time, when I give notes on To Kill a Mockingbird. Or maybe Everybody Poops. Who knows?

*Typically, because they wasted the annual school budget on houses, hookers and hotels. The Triple-Hs as we called them.

**The goofy game for dopey docs.

Friday, January 24, 2020

You Have the Right to Bear…Hugs (or, all you need is GUNS)

Recently, I learned that America is having a collective argument about some trifle. I was nonplussed! What rigmarole was this? America is and always has been a unified body. We’re just a big old tasty stew in a melting pot of love. We’ve never been divided by anything before! Surely this means the End of Days!

And then I did a little research and it turns out that we’ve been divided on a conservative ONE TRILLION things before. Here’s a short list.

  • David Lee Roth vs Sammy Hagar
  • Great Taste vs Less Filling
  • Kirk vs Picard
  • DC vs Marvel
  • Standard vs Manual
  • Thin Crust vs Deep Dish
  • Coo Coo Ca Cho vs Goo Goo G’Joob
  • Die Hard vs All Other Movies
  • Yanny vs Laurel
  • Chevy vs Ford
  • Cowboys vs Indians
  • Star Wars vs Star Trek
  • Buttnaked vs Bucknaked
  • East Coast vs West Coast
  • Sunny D vs Purple Stuff
  • Connery vs Moore
  • Pat’s vs Gino’s
  • Rap vs Hip Hop
  • The Light Side vs The Dark Side
  • Mac vs PC
  • The vs Thee
  • Michael Jackson vs Prince
  • You Can Get With This vs You Can Get With That
  • iPhone vs Android
  • Coffee vs Tea
  • VHS vs Betamax
  • Stars and Bars vs Don’t Tread On Me
  • Bruce Lee vs Jackie Chan
  • Pornhub vs YouPorn
  • Rolling Stones vs Beatles
  • Nintendo vs Sega
  • Disney vs WB
  • William Shakespeare vs E. L. James
  • Leno vs Letterman
  • Britney vs Christina
  • In ‘n Out vs Five Guys
  • Jack Nicholson vs Heath Ledger
  • City Mouse vs Country Mouse
  • Mario vs Sonic
  • Left-Handed vs Right-Handed
  • Ali vs Foreman
  • Cat vs Dog (when they live together, it’s mass hysteria)
  • Cake vs Death

See what I mean? It’s a madhouse out there. Surely there’s at least one thing we can all agree on? My vote is on how expensive Disney World is. That’s shit’s crazy, don’t you think?

So, did I miss any? Let me know in the comments.*

*Comments! Hahahaha!

Tuesday, January 21, 2020

Newspapers Are Weird


Lost: One tabby cat, 200 lbs., brown hair, probably wearing blue jeans. Goes by the name Lung Butter. He’ll probably say that isn’t his name, but don’t listen, he’s a liar. If found, please return to George. Also, tell him to bring some kitty litter on his way home. This place smells like wheeeeeeeew!

Lost: Please help me. My dog is lost. He’s red and about 25 feet tall. Honestly, I don’t know how the cops haven’t been called already, he’s pretty hard to miss. To track him, just follow the paw prints the length of a mini-cooper. Thank you!

Lost: My friend Snuggle Puff is missing. He’s a Goliath Birdeater tarantula. Don’t worry, he’s harmless. He’ll probably make his presence known if you feel a tingling crawling up your pantleg. That’s just his way of saying hello!

Lost: Howdy. I’ve lost my old girl Bessie. She’s a 1989 F-150. If you see her, approach her slowly. She’s a bit skittish. Also, you might want to wear a gas mask, those exhaust fumes are toxic!

Lost: My mind. Why did I get married?! Please, somebody help me find my sanity. $1000 reward!

Lost: This is a little embarrassing, but my Frankenstein got loose…again. He never wanders too far, but you never know. If you spot him, play some violin or something soothing. BUT NOT DRAKE! DRAKE AND FIRE BAD!

Lost: Me. Where am I? Is this Hell? I see a light; I think I may go toward it…

Lost: My boy Waldo got lost years ago. Fool owes me $20. He’s wearing a red and white stripped sweater. He was last seen with his girlfriend Carmen Sandiego. Find them both and get the prize!

Lost: One shoe. Don’t ask me how it happened. It happened, okay? Get off my back. Just help me look for this damn thing. It’s probably on the side of I-95 in Jersey.

Lost: In Translation. That’s not a good movie, right? I mean, we’re all supposed to like it for some reason, but it’s really just some pretentious garbage. If you agree, tweet me @SophiaCoppola.