Anyway, at the bottom of Korgoth’s Wikipedia entry is a list of other random Adult Swim shows.  Some are current productions, and some have already gone by the wayside.  As I browsed through the past productions, I noticed an entry for Snake n’ Bacon.  I clicked on it, read through the entry, and when I went down to critical reception, guess what I read there?

Responses to the TV show have been very positive–comments range from “I really liked it”[5] to “It’s trippy and creative, definitely weirdly off the wall and way out there.”[8] One naysayer was Ron Hogan on Den of Geek, who called the show “the worst thing that’s been on [Adult Swim] since Delocated.”[9]

Hey, that’s me!  My dislike of Snake n’ Bacon has made me an official, badge-carrying naysayer!  Eat it, “I really liked it” Guy!

Randomly running across yourself on Wikipedia is one of the most disconcerting experiences I’ve ever had in my life.  I’m aware it’s me being cited, but the fact that it’s actually me and that I randomly found myself on there is kind of mind blowing.  To search for me is one thing, but to randomly find me is quite another.

I mean, I’m aware the Den of Geek has been growing exponentially, and that my work there has been getting a lot more exposure now than it ever has before, but… yeah, it’s kind of staggering to think I’m an official source of anything save bullshit.    Now I know I was wrong and am really a source of bullshit AND negativity!  Yes!

Click here to view the embedded video.

Well, that was very, uh… *breaks down sobbing*  OH GOD WHY?!  LIFE SUCKS, LET’S ALL JUST DIE ALREADY!!!

That’s kind of important, as it ties in to the masterful way in which Paramount and DreamWorks went back to the future to distribute their little $15,000 scary movie.

Funny People–The Director’s Cut

This is kind of a dangerous film in some ways. At least it was for me. I’m in a bit of a transitionary period in my life. My birthday is this week, as is my ten-year high school reunion (he says, knowing no one gives a damn). I’m in that area where I need to start growing up and settling down, because I’m not getting any younger and my hair isn’t getting any thicker or less gray. I’m basically at the point where chasing my dreams starts butting heads with the fact I’m too goddamn old to fuck off to LA to write screenplays and wait tables. Or do whatever in the hell it is I dream of doing. I don’t even know anymore.

That’s where the movie hits hardest for me. Every step forward leaves something behind. Every path not taken could lead to an entirely different world. Sometimes we can go back and change things; sometimes all we can do from our past mistakes is learn. Growth is seldom easy, life is not neatly contained. There’s always going to be a girl (or guy) that got away. No matter who you are, there’s always some tragic love affair gone wrong, a chance not taken, a lover spurned that you never quite get over.

That’s life. It’s not comedy or drama. It’s not friends or acquaintances or lovers. Life is just a journey: full of twists and turns and missed chances and fuck-ups and broken hearts. Maybe you can’t win back your one true love, but you can learn from your mistakes and make new ones the next time.

Author’s note:  No, I’m not narcissistic enough to do this every time I cut shit out of a review, only when I cut out shit I actually like.  Trust me, that’s very rare.  I’d have continued onward with the thoughts, but the train has long since derailed now.

Me: Why did you have to go and kill Michael Jackson?

Garth Marenghi: I’m sorry.

Me: Now his zombie won’t stop dancing on my lawn

Click here to view the embedded video.

Garth Marenghi: It’s like “Return of the Living Dead II” only real. No one deserves that. If only I’d known this would happen, I’d've spared his life.

Me: luckily for me he seems a lot more interested in those cub scouts

Garth Marenghi: Who’s going to look after them now?

Me: Roman Polanski? Oh wait, those are girl scouts

Garth Marenghi: lol

Me: How about Victor Salva?

Garth Marenghi: He cares a lot.

Me: He has got so much love to give. And so much wine and sleeping pills.

Garth Marenghi: We’re both going to Hell.

Me: We really are.  And guess who’ll be waiting?
In one glove and a red leather coat

Garth Marenghi: Him and John Wayne Gacy.

Me: Now that’s scary.

In honor of Michael’s passing, Boy Scout troops across the country tomorrow will be wearing their pants at half-mast.

As usual, The Onion broke the story of MJ’s death ahead of everyone.

Author’s Note:  Is it tasteless to mock the dead? Sure. Is it tasteless to mock a dead pedophile? Not so much. Screw around with kids and you deserve all the public humiliation I can muster. Shame he did most of the humiliating himself with how he’s lived over the past 15 years or so.

Author’s Note 2:  Thriller is still really badass.  Second best thing John Landis has ever done, slightly after American Werewolf in London and slightly ahead of Animal House and The Blues Brothers.

del Toro: It comes from my first trip to New York as a child. I was walking around Central Park, and I saw one of these expensive apartment buildings. At the top was a Gothic tower, and I said to my mother, “A vampire lives there.” I wasn’t being metaphorical. Then we went into the subway and—wow! For a guy from Guadalajara, the subway is mythical. The underground of the city is like what’s underground in people. Beneath the surface, it’s boiling with monsters.

Wired Magazine 17.06

For some reason, that phrase above brought tears to my eyes the first time I read it.  So badly, in fact, that I had to get up and disappear for awhile until I got myself under control.  I wasn’t sure why, until I figured out that the difference between someone like Guillermo Del Toro and someone like me is that while we’re both on our slow march to death, he never stopped being a child.  He never let go of the way a child sees the world; he’s still got that access to everything that changes the mundane into the phantasmagorical in a way I don’t (and maybe in a way I never did).

He’s still got dreams, and I don’t.  I know what you’re all thinking, even if you’re not going to state it.  “You’re not even 30 yet.  You don’t have any kids or a mortgage, so why don’t you go out and chase your dreams! DLTBGYD!”  No, when I even think about that kind of thing, all I can think about is all my past mistakes and misspent days and just… get paralyzed with fear that I’m going to go out, chase those dreams, and find them out of my reach.  Or worse, that I’ll achieve them and be just as miserable with those dreams as I was when I still had the dream to do whatever.

(Yes, I just references both The Toasters and Less Than Jake in that paragraph.  I’ve always kind of wanted to be a rude boy, but you try finding a ska band outside of California these days.  Or even in California.)

Sometimes you find your niche early, excel at it, and you’re happy.  Sometimes you drift along aimlessly in a sea of fear and anxiety, worrying about things you can’t control and talking yourself out of any real risk to shelter yourself from pain.  Sometimes you look at what you dream of, what might be, and realize, “Hey, I’ve already tried that once, and it was a miserable failure.”  Or you look at it and say, “Well, I would go do that, but it’d cost me $45,000 and I’d end up doing what exactly with that shiny new Masters degree?”

I don’t live in a world filled with endless possibilities.  I live in a world where ruin and misery surrounds me on all sides.  I live in a world where deviation from the designated path leads to trouble.  I live in a world where education is either used for something or it is useless, where it’s better to have a job you hate than not have a job you can live on, and where reaching out leads to losing a hand.

I’m a creature of routines.  We’re all creatures of habit in our own way, but none moreso than me.  I drive the same way to work in the morning and I take one of three routes home.  I get home, I change, I eat, I take a nap for 2 3 hours, I wake up, I work or play until 3 4AM, then I go back to bed and get up at 7 the next morning to repeat the process.  I go to one movie theater.  Write a post here by 1:00, write a post here before midnight, see a movie on Friday and write it up by Sunday; write the box office report on Sunday night (though occasionally I forget to do that).

I see my habits, and I see the habits of friends and loved ones as well.  I can tell if something’s wrong by the grammar used in an IM.  I can tell if something’s off by a sudden lack of contact whereas before it was steady.  I grow to have certain expectations about the actions of others, and if they break those expectations, I just know something is wrong.  Even if nothing’s wrong, I’ll invent any number of problems to ascribe to the situation and chew on them until they become a reality.  It’s a blessing when it’s helpful; it’s a curse when it’s a self fulfilling prophecy.  Imagine you’ve got something to be worried about long enough, and you’ll end up having something to worry about (even if it’s just worrying about how much you’re worrying).

It’s kind of like a turtle in a shell.  It keeps me kind of safe, but at the same time it’s a constant restriction.  By the time I talk myself into breaking out of the shell or changing something, the opportunity is gone.  Another chance not taken.

In a world of boom or bust, I always see the bust.

What happened to my face?!

When I say this is the first time in 10 years I’ve been without a goatee or beard or something on my face, that is not an exaggeration.  Yes, I know I look thinner.  Yes, I know I look younger.  Yes, I’m hoping it grows back very quickly.

At least now I know what I look like without the goatee.  That’s got to count for something, right?  Like, say, extra credit for my 8th grade science class?

Author’s note:  Yes, I know the picture is nothing but a collection of crookedness, from my background to my head.  I care, but I’m also lazy and don’t feel like striving to perfect it.

SuperJail is one of the best shows on TV right now.  If you’re not watching it, then you’re missing out on some of the most hilarious violence on screen since the climactic lawnmower scene in Peter Jackson’s Dead Alive.  But me saying that doesn’t prove anything, so watch this video instead.

Click here to view the embedded video.

As it turns out, I’ve never been to an adult doctor in this town, so I had to be treated as a new patient (though I went to this doctor a million years ago to get my shots before high school just to be in their system… turns out they lost me after me not going back to them for 14 years).  Long story short, after a lot of waiting and a lot of coughing, I’ve got an upper repiratory ailment and serious throat irritation.

I got a bottle of horse antibiotics (what better cruel joke to play on someone who can’t swallow liquids than to give them gigantic pills?), a bottle of green death cough syrup that doesn’t have enough codeine to knock me out, and orders to pick up some Mucinex D.  (“No, pharmacist, I will not turn this into crystal meth, I promise.  Now please put down the taser and give me back my ID.”)

Oh yeah, to put the icing on the cake, they had to have the nurse give me a shot.  Not in the arm, either.  Apparently once you start growing hair under your arms, they stop giving out candy to good boys who don’t scream and cry during the stabbing of the tender behindus.  I’m disappointed; I was kind of hoping for a tequila pop.

Now if I ever get caught using steroids, I can honestly say I’ve had someone I don’t know inject me with God knows what.  So I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.

Add in a little Jewish Penicillin and you’ve got yourself a good ol’ fashioned snot party with special guest star Ron as Patient Zero (AKA Froggy Von Croaksalot).