June 30, 2008

The RoBeast terrorizes Wikipedia

I've been perusing Wikipedia for about an hour now looking for a page to vandalize (yes, I'm bad to the bone). I'm basically just looking for a really boring page that hasn't been updated in a long time so I can throw a funny word or two into a paragraph that won't be malicious or slanderous, and more importantly, won't be noticed or fixed right away. Ok, I know vandalism is inherently malicious, but I'm just doing it for the lulz. If you want to argue morals with me, go right ahead. I'm that bored.

Anywhooooo, I ended up in the zoology department clicking around until I landed on the Notochord page. I considering hitting that page, but when I checked the history tab first and noticed some recent activity, I decided to pass. Some dorkus probably has it on their watchlist or something. I figured while I was there, I may as well scroll through the page and learn what a notochord is. Then I discovered some funny text on the bottom:

The notochord secretes a protein called sonic hedgehog homolog (SHH), a key morphogen regulating organogenesis and having a critical role in signaling the development of motoneurons[1]. The secretion of SHH by the notochord establishes the ventral pole of the dorsal-ventral axis in the developing embryo.

Did someone beat me to the vandalism?

Actually, no. Sonic Hedgehog Homolog is real. And boy, did I learn my lesson. I tried to take a short cut and be a 2-bit anonymous vandal, when I could have just studied biology in college and went to years and years of grad school to discover something unique and give a silly name - THE HONEST WAY!

Ah, fuck it, I'll take the warp zone.

I'm sure Mr. Cuomo would consider this a compliment.

I'm so immature, but I just can't help myself.


June 27, 2008

A quick one before I begin what better be a sunny weekend in NJ

A couple weeks ago I bought 12 Angry Months, the new Local H album. And I finally listened to it. While I'm not going to give you a full review here, I just wanted to give you some highlights (like Bob Ross would do if you were a happy little tree).

- It's a concept album. Each song represents a month of a year after a break-up.

- Local H usually has pretty decent song titles. "Jesus Christ! Did You See The Size Of That Sperm Whale?" is my favorite on this album because it is particularly Don Caballero-esque. Title-wise, I mean. Local H sounds nothing like Don Cab.

- "The One With 'Kid'" is the album opener and is a rad song. It's a song that the Foo Fighters are too fucking pretentious now to write. And I'm going to show you the lyrics, and you're going to say "those lyrics are so fucking pretentious, what is that asshole RoBeast talkin' 'bout, Willis?" Yeah, well fuck you! The song is about wanting your shit back from an ex-girlfriend. It really happens, and it really makes people angry.

Give me my Zeppelin CD's.
You know you took 'em. You know you did.
Where's my Pretenders record?
You know the one. The one with "Kid."
Where's all my AC/DC's?
My Interpol? My Libertines?

Where's all my Kyuss records?
You never liked them until you met me!

And no, I never lent my Kyuss records to any girlfriends, but we're all missing things, so I can sympathize. And get pissed too!

My version would be:

Give me back my "Your Mother" hat.
I should've got it when I gave you your crap.
Where's my book about early Hardcore?
I read it once, but I wanna read it more!
Where's my cool green hoodie?
Ah, you probably don't remember because that was like eleven years ago
and I think I gave it to you anyway so I really shouldn't expect it back
Not that it matters, I can replace all this stuff.
I say 'all this stuff' like it's even a lot of stuff.
3 stupid things over the course of 14 years of relationships isn't such a bad track record
which is why I don't write angry songs about breakups like Local H does

WHATEVERT. I'm angrier at Dave Grohl than I am all of my ex-girlfriends combined. BUT, I'm going to add the track to my myspace page so y'all can hear it legally. How 'bout them apples? Read my fucking blogs there if you're bored. Hopefully, I'll be on the beach thinking of more shitty entries to write on Monday.

Oh, I found out recently that I have Local H's autograph. I apparently bought a used Local H CD that the two dudes from the band had signed. Whoop-de-shit! I really don't give a fuck about autographs, but I'll add it to my collection (that consists of Mike Patton and Michelle Branch) anyway.

June 26, 2008

NO-stalgia: The Return of the Ultimate Warrior

The Ultimate Warrior made his return to the squared circle last night. Or yesterday. I have no idea when it actually happened. All I know is that the group assigned to deliver the match last night as (sort of) promised, did not. After several "we swear it's working now... oh no wait the website crashed again" emails, I gave up for the night. My guess is the Warrior probably needed to approve of the video edit before releasing the match worldwide. While I'm pissed off by the delay, as a control freak myself, I sort of don't blame him.

Anyway, as of this morning the stream is working. And I'm about to watch it and tell you everything that happens. I'm also going to post some screencaps I took from the Daily Motion stream, which could get us into some trouble. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.

SPOILERS AHOY! (as if you don't know who wins the match)

First impressions. Orlando Jordan, the opponent and reigning NWE (no idea what that stands for) champion was announced first. Just as it's unusual for the first bidder on The Price is Right showcase showdown to not pass on the first set of prizes, it's strange to see the champion announced first. I guess this is a special situation as the Warrior is technically a bigger name, but to be honest, not many fans in the arena outside of high-five range seemed to give two shits.

While the Warrior legally owns the rights to his name, he clearly does not have the rights to his music, which used to be fucking awesome. It was a bastardization of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" in the first place, but his new music is like the Japanese half-cousin, twice-removed of the original. Maybe they're making an Ultimate Warrior video game, I don't know.

He barely ran down to the ring, and he wore that big fucking coat. Maybe that slows him down? Maybe it's an excuse. I'm pretty sure he was limping a bit too. I'm not surprised; he was apparently training 8 hours a day for the past month and probably broke his knee or something.

I know I'm spending so much time just critiquing his ring entrance. That's because with the Warrior, 95% of the appeal was the entrance (which also exhausted 95% of his stamina). He always ran and shook the ropes and got every kid in the audience to jump up and freak out too. It was electrifying. But maybe no one in the Barcelona crowd remembers him? I don't know, it has been a long time. I felt bad. He shook the ropes and scaled the turnbuckles, but hardly anyone stood with him except for the two little girls that came into the ring to help him take his coat off. Are they his daughters?

Ok, the coat's off and the dude is still in shape. Sure, a little deflated from the 80's steroid heydey, but I applaud him. He's 50! He looks out of breath already, but the crowd has acknowledged his facepaint, armbands, and muscles. Orlando Jordan is doing a good job selling the moves, but already after about a minute, they're locked up in an extra long collar-and-elbow-tie-up (or is it a collar-into-elbow-tie-up?) and look they're having a fucking business conference. This is when people are supposed to yell "BORRRRING!" We all know the match will be ten minutes top. Did they not rehearse?

Two minutes in, and we've already seen 8,000 shots of what I'm presuming is the Warrior's wife and kids sitting in the front row. Who fucking cares?

A bear hug from behind (aka another "BORRRRING" moment) and I can see fans in the crowd taking the opportunity to go get some papas fritas. The close-up camera work is kinda shitty anyway. Sometimes I can't tell if the Warrior is kicking out of pins, or if Orlando Jordan is just deciding to stand up. Also, his face paint is almost all gone already, but a few seconds of rolling around on the floor outside and he's attached enough gold confetti to his skin to make up for it.

The crowd has finally come alive (vocally, at least) but they're chanting something that I can't understand at all. It doesn't sound like they're saying "ABURRIDO!" but I can't make it out. Whatever they're saying, it has envoked a suplex from the top rope, though it looks incredibly obvious that Orlando Jordan cinches himself into the move.

Oddly, Orlando Jordan covers the Warrior for the pin after the suplex, which technically should have hurt him more. Regardless, the Warrior is now hulking up and I assume this match will soon be...

Jesucristo! It was over before I finished typing the last sentence! A half-assed shoulder block ends the match before a nonchalant cover and 3-count. He ended a lot of matches that way (minus the crickets chirping), but usually, it was the apex of a flurry of ropework. This was more like an accidental collision:

Despite the lack of the Warrior's iconic gorilla press slam, he begins celebrating his victory in the ring, and already, I see lots of empty seats. Maybe they're running up to get autographs, I don't know. Maybe they're just unimpressed. As the Warrior proudly holds his daughters hands in the ring, a father and son in the crowd give the Warrior a rude gesture on their way out (and it's not a "Hail, President Skroob" as it may look in the picture). It makes me want to cry. Ok, maybe the match was disappointing, but the Warrior's matches were never highly technical in the first place. What did people expect?

Running, and music, and a gorilla press, that's what. Fuck, I am going to cry.

So I guess he's the NWE champion now? I'll be honest, I don't think he's going to keep wrestling. I'm pretty sure he's already injured. I think a lot of people felt cheated by this 8-minute production too. Do I count myself as one of them? I'm not sure. The comeback was inspirational for old men like me, but the results, meh. Or, bah. Possibly, fah.

To sum up my review in a language that only wrestling fans will understand: this match was no Gorilla Press. It was just a fucking shoulder block.

[Go here for some additional comments on the full length version of the match]

June 25, 2008

Well, it's you girl and you should show it...

Oh hai. I just died in your arms tonight. Must have been something you said. Must have been some kind of kiss. I should have walked away. I shoulda walked away.

I turned into Robo-Snowflake for a bit back there. Let’s just say Lotor and Hagar kidnapped me for a while, but I fought my way free, stole a ship, and piloted my way back to Rollie and all of you. I’m glad that’s over. I missed my Bleu Lion. The break room is filthy….someone’s been sleeping in my bed! PIDGE! Whatever, I’m happy to be back.

There are still 2 more parts to my TV’s most romantic moments ever, but I have to make an animated .gif for that, and so much shit has gone down that I haven’t had the time or inclination to do so. I helped in a friend’s home birth that had minor complications. WHOAH. That blew my brain. I still haven’t processed it fully. It totally changed my life, and I’m still not sure exactly how. I dealt with the brief resurgence of 1-800-Reach-Out-And-Touch-A-DOUCHEBAG whose bursts of communications served to only solidify my unmitigated GALL and BURNING, SEETHING, RIGHTEOUS anger. Let us not forget my disgust or appalled Southern-ness. You sir, are a CAD. How dare you treat a Lady and a Princess in this manner? So much emotional turmoil…so much frothing at the mouth, so little time to articulate it all in. So very, very sorry for not posting more.

Somehow, I feel I am suddenly on the side of life tho' which really is not a general forté of mine, but here we are, and lo, I should be depressed and worried and hussling just as fast I can. But, instead, I am oddly happy, elated even and shuffling off to buffalo (metaphorically Buffalo, NY irl =BLECH) with renewed vigor and vim. I somehow have hope for the future and my career and the possibilities of new collaborations and new happinesses and projects and more moments. Wha? I know. What the fuck is coming out of my mouth right now? Is this the right Princess? I think this Princess might be new and improved; I’m not positive, but I think this is the case. This is possibly Princess 3.40 not Robo-Snowflake 1.12. I’m still beta testing, but the ole’ psyche is looking a lot more shipshape. It’s about time too. I’ve been doing all this heavy emotional lifting and brooding and seething and thinking and pouting and planning that a medium-sized fug of angst and despair was hovering about me at all times. That fug has been blown away though. My ennui is dissipating. Gears are shifting. Emotional routines are being updated. Standby for reformatting. I went offline, and I came back better with a song in my heart and a smile on my face. I mean I am Irish this will not last forever, my melancholia is genetic, but some things have advanced and moved forwards. No good reason to go backwards. No good reason at all.

The song in my heart right now? Oh, it’s this one:

Who can turn the world on with her smile?
Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?
Well it's you girl, and you should know it
With each glance and every little movement you show it

Love is all around, no need to waste it
You can have a town, why don't you take it
You're gonna make it after all
You're gonna make it after all

How will you make it on your own?
This world is awfully big, girl this time you're all alone
But it's time you started living
It's time you let someone else do some giving

Love is all around, no need to waste it
You can have a town, why don't you take it
You're gonna make it after all
You're gonna make it after all

I really think it’s all going to be ok. Frankly, I’m just as shocked as you are at this news.

Also, I think maybe I am the Final Cylon and the Mary Tyler Moore theme song activated me. I think I know the way to a better place and all you have to do is fly this spaceship right through my vagina to get there.

From Bitch Burrito to O.K.-sadilla

In case anyone was wondering, I'm still being hotsauced, but I found out that my job will most likely not be eliminated. AntiNonUnIrregardless, I am still exploring ideas on how to save and make money without relying on employment.

I'm not sure how many people are aware of this, but it is impossible for anyone in New Jersey to get into any borough of New York City by car without paying (unless have a flux capacitor). Whether you take the George Washington Bridge, Lincoln Tunnel, Holland Tunnel, Bayonne Bridge, or the Outerbridge Crossing, you're going to get hit up for $8. As the RoBeastress is an N.Y.C. C.H.A.D. (Cannibalisic Humanoid Aboveground Dweller), I find myself constantly cursing this toll. Sometimes I say "#%@*^!@." Other times I say "$#!$%^%*."

But this past Saturday, I took part in a legend as mythical as the Jersey Devil--I received a Free Ride. Depending on your vantage point, I made a skilled/dick move and cut across 8 toll lanes to get to the non-EZ Pass lane with the shortest line. I got up to the toll collector, _____ed the windows down (they're electric and I haven't yet coined a suitable term to describe the non-rolling of car windows), and handed the bills out, but he started talking to me instead. Since most toll collectors are actually cyborgs, I thought it was strange that this one was attempting to engage me in discussion. Did I just do something wrong? Is he stalling so the Port Authority Police can surround me? Am I driving a similar make and model vehicle to someone that just robbed a convenience store and shot the clerk? I shot the clerk?

Just as I was about to call my cousin Vinny, I realized that I was not in trouble. It was the car ahead me that made the critical error--Their EZ-Pass paid the toll and they paid the collector in cash. The Toll Collector, rather than pocket the cash, decided to pay it forward and let me go without paying. For the next 20 minutes, I swear I heard a chorus of angels singing (though it may have just been one voice echoing while stuck in the Holland Tunnel traffic).

So, I'm 8 bucks ahead of the game. Awesome. BUT IT DOESN'T END THERE!!!

I was at Duane Reade de udder day and bought god knows what. The chick goes to hand my change but quickly stops to inspect a penny. "What in the world is this?" she says. I'm just hoping it's not another fucking-worthess-in-the-Coinstar-universe Canadian penny. Rather than exchange it for one of Emperor Duane Reade's millions of pennies in the cash register, she hands it to me anyway. I don't make a stink because, well, I don't make stinks (in public at least).

I get outside and take a close look at this alien currency. I quickly deduce by the letters E, U, R, & O that it's a Euro. And it's got a big 5 on it. Google tells me that ".05 Euros = 0.077775 U.S. dollars." That's almost 8 pennies when I was supposed to just get 1. I'm gonna be rich, motherfuckers (as long as Duane Reade makes this mistake a billion more times before Google starts printing its own currency and takes over the world)!

Speaking of coinage, have you seen the friggin' Euro? Looking at it, it's become obvious to me that Europe has special knowledge of an alien invasion. Additionally, it is abundantly clear that they have a pact with these intergalatic invaders as North and South America (and possibly Japan and Australia) will be attacked by these laserbeam-firing star-shaped spacecrafts, while Europe, Russia, India, Africa, and the Mid-East (the axis of 5) will be spared. It will be the 1300's all over again! Fortunately, I have caught wind of their arrogantly tauted plans, and will be working on countermeasures. You'll thank me later.

Speaking of coinage, remember to pick up your loose change from the bucket at the airport!

Speaking of coinage, I need to come up with the new word for the upward and downward movement of electric windows in a car because "roll" just doesn't cut it. I feel should start with a Z because Z is clearly the most futuristic letter of the alphabet. I zoomed the windows? Zoinked the windows? Zuuled the windows?

It looks like I have a lot of work to do.

June 23, 2008

Sorry I Killed George Carlin

... by referencing him in a post 10 days before his death date. I killed Mr. Wizard the same way last year on my Myspace blog, though it took just a little bit longer.

Do you see what murderous powers I have as a RoBeast? Do see how important this blog is now? Do you hear that George W. Bush, Lenny Kravitz, and John Edward?

My mom took me to go see George Carlin perform at the Strand Theater back in the early '90's. She's a huge fan, buys all his books and whatnot. She had a great time. I laughed my ass off too (three consecutive three-letter words ending in double-letters), despite sitting next to her during the masturbation euphemism bit. My favorite will always be "shaking hands with the unemployed." Ah, how true that was for the RoBeast in the early 90's.

Anyway, here's an awesome picture of him looking like a Charles Manson family member:

Here's to hoping Charles Manson dies as a result of this post.

June 20, 2008

I am the next Vince McMahon

I haven't bought a bike yet, but I did invest $30 into some serious 80's nostalgia: the return of The Ultimate Warrior. The match will be webcast from Barcelona next Thursday night. I'm so fucking excited that I'm running around with face paint, shaking every thing I see. A lot of yelling and grunting too.

Maybe on Thursday I'll watch the match at work and project it on to a big screen in the big conference room (if I still have my job by next Thursday, that is). Just in case I am unemployed, I signed up for the Ultimate Warrior's affiliate program. If anyone wants to purchase the pay-per-view webcast and Ultimate Warrior VIP access, go here and I'll get a percentage somehow. Maybe I'll make enough to buy another Diet Coke or even a whole six pack of them.

PS - Where the hell is Teh Beauty? I'm thinking she went back to Parts Unknown to train for the Ultimate Challenge, but just in case I'm wrong, someone go check on her, O-be-K-be?

June 19, 2008

Bitch Burrito

Robeast Rollie found out this week that his department is getting hotsauced. We don't know yet if this is good or bad, but either way I'm expecting super anxiety for a while. I want to buy a bicycle to relieve some of the stress. Like, a cute little Schwinn or some Schitt.

Oh, that reminds me:

Also, somewhere on the right side of the page, I've added a Robeast Dictionpedia. Because I'm an egomaniac. WHATEVERT (this comes after WHATEVERS in the Robeast Dictionpedia).

PS - If anyone wants some free chocolate bars, come see me this weekend. No, they didn't fall off a truck.

June 13, 2008

Raiders of the Lost R. Kelly

Chuck Creekmur, CEO of the news site allhiphop.com is quoted in USA Today today (I love doing that "USA Today today" day-to-day) saying "Somebody gets accused, and they record a ton of product so that things can keep coming out even when they're locked up. R. KELLY has shown that work ethic and seems to have a Midas touch."

By "Midas touch," are we talking about GOLDEN SHOWERS? Huh, Chuck? Creekmur? CEO of the news site allhiphop dot com?

Speaking of fetishes, famous people, and wetness, today I found a website/blog called CelebritySweating.com. There's an awesome picture of Liam Neeson crotch-sweating (or possibly pissing himself?). I was going to throw in some quotes from Nell here, but I don't know how to spell any of that fucking jibberish. Chickabee.

My pits are sweating as we speak, but I'm not uploading any pictures of them (sorry to everyone that may have stumbled on to this site looking for salty Hollywood bodies). My body is all confuzzled right now. I got about 3 hours sleep last night, as I have every night this week. I don't even have caffeine to blame this time. It's pure adrenaline/anxiety. I stayed up until 2:30 last night TRAPPED IN THE CLOSET. Cleaning it, that is. I was at work from 7:30 am until 8:30 pm. I had a workout break (and plenty of work outbreaks) somewhere in there too. But I got home and I still had so much ridiculous energy that I just started tearing shit apart in the closet.

This morning, my mind is still quite fired up. And it's not like I'm running around on fumes either. I am totally cognizant of every synapse in my cerebral cortex. I kicked a lot of ass playing Scramble this morning. And I had a breakthrough on the commute to work regarding a musical project on which I'm working. And I'm blogging again too! Granted, I have 50 Firefux tabs opened right now, so I'm being fired off in a million directions at once. Or maybe just 50. Still, the point here is my brain is at its peak in activity and creativity when I am high on caffeine or sleep deprivation. I don't know how I feel about that. I would like to think that I'm a creative person normally, but I'm so much more prolific otherwise.

Who fucking cares though?!

***PISSES self***

Maybe I'll go write Chuck Creekmur, CEO of allhiphop.com a letter pretending to be an incensed R. Kelly fan. Or maybe I actually am and incensed R. Kelly fan. After all, I do own 22 chapters of his Closet saga...

June 12, 2008

Ro-Beast Review

I've got a week-long trail of unfinished (and barely started) blog entries. Maybe if I set my sights low for this one, I'll Finnish it.

I did some shopping at Virgin Mecha-Zord last weekend cos like errything was ten bucks, plus it was hot out to the Ndredth Degree (still trying to get that accepted on asshole Urban dictionary) and I needed some speedy Air Conditty. With every corner I turned I kept finding MORE STUFF to buy. I went for the trifecta of dead media--two DVD's, a book (don't worry, it wasn't for me), and a CD. This CD was Oasis' Greatest Hits.

I always said to myself, I will never buy an Oasis CD, but if they ever decide to put out a Greatest Hits, I'll pick it up. As a man of my word, I did just that. This double-disc greatest hits retrospective entitled Stop the Clocks was put together by Noel (he's the unintelligible one, right?). There are a ton of great songs on the discs and it was definitely worth the ten smaccaroons. The second disc alone is a near-perfect ten. There're only two songs on the second disc that I hadn't heard before, and only two songs on the first disc that I have heard. ODD!

And then there are two other Oasis songs that I do know that aren't on either disc. "D'ya What I Mean?" (which goes "D'ya know what I mean...") and the one from the commercial "All Around the World" (which goes "All around the world..."). Those two tracks (both HITS and GREAT, mind you) are both from their album Be Here Now, released in 1997. Although the overwhelming majority of the tracks on the greatest hits package are from the mid 90's, Noel the Gatekeeper did not put a single track from Be Here Now on it at all. Why Noel? Why?

From what I've just read about Oasis' career (in the past 25 minutes), Be Here Now began their quick decline in popularity with fans and critics alike. It's apparently a bloated, self-indulgent album. I don't know. Plenty of their songs sound bombastic and arrogant anyway (helicopter intro? sampling their own songs?), so what's the fucking difference? The exclusion of tracks from that album is just making me want to hear it in its entirety. Maybe that sneaky Noel knew what he was doing. Unless it actually does suck and I'm the sucker. Maybe if I find it for $2 somewhere, I'll buy it knowing that at least two songs are good.

Anyway, the album has come at the right time for me. I listened to the Beatles non-stop last summer, so it seems to be the season of pop for me. Well, I listened The Beatles and Battles non-stop, actually, so maybe it's the season of bands with B, E, A, T, L, & S in their names. That's right, no fucking Beastie Boys for the Ro-beast. Is there a band called The Constables? The Blast Beats? The Table Saws? I don't fucking know. Oasis has certainly been living up to their name though. I've left work every day this week wanting to KILL EVERYONE, but Oasis has been able to take me to a better, calmer place. The George Harrison tune "My Sweet Lord" used to do be my close-my-eyes-and-count-to-ten tune, but I lost the CD four years ago and have been a super prick ever since! I think "Champagne Supernova" may turn me back into a pussy again.

There are a ton of liner notes that came along with the album (apparently a DVD came with some sets--not mine) so I will have to comb that for answers. Sorry this "review" fucking sucked. I'm in a hurry and my breath smells like onions. D'ya know what I mean? Here's what a good review of an Oasis album looks like:

Maybe I'll attempt to review that Sara Bareilles album over the weekend. Later MF's.

June 10, 2008

Shitting Rainbows and Crapping Stars to Put In Your Eyes

Yeah, soooo embarrassed to even admit it, but I tried to take the asshat back. He of Flawless Failures and Ultimate Douche-alitys. Yes, I know. It was a mistake. He couldn't even be enough of my friend to be nice to me on Mother's Day which is a bad time for me considering my mother is dead. Oh no, he was already busy cybering other girls and going out on physical dates with them and not paying for his phone. He could've just manned up and told me. Then he could've kept his phone instead of getting it turned right the fuck off during a no-doubt marathon parade of new romance bullshit. BUT, no. Asking a douche to be an adult is a losing proposition ALWAYS and doomed generally to FAILure. Hence all the FAILboat references. Usually I write that man right out of my hair, and we're done, minus several months or years of self-flagellation, but this time, I don't know; I was so disappointed I just kind of got thrown for a loop and couldn't remember what I wanted to say or even how to say it. I don't feel the least bit guilty about cutting off his phone. He made a choice to be a douche; he kissed me and left me to die (metaphorically); and I returned the favor. Actions have consequences.

I have been drowning my sorrows in bad television and social networking, two of my favs. Things I have learned during this time. I am not alone in wanting something better or more. I want a relationship that is not normal; I am looking for a life less ordinary. If that means falling in love with someone online and moving time and space to be together, than so be it. If making sacrifices to be together is required, I am game to make them. My heart didn't die or close up or petrify in my chest. Shit, my story is not even unique. I've been hanging around Plurk which is really kind of awesome. Twitter is the shit, but Plurk takes all the great things about the ICQ/IRC days and marries them with the crack-addictions of Twitter. I know of one 1100 mile apart relationship that just went tits up, and she found out from his Yahoo Away status. Oh cowardice, thy name is breaking up over status update whether it be mspazz or yahoo or MSN or twitter. BE A MAN or a WOMAN. Put on your big kid pants. I also just read a Plurk thread where someone (a man this time) is talking about how they fell in love online and have given up random hookups, but live 1200 miles apart. Mine lived 1176.03 miles away! What's up with the magical 1100-1200 mile relationship barrier? Is there some sort of geographing love hack I need to know about and recalibrate my vagina to sense? UGH. UGH. UGH.

I have turned to bad television to fill my gaping voids and mend my broken heart. I have compiled for your edification my all time top 3 most romantic moments in television. I doubt that any show you have EVER given two shits about will be represented in this dataset, but bear the FUCK with me, and I will 'splain. I'm starting with the top. The MOST romantic moment in television first, and it comes to us straight from the long-since cancelled and dread embrace of La Femme Nikita: the TV show. Yep, the one that used to be on the USA Network with Peta Wilson. I do not lie. The story was fairly true to the movie and just expanded off of the idea that there is a shadowy organization called Section that trains international spies. The story rotates of course primarily around Nikita and her relationships and inappropriate (for a spy) emotional attachments to the people around her. Particularly her relationship to Michael aka as the only mullet I could ever love. There is one mullet, and one mullet alone, in this whole, wide world that I would ungirt my loins for and that is the French-Canadian spy mullet of one Roy Dupuis:

The mullet is too powerful. I cannot unleash the glory of this mullet upon you just yet. I must refrain, for you to touch the very holy aura of the mullet with unprepared eyes is to lose all sense and reason. Nikita agrees. You may only sense the strength of the mullet by looking at this quarter of Roy Dupuis' face. Can you sense the passion and level 9,000 power of the mullempathy? Dude, is not fucking around.

Michael (Roy Dupuis) is Nikita's handler; he goes on missions with her. He seduces her sexually and mentally. He manipulates her; he protects her. He puts his life and career on the line for her. Even though, he is kind of a douche and emotionally stoic we come to understand that Michael loves Nikita. Nikita awakens his humanity, and it is this broken journey that consumes us over 4 whole seasons (we will not speak of the abomination that was the 5th season). Nikita completes the unaccomplishable quest every woman strives with over the course of her romantic lifetime how to break through the wall and turn a jerkface into a real human being: broken and beautiful. Michael's been ordered to terminate Nikita many times, but this final time the tables have been turned. All those times he thought he was manipulating her she was manipulating him. Turns out Nikita was a spy sent from Central, the over-seeing branch of this shadow government. Now, we're all supposed to believe it was all a sham and a test, and Nikita was a rat. She recommends Michael for termination, and then causes an awesome diversion and breaks him out herself. They've done this before; come at this moment from so many different angles. They've gone AWOL together before, lived a 1,000 fantasy lives together, both in and out of Section. Previously, he had been the one condemning and then saving her. Now it is her turn to measure up to the lie that is the truth and the truth that is a lie. She gives him a transponder scrambler and says this will keep him hidden until he can get out of North America. He can't leave her; he can't walk away from love anymore. He is a man with nothing left to lose; he is finally ready to love and let the rest of the world be damned. He removes her sunglasses and asks her to come with him; she looks him in the eye and tells the lie he has told her before. She tells him she never loved him because it is the only way to save him. He will not leave without her, ever, so she looks into his eyes and breaks his heart. They have come full circle; they have traded places within the machine. She cannot leave. If she leaves he'll never be free, the only way to make sure he will remain free from Section's tentacles is to stay for love's sake and run Section herself. For love's sake, she must tell the truth that is a lie. It is this moment of mullempathy and glory, that I have prepped you for. She lies, and this man who was so emotionless, who was programmed to be a killing machine, he cries. Tears of salt and water are not enough tho'. No, the wound was mortal, and only the BLOOD TEAR will truly convey the level of heartbreak and despair. I shit you not; he takes his knife and cuts himself under the eye and his tears are BLOOD. This is THE most romantic moment that was ever on television.

I have captured this exact moment for you and made it into an animated gif with the help of a 12 pack and @mik_moo. Without further ado and for your edification, the glory that is the BLOOD TEAR.

If it doesn't animate properly (UPDATE: fixed now it does; bless photobucket!), I'll cry because we added some jazzhand sparkles to that shit and everything. Serious slaving over an animated .gif. I heartily thank mik_moo who initially watched this moment with me, and as our jaws dropped and our eyes met, only two words escaped our stunned lips, "BLOOD TEAR." You still can't see the full glory of the mullet. If you were to see it, your monitors would implode. Don't go looking on the Internets either. Such puny pics as exist out there in cyberland make sure to not reveal the full power of the French-Candian spymullet.

Back in the Bleu Lion, and it feeeeeels so goooood. I'm walking away from drama in my life. I'm walking away, and I'm taking my sparkling BLOOD TEAR with me. Adieu. Adieu. To you and you and you!

*Princess Out*

(parts 2 and 3 coming soon)

June 5, 2008

We're Going to Be Free

I have not died, yet. I am actually writing. I am writing things for you. I will birth those words upon this page in due time. Until then, let us watch as Failboat Sails Home, and we wave goodbye. 'Tis a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying...nothing.

June 2, 2008

RoBeast Rollie reviews Sex and the City - The Movie

Finally I got to see the new Sex and the City Movie yesterday! I'll be reviewing it in detail so if you haven't seen it yet yourself and are worried about spoilers, then stop reading now.

Ok, we all remember where the HBO series ended--with the girls having just won the All-Valley Blowjob Championship. The movie picks up 9 months later, as the girls are now deep in their training to defend their title against the younger and more agile Teen Girl Squad. Things quickly take a turn for the worse as the City Girls' sensei (played by BJ Master Barbara Walters) dies.

With their momentum now interrupted by tragedy, the girls are faced with the dilemma of continuing training on their own, or going back to their day jobs (as wardrobe designers for Vagisil commercial shoots). Things get even worse when the slutty one disappears to "go find herself." But the rest of the girls eat a pint of Hagen Dazs, dye their hair, buy a handbag or something, and write Hate Poems about the slutty one in order to get their confidence back...

But The Teen Girl Squad turns up the heat by sabotaging the team with a new secret weapon --pink kryptonite lipstick--that strips the City Girls of their blowjob powers.

On the day of the competition, all hell breaks loose. The building has been violently seized by terrorists in masks and the Teen Girl Squad is slaughtered. The Sex and The City girls are secretly elated, as they now automatically retain their title. But it turns out the terrorists are not after money... they are after the girls' titles. The challenge is on!

Unfortunately at this point, all the dudes in the crowd are scared shitless and unable to get it up for BJ Battle. No one knows what to do. Suddenly, the slutty one bursts through the door and in a shocking turn of events, she single handedly wins the competition.

How, you ask?



Autofellatio, of course.

The Sex and the City girls retain their titles. The terrorists are arrested and are revealed to be The Golden Girls. And oh yeah, Mr. Big makes an appearance too.