Carlos
Carlos was a world rewnowned paranormal researcher and leading occult investigator. Like most men of esoteric expertise, Carlos eventually found himself wondering what he would have to do to profit from his bizarre skill sets. Though some may attribute such thinking to greed, I would urge my reader to consider that decling government funds in recent years have left the field of paranormal research in a steady state of decline.
Utilizing a connect he had with a distant cousin, Carlos pitched an idea to CW network execs about a talk show that interviewed all non-human humanoids living among everyday people. He proposed that that show would uncover the cyborg hide, or the undead heart, and reveal that beneath these grotesque layers of monstrosity, laid an undeniable humanity.
CW loved the idea, however chose to market the show in a slightly different light. Market analysts told them that fears sells better then empathy, and so they released a prolific advertising campaign which consisted of magazine and television promos of an elderly man suspciously glancing through his curtains to watch the inhuman silouhette staring back at him from behind his neighbors curtains, accompanied by the ominous tagline "Do You Know What Your Neighbor Really Is?"
Carlos, initially angered over the matter, quicly rationalized that he would use the show to contradict everything the ad's suggested, and bring to light the truth and innocence of these misunderstood creatures.
The show opened disasterously. Immediatly following the fricasse the CW partnered with the ruthless digital detective agency Pinkerton 2.0 to hunt down and destroy every remaining copy of the original broadcast. During this time period, several outspoken bloggers who had seen the written openly about the broadcast disapeared; no official comment has ever been made to their whereabouts. And so eventually, all record and memory of the fabled broadcast vanished into obscurity. Or so we thought.
But once a man travels to the far reaches of the internet, he uncovers things that simply weren't mean to be uncovered.
So it is with great personal risk that I bring to you today the infamous Pilot taping of Carlos. I urge my viewers; watch with caution. The footage you are about to see carries with it a great burden; to bear witness to its existence is to make yourself a target of the CW.
But sometimes the truth is worth such consequences.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The M. Night Shamylan Chronicles: Part I
Part One: Simple Men; Simple Plans
Sanjay was above all else, a simple man.
If anything is to be stressed before we begin our tale it is this.
It is just that he somehow found himself unintentionally tangled in a un-navigable and sticky web of complexity and circumstance. Nothing more; nothing less.
Common wisdom asserts that we can best understand a person by understanding their likes and desires.
I offer a contrary opinion. To truly understand a person one must understand fully their hatreds and dislikes. Happiness and complacency are easier faked than orgasms. But displeasure and rage—the bitter boiling of blood, the vicarious sound of crooked, keratin filled fingernails streaking across a dusty chalkboard that echo through our minds—cannot be hidden. They are the nonverbals of our soul.
So even though we might deduce with some certainty that Bob was charitable because he volunteered at the local SPCA; or that he was nerdy because of his zest for comic books, these offer little insight into the motivations behind his miraculous adventure. To understand this we must, as I have so insightfully proposed, turn to his more “negative emotions.”
Sanjay disliked left turn traffic lights that responded sporadically. Sanjay disliked committees. Even more than these he disliked the tendency of crushed ice to clump into a massive block of frigid particles, clinging precariously to the bottom of the cup, waiting for its sweet release at the precise moment when the unsuspecting drinker tips the glass too far to reach that final drop of liquid.
But among all these lesser dislikes and pet peeves, there was one thing he hated. It was this very thing that shaped not only Sanjay himself, but also the story I tell you today. This soul wrenching, mind raping, hatred was none other than M. Night Shamylan.
He did not hate the man himself. In fact, they actually met once long ago when they were both younger men. Had they had the chance to spend a little more time together they might have even become friends and learned that they shared a great deal in common. So it was not the man he hated, it was his work.
M. Night tormented his audience the way dog owners torment their pets with a game of fetch; the poor canine bastards, bound by some ancient and unavoidable genetic predisposition to follow the stick blindly unto the ends of the earth.
Sanjay despised M. Night’s ego-maniacal insertion of himself into every movie as if to say, look upon me minions, it is I, M. Night, creator of this masterpiece.
He despised the way irrelevant plot lines were introduced only to confuse and sway the viewer from solving the surprise ending.
He despised the way producers must wax their floors each year in the mass accumulation of saliva that gushes from their mouths when they learn of the next Shamylan Blockbuster.
But most of all he despised M. Night because of a broken heart. For that one magical night in 1998, M. Night took him dancing, and showered him in gold and diamonds. They walked beneath infinite expanses of universe, and made love atop equally infinite expanses of cool, summer’s sand. And then when Sanjay awoke the next morning, M. Night was gone.
Oh how the Sixth Sense had dazzled him. He sat tense upon the edge of his seat, leaning so far forward that gravity itself had to bend its previously unflinching laws just to hold him upright. It unfolded like the perfect mystery. On that musky, summer’s eve he was not Sanjay Vindalu; he was R. M. Chesterson, private detective extraordinaire, spending late nights at the County library piecing together the mystery on rusty slides of microfilm.
His infatuation was such that it eventually led him to form the now debunked Northeast Regional M. Night Shamylan Video Store Clerk’s Appreciation and Promotion Club of Loyal and Devoted Enthusiasts, or N. R. M. N. S. V. S. C. A. P. C. L. D. E, as it was sometimes called.
And so in the years that followed the Sixth Sense, Sanjay rightfully expected gold, and was instead showered in coal.
In one of his proudest and most popular blog entries, Sanjay summarized the evolution of M. Night Shamylan’s later films:
Unbreakable. Sure, the film is Unbreakable, unless of course you consider the millions of shattered hopes and expectations it left its wake. Those were quite breakable indeed.
Signs. Oh Yes, I should have seen the “Signs of decline” littered all throughout M. Nights previous endeavor.
The Village. Aptly named for the maximum municipal capacity of people who globally enjoyed the movie.
Lady in the Water. A title that both described the film and the Philadelphia Inquirer’s headline the following morning when Mary Beth McCintyre drowned herself in the fountain at Love Park after enduring 7 minutes of the movie.
He saw in these movies the centuries of torturers who traded their racks and iron maidens for cellulite spools and 8 inch zoom lenses.
They made him feel like a fish caught in the sea of mystery and suspense. And oh how M. Night loved to dangle his silver, streamlined, frilly lure in front of him. And even though in the dark recesses of his subconscious a voice always told him not to bite upon the flash of silver that danced through the sea, compulsion never failed to win out in the end. And when the jagged hook snared his upper lip, he was forced to endure the ride, departing each incident with little more than a sore lip and two hours given to the grave.
In another blog entry, he would later compare the experience of watching M. Night Shamylan’s movies to a night of masturbation; a great deal of effort for mere seconds of payoff.
My readers may ask me, why didn’t Sanjay just boycott the movies and refuse to see them anymore? I had hoped Sanjay’s metaphor of masturbation had cleared that up, but just in case I’ll make it explicitly clear. Just like masturbation, no matter how pointless it seems, no matter how much we may regret it in the end, no matter how many times we promise ourselves we’re never going to do it again, when the loins want some fun, the fly comes undone.
So perhaps it is no surprise that several days before the unveiling of M. Night’s newest project, The Happening, he approached his friend, and former co-chair of N. R. M. N. S. V. S. C. A. P. C. L. D. E, about his radical new idea of how to never again suffer through M. Night’s movies.
He confessed to Milo that he had spent the last few weeks developing a time travel device that would enable him to fast forward through M. Night’s slow and tortuous plot development, allowing him instead to instantaneously see the twist ending, which is collectively agreed to be the only section of M. Night’s movies that is worth a damn.
The device, he explained, suspended its user in a timeless sphere that hovers somewhere in the fourth dimension. Within the sphere time passes in an instant if it passes at all. While outside time passes as normal, and the time traveler is able to wake up at a later period in time, unfazed and unaware that time has passed at all.
My readers might be asking themselves, how does a man like Sanjay, a 32 year old video store clerk who’s greatest accomplishment in life is a scale model of Will Smith punching the alien from Independence Day built entirely from blue Legos, surpass minds as vast as Einstein’s to become the first person to discover time travel.
The answer is quite simple.
As you’ll no doubt remember, Sanjay is above all else a simple man. It is this that guides his fate, as well as the destiny of our story, and it is this that ultimately gives him the prime advantage in the development of time travel.
Time, despite how frequently we attempt to muddy its waters, is a remarkably simple concept. Thus, it requires a remarkably simple mind, with an even more remarkably simple approach to successfully navigate its many dimensions.
Complex men of intellect will therefore develop complicated theories and intricate machines. Their actions will be borne of convoluted intentions, and their agendas will ultimately be riddled with complexities. Time, as one might infer, is not a fan of such vast complexity, and will always counter the development of any method of time travel which approaches the concept with any sort of complexity.
So in the end, all Sanjay had to do was harness his disdain for M. Night, brainstorm a solution, watch a few episodes of McGuvyer, journey to the salvage yard, and several hours later he discovered time travel.
Milo agreed to accompany Sanjay on the time machine’s inaugural journey, if only to laugh and humiliate Sanjay upon what he believed would be the machine’s inevitable failure. Time travel, Milo, would attempt to impart again and again upon Sanjay, is simply not possible from gluing a switchboard, a burnt out computer chip, and the motor of an old blender together inside a cardboard box with Elmer’s glue.
So together they braved the line, taking any opportunity available to poke fun at the devout fans who still believed in the second coming of the Sixth Sense.
They approached the concession stand and Milo bought a large tub of popcorn bathing in butter, while Sanjay refused to buy anything, reminding Milo that he would have no time for snacks where he was going.
And as finally filed into their seats and the lights dimmed as the credits began to inch their way onto the panoramic screen, Sanjay gave Milo one final wink, closed his eyes, and initiated the device.
Instantly he opened his eyes and stared anxiously at the screen only to find that he was looking once again at the opening credits.
What a piece of shit, he thought to himself, discarding his device among the remnants of fallen popcorn kernels. He quickly realized that Milo had been right all along, and that perhaps next time he should use Rubber Cement instead.
And as he turned his head to the right to inform Milo of his failure, he was surprised to see that Milo had been replaced by a wrinkly old gentlemen, several decades his senior, who cowered in the upper right corner of his seat, turgid with fear, staring at Milo as if he had just appeared from the Ether.
In fact, that is precisely what had happened. The poor old man had been enjoying his own buttery tub of popcorn, and when he had turned left to smile and hold the hand of his grandson he saw instead a large, greasy, Indian man crushing the poor boy’s fragile, eight year old bone structure.
I feel compelled to mention that the greatest paradox inherent in time travel is in its development. As I mentioned earlier, only the simplest of minds can create it. But it is the simplest of minds who will also undoubtedly overlook the simplest factors and fail to understand the basic scientific principles necessary in perfecting the process.
There are some in the field of Time Space Continuum Mathematics who argue that this is in fact Time’s great solution for eliminating paradoxes within time travel. By ensuring that only simple minds can create time travel, Time ensures that it will only be stumbled upon by those who are too stupid to make it work..
And so while Sanjay delighted in the brief instant he spent hovering beyond the Earth in his time-neural, fourth dimensional bubble, he forgot the fact that the Earth would continue to turn on its normal 24 hour schedule, spinning at an impressive 800 MPH below. And so, two hours later, it just so happened that the geographic location from which he originally transported was longer be the corresponding geographic location in time which he reemerged.
Instead, he resurfaced two hours West, in a small Midwestern town named Dunville; although he somehow miraculously reappeared inside another movie theatre that happened to be showing the very same movie he had attempted to avert two hours and 1,600 miles earlier.
Rather than cause any more damage to the young boy’s rib cage, the old man’s heart, or his own ego, Sanjay slipped out the emergency exit to walk the unfamiliar streets of his newfound location in search of a Greyhound bus station.
The walk was a walk we’ve all taken before. It is the walk we must face when the truth of our reality becomes apparently clear, and we realize that some battles simply cannot be won. With each step he acclimated himself to the disheartening truth that if he wanted to see M. Nights twist endings in theatres, he would forever be forced to endure the films in their entirety.
As he neared the bright fluorescent light which bathed the pavement of the Greyhound station, he heard a barely audible whisper from an adjacent alleyway which seemed to say “Need some time?”
Curiosity guided his head and he peeked into the narrow alley way only to see an averaged size man leaning at a 60 degree angle against the brick wall. He looked normal enough, despite the fact that he was cloaked in the blackest outfit Sanjay had ever witnessed. It seemed to swallow all the light in a 20 foot radius, and even had an effect on the bright beams that shone above the buildings from the bus station.
Sanjay approached with understandable caution and the shady figure of darkness repeated himself.
“Look for some time,” he said, stretching the final syllable out to echo around the contours of the alley.
Sanjay, confused and still distraught over his failed experiment decided to inquire further into what exactly the man mean by time. Most likely he was some black market clock salesman. Though Sanjay clung to hope that just maybe he was selling some Thyme, which would indeed go very nicely with the stew Sanjay planned to cook later to cheer himself up.
“Time,” the man repeated softer. “The Great Journey. The 4D. Miss Scary Plane. The Relevancy Factor. The STC my friend. Time Travel.”
“You mean to tell me,” Sanjay replied skeptically, “that you are peddling bootlegged time travel in the back alley of a small Midwestern town?”
“Stranger things have happened,” the man replied, shrugging his burly, black shoulders, though the lack of confidence in voice clearly indicated that even he couldn’t believe that statement.
“How do I know this is not a hoax,” Sanjay inquired.
“You’ll just have to trust me the same way you trusted Marty Coopersmith to sell you an official early release copy of Cloverfield instead of some cheap bootleg, Sanjay,” he answered, checking over each shoulder for whatever authorities might police against illegal time dealing.
Sanjay squinted his eyes and bored into to darkness of the figure before him. He logically concluded that no man could possibly know such personal information unless they had previously traveled to this exact moment in time to decipher the precise information necessary to clinch the sale.
And so perhaps it was the curious name drop; or perhaps it is because in the end a bootleg time travel device turned out to be much cheaper than a bus ticket back to Philadelphia. But Sanjay decided to make a deal.
“So where will you be going Sanjay, forward or backward,” the man said opening his coat to reveal a colorful assortment of trinkets and strange, mechanical devices, which all seemed to buzz at a deep and unsettling frequency.
His instincts told him to say forward, but he caught his tongue at the last second. Why continue to go forward when there would always be another movie theatre just beyond the horizon? Why should he continue to fight petty battles with time, trying to outrun this beast that couldn’t be outrun? Why not just go back to the beginning, and rig the race in his favor.
He would travel backward through the mysteries of time on a miraculous journey to the curry swept bazaars of 1970’s Pondicherry, India. He would hunt down M. Night’s father. And on the night before M. Night was to be conceived, he would bind the man to a chair, strand him in an alleyway, and forever avert the ill-fated conception.
He picked his smiling head up to meet the vacuous stare of the mysterious stranger. Extending his hand outward he said, “I’ll take on order of the past please.”
“Oh, and make it to go.”
To Be Continued
Sanjay was above all else, a simple man.
If anything is to be stressed before we begin our tale it is this.
It is just that he somehow found himself unintentionally tangled in a un-navigable and sticky web of complexity and circumstance. Nothing more; nothing less.
Common wisdom asserts that we can best understand a person by understanding their likes and desires.
I offer a contrary opinion. To truly understand a person one must understand fully their hatreds and dislikes. Happiness and complacency are easier faked than orgasms. But displeasure and rage—the bitter boiling of blood, the vicarious sound of crooked, keratin filled fingernails streaking across a dusty chalkboard that echo through our minds—cannot be hidden. They are the nonverbals of our soul.
So even though we might deduce with some certainty that Bob was charitable because he volunteered at the local SPCA; or that he was nerdy because of his zest for comic books, these offer little insight into the motivations behind his miraculous adventure. To understand this we must, as I have so insightfully proposed, turn to his more “negative emotions.”
Sanjay disliked left turn traffic lights that responded sporadically. Sanjay disliked committees. Even more than these he disliked the tendency of crushed ice to clump into a massive block of frigid particles, clinging precariously to the bottom of the cup, waiting for its sweet release at the precise moment when the unsuspecting drinker tips the glass too far to reach that final drop of liquid.
But among all these lesser dislikes and pet peeves, there was one thing he hated. It was this very thing that shaped not only Sanjay himself, but also the story I tell you today. This soul wrenching, mind raping, hatred was none other than M. Night Shamylan.
He did not hate the man himself. In fact, they actually met once long ago when they were both younger men. Had they had the chance to spend a little more time together they might have even become friends and learned that they shared a great deal in common. So it was not the man he hated, it was his work.
M. Night tormented his audience the way dog owners torment their pets with a game of fetch; the poor canine bastards, bound by some ancient and unavoidable genetic predisposition to follow the stick blindly unto the ends of the earth.
Sanjay despised M. Night’s ego-maniacal insertion of himself into every movie as if to say, look upon me minions, it is I, M. Night, creator of this masterpiece.
He despised the way irrelevant plot lines were introduced only to confuse and sway the viewer from solving the surprise ending.
He despised the way producers must wax their floors each year in the mass accumulation of saliva that gushes from their mouths when they learn of the next Shamylan Blockbuster.
But most of all he despised M. Night because of a broken heart. For that one magical night in 1998, M. Night took him dancing, and showered him in gold and diamonds. They walked beneath infinite expanses of universe, and made love atop equally infinite expanses of cool, summer’s sand. And then when Sanjay awoke the next morning, M. Night was gone.
Oh how the Sixth Sense had dazzled him. He sat tense upon the edge of his seat, leaning so far forward that gravity itself had to bend its previously unflinching laws just to hold him upright. It unfolded like the perfect mystery. On that musky, summer’s eve he was not Sanjay Vindalu; he was R. M. Chesterson, private detective extraordinaire, spending late nights at the County library piecing together the mystery on rusty slides of microfilm.
His infatuation was such that it eventually led him to form the now debunked Northeast Regional M. Night Shamylan Video Store Clerk’s Appreciation and Promotion Club of Loyal and Devoted Enthusiasts, or N. R. M. N. S. V. S. C. A. P. C. L. D. E, as it was sometimes called.
And so in the years that followed the Sixth Sense, Sanjay rightfully expected gold, and was instead showered in coal.
In one of his proudest and most popular blog entries, Sanjay summarized the evolution of M. Night Shamylan’s later films:
Unbreakable. Sure, the film is Unbreakable, unless of course you consider the millions of shattered hopes and expectations it left its wake. Those were quite breakable indeed.
Signs. Oh Yes, I should have seen the “Signs of decline” littered all throughout M. Nights previous endeavor.
The Village. Aptly named for the maximum municipal capacity of people who globally enjoyed the movie.
Lady in the Water. A title that both described the film and the Philadelphia Inquirer’s headline the following morning when Mary Beth McCintyre drowned herself in the fountain at Love Park after enduring 7 minutes of the movie.
He saw in these movies the centuries of torturers who traded their racks and iron maidens for cellulite spools and 8 inch zoom lenses.
They made him feel like a fish caught in the sea of mystery and suspense. And oh how M. Night loved to dangle his silver, streamlined, frilly lure in front of him. And even though in the dark recesses of his subconscious a voice always told him not to bite upon the flash of silver that danced through the sea, compulsion never failed to win out in the end. And when the jagged hook snared his upper lip, he was forced to endure the ride, departing each incident with little more than a sore lip and two hours given to the grave.
In another blog entry, he would later compare the experience of watching M. Night Shamylan’s movies to a night of masturbation; a great deal of effort for mere seconds of payoff.
My readers may ask me, why didn’t Sanjay just boycott the movies and refuse to see them anymore? I had hoped Sanjay’s metaphor of masturbation had cleared that up, but just in case I’ll make it explicitly clear. Just like masturbation, no matter how pointless it seems, no matter how much we may regret it in the end, no matter how many times we promise ourselves we’re never going to do it again, when the loins want some fun, the fly comes undone.
So perhaps it is no surprise that several days before the unveiling of M. Night’s newest project, The Happening, he approached his friend, and former co-chair of N. R. M. N. S. V. S. C. A. P. C. L. D. E, about his radical new idea of how to never again suffer through M. Night’s movies.
He confessed to Milo that he had spent the last few weeks developing a time travel device that would enable him to fast forward through M. Night’s slow and tortuous plot development, allowing him instead to instantaneously see the twist ending, which is collectively agreed to be the only section of M. Night’s movies that is worth a damn.
The device, he explained, suspended its user in a timeless sphere that hovers somewhere in the fourth dimension. Within the sphere time passes in an instant if it passes at all. While outside time passes as normal, and the time traveler is able to wake up at a later period in time, unfazed and unaware that time has passed at all.
My readers might be asking themselves, how does a man like Sanjay, a 32 year old video store clerk who’s greatest accomplishment in life is a scale model of Will Smith punching the alien from Independence Day built entirely from blue Legos, surpass minds as vast as Einstein’s to become the first person to discover time travel.
The answer is quite simple.
As you’ll no doubt remember, Sanjay is above all else a simple man. It is this that guides his fate, as well as the destiny of our story, and it is this that ultimately gives him the prime advantage in the development of time travel.
Time, despite how frequently we attempt to muddy its waters, is a remarkably simple concept. Thus, it requires a remarkably simple mind, with an even more remarkably simple approach to successfully navigate its many dimensions.
Complex men of intellect will therefore develop complicated theories and intricate machines. Their actions will be borne of convoluted intentions, and their agendas will ultimately be riddled with complexities. Time, as one might infer, is not a fan of such vast complexity, and will always counter the development of any method of time travel which approaches the concept with any sort of complexity.
So in the end, all Sanjay had to do was harness his disdain for M. Night, brainstorm a solution, watch a few episodes of McGuvyer, journey to the salvage yard, and several hours later he discovered time travel.
Milo agreed to accompany Sanjay on the time machine’s inaugural journey, if only to laugh and humiliate Sanjay upon what he believed would be the machine’s inevitable failure. Time travel, Milo, would attempt to impart again and again upon Sanjay, is simply not possible from gluing a switchboard, a burnt out computer chip, and the motor of an old blender together inside a cardboard box with Elmer’s glue.
So together they braved the line, taking any opportunity available to poke fun at the devout fans who still believed in the second coming of the Sixth Sense.
They approached the concession stand and Milo bought a large tub of popcorn bathing in butter, while Sanjay refused to buy anything, reminding Milo that he would have no time for snacks where he was going.
And as finally filed into their seats and the lights dimmed as the credits began to inch their way onto the panoramic screen, Sanjay gave Milo one final wink, closed his eyes, and initiated the device.
Instantly he opened his eyes and stared anxiously at the screen only to find that he was looking once again at the opening credits.
What a piece of shit, he thought to himself, discarding his device among the remnants of fallen popcorn kernels. He quickly realized that Milo had been right all along, and that perhaps next time he should use Rubber Cement instead.
And as he turned his head to the right to inform Milo of his failure, he was surprised to see that Milo had been replaced by a wrinkly old gentlemen, several decades his senior, who cowered in the upper right corner of his seat, turgid with fear, staring at Milo as if he had just appeared from the Ether.
In fact, that is precisely what had happened. The poor old man had been enjoying his own buttery tub of popcorn, and when he had turned left to smile and hold the hand of his grandson he saw instead a large, greasy, Indian man crushing the poor boy’s fragile, eight year old bone structure.
I feel compelled to mention that the greatest paradox inherent in time travel is in its development. As I mentioned earlier, only the simplest of minds can create it. But it is the simplest of minds who will also undoubtedly overlook the simplest factors and fail to understand the basic scientific principles necessary in perfecting the process.
There are some in the field of Time Space Continuum Mathematics who argue that this is in fact Time’s great solution for eliminating paradoxes within time travel. By ensuring that only simple minds can create time travel, Time ensures that it will only be stumbled upon by those who are too stupid to make it work..
And so while Sanjay delighted in the brief instant he spent hovering beyond the Earth in his time-neural, fourth dimensional bubble, he forgot the fact that the Earth would continue to turn on its normal 24 hour schedule, spinning at an impressive 800 MPH below. And so, two hours later, it just so happened that the geographic location from which he originally transported was longer be the corresponding geographic location in time which he reemerged.
Instead, he resurfaced two hours West, in a small Midwestern town named Dunville; although he somehow miraculously reappeared inside another movie theatre that happened to be showing the very same movie he had attempted to avert two hours and 1,600 miles earlier.
Rather than cause any more damage to the young boy’s rib cage, the old man’s heart, or his own ego, Sanjay slipped out the emergency exit to walk the unfamiliar streets of his newfound location in search of a Greyhound bus station.
The walk was a walk we’ve all taken before. It is the walk we must face when the truth of our reality becomes apparently clear, and we realize that some battles simply cannot be won. With each step he acclimated himself to the disheartening truth that if he wanted to see M. Nights twist endings in theatres, he would forever be forced to endure the films in their entirety.
As he neared the bright fluorescent light which bathed the pavement of the Greyhound station, he heard a barely audible whisper from an adjacent alleyway which seemed to say “Need some time?”
Curiosity guided his head and he peeked into the narrow alley way only to see an averaged size man leaning at a 60 degree angle against the brick wall. He looked normal enough, despite the fact that he was cloaked in the blackest outfit Sanjay had ever witnessed. It seemed to swallow all the light in a 20 foot radius, and even had an effect on the bright beams that shone above the buildings from the bus station.
Sanjay approached with understandable caution and the shady figure of darkness repeated himself.
“Look for some time,” he said, stretching the final syllable out to echo around the contours of the alley.
Sanjay, confused and still distraught over his failed experiment decided to inquire further into what exactly the man mean by time. Most likely he was some black market clock salesman. Though Sanjay clung to hope that just maybe he was selling some Thyme, which would indeed go very nicely with the stew Sanjay planned to cook later to cheer himself up.
“Time,” the man repeated softer. “The Great Journey. The 4D. Miss Scary Plane. The Relevancy Factor. The STC my friend. Time Travel.”
“You mean to tell me,” Sanjay replied skeptically, “that you are peddling bootlegged time travel in the back alley of a small Midwestern town?”
“Stranger things have happened,” the man replied, shrugging his burly, black shoulders, though the lack of confidence in voice clearly indicated that even he couldn’t believe that statement.
“How do I know this is not a hoax,” Sanjay inquired.
“You’ll just have to trust me the same way you trusted Marty Coopersmith to sell you an official early release copy of Cloverfield instead of some cheap bootleg, Sanjay,” he answered, checking over each shoulder for whatever authorities might police against illegal time dealing.
Sanjay squinted his eyes and bored into to darkness of the figure before him. He logically concluded that no man could possibly know such personal information unless they had previously traveled to this exact moment in time to decipher the precise information necessary to clinch the sale.
And so perhaps it was the curious name drop; or perhaps it is because in the end a bootleg time travel device turned out to be much cheaper than a bus ticket back to Philadelphia. But Sanjay decided to make a deal.
“So where will you be going Sanjay, forward or backward,” the man said opening his coat to reveal a colorful assortment of trinkets and strange, mechanical devices, which all seemed to buzz at a deep and unsettling frequency.
His instincts told him to say forward, but he caught his tongue at the last second. Why continue to go forward when there would always be another movie theatre just beyond the horizon? Why should he continue to fight petty battles with time, trying to outrun this beast that couldn’t be outrun? Why not just go back to the beginning, and rig the race in his favor.
He would travel backward through the mysteries of time on a miraculous journey to the curry swept bazaars of 1970’s Pondicherry, India. He would hunt down M. Night’s father. And on the night before M. Night was to be conceived, he would bind the man to a chair, strand him in an alleyway, and forever avert the ill-fated conception.
He picked his smiling head up to meet the vacuous stare of the mysterious stranger. Extending his hand outward he said, “I’ll take on order of the past please.”
“Oh, and make it to go.”
To Be Continued
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
The Matrix and the Media
So at the end of the night (if they survive) they can comfortably tuck themselves into their Zionist beds, or binary programming sleeping chambers or the equivalent and not worry about the impact they may have had upon “the false reality.”
But what about the billions to which the Matrix is reality who are forced to live in the wake of cataclysmic car crashes, impossible breaches of physical law, and a manical doppelganger bent on world destruction. Truth, as Morpheus so adequately puts it, can only be inferred to the point of our senses abilities. And in this regard that Matrix is their only reality.
So I found myself wondering how their news outlets would report the horror they saw all around them. What would be the headlines? The timeline?
Of course we could argue that the machines would reprogram everything so no one could experience each horrible event. But lets assume, just for one second, that even above the confines of their own programming, the machines believe in one thing absolutely—freedom of the press
“High Profile Breakout Leaves 30 Dead: Morpheus Involvement Questioned” The City Herald, May 1999.
A breakout from a high security government facility today left upwards of 30 people dead, with countless more injured and an estimated $500,000 in property damages. Inside sources say the Federal building in downtown
The terrorist duo killed over 30 highly trained security guards before piloting a stolen Black Hawk helicopter into the 89th floor of the building. The helicopter destroyed several floors of the building and hospitalized numerous office workers. All buildings within 5 city blocks remain closed until city officials can determine whether the building structure will remain supported.
Jeffery Garrison, a security guard who survived the break in, told CNN that the terrorists “moved like Marionettes under the puppettering of a twisted and evil God. A complete perversion of physical law.” Mr. Garrison was later taken into questioning by government officials. Police commissioner Jaffe has put the city on alert, advising the citizens to be on the lookout for these skilled and highly dangerous terrorists.
“Doppelgangers Stole My Husband,” Super Mega World Supermarket Enquirer, January 2000
Elma Marie Black told SMWSE Thursday that doppelganger aliens from the planet Matrix have transformed her husband into one of their kind. She told reporters that she and her husband were enjoying a walk in the
Ms. Black is currently being treated for severe mental exhaustion at
“Study Finds Local Increases in Déjà vu; Study Finds Local Increases in Deja vu,” Daily Entertainment Section, May 2000
Feeling like you’ve had a lot of Déjà vu Lately? You may not be alone. A recent study conducted by the
“911 Calls Abuzz with Reports of Mysterious Doppelganger,” The City Herald, June 2000.
Reports are issuing from all over the city of a “doppelganger” dressed in a brown blazer and black sunglasses who injects unsuspecting people with a copy of himself. Numerous reports bearing similarity to these claims were dismissed at earlier dates; however, due to the high influx of 911 calls, city officials have decided to stage a full investigation into the culprit. More developments will follow.
“Highway to Hell: “Automobiles” and “Conventions of Reality” Left Smashed in Wake,” The City Herald, July 2000
Three separate incidences along route 101 today left numerous people dead and miles of highway in ruin.
The first case involved a car chase that spilled over from the Winslow Overpass. Two Cadillac’s fired at one another across several miles of highway, leaving several dead and a 10 car pile up in their wake.
Later, in a horribly miscalculated attempt at vigilante justice, a police officer in a brown tweed suit was reported jumping from his cruiser onto a nearby Saturn, crushing the automobile and precipitating another devastating pile up. Police chiefs have not returned any comment concerning the officer’s identity or whereabouts.
Several miles up the road, eyewitnesses report that a Caucasian woman and Korean male leapt from another overpass onto a semi-truck and proceeded to steal a Ninja motorcycle. The woman then turned the motorcycle around and drove against traffic, causing several more accidents before she disappeared. Police are still looking for her whereabouts.
Several more miles up the road, two males were spotted standing atop of another semi. They were later joined by a Caucasian male who began fighting with one of them. One eyewitness describes the fighting as a mix between “aerobics” and “everything they teach you isn’t possible in physics class.”
For unknown reasons, a truck half a mile ahead suddenly pulled a u-turn and drove head first into the truck that carried the men on top. Eyewitness accounts say truck that carried the men didn’t try to divert its course, and appeared intent on colliding with the other truck. The explosion destroyed over 200 yards of highway and killed upwards of 50 people. Route 101 has been temporarily closed for investigation and all traffic is being re-routed through route 89.
Police are currently investigating the possibility of a connection between the three incidences. Police commissioner Jaffe had this to say. “My rational mind cannot believe that six unrelated individuals randomly decided to create mayhem and destruction within 10 miles of one another with no aggregate agenda. We will discover the culprits, and they will be brought to justice.”
“Physics Defiled,” Special Reports Bulletin,
Just hours after a horrific accident left 20 miles worth of destruction on route 101, a large Federal building known colloquially as the Midnight Tower, exploded tonight sometime after midnight. The explosion was of cataclysmic proportions. The blast somehow created a back-draft unlike anything ever witnessed outside of nuclear technology. A powerful wind tunnel was ejected from the building, and continued linearly with impeccable speed, creating a vortex in its wake that sucked up any automobiles, person, or loose object, and emitted powerful shockwaves that leveled all buildings in its path.
Estimates place the number dead in the thousands, and destruction to downtown is beyond belief. But even more puzzling then the destruction left in its wake, is the phenomenon itself. Scientists from all over the City and beyond are hard at work to determine the mysterious cause of the blast and the back-draft that followed.
The Mayor is expected to make a press release shortly.
The incident comes in the wake of an even more harrowing problem. It has now been confirmed that some kind of organism or machine is cloning itself from the bodies of human beings. Once cloned, these highly dangerous doppelgangers become obedient minions to the Alpha subject—a creature calling itself Smith.
Government officials believe there may be some connection between the explosion and the “Smith Organism,” citing potential involvement of terrorist forces from
The president has issued a state of emergency and advised civilians to remain in their homes and barricade their doors. If you cannot get to your room, we advise you seek shelter. Your local news station will now broadcast a list of local shelters as we continue our coverage of these mysterious events.
“The End?” Emergency Broadcast Report, Daniel Nelson.
The life of a reporter is a difficult one. People have forgotten in our world of corporate buyouts and in your face streaming media, that a reporter is not a mindless automaton but a human being. Perhaps our greatest curse is that to serve our country and uphold the values of the Fourth Estate, we must sheath our own opinions and biases for the sake of total objectivity.
So now, in what is surely one of the Earth’s last remaining broadcasts, this reporter is faced with an ethical dilemma. In the absence of any governing structure, and facing an unprecedented and apocalyptic danger, do I still remain true to my charge of objectivity? Or do I use these final remaining minutes to express the feelings long quarantined in my head.
To answer, I propose a question. Is there really a difference anymore? Objectivity is a reflection of reality. It is defined by what we can see, smell, taste, hear, and feel. We react immediately to these senses, letting them process no deeper into our psyche then what’s necessary to deliver them to the public.
But what happens when what we see and feel is what we’ve always been taught isn’t real? What happens when what we see all around cannot be explained by any science, logic, or reason? But only by our own beliefs and interpretations?
The Apocalypse, whatever that means to you, has arrived. And he is wearing sunglasses. At first, we could rest assured in the belief that this “thing” was nothing more than a high-tech weapon from enemy insurgents, and that our government would deal with it swiftly. Now, reports from our suspected enemies,
And then the more harrowing detail. Other enemies,
How do you kill a thing that cannot be killed? How do you kill a thing that only adds to its army for subtraction it inflicts upon you? Perhaps this is God’s cosmic sense of irony, that we were all born into this world as one and we shall leave it as such.
And now in the late hours of our specie’s twilight, when the very fabric our existence peels back to reveal the horrific, I find myself sitting alone, my colleagues all gone, broadcasting to an audience who may very well already be dead. And I am overcome with the strange desire to have Smith assimilate me. I long to taste the silvery liquid as it trickles down my throat and consumes my body until I awake as him.
Why? Despair? Perhaps. Forfeit? Perhaps as well. But when it all buckles down I believe the reason is this. I just want to feel something new. I want the horror to stop, the tears to ceases, and the shaking to abide. I want to put down the microphone and smash the radio and scream, TAKE ME SMITH, TAKE ME.
But alas, the curse of the newsman is that I shall not. I cannot, while the possibility still remains that some of you are out there, alone, confused, frightened longing for one last connection before the long, and silent repose.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
History Uncovered: The Romero Project
In my journey across the internet, I came across this speech transcript burried deep within the archives at the Library of Congress. Though I can't be certain, I would wager it is the only surviving copy: proof of the Romero Project. And I bring it first to you (if there are any of you). Enjoy
April 25th, 1967: Classified: President Lyndon B Johnson addresses the Romero Project
If you look around this table you’ll see democrats and you’ll see republicans. You’ll see white leaders as well as leaders of the black community. You’ll see men of Jewish faith; you’ll see women of Christian faith. You’ll those of wealth, and those of poverty. What you’ll see is a cosmopolitan blend cooked up from the very heart of this country’s diversity.
Yet, my purpose is not the creation of a utopian ideal, or a strategic shift of the status quo. My purpose is to bring to your attention an issue of such catastrophic importance that it requires we transcend all human prejudices. I ask all of you now, put aside your differences and bridge your diverse backgrounds. The only distinction that really matters anymore is the distinction between the living and the undead.
[confused glances and slight mumbling is heard]
I’ve spent several nights now, gazing at the Washington sky from my balcony on Pennsylvania Ave, Lady at my side, grappling with the best way to deliver the words I must say to all of you. And I believe Lady put it best: though they may laugh, scoff, protest, or even attempt to leave at first, history always honors direct and truthful leaders. And so in honor that fact, ladies and gentlemen, the dead are walking the earth.
[outbursts, cries, laughter fills them room]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please, contain yourself. Please hold any comments you wish to make about my senility until after I show you what I have seen. Major, please roll the footage.
[Lights dim. Footage comes on of what could be any small southwestern town. Though people are screaming, blood is everywhere, and what looks like human beings with decaying flesh is tearing everything in sight to bits. Even men with guns cannot seem to bring down such devilry]
[The audience is now silent]
My esteemed colleagues, right now you are looking at in the simplest terms the dead rising from the earth to eat the living. Voodoo calls them zombies and I find the name appropriate. We don’t know what caused it and are at a complete loss to what is fueling its onslaught. All we know is that it is happening and that whatever virus or plague drives these creatures is highly contagious.
[He flicks off the video and turns on the light]
We do however possess a certain degree of knowledge about our foes. They possess limited motor skills and an almost complete absence of cognitive processing. They appear to show no need for water, sleep, or even food. Our initial tests confirm that even though they eat human flesh it appears not to sustain them. It’s as if they eat out of the most primal of need. A need we may never fully understand.
But like all organisms, we can stop them. We have discovered that destroying the brain or severing it from the body, we can eliminate the zombie menaces.
I’ll admit, recent decision I’ve made regarding Vietnam and my almost complete inability to follow through with the War on Poverty is in a large part a consequence of what you’ve seen here today. And although popular history will never forgive me for what they can’t possibly understand, I hope that you all will.
As of now, the problem is small and largely isolated in the Southwest. So we can contain it. But for how long? Arrogance and pride, my friends. We cannot let these dual mindsets guide our hand in ignorance ay longer. Too long have these vices led us astray, charging us headfirst into the future, never once facing the consequences of our actions. This arrogance would have us pridefully declare our superiority over the zombie menace, and as a consequence we would never prepare our people for the possibility that we might not be. The grand What If.
We must warn the American people. But can you imagine for one second what that means? Amid the turbulent seas that shake the fragile ship of these 1960’s, could this nation which holds on by hope alone withstand such a blow to their reality?
I think not.
But we cannot leave them unprepared. Thus is our great burden. How do we inform without directly altering, and how to we prepare without alarming?
The solution, ladies and gentlemen, lies in the mind of one man. This man was fortunate to witness the destruction in the Southwest first hand. And because of what he saw, he shares a similar mindset and what must be done. It is my pleasure to introduce you to George Romero.
[confused applause as if they're still grappling with the video. A lanky man in his late 20's with large rimmed glasses stands beside LBJ and waves. He then retreats back into the shadows]
Hollywood, my friends. Hollywood is our answer. A multi-billion dollar a year industry, frequented regularly even in these times of crisis.
Mr. Romero will direct three feature length films depicting the zombie menace in a fictional light. He will spread the films out over several decades so that subsequent generations will be given a fresh chance at understanding the zombie menace.
Each film will chronicle a different stage in what our zombie analysts have determined a “projected outbreak” would look like. Film one will detail the uncertainty and terror which grips people during an initial outbreak, as they flee to defend themselves. Film two will detail the undead beginning to gain ground over the humans. And the third film…well the third film is our worst case scenario. It will chronicle a world overrun by the undead. But in many ways it is the most important film in my heart. Its message will be singular; its message will be simple. Survive…at any cost.
Romero and several other advisors will form a dummy production company, Image Ten Productions, as a front. Their budget will be small, so to keep the facade that they are acting out of their own intention and are not supported by a government budget.
To the American people, these movies will be no more than a new and different take on horror. They may flee the theatre in terror and they may cringe. But at the end of the night they will return to their bedrooms safe in their belief that there is no such thing as zombies, and that they are simply Hollywood’s next big moneymaker.
This will be the first accomplishment of the Romero project—ignorance. People don’t believe Hollywood, and have even less trust in science fiction and horror. “Creating” the zombie menance for Hollywood will convince people that it cannot possibly be real. And this insulates them from the truth for the time being.
But the most important accomplishment of the RP will be in unconscious preparation. I ask you my colleagues, if Dracula were to rise from the earth tomorrow, and considering recent circumstances that might not be too implausible, how would you dispense of him? What about a werewolf?
These tales, passed down through centuries of literature are ingrained so deeply within our culture that we wouldn’t hesitate to find a cross or a silver bullet. I believe Romero’s films will do the same. They will arm our citizens with the knowledge of how to kill zombies, the infectious nature of the bite, where to run in times of crisis, and the nature of the foe.
Long have we been cast as the beacon of freedom and action for the entire world. Can we prove that now? I assure you, we will do everything in our power to ensure this threat is neutralized, but if we cannot, do we leave people to their own defenses, or do we become the one nation that prepares them? When this menace comes knocking at our door, will we turn our backs, or will we answer the call? Will we be just any other nation? Or will we be America?
Thank you.
April 25th, 1967: Classified: President Lyndon B Johnson addresses the Romero Project
If you look around this table you’ll see democrats and you’ll see republicans. You’ll see white leaders as well as leaders of the black community. You’ll see men of Jewish faith; you’ll see women of Christian faith. You’ll those of wealth, and those of poverty. What you’ll see is a cosmopolitan blend cooked up from the very heart of this country’s diversity.
Yet, my purpose is not the creation of a utopian ideal, or a strategic shift of the status quo. My purpose is to bring to your attention an issue of such catastrophic importance that it requires we transcend all human prejudices. I ask all of you now, put aside your differences and bridge your diverse backgrounds. The only distinction that really matters anymore is the distinction between the living and the undead.
[confused glances and slight mumbling is heard]
I’ve spent several nights now, gazing at the Washington sky from my balcony on Pennsylvania Ave, Lady at my side, grappling with the best way to deliver the words I must say to all of you. And I believe Lady put it best: though they may laugh, scoff, protest, or even attempt to leave at first, history always honors direct and truthful leaders. And so in honor that fact, ladies and gentlemen, the dead are walking the earth.
[outbursts, cries, laughter fills them room]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please, contain yourself. Please hold any comments you wish to make about my senility until after I show you what I have seen. Major, please roll the footage.
[Lights dim. Footage comes on of what could be any small southwestern town. Though people are screaming, blood is everywhere, and what looks like human beings with decaying flesh is tearing everything in sight to bits. Even men with guns cannot seem to bring down such devilry]
[The audience is now silent]
My esteemed colleagues, right now you are looking at in the simplest terms the dead rising from the earth to eat the living. Voodoo calls them zombies and I find the name appropriate. We don’t know what caused it and are at a complete loss to what is fueling its onslaught. All we know is that it is happening and that whatever virus or plague drives these creatures is highly contagious.
[He flicks off the video and turns on the light]
We do however possess a certain degree of knowledge about our foes. They possess limited motor skills and an almost complete absence of cognitive processing. They appear to show no need for water, sleep, or even food. Our initial tests confirm that even though they eat human flesh it appears not to sustain them. It’s as if they eat out of the most primal of need. A need we may never fully understand.
But like all organisms, we can stop them. We have discovered that destroying the brain or severing it from the body, we can eliminate the zombie menaces.
I’ll admit, recent decision I’ve made regarding Vietnam and my almost complete inability to follow through with the War on Poverty is in a large part a consequence of what you’ve seen here today. And although popular history will never forgive me for what they can’t possibly understand, I hope that you all will.
As of now, the problem is small and largely isolated in the Southwest. So we can contain it. But for how long? Arrogance and pride, my friends. We cannot let these dual mindsets guide our hand in ignorance ay longer. Too long have these vices led us astray, charging us headfirst into the future, never once facing the consequences of our actions. This arrogance would have us pridefully declare our superiority over the zombie menace, and as a consequence we would never prepare our people for the possibility that we might not be. The grand What If.
We must warn the American people. But can you imagine for one second what that means? Amid the turbulent seas that shake the fragile ship of these 1960’s, could this nation which holds on by hope alone withstand such a blow to their reality?
I think not.
But we cannot leave them unprepared. Thus is our great burden. How do we inform without directly altering, and how to we prepare without alarming?
The solution, ladies and gentlemen, lies in the mind of one man. This man was fortunate to witness the destruction in the Southwest first hand. And because of what he saw, he shares a similar mindset and what must be done. It is my pleasure to introduce you to George Romero.
[confused applause as if they're still grappling with the video. A lanky man in his late 20's with large rimmed glasses stands beside LBJ and waves. He then retreats back into the shadows]
Hollywood, my friends. Hollywood is our answer. A multi-billion dollar a year industry, frequented regularly even in these times of crisis.
Mr. Romero will direct three feature length films depicting the zombie menace in a fictional light. He will spread the films out over several decades so that subsequent generations will be given a fresh chance at understanding the zombie menace.
Each film will chronicle a different stage in what our zombie analysts have determined a “projected outbreak” would look like. Film one will detail the uncertainty and terror which grips people during an initial outbreak, as they flee to defend themselves. Film two will detail the undead beginning to gain ground over the humans. And the third film…well the third film is our worst case scenario. It will chronicle a world overrun by the undead. But in many ways it is the most important film in my heart. Its message will be singular; its message will be simple. Survive…at any cost.
Romero and several other advisors will form a dummy production company, Image Ten Productions, as a front. Their budget will be small, so to keep the facade that they are acting out of their own intention and are not supported by a government budget.
To the American people, these movies will be no more than a new and different take on horror. They may flee the theatre in terror and they may cringe. But at the end of the night they will return to their bedrooms safe in their belief that there is no such thing as zombies, and that they are simply Hollywood’s next big moneymaker.
This will be the first accomplishment of the Romero project—ignorance. People don’t believe Hollywood, and have even less trust in science fiction and horror. “Creating” the zombie menance for Hollywood will convince people that it cannot possibly be real. And this insulates them from the truth for the time being.
But the most important accomplishment of the RP will be in unconscious preparation. I ask you my colleagues, if Dracula were to rise from the earth tomorrow, and considering recent circumstances that might not be too implausible, how would you dispense of him? What about a werewolf?
These tales, passed down through centuries of literature are ingrained so deeply within our culture that we wouldn’t hesitate to find a cross or a silver bullet. I believe Romero’s films will do the same. They will arm our citizens with the knowledge of how to kill zombies, the infectious nature of the bite, where to run in times of crisis, and the nature of the foe.
Long have we been cast as the beacon of freedom and action for the entire world. Can we prove that now? I assure you, we will do everything in our power to ensure this threat is neutralized, but if we cannot, do we leave people to their own defenses, or do we become the one nation that prepares them? When this menace comes knocking at our door, will we turn our backs, or will we answer the call? Will we be just any other nation? Or will we be America?
Thank you.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Rare Footage of the Legendary battle on the CrossFire Plains.
The ancients called it the Crossfire. A long, barren valley, razed beyond all organic tolerance, eclipsed by the world’s great mountains, and consumed by clouds which gave new meaning to darkness. Deep within its saw-toothed rocks pulsed the blood of ancient deities, for long ago, the God’s had used it as a battlefield. A place where all great quarrels over the governance of man found their answers upon the blades of these titans. It is a spiritual place. It is a place of courage and war. But most of all, it is a place of honor.
But now, many years later, upon these rocks stood a reluctant warrior. He was a foreigner to this newfound world of epic saga’s and selfless heroism. Like some wayward dandelion, blown by chaotic winds into a forest of redwood giants.
Had it only been three weeks since he last plowed his fields, sheltered in his serenity, ignorant and oblivious to the evils growing in the West? How now, he wondered, could two such opposite places exist beneath the same moon? And how he wished that by simply staring at the milky, iridescent sphere which brightened the Eastern skies he could transport himself back to his farm; perched atop a plow instead of this hover-board; resting his laurels atop a shovel and not a blade.
But there was no moon to see in this place; no sun and no sky either. Fires had consumed this world; leaving in their ashes a smoldering trail of wreckage and ruin.
The Fire. How it burned crimson behind Morticai’s sinister eyes—the eyes which at this very moment bored into the soul of the reluctant warrior from across the battlefield. These eyes held the tales of all the fires that had stripped the world of its beauty, and raped her of her sovereignty. And what more, it told tales of the future; of the fires that would burn, unabated, fueled by the very desecration they create.
If vengeance is not achieved upon this ancient battlefield, then upon the warrior’s home the hammer would surely fall. And like the rest of the world, it would not crush it entirely, but rather descend upon it as a wayward hammer falls upon a nail: bending it beneath the force of the blow, thrusting the spine out into a jagged and misshapen kink. Irreparably crippling the nail; disfigured, but still alive, snared deep within the cedar, forced to forever watch in horror as the hammer rears to strike again, and the fires continue to burn.
The fires must be extinguished….
This videogram is the only recovered footage from this epic battle.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Knowledge is Power
Its 8 oclock at night--do you know who your next door neighbor is?
They prey on our electricity, pollute our gene pool, and feast on our brains. They are Alternate Humans and they have come to conquer us.
Cyborgs, aliens, humans, zombies--these creatures are not the future, but a present gone horribly wrong. It is up to YOU the American citizen to protect our way of life from these savage beasts of perversion.
In conjunction with the United States Department of Agriculture , we have created a special educational video to arm Americans with the knowledge they need to rid the world of these infestations.
Remember citizens: Diligence prevails!!!
They prey on our electricity, pollute our gene pool, and feast on our brains. They are Alternate Humans and they have come to conquer us.
Cyborgs, aliens, humans, zombies--these creatures are not the future, but a present gone horribly wrong. It is up to YOU the American citizen to protect our way of life from these savage beasts of perversion.
In conjunction with the United States Department of Agriculture , we have created a special educational video to arm Americans with the knowledge they need to rid the world of these infestations.
Remember citizens: Diligence prevails!!!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Top Ten Greatest Zombie Movies of All Time
It is the mostly heavily debated topic in the Science Fiction universe. Scientists and politicians alike have wasted away to nothing in pursuit of its answer. And here I stand, little more than a common man with the answer to the most sought after answer of human history: what are the 10 greatest zombie movies?
Until 28 Days Later. And it succeeds in creating terror in so many ways. The barren austerity of what was once a bustling metropolis. A soundtrack that has Brian Eno locking his doors has night. Zombies possessed by the most destructive of all human emotions. And perhaps most terryfing is their take on what it means to survive. Why do human beings choose to carry on? Why do we survive? In a world where people have not only lost their parents and friends, but probably had to kill their families to save themselves, why continue? Do we cling to hope for the future? Do we cling to love? Or is it the most primal of instincts? Some microscopic element, too tiny to ever see, with a 400 million year track record of survival that just won't let us quit.
Scene of Note: Mountains, rivers, fjords, and glaciers are all beautiful. But have you ever seen a more stunning sight than Piccadilly Circus absent of life.
1. Dawn of the Dead (original)
The World is coming to an end and mankind has only one place to turn: the shopping mall.
The most American zombie movie ever created. So permanently engrained in our subconscious is the need to buy that not only do the title characters find refuge in a shopping mall during the apocalypse, but zombies, brainless autonomatans with no lasting traces of humanity, shuffle slowly to the sporting goods store on instinct alone.
But perhaps I am more than just a common man. For the last several weeks George Romero has been visiting me in my dreams. Mostly we talk about the Simpsons and politics. But just the other night he opened up to me and gave me the truth to this illustrious question. And the answer rocked the very foundation of my universe.
But before we get to the truth, several things must be clarified. Thanks to the widespread dissemination of the “modern art ideal” into every form of media, there has been a steady erosion of the Zombie genre. This is not necessarily a bad thing. In nature, erosion is a natural process, benefiting ecosystems by shifting materials and reshaping earth. Likewise, artists and innovators should have a similar freedom to remodel culture without rebuke. Up to a point, that is. Whether in nature or culture, too much erosion can cause irreparable damage.
So what do we mean by erosion? The slow-as-molasses, instinctual humanoid with limited motor skills, and a complete lack of cognitive processing has been replaced by the 6 million dollar zombie; lighting fast, fueled with rage, indestructible, and in some cases blessed with reasoning and problem solving skills.
And so while the traditionalist in me wants to cry out, the pragmatist understands that some of the greatest zombie movies ever made cast these supercharged entities as their flesh eating antagonists. Plus, despite his brilliance, I don’t wish to become a Romero snob; he didn’t invent the genre, he just perfected it.
So without furhter ado...
10. Versus
An escape attempt gone horribly wrong, a mysterious woman, and forest with regenerative properties unites one man with his destiny…and a fist-full of zombies.
If there is one thing to be said about Versus, its got quite the archetypical hero. Brilliant in his swordplay, composed of a calm and rational demeanor, indifferent to the world, Schwarsenagarian in his catchphrasery, and above all else, a gentleman of the most noble order; valiantly rendering his female co-star unconscious to spare her any ensuing violence.
If there is one thing to be said about Versus, its got quite the archetypical hero. Brilliant in his swordplay, composed of a calm and rational demeanor, indifferent to the world, Schwarsenagarian in his catchphrasery, and above all else, a gentleman of the most noble order; valiantly rendering his female co-star unconscious to spare her any ensuing violence.
I’ll admit, this movie tweaked my skepticism at first. I reached my tolerance for zombies wielding pistols in Day of the Dead. And after a while the one dimensional characters become swallowed up in the increasingly complex storyline like a battered navy in the sea of Charybidis. But any disillusionment soon disapears in the face of fantastic swordplay and the brilliant marriage of samurai and zombie genres. And in the end you just can't help smile at the mutant offspring they create.
Scene of Note: The villain handles an attempted escape by plunging his fist through the man’s heart and feasting on his remains; Kano would be so proud
9. Day of the Dead
With humanity’s fate hanging in the balance as Zombies teem from the pores of every city, a renegade group of scientists and military officials make camp in an abandoned underground military base. Will they discover a cure in time?
The acting is way too over the top. The commanding officer plays his role like Mussolini’s psychotic relative. The belief that you can sever a person’s arm several minutes after a Zombie bite and halt the spread of infection is outright ridiculous, and ignores the simple truth that blood travels at over 400 cm/s in major arteries. And if these three aren’t enough, there is always Bub.
But once you adapt to Captain Rhodes outbursts and other miscellaneous lunacy, the film really grows on you. Savini’s gore effects have matured. What once looked like Nickelodeon Gak and pink slime pouring from freshly torn skin now actually resembles dismemberment.
Scene of Note: The villain handles an attempted escape by plunging his fist through the man’s heart and feasting on his remains; Kano would be so proud
9. Day of the Dead
With humanity’s fate hanging in the balance as Zombies teem from the pores of every city, a renegade group of scientists and military officials make camp in an abandoned underground military base. Will they discover a cure in time?
The acting is way too over the top. The commanding officer plays his role like Mussolini’s psychotic relative. The belief that you can sever a person’s arm several minutes after a Zombie bite and halt the spread of infection is outright ridiculous, and ignores the simple truth that blood travels at over 400 cm/s in major arteries. And if these three aren’t enough, there is always Bub.
But once you adapt to Captain Rhodes outbursts and other miscellaneous lunacy, the film really grows on you. Savini’s gore effects have matured. What once looked like Nickelodeon Gak and pink slime pouring from freshly torn skin now actually resembles dismemberment.
And when it all comes down to it, as ridiculous as the notion of training Zombies may be, you just can’t help but sympathize with poor Bub. Picture the tragedy. The one man who taught him that there was more to life than just eating the brains of the living, who taught him the joyous wonders of converation was taken from him, plunging poor Bub eternally into lifeless world; cursed to forever walk the earth in silence.
Scene of Note. Bubs execution style takedown of Rhodes, leaving the remains for his friends.
.
8. Cemetery Man (Dellamorte Dellamorte)
Scene of Note. Bubs execution style takedown of Rhodes, leaving the remains for his friends.
.
8. Cemetery Man (Dellamorte Dellamorte)
In what could alm
ost be a prolonged episode of “Dirty Jobs,” Rupertt Evertt must endure a life of solitude at the cemetery, charged with the task of guarding the townsfolk from the walking dead who rise weekly. His lonely life is interrupted when he falls in love with a local woman; too bad she carries some unfortunate baggage…
I must admit it is more the concept of this movie that earns it number 8 than the movie itself. It’s a brilliant take on the zombie genre, making the man the true focus of the story instead of the Zombies themselves. And those of us who have ever worked in a job where the first 15 minutes of every morning were spent staring at the ceiling willing the apocalypse to come and relieve our pain, can take comfort in the fact that at least one person had it a little worse. Talk about dead end jobs…
And though the love story occasionally falls flat, it presents a highly unique take on infidelity. If nothing else, Cemetery Man is proof that even death can’t stop the most jealous of husbands. To rise from the grave just to tear the flesh from your adulteress; how Hawthornian.
Best Scene: A distraught Rupert Evertt waits anxiously, praying the corpse of his lover won't join the ranks of the living. But then...a finger moves
7. Fido
In the 50’s gone wrong, Zomcon, the saviors of the zombie infestation, have found a use for the endless legions of zombies; “un-deadtured servants.” Mayhem and hilarity ensue when Murphy ’s Law proves that some zombies just weren’t meant to be chained…
Fido is proof that Return of the Living Dead and Shaun of the Dead would not forever reign as the lone champions atop the zombie spoof mountain. A perfectly crafted alternate universe, almost as if Horatio Alger rose from his grave and took to posthumously writing zombie films.
ost be a prolonged episode of “Dirty Jobs,” Rupertt Evertt must endure a life of solitude at the cemetery, charged with the task of guarding the townsfolk from the walking dead who rise weekly. His lonely life is interrupted when he falls in love with a local woman; too bad she carries some unfortunate baggage…I must admit it is more the concept of this movie that earns it number 8 than the movie itself. It’s a brilliant take on the zombie genre, making the man the true focus of the story instead of the Zombies themselves. And those of us who have ever worked in a job where the first 15 minutes of every morning were spent staring at the ceiling willing the apocalypse to come and relieve our pain, can take comfort in the fact that at least one person had it a little worse. Talk about dead end jobs…
And though the love story occasionally falls flat, it presents a highly unique take on infidelity. If nothing else, Cemetery Man is proof that even death can’t stop the most jealous of husbands. To rise from the grave just to tear the flesh from your adulteress; how Hawthornian.
Best Scene: A distraught Rupert Evertt waits anxiously, praying the corpse of his lover won't join the ranks of the living. But then...a finger moves
7. Fido
In the 50’s gone wrong, Zomcon, the saviors of the zombie infestation, have found a use for the endless legions of zombies; “un-deadtured servants.” Mayhem and hilarity ensue when Murphy ’s Law proves that some zombies just weren’t meant to be chained…
Fido is proof that Return of the Living Dead and Shaun of the Dead would not forever reign as the lone champions atop the zombie spoof mountain. A perfectly crafted alternate universe, almost as if Horatio Alger rose from his grave and took to posthumously writing zombie films.
What impresses me most is that the movie is plausible in its absurdity. If we can accept the preposterous notion that a collar can domesticate zombies as fact, then every subsequent plot element is believable. From the youth troop practicing zombie infused McCarthyism to a man’s wealth being measured by the size of his zombie work force, it all makes sense in a bizarre American way.
And Fido himself is the zombie community's manifestation of the baby boomer ideal, vacillating between his primal urges for flesh and every zombies secret desire for the American Dream: a white picket fence, his master’s wife, and a clinic to cure his addiction.
I guess you can teach an old zombie new tricks
Best Scene: A child’s bullet accidently penetrates the frail skin of a zombie and lodges itself in his little brother's abdomen.
6. Shaun of the Dead
Ordinary refrigerator salesman Shaun is plunged into the extraordinary when the zombie infestation comes crawling to the door of his London flat. But just because the worlds gone to hell, doesn't mean we can't nurse our suffering with a few fart jokes.
Finally, a movie that recaptures the essence of satire. Shaun of the Dead is capable of both lampooning its chosen genre, while also creating a believable storyline. So believable that you can watch the events of this move unfolding and almost believe it is occurring in the same universe where Romero’s protagonists are bogged down in a mall.
Shaun is your perfect everyman, which is partially why this movie is so successful. It fulfills the ultimate male instinct; to test our manliness in a world infested with zombies! Well not necessarily zombies per se, but that deep, primal, and irrepressible need to protect our loved ones in times of crisis and despair—to prove our worth as provider. Even the walking dead can’t erase 2 million years of evolution.
Scene of Note: Shaun and Ed find a new use for their old 33's
5. Return of the Living Dead
The Dead return to terrorize a group of 80’s rocker punks who kill time by romping half naked through the local cemetery. We also finally learn the true reason behind the dead’s lust for brains. Though if its brains they’re after, they’ve picked the wrong crowd.
By all traditional standards, this film should be a dud above all duds. No real attempt at a plot, Zombies that are not only indestructible but capable of intelligent problem solving, and protagonists that seem like they got lost on their way to a Smith’s concert. But much like a Long Island Ice Tea, this movie somehow brings together many things that have no business being in such close proximity and makes it taste pretty darn good.
The dialogue really flows. And while most of it seems outlandish, it is believably outlandish. The “worst case scenario” gag of the film follows the perfect comedic formula. They’ve reani
mated a corpse that can’t die, so it must be chopped into little pieces. But what to do with the little pieces; incinerate them. But incineration causes chemical rain which reanimates the entire cemetery. So they call the cops, but the zombies eat the cops, so more cops are called. And so on, and so on…
I must also add that this is the only-non porno movie I have ever come across to tastefully include a shaved female pubic region in a nudity shot. Nicely done!
Scene of Note: When the punk rockers flee to the basement of the medical supply warehouse and we learn the true meaning behind “brains.”
4. Wild Zero
Aliens, zombies, pedophiles, heavy arms trafficking, transsexuals, love, and the self proclaimed “greatest rock and roll band in the universe” come together to save the world. And through it all we learn that even the most powerful spaceships in the cosmos are no match for rock and roll.
What happens when Cameron Crowe grows up in the East, studies Japanese influences on film rather than American and decides that he wants to make a zombie movie starring the Japanese version of Bruce Campbell? The world gets Wild Zero. In the most brilliant bout of self-promotion ever, Guitar Wolf gallivants about Japan, fighting zombies and mentoring their biggest fans about the twin pillars of existence: love and rock and roll.
Guitar Wolf is just as brilliant as Val Kilmer in True Romance, acting as a spir
itual guide for fan-boy Ace in his darkest moments. Not to mention the finest zombie takedown weapon ever created—electrically charged guitar picks. And no matter how many gangsters, thugs, zombies and Aliens try to bring the posse down, love and Rock and Roll just can’t be defeated.
So the Beatles had it right after all: All you Need is Love
Scene of Note: Love’s true boundaries are tested when Ace gets his first full frontal glimpse of his lover...
3. Night of the Living Dead
A peaceful outing goes awry when the dead begin to rise, and a woman must flee and barricade herself in an old house with several strangers. What are these creatures, where do they come from, and when, if ever, will they stop?
Silence is Golden. Sure any film must have dialogue to express conflict. Sure the characters must bicker amongst themselves in times of tension. But when this isn’t occuring, watch the charactesr in NOLD. They're staring, silent, consumed in their belief that somehow the walls of their prison will shed their paint, and the cruel veil of terror which has enveloped their universe will unravel, and release them from this nightmare. But is there any other way to react?
I guess you can teach an old zombie new tricks
Best Scene: A child’s bullet accidently penetrates the frail skin of a zombie and lodges itself in his little brother's abdomen.
6. Shaun of the Dead
Ordinary refrigerator salesman Shaun is plunged into the extraordinary when the zombie infestation comes crawling to the door of his London flat. But just because the worlds gone to hell, doesn't mean we can't nurse our suffering with a few fart jokes.
Finally, a movie that recaptures the essence of satire. Shaun of the Dead is capable of both lampooning its chosen genre, while also creating a believable storyline. So believable that you can watch the events of this move unfolding and almost believe it is occurring in the same universe where Romero’s protagonists are bogged down in a mall.
Shaun is your perfect everyman, which is partially why this movie is so successful. It fulfills the ultimate male instinct; to test our manliness in a world infested with zombies! Well not necessarily zombies per se, but that deep, primal, and irrepressible need to protect our loved ones in times of crisis and despair—to prove our worth as provider. Even the walking dead can’t erase 2 million years of evolution.
Scene of Note: Shaun and Ed find a new use for their old 33's
5. Return of the Living Dead
The Dead return to terrorize a group of 80’s rocker punks who kill time by romping half naked through the local cemetery. We also finally learn the true reason behind the dead’s lust for brains. Though if its brains they’re after, they’ve picked the wrong crowd.
By all traditional standards, this film should be a dud above all duds. No real attempt at a plot, Zombies that are not only indestructible but capable of intelligent problem solving, and protagonists that seem like they got lost on their way to a Smith’s concert. But much like a Long Island Ice Tea, this movie somehow brings together many things that have no business being in such close proximity and makes it taste pretty darn good.
The dialogue really flows. And while most of it seems outlandish, it is believably outlandish. The “worst case scenario” gag of the film follows the perfect comedic formula. They’ve reani
mated a corpse that can’t die, so it must be chopped into little pieces. But what to do with the little pieces; incinerate them. But incineration causes chemical rain which reanimates the entire cemetery. So they call the cops, but the zombies eat the cops, so more cops are called. And so on, and so on…I must also add that this is the only-non porno movie I have ever come across to tastefully include a shaved female pubic region in a nudity shot. Nicely done!
Scene of Note: When the punk rockers flee to the basement of the medical supply warehouse and we learn the true meaning behind “brains.”
4. Wild Zero
Aliens, zombies, pedophiles, heavy arms trafficking, transsexuals, love, and the self proclaimed “greatest rock and roll band in the universe” come together to save the world. And through it all we learn that even the most powerful spaceships in the cosmos are no match for rock and roll.
What happens when Cameron Crowe grows up in the East, studies Japanese influences on film rather than American and decides that he wants to make a zombie movie starring the Japanese version of Bruce Campbell? The world gets Wild Zero. In the most brilliant bout of self-promotion ever, Guitar Wolf gallivants about Japan, fighting zombies and mentoring their biggest fans about the twin pillars of existence: love and rock and roll.
Guitar Wolf is just as brilliant as Val Kilmer in True Romance, acting as a spir
itual guide for fan-boy Ace in his darkest moments. Not to mention the finest zombie takedown weapon ever created—electrically charged guitar picks. And no matter how many gangsters, thugs, zombies and Aliens try to bring the posse down, love and Rock and Roll just can’t be defeated.So the Beatles had it right after all: All you Need is Love
Scene of Note: Love’s true boundaries are tested when Ace gets his first full frontal glimpse of his lover...
3. Night of the Living Dead
A peaceful outing goes awry when the dead begin to rise, and a woman must flee and barricade herself in an old house with several strangers. What are these creatures, where do they come from, and when, if ever, will they stop?
Silence is Golden. Sure any film must have dialogue to express conflict. Sure the characters must bicker amongst themselves in times of tension. But when this isn’t occuring, watch the charactesr in NOLD. They're staring, silent, consumed in their belief that somehow the walls of their prison will shed their paint, and the cruel veil of terror which has enveloped their universe will unravel, and release them from this nightmare. But is there any other way to react?
Put yourself in this position. If the dead suddenly began to rise and devour the flesh of the living, what would there really be to talk about? Once you've taken care of the business of fortifying your house and gathering provision what can you really do to pass the time? Whats the point of small talk in a world where the dead walk the earth?
Scene of Note: After surviving hell, attempted mutiny, and the living dead our main character succumbs to the greatest foe of all: racist white men who shoot without warning
2. 28 Days Later
In on hell of a "rude awakening," a man rises from a coma only to discover a derelict London, torn asunder by a apocolyptic tradgedy. He bands with other survivors to try and find hope in a world that has forsaken it. Trying to survive in a world where death is the easy way out...
I may get shot for saying this, but say it I must. 28 Days Later achieves something that I don't think any other zombie movie ever has--fear. We classify other zombie movies as horror, but do they really scare us? Is that why we, the zombie lovers of the world pop them so regularly into our DVD players? No. We watch them because they are unique, because their concept fascinates us. We watch them because they don't take themselves too seriously and create a campy experience that we can both admire and criticize. But they never scare us.
2. 28 Days Later
In on hell of a "rude awakening," a man rises from a coma only to discover a derelict London, torn asunder by a apocolyptic tradgedy. He bands with other survivors to try and find hope in a world that has forsaken it. Trying to survive in a world where death is the easy way out...
I may get shot for saying this, but say it I must. 28 Days Later achieves something that I don't think any other zombie movie ever has--fear. We classify other zombie movies as horror, but do they really scare us? Is that why we, the zombie lovers of the world pop them so regularly into our DVD players? No. We watch them because they are unique, because their concept fascinates us. We watch them because they don't take themselves too seriously and create a campy experience that we can both admire and criticize. But they never scare us.
Until 28 Days Later. And it succeeds in creating terror in so many ways. The barren austerity of what was once a bustling metropolis. A soundtrack that has Brian Eno locking his doors has night. Zombies possessed by the most destructive of all human emotions. And perhaps most terryfing is their take on what it means to survive. Why do human beings choose to carry on? Why do we survive? In a world where people have not only lost their parents and friends, but probably had to kill their families to save themselves, why continue? Do we cling to hope for the future? Do we cling to love? Or is it the most primal of instincts? Some microscopic element, too tiny to ever see, with a 400 million year track record of survival that just won't let us quit.Scene of Note: Mountains, rivers, fjords, and glaciers are all beautiful. But have you ever seen a more stunning sight than Piccadilly Circus absent of life.
1. Dawn of the Dead (original)
The World is coming to an end and mankind has only one place to turn: the shopping mall.
The most American zombie movie ever created. So permanently engrained in our subconscious is the need to buy that not only do the title characters find refuge in a shopping mall during the apocalypse, but zombies, brainless autonomatans with no lasting traces of humanity, shuffle slowly to the sporting goods store on instinct alone.
Finally, a movie addreses the issue that many other zombie movies don't: where the hell are the looters? Tom Savini, most famously known for the man who makes dismembered flesh look like playdoh, is wonderful as the sinister gang leader for a nomadic biker gang, bent on taunting the walking dead and robbing the living.
And our main characters are so dependent on their consumeristic urges, that they choose to fight, both zombies and looters, rather than even think of abandoning their newly reclaimed shopping center.
The zombies may have taken our families, our homes, and our lives, but they will never take our shopping mall!!
Scene of Note: What business does a Hari Krishna have in a small mall outside of pittsburgh?
Scene of Note: What business does a Hari Krishna have in a small mall outside of pittsburgh?
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