Tested Positive For DEVO

From Everything Is Terrible, your source for "what the fuck did I just watch?"

2009-07-13T19:18:16Z

With a chilling insight that would... probably not cut on Star Trek: The Original Series... well, maybe season three... imagine ~~a utopian wonderland where men are constantly complimented on their attractiveness by beautiful women, who then make sexual advances on them day and night~~. Err, I mean, a horrid dystopia that brings into sharp relief the evils of sexism.

(Whew! That was a close one)

Man Hater!!!

2009-04-11T14:42:28Z

Although at first this just seems like the cliche stating that lesbians hate men, read the tagline closer. It would appear this is the story of a straight woman (bisexual?) who hates men so thoroughly that she relies on lesbians for sex, possibly even all social satisfaction. Which puts the lesbian that falls in love with her in a bit of a spot. If she helps the Man Hater stop hating men, a far more psychologically healthy outlook, will the Man Hater stop loving the lesbian? Oh, it's like Sophie's Choice, only with cunnilingus.

No, no, and no.

2009-04-08T15:27:03Z

Derailing For Dummies.

That is not how you derail an Internet discussion. Who're you gonna believe, me or a bunch of girls? HERE'S how you can derail an Internet discussion, provided free of charge.

"Comedy uses familiar stereotypes to get laughs!"

"Sometimes, female characters are introduced solely to be killed and advance the plot."

"But doesn't it bother you that President Obama hates gay people?"

"How do you feel about the fact that audiences see comdies by creators like Paul Rudd, Seth Rogen, and James Franco as more genuine and authentic than female-centric rom-coms?"

"Isn't it odd how many female characters in Watchmen revolve around rape?"

"Having Chinese slang in Firefly shows the influence of Eastern culture a lot better than actually having any Asians on the show."

"Slytherin is just out and out evil; I don't see how anyone could see otherwise."

"So who do you think Dean Winchester would be happy with, Castiel or Sam?"

"Babylon 5 is just a rip-off of DS9."

"I think it's antifeminist to say real gay men should have any say in slash."

"So you see, Starbuck was an angel all along and at the end, she goes back to Heaven."

Know them, love them, use them. Because why derail a discussion when you can just make your enemy's head explode?

ETA: Note that should you try to make your own "derailers," you must be very careful. Think of the derailer as a meme. You must pick the optimum time to use it. Stargate Atlantis being racist is an old meme. You bring that up and there will be only agreement and nodding. Too new a meme... like saying that Watchmen is prejudiced against the lower socio-economic classes... will get no reaction either.

What we're looking for is a nugget of information that has made the enemy come to blows once or twice already, thus leaving old and lingering scars. Something like... the BBC show Merlin reimagining Guinivere as a black woman at the same time she's reimagined as a serving maid to a white woman. We're looking for shock and awe here, people.

Snow Bunnies

2009-04-06T14:03:00Z

"For God's sake, Marsha, the orgy was two hours ago, put some layers on before you catch your death of pneumonia!"

A Need For Love

2009-03-19T16:04:05Z

All the boys laughed at Dallas Mayo in grade school, but he'd seen the fortune teller and knew one day he'd be married to Austin Ham by dint of his prophectic name. And who'd be laughing then? Who'd be laughing then?

Alone At Last

2009-03-14T15:30:57Z

Okay, the boyish teenager is either wearing a mink bra or her nipple is 44-watt. YOU BE THE JUDGE!

Racefail '09

2009-03-13T05:35:29Z

So, by law, everyone on LJ is required to comment on Racefail 09. I have, really, just two thoughts on this.

First, we're lucky there are no men in LJ fandom. Because can you imagine if this were a bunch of black men getting angry? Oh, fuck! We have dodged a bullet, okay? Luck-e!

Second, every ethnicity group has its weak points. That's just science. For white people, it's race relations. Let's face it, minority groups are our Kryptonite. We just really suck at anything with brown people in it. I mean, look what happens when you try to add Caucasian to rap music.

But hey, you know, black people, you're not perfect. You have your weak point. Tyler Perry, Madea, that ringing any bells?

Yeah, we all know who makes those movies popular and we all know they're not very good. I mean, really now, combining the freshness and hilarity of a man dressed as a woman with the general quality we've all come to associate with Christian fiction? Stroke of genius, that is.

I seem to have wandered a bit, but to get back to my original point, black people, you need to stop watching Tyler Perry movies or it's okay to be racist against you. Teh_no, out!

Alright, now we're getting into the FETISH-fetish territory

2009-02-28T19:16:41Z

And, for the there really isn't anything new under the sun column...

Can all lesbian pulp become indie movies? Tell me Satan Was A Lesbian wouldn't win big at Sundance. Just try and tell me!

Babes Behind Bars

2009-02-23T17:41:25Z

Another thing you didn't know about women's prisons (besides the lesbian orgies), it's all tastefully appointed curtains, plush Old World furniture, and mood lighting. It's just like how all women's bathrooms have butlers and complimentary mints and shit.

Man, you chicks get all the breaks.

All Cats Are Grey

2009-02-16T17:13:17Z

Howard Toward? Now you're not even trying, penname dude. Was Jack Mehoff taken?

Now, I've heard some pretty damn oblique references to lesbianism doing this, but fraternity of a third theme? I genuinely don't know if that's referring to lesbians or some kind of crocheting group.

Thirdly--wow, I'm getting a lot of mileage out of this one--what's with the clothes that the one with clothes is wearing? Yellow and green? What does that remind me of?

Right, girl-Loki. I suppose it only makes sense that he... she... Loki would be a lesbian. After all, what guy hasn't dreamed of being a woman for a day and getting fingered by Anne Heche?

Well, we have a new president... time for dystopian future fiction!

2008-11-05T19:08:03Z

As with any election, once we have a new president, it's time for wildly hyperbolic predictions of doom from the losing party. But instead of the tired old United Nations paranoia and Anti-Christ ramblings... why not something a little different?

President Obama gave his eyepatch a quick spit-shine with his gloved fingers as he dismounted from his horse, wiping away the caked dust and mud from his cross-country journey. One of the dolphins, air-sac full of ultra-helium, offered to help him, but he demurred.

Ahead of him, the survivalists were waiting. They'd only brought one Thunderer-class Deus to check his four-legged land whale, but they were still heavily armed. McCain had an M-1 under his poncho, the finish worn off to match the hair he'd lost. The deepening wrinkles made him look like a cracking statue.

"You've heard the same reports I have, John. The zombies are merging into undead kaiju to attack our strongholds. I can't fight them alone. I need your mecha."

John took the hand-rolled cigarillo out of his mouth. "An army can't have two leaders, Barack. You know that."

Barack nodded. He unsheathed the katana from the back of his armor, while John did the same with the sword hidden in his bamboo cane. "Then I suggest we settle this... in mortal combat!"

You watch the debate tonight?

2008-10-16T03:21:41Z

I haven't seen a black man and a Vietnam vet go at it that hard since that video Logan Echolls sold me.

(It's taking a minute, but all the people who watched the first season of Veronica Mars are starting to shake their heads and go "Not cool!")

School For Sex

2008-10-14T16:21:04Z

She tried to be happy with 20-year-olds, but they just couldn't help her with her Woodstock history assignment.

And it had to be, like, 30 pages!

Part 3/17: Room Serviced

2008-09-30T18:33:21Z

Title: Crazy Go
Author: Teh_no
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 576
Fandom: Justice League Unlimited
Summary: Protecting Harley Quinn is even worse than fighting Captain Cold.

Harley didn’t sit still when she watched TV. She bounced and cooed at the screen and shook her fist.

Wally could sympathize. Sometime he ran around the Watchtower when other people were blinking. But with his lethargy these days, he found her motion annoying… taunting him. But he gritted it down, at least until she wriggled over him. Harley hugged up against his side, shoving her breasts into the side of his head.

“Are they gonna make it out? Are they? Are they?”

“I don’t know! Watch the show!”

Harley refocused on the show, which had gone to a commercial for cat food. She groaned. He gently pushed her away.

“Aren’t you smarter than this?”

She looked at him, suspicious.

“The sixth-grader with a sugar rush thing. You have a Ph. D. How’s that work?”

Harley shrugged. “I dunno. I do have fun, though.”

“Prison. Real fun,” Wally muttered. He got up and paced over to the TV. “I like living in the moment too, but I can get serious when the time comes.”

Harley drew up her legs onto the seat cushion. “When I don’t live in the moment, I don’t like where I end up.” She wrapped her hands around her pigtails and drew them down to her chin. “I cry and Mistah J doesn’t like crying, not from his henchfolk. So I laugh instead.”

Wally muted the TV. “What do you cry about?”

There was the knock at the door. Harley craned her head with Linda Blair speed. “Yay! Company!”

Wally pushed past her as she vaulted over the armrest, blocking her from the door. “Go hide. I’ll handle it.”

Pouting, she crouched behind the couch so that no one could see her from the door. The TV was playing a Geico commercial. She concentrated on that.

Wally opened the door. It was just a bellboy, with a food cart between the two of them.

“Complimentary room service, sir.”

Wally’s stomach rumbled. But this was one of those times when he should use his head. He grabbed a plate at random.

“Thanks, I’m not that hungry.”

“Maybe your roommate…” the bellboy said.

“She went shopping.”

“Then who’s channel-surfing?”

With impossible speed, Wally half-turned, thought better of it, and turned back to see the bellboy lifting a silver platter. Under it was a bomb, three sticks of dynamite and lots of wires, counting down from ten. Wally grabbed the exposed red wire and yanked it out. When the world sped back up, the bomb was frozen. Wally grabbed the bellboy by his collar and catapulted him inside the hotel room.

“Funny, I don’t remember ordering an explosive device.”

The assassin growled and was just going for a gun when Harley whopped him with a lamp. He fell forward with a classic pratfall. Harley clapped. Then looked askew at Wally.

“How’d you know how to disable the bomb?”

“It’s always the red wire.”

“That’s why Mistah J always made it the purple wire.”

Wally turned around. The bomb was down to one second. At superspeed Wally grabbed it and threw a fastball out the window. The explosion hit a moment later, just as Wally pulled Harley out of the room. The shockwave and flames turned their room into scrap. Windows shattered, carpets on fire, plaster cracked. Wally tugged at his collar.

“We’ll just… tell them we’re a rock band.”

Harley looked at the unconscious assassin who moonlighted as a bellboy. “He’s the drummer.”

Called it!

2008-09-21T20:15:20Z

Compare

After Dick has confessed to Bruce that he let Tarantula kill Blockbuster.

Dick walked through the front door the manor in a daze; dead man’s march. Kory was waiting for him, her boots off and jacket hung in the closet. Dick stared down at her bare feet on the hard wooden floor before raising his face up to look her in the eyes. It wasn’t by his own design. She had a hand under his chin, forcing him to make eye contact no matter how much he tried to turn away. Her thumb rested on the corner of his lip and Dick’s tongue snaked out, licking the fingertip. Kory pulled him into a tight hug, letting her body warm him, feeling the racking sobs which began in his chest and shook his whole body.

“Everyone leaves,” he said softly. It was a kind of explanation.

His hands wandered over her back, clawing into her blouse and untucking it from her waistband. Kory felt herself be guided, almost like a kind of dance, into the drawing room. She registered the details of the place in a blur, letting herself be led to the window seat. The blinds weren’t drawn and through the chill glass she could see the first drops of rain start to hit. A storm had been brewing all day.

The manicured lawn flinched in the wind and rainfall. Great blocky shadows fell over the front yard, spreading and merging like ink-blots, bringing the rain with them. Just a light drizzle, not even a fraction of what had been promised. Dick’s lips were cold as they traveled over her lips, the line of her jaw and the side of her neck. Cold fingers undid the top button on her blouse and shucked her collar, exposing where her neck became her shoulder. His kiss there was airy, as strangely subdued as his touch on her thigh or between her breasts. It was possible, likely even, that he was expecting her to take over now as she always did.

His hand was against his chest, pushing firmly. Dick broke the kiss. Kory looked even more unknowable in her mild dishabille, bare shoulder gleaming at Dick until she fixed her collar, clutching it shut. Dick stared at her. Their eyes met. Hers were so darkly jaundiced they could have been black.

“You don’t love me,” Kory said, flat as dirt.

Dick breathed in. “If this is about Barbara…”

“You don’t love her either. You don’t love anyone. You don’t even love yourself.”

It was just about the most condemning accusation a Tamaranian could deliver. Dick sputtered weakly, his hands over her arms, trying to find a spot where he could make a connection. “I thought… I mean…”

“I can tell,” Kory said, vitriolic. “I can tell when you mean it and when you’re just going through the motions. The first time I lied to myself. I thought you actually needed me instead of just a warm body to lie next to. The second time I thought,” she was chagrined at her own ignorance, “you were making a commitment to me,” she finished bitterly. “But I don’t mean anything to you. You just use me and I let you because… because I love you. Still. After all this, I love you too much to let you…” She scrubbed at her eyes as the sickly sweet aroma of her tears filled the room. “It hurts too much.”

“I never knew,” Dick backed away from her as if she were made of something toxic. “I thought you understood.”

“I understand perfectly.” Kory hadn’t even realized how angry she was until she began speaking. The words tumbled out of her like a dam had broken somewhere inside of her. “I’m your release valve. Anytime you’re feeling bad you come to me. Doesn’t matter what I’m doing or how I feel or who I am!” she shouted. “I’m what you do when you can’t find a supervillain to beat up. And just because your emotional repression involves sex instead of self-mutilation, you think you’re well-adjusted. You’re not. You’re just like Bruce.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to Bruce!” Dick growled, his hands balling into fists. “I am nothing like him! I could never be…”

“No. You just wish you were.” She pushed past him to the door, stopping to look back at him. “I had hoped this time you really did need me. Guess the future is not what it used to be.”

From The Furnace Room Goodbye.

Although I don't know have much of a cache having the same insights into a relationship as Judd Winick has these days. Still, I feel I should get a gold star for having the version with the most DRAMA!

And really, all you have to do to have the same insight as Judd Winick is postulate the most perverted thing you can think of that's still PG-13. And it's kind of weird that Mr. Progressive is backing away from Kory and Dick having a healthy, casual sexual relationship... although I do think that as presented, it's wrong, especially when you key in how Dick's treatments of Barbara and Kory figure into a Madonna/whore complex (or, respectively, Bruce and Roy perhaps?). Barbara he literally puts on a pedestal, while Kory is there when he's got some excess sperm but he doesn't want to put effort into a relationship. Which, as I said, isn't cool for any of them, but I'm mystified that the solution for two people as "cosmopolitan" as Dick and Kory is to stop having sex altogether rather than set boundaries and work out something better than "fuck until Barbara takes Dick back".

Part 2/17: Gossip Girl versus Veronica Mars - Go!

2008-09-12T20:03:32Z

Title: Crazy Go
Author: Teh_no
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Justice League Unlimited
Summary: Protecting Harley Quinn is almost as bad as fighting Captain Cold. Almost.

They checked into the prearranged hotel room. Thankfully, no one else at the League had his unique sense of humor, so they weren’t listed as a married couple. That actually made the look the concierge gave them worse. A bellboy took Harley’s overwhelmingly heavy trunk, dragging it to the elevator. There almost wasn’t enough room for the three of them and it. Wally almost volunteered to throw Harley out, but they got up okay.

Harley shared an apprehensive look with him. Either she hated being motionless in tight, confined spaces as much as he did, or it was just the elevator muzak. No, she was humming that. The moments the bell went ding and the doors opened, Harley was somersaulting up. The bellboy gave Wally a weird look.

“What? She’s a gymnast!”

“Lucky bastard,” the bellboy muttered as he started to drag the trunk to their room.

Harley was waiting at the door. Leaning against it, really, in such a way that she could occasionally jingle the locked doorknob. Wally unlocked it for her, then carefully slipped the room key into his pocket.

“I’ll be keeping hold of this.”

“Dibs on the TV!” Harley said as she ran inside. Apparently, hotel room etiquette wasn’t of much interest to her. “Oooh, minibar!”

Wally weighted the advantages of alcohol as a depressant against the thought of Harley Quinn on vodka. He very carefully requested the key to the glass cabinet from the bellboy, then slipped it into his pocket. Harley rattled the doors to the minibar a bit before giving up on it to go to the TV. She plopped down on the sofa, catapulting the TV remote off the seat cushion where it lay and then snatching it in mid-air. She spun the remote like it was a six-shooter, turned the TV on, and then blew on the IR diode at the top.

Wally snatched the remote from her. She bounced up and down trying to get at it. Wally resolutely ignored the way her shirt billowed at the waist. He kinda wished she’d tuck it in, but then it’d be all tight and stuff.

“I am catching up on my Tivo. You are going to like it. Or not.”

Harley crossed her arms and laid back on the couch. “You’re like a worse version of Hitler!”

“Considering that you’re into the Joker, I’d say that was a turn-on.”

“You’re not my type.” Harley stuck her tongue out at him. “Too nice. What’re we watching?”

Wally pulled his Tivo out of his suitcase and, at superspeed, hooked it up to the TV. This time, even that small effort exhausted him. Wally sat down in the easy chair and tried not to let on how winded he was.

“We are watching Gossip Girl.”

Harley’s face lit up in recognition. “Blair is so gay!”

“I know, right! Jenny is totally her bitch.”

“What? Are you even watching the show? Serena! Waldsen all the way!”

Wally set his jaw. “Next you’re going to tell me she belongs with Nate.”

“Ha, Chuck maybe.” Harley got comfortable. “If a girl needed that, anyway.”

“Why you gotta bring politics into this? Sexual politics?”

“Sexual politics are my favorite kind.”

“I firmly believe Gossip Girl should be sexually bipartisan.”

“Bisexual?”

Wally gave her a droll look, but Kristen Bell’s voiceover took over. Wally focused on the TV screen. “I miss Veronica Mars.”

Harley pouted, setting her arms under her head. “Veronica so belonged with Logan.”

“Mac.”

“Shuddup.”

Notice

2008-09-09T17:47:53Z

Obama's church has a reverend that hates America? LOOK, WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM, MAN, WHO DOESN'T HAVE A PASTOR THAT HATES AMERICA?

Sarah Palin was blessed by Wasilla? WEIRD THINGS ARE AFOOT AT THE CIRCLE-K, MY FRIEND!

It's like Two-Face flipped a coin or something.

Part 1/17: Led Zeppelin Rules!

2008-09-09T17:37:16Z

Title: Crazy Go
Author: Teh_no
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Justice League Unlimited
Summary: The Flash's life hasn't been easy since his powers started cutting out on him. Maybe an easy witness protection assignment can turn things around. Not likely, when the witness is Harley Quinn.

Flash coughed and looked at his X-rays. Everyone else was.

J’onn was the only one talking, though. “My mental scans show that the disorder is not psychosomatic. Whatever the problem is, it’s real.”

“I have a cough,” Wally protested. The rest of the original seven had gathered in the Watchtower’s medical bay, which hardly ever happened these days… Them all being in the same spot, that meant things had to be bad. Wally missed the camaraderie of the old team. If J’onn was right, he might not be missing it for long.

“Wally, you’ve said your attempts to use the Speed Force have been sporadic…” Superman began, compassionate as ever.

“I had an off-day! It happens! I bet there are days when it takes two or three bounds to leap a tall building… and don’t you start calling me Wally now. This is just a hiccup. That’s all.”

Wonder Woman stepped forward to put a consoling hand on his shoulder. Wally had the urge to forcibly shrug it off, but as always her touch calmed him. “We’re sending your tests to STAR Labs. In the meantime, we should get some rest. One of us could keep you company…”

A thousand sleazy jokes about keeping company with Wondy and he couldn’t think of one. Just as well, it would be suicide with Batman in the room. Flash finally found his voice.

“Look, you can’t just tell me I might be dying and expect me to sit around here all day. Give me something to do. Clean the toilets, train the newbies… heck, I’ll even do monitor duty. Anything to take my mind off the whazzits.”

There was a long pause. No one had said dying before. Finally, Batman cleared his throat.

“Anything?”

***

Flash had never really picked up the finer points of piloting the Javelin, but on the flight down he finally let the little paper clip walk him through the tutorial. It turned out the Javelin had warmers in the cup holders to keep his coffee warm. Neat.He landed outside Arkham and got that late-night Wes Craven feeling tingling down his spine. Not “produced by Wes Craven” either, old-school Freddy Krueger stuff. No wonder Bats was so grumpy all the time. If he were in the same county as this place, he must not get any sleep.

Flash parked and got out. The first thing he noticed was the woman cheerily waving at him just outside the Asylum’s gates… which, for the record, looked like they had been stolen off a Hammer movie backlot. She took off at him at a sprint and Flash almost braced himself for an attack, but before he knew it she had skidded to a stop and was pumping his hand in a throbbing handshake, up and down like an earthquake.

“Hey there, pleased to meetcha! I’m Dr. Harleen Quinzel, Ph. D in psychological aberrations… of the mind!” She smiled widely. “But you can call me Harley!”

***

Flash ditched the Javelin in Jump City. He didn’t like the way Harley was looking at the flashing buttons anyway. It reminded him too much of himself before he blew up part of Wayne Manor.

Note to self: Remember, remember, remember not to tell Harley that Bruce Wayne is Batman. He set the Javelin to return to the Watchtower on autopilot and dragged Harley out. He had everything he needed in the backpack he was lugging on his shoulders, just like back in college.
“There’s no need to hold my hand. I’ll go quietly. God, you’re so pushy! Or do you have intimacy issues? There’s no shame in needing to be touched.”

Flash turned on his hologram. It made him look like an Eastern European soap opera star of the eighties in business casual wear. Harley stayed in her Arkham jumpsuit, which hopefully would pass for esoteric fashion this far east. Flash had seen weirder clothes at parties. He still couldn’t believe they had invited him to the Oscars. Or how long it had been.

“I don’t need to be touched. I went to the Oscars,” Flash said haughtily.

“Betcha liked the musical numbers,” Harley shot back.

“I did, as a matter of fact.”

Flash felt the familiar tingle of the Speed Force returning. It felt like he could do anything, like time was a sucker that would never run dry on him. He felt like he had and could dance all night, like every pretty girl in the world was smiling at him, like he had just punched Vandal Savage right in his stupid fat face a hundred and a half times.

It was a pretty good feeling.

He picked up Harley. She let loose an outraged squeak before alternately pounding at his chest and rubbing it.

“I’m just going to take us to a safe place! Lose anyone who might be following us.”

“You just wanna get me alone!”

“Yes, that’s it exactly!”

“So you can have your way with me!”

“No, that’s not it at all. Look, just hold still, alright?”

With a reluctant shudder, Harley did. They sped. The world a suddenly kaleidoscopic wind tunnel, Harley screaming with fright… like a kid on a roller coaster, arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist… how had that happened? The rush carried them into a hotel lobby, then an empty bathroom. Flash took off and unzipped his backpack.

“Okay, we can’t have you running around in that. Take it off.”

“You took me to a nudist colony? Cool!”

“No. And I’ve been to nudist colonies, I’ve saved nudist colonists. Everyone is nude!”

“Duh.”

“Not just the pretty people.”

“Oh. Ew.”

Flash dug into his backpack until he found what he was looking for. “So, since we can’t let you run around nude and we can’t leave you in those, I brought some of my clothes for you to wear.”

“Oh. Ew.”

“I put them in the wash first!”

Flash threw her an old T-shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. Harley caught them both, unrolling the wadded-up shirt first. “’Led Zeppelin rules’?” she read.

“What? They do.”

“I know, I just never needed a T-shirt to tell me that before.” Harley unzipped her jumpsuit.

“Whoa, whoa…” Flash turned around. “Give a hero a little warning, next time.”

“Whassa matter? Dontcha like girls?”

“I like ladies just fine.“

“So maybe you’re more of an ass-man?”

Flash heard further unzipping noises. “Could you please just get dressed before someone sees us?”

“Or maybe you like dick?”

There was another unzipping sound.

“You do not have a dick,” Flash said resolutely, crossing his arms.

A rustle of fabric as a T-shirt was pulled on and jeans pulled up.
“I have you, don’t I?”

Flash decided to meet that by being deliberately obtuse. “If you want a private eye, I could give Slam Bradley a call.”

Harley shoved her old clothes into Flash’s arms as she passed him.

Flash picked a bra out of the mound of cloth. “Tell me you had a change of underwear.”

“They made me wear undies in the Asylum.” Harley stretched gratuitously. Led Zeppelin had never ruled quite so much. “But now that I’m a free woman…”

“Very free.”

“I can go commando all I like.”

Flash shoved the jumpsuit into his backpack. “I take it back. Those aren’t my clothes. They’re yours now.”

“Score! Free Led Zeppelin T-shirt!”

man, The Day The Earth Stood Still plays a lot differently these days

2008-08-30T17:47:10Z

Klaatu: So, I hear you guys are developing both atomic bombs and rockets. But the day may come when you combine those into a weapon of mass destruction, which could be of a threat to us, so I am preemptively shocking and awing you.

Of course, the analogy falls apart rather quickly, but it's a fun way to piss off any sci-fi geek you might know.

Now, a remake isn't all that out to lunch... to go one of the more obvious routes, you could play Klaatu as a fascistic envoy, which really is the flipside of his LITERALLY "join us or die" offer, but apparently Hollywood is instead giving him an environmental message. You know, "stop destroying the Earth or we'll destroy the Earth!" (which, okay, makes a little more sense than "we have no war, just kill-bots who brutally kill anyone who dare oppose them.")

I kinda wonder how it would play to change "advanced aliens go to America and tell 'em to stop polluting or else" to "Americans go to one of those third-world nations with no pollution laws and tell 'em to stop polluting or else." You could swap the whole movie from left-wing to right-wing with a little Mad Libs.

Guitar Praise songlist includes:

2008-08-29T15:37:23Z

Kutless Beyond the Surface

Wouldn't it be awesome if Kutless turned out to be a Klingon-themed band? Klingons are totally punk rock. And their guitars could look like bat'leths! God, I'm such a nerd.

Superchick We Live

Is this the same Superchick that has boy members, so they also call it Superchic, only chic really sounds nothing like chick?

So I had this idea...

2008-08-23T04:13:42Z

You've all heard of remixes, right? What about... Expanded Universe? You sign up, you get assigned to a person, then you choose one of their fics. Incorporating that fic into the body of the work, show/tell what happened before or after the original fic. So if the original fic is a first-time fic, show what the pairing is like as an established relationship proceeding from that fic. Or if the original fic is an established relationship, maybe show how it was established.

I've field-tested this with a volunteer and I think it works pretty well (guess the fic and get a ficlet, sports fan!). So would anyone be interested in it?

The Scorpion King 2

2008-08-21T14:06:48Z

So it's the sequel to the prequel to the sequel to the remake, but it's also a prequel.

Somehow I became my own grandfather while figuring that out.

Life on Earth: Woes

2008-08-18T15:44:25Z

Barda looked out at the city. The Teen Titans were closing up the usual pleasantries with the Omega Men, the gossip and back-patting of superhero meetings. One more thing she would never master.

Curiously, the Titan with the most connection to the Omega Men was the only who walked out to the edge of the roof beside her. Right off the edge, in fact, floating in space before her.

“I know what it’s like,” Kory said directly, without the preening preamble that Barda found so frustrating about social interaction. “The constant struggle to stay your hand when every instinct says to fight. But it does get easier… when you have help.”

Barda looked over her shoulder, following Kory’s gaze to Robin as the Boy Wonder shook hands with Tigorr.

“Do you love him?” Barda asked flatly, hiding her sudden and keen interest in the matter. “And does he love you?”

Kory smiled, jubilant. “Yes!”

“How do you know?”

“He shows me.”

Barda nodded and kept looking out at the city, not sure what she was looking for or why she kept looking for it when she could be onboard the Omega Men’s ship right now.

“Miss Barda? Time to go.” It was Robin. He wasn’t quite as insufferable as his mentor. Maybe in another life, they could’ve been friendly.

Barda nodded, feeling a weird protesting desire throb behind her tongue. “I’ll… okay.”

She walked onboard. Watched the door close and the engines roar. They took off.

It would never have worked out anyway. More than her, Scott wanted normalcy. They’d be happy for a while, but then she’d want battle and he’d want peace, and things would fall apart. Like they had last time. So she’d be strong and take the pain and move on. She was a warrior. It was what she did.

She’d won. In the final reckoning, she’d won. “If only I knew a word for a painful victory.”

“Pyrrhic,” Scott said, stepping out of an access panel in the ship’s fuselage. He casually detangled himself from some wiring. “It’d help to know the context, though.”

Barda didn’t cry out his name in surprise because, honestly, she wasn’t that surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t leave. I came here to tell you that.”

“We’re on the ship! We’re leaving! Why didn’t you just stop me on the roof?”

Scott shrugged. “Couldn’t think of anything to say.” He took her hand. “I can’t. I can’t be happy with Zatanna. I can’t be happy with anyone but you. And I know it won’t be easy, any of it, but aren’t we worth it?” He got down on one knee. “I promise you, no matter how bad things seem, I will never give up. Things will get better. Just give us a chance.”

She hoisted him to his feet. “Stop begging, dummy. It makes you look weak. We need to have a talk, a long talk, about how this is going to work and how we’re going to live and, hell, everything.” She licked her lips. “Later.”

She leaned in, moved in slower, kissed him so just their lips were connected. A bridge between now and five years past, not this armored mockery of Barda, but the sweet, free-thinking, beautiful woman he fell in love with. And the two Bardas weren’t not irreconcilable…

He hugged her afterward, wiping at his pained lip. Later sounded like a very good timeframe.

“Although, it would’ve been nice if you’d made your declaration of undying love before we left the planet, so we didn’t have to hitch our way back.”

Scott chuckled and stepped over to the airlock. “Come on. We’re barely out of atmosphere. This is nothing.”

***

The Boomtube deposited them smoothly in the attic of Scott’s house. Scott didn’t think it was too off-target, until he saw Barda’s foot had materialized inside a wall. She pulled it out with a slight shrug. They moved downstairs, trailing plaster. As Scott opened his bedroom door, he felt Barda’s presence behind him, her hot breath baking the back of his neck. It was imposing. Arousing.

He got the door open and virtually stumbled into the bedroom, Barda tripping him up. They both avalanched to the ground, side by side, the impact shaking the room a little. They both laughed, then Barda rolled on top of Scott and began undoing his fly.

“Scott?” It was Oberon, downstairs. “That you?”

“Yeah! Hey, Obi, maybe you’d better head out. Get some coffee or something…”

Barda kissed Scott’s neck. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feeling, but there was that pesky voice again.

“We’ve got coffee.”

“Then catch a movie!”

“Don’t be that way. How’d things go with Barda?”

Barda smirked and tugged Scott’s pants down.

“Uhh… surprisingly well, actually.”

“Good, good. Shame things didn’t work out with Zatanna. If it were me, I would’ve…”

“Oberon!” Barda barked. “You have ten seconds to vacate this house before I hunt you down and skin you to make a new pair of boots!”

They heard the front door open and shut very rapidly.

“I love it when you sweet-talk me,” Scott said.

“I’m still wearing clothes. Why am I still wearing clothes?”

Scott smiled and dove his hands into her armor, remembering the old pattern to taking it off. It’d been a while, but it all came back to him.

The foreplay was a blur, punctuated by a series of crystal-clear memories. Like tears in a rainfall. Her eyelashes brushing his cheeks, their faces were so close. Her hands traveling his shoulders, holding his head in place as they kissed. The feel of her back under his hands, just as unblemished as he remembered, save for a few minor scars.

Then there was the sex, and Scott could live to be 495 without forgetting a single detail of that.

They made it to the bed. Eventually.

***

In all the movies Scott had seen since coming to Earth, a sleeping nude woman looked uncomfortably poised. She would be acutely aware of the film crew, the director, her fellow actors. And the bedsheet would always be drawn up to her chest. In contrast, Barda looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Her face was serene, without an ounce of the flinty hardness he’d associate with her. She slept gently, in complete repose, with the sheet littered across her nude body in a way no movie could replicate. He could care less about how erotic the sight was. The woman he loved was sleeping next to him. She had accepted him, told him she loved him. Five years didn’t matter, were nothing, were less than nothing. A momentary lapse, a detour. They’d laugh about it later. They were in love.

He pulled the sheet over her, kissed her good morning, and left her to sleep in.

“I love you,” Scott said just before he shut the door, as quietly as possible.

Barda stirred.

***

On Oberon’s insistence, the wall safe behind the poster for Papillon was the toughest safe Scott had ever cracked. So much so that he actually found it more convenient to use the combination than to simply… open it. He took out a stack of bills and rifled through them.

Oberon poked his head past the door. “Fireworks over?”

Scott smiled. “For now. You, uh, might wanna call ahead next time you’re coming over.”

“Yeah, I hear that.” Oberon patted Scott’s knee. “Good on ya, kid, I suppose…” He leapt up onto a chair as he watched Scott take out another stack. “You going somewhere?”

“Yeah. Out.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes. Then I’m coming back.”

“Okay. So, where are you going that’s gonna need all that money?”

Scott bit the inside of his lip, like he’d been caught in the middle of a scheme that made perfect sense in his head but would sound foolish out loud. He sat down across from Oberon, chuckling as he stuffed as many dollars as he could into his wallet. “Obi, do you know what the key to a successful escape is?”

“A key?”

“No, although that does help.” Scott leapt to his feet, gesturing with wide-eyed flair. “It’s actually going for it. Planning’s nice, but someone making a spur-of-the-moment run for it can be just as effective, just so long as he goes for it. All the planning, all the preparation, all the tools, they’re useless unless you go for it. Barda’s upstairs. She’s my escape. I’m going for it.”

“So where exactly are you going?”

”To buy a ring.”

”As in engagement ring?”

“Yeah.”

“As in engagement?”

“Yeah.”

“As in marriage?”

“Yeah.”

“As in husband, wife, lawn, white picket fences, kids?”

“Maybe not kids. We might get a puppy. Start small.” Scott folded his wallet into his back pocket. “How much does a good ring go for, anyway?”

***

Excitement carried him through the tire-squealing car ride to the jewelry store, where he was very fortunate to find out that Mother Box had kept the dimensions of Barda’s ring finger on file. It even made the exorbitant price a source of pleasure: If it cost that much, Barda would have to really like it. On the drive home, however, he started to wonder if Barda even knew what a wedding was.

Scott had liked the idea since he’d first heard of it. Togetherness and love and little rings that you could hide all sorts of useful gadgets in with no one being the wiser. And he did love the idea of a big ceremony for no other reason than to let everyone know he loved Barda. Maybe he could get some of those seals from the aquarium that could balance balls on their noses.

He looked in the rear-view mirror at a stop sign. “’Barda, marry me!’ Too forceful… wait, she likes forceful.”

He hit the gas again.

***

Oberon was standing in the doorway when he got home.

“Scott, now, let’s talk about this!”

Scott neatly hurdled him. “Plenty of time to talk during the engagement.”

Oberon could put bloodhounds to shame when he wanted to. He followed Scott up the stairs. “Kid, I know you’re all hump-happy, but marriage is not the answer! Let’s go to Vegas, okay? You’ll love Vegas! Lots of magic, we’ll get you a few hookers, by the time you’ll get back you’ll wonder what you ever saw in Barda.”

“Mrs. Free.”

“She hasn’t even said yes yet!”

“I have a good feeling, though.” Scott stopped at the bedroom door. “Oberon, you’re a bit of a mood-killer. Why don’t you go get some coffee?”

“We have coffee!”

Scott crossed his arms.

“Alright, alright, I’m packing it in.” Oberon marched off. “But don’t come crying to me when you need a divorce! Wait, actually, I know a really good divorce lawyer, I think I have his card around here somewhere.”

“If you think I can’t find a straitjacket in your size, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“I’m going, I’m going…”

Scott took a deep breath and rolled the ring between his fingers. He had already become pretty adept at maneuvering it. He took another deep breath. Sagged against the wall for a long moment while he rubbed the ring’s diamond between thumb and forefinger. He licked at his dry lips, wiped them on the back of his hand, took one last breath and shoved his way inside.

Barda wasn’t there.

Everything was slightly… skewed to one side, the tell-tale concussion of a Boomtube being opened. Scott looked around the room until he saw the pocket recorder planted on the dresser. Barda’s Mega-Rod laid next to it. She’d never go anywhere without that, so…

Stuffing the ring in his pocket, Scott grabbed up the recorder and pressed play.

“Scott…” It was Barda, but her voice was different. Cool. Cold. “You remember those nightmares I told you about?”

Scott began to pace, as if there were some force pushing him through the room.

“They weren’t dreams. They were programming. Darkseid let me escape. Just like he let you escape.”

Scott dug into his pocket and fingered the ring, working his jaw harder and harder.

“You activated the sleeper agent when you told me…” There was a pause that Scott attributed all kinds of meaning to, “’I love you’. And now I’ve gone back. Gone home. If you want me back, you’re to bring the last portion of the Anti-Life Equation to great Darkseid. I’ll be waiting.”

Scott was still holding the tape recorder in his hand when he went downstairs. He only noticed when it fractured in his grip.

Oberon looked at him. “Dear John letter?”

“My name isn’t John,” Scott said numbly. He rewound the tape and played it again, watched as Oberon’s expression fell and fell and fell.

Oberon ran his hands over his face. “Oh boy… What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna go to Apokolips. Then, I’m gonna get my girl back. And for an encore, I’m gonna bring that whole damn world down around Darkseid’s ears.”

Yuletide: You're doing it wrong!

2008-08-16T04:00:04Z

The Adventures of Mistress Gail and the Unfortunate Fates of Dan DiDio and Frank Miller
Fandom: RPF - Comics industry
Written by pervyficgirl for RubyNye
Gail Simone and Devin Grayson give Frank Miller and Dan DiDio well deserved spankings.

Kinda makes you wonder about the Yuletide prompts that weren't used. "Drop a baby off a building and use ASCII art to show me the results." "John Bryne and Chris Claremont - Their falling out was due to a bad break-up. Write about their reunion... with sexy results!" "Write me a Smallville fic - Clark/Lana."

Plus, people? Frank Miller hasn't written anything in continuity since Year One, which everyone agrees was cool. Devin Grayson's wholly weird "oh, it's not rape, it's just not consensual" Nightwing scene? Canon. I dispute the fairness of this spanking! Are we sure Jeph Loeb doesn't deserve it more? Oh, sure, you can say his writing sucked because his son had cancer, but that's more than canceled out by the fact that his writing was so bad it could cause cancer.

I mean, yeah, it sucks that ASSBAR sold more than... I don't know, The Order or whatever, but you can't hate everything that sells more than something you like. Imagine if everything you liked was number one: it'd be like Donnie Darko and Napoleon Dynamite times a thousand. And then comes the tweenies writing badfic on Fanfiction.net... sometimes these things are for the best.

And c'mon, how many more people would've been reading ASSBAR if it weren't for... Halo 2 or The Hills? That's eating up a much bigger portion of entertainment real estate.

It's the most wonderful time of the year...

2008-08-14T19:51:37Z

So, it's International ~~Feel Good About Ourselves~~ Blog Against Racism Week.

Shit, what'd I say?