1.) ME: Oh my god, they actually got the “foreigners don’t have maps” beauty pageant girl to be on this show.
FLAPJACKS: They are sending her around the world! This is either the best joke ever or the cruelest prank ever. Possibly both.
ME: You know, given that they are “dating models,” it’s entirely possible that CBS cast them by accident.
FLAPJACKS: You mean they were just trying to fulfill the “dating hot couple who want to be actors” quota for this season, and then when they looked at their options they saw that they got the beauty queen who was on Youtube?
ME: Exactly.
FLAPJACKS: That seems unlikely.
ME: Ah, but consider: we both enjoy this show and it is entering its sixteenth season. Is that not unlikely?
FLAPJACKS: I just consider it further proof that the universe thinks I’m important.

2.) FLAPJACKS: Is there really such a thing as a world title in rodeo-ing?
ME: Why wouldn’t there be?
FLAPJACKS: Wouldn’t that be kind of like the World Series, in that with the exception of the Toronto Blue Jays, there aren’t any non-American teams? Who outside the United States does rodeo-ing?
ME: They have cowboys in Australia.
FLAPJACKS: Yes, but the Australian cowboys are all busy competing at Learning The Secrets Of Wise Aboriginal Elders and Sleeping With The Repressed Rich English Ladies and Having The Biggest Knife. It’s entirely a different set of skills. I bet they come to America for the world championships and then get surprised when they find out that they have to rope a steer really fast.
ME: You have got to stop watching that Baz Luhrmann film over and over again.
FLAPJACKS: I don’t gotta do nothing.

3.) ME: Okay, so this 71-year-old granny who has done fifteen triathlons is this season’s official “make you feel worse about yourself” entrant.
FLAPJACKS: That’s fifteen times as many triathlons as I have done!
ME: You’ve never done a triathlon.
FLAPJACKS: I watched the one you did. I figure that counts.
ME: That was only a starter triathlon.
FLAPJACKS: It counts.
ME: Wait, shouldn’t I be the one arguing that it counts and you discounting my near-death experience in running it?
FLAPJACKS: It’s a funny old world.

4.) ME: “Joe is very confrontational. He says things that might piss people off.”
FLAPJACKS: “Joe is this season’s Official Asshole.”
ME: “HATE HIM! HAAAAATE HIM! Write letters expressing your hate! Our inevitable divorce will come that much quicker if you do it! It’s like ripping off a spiritual Band-Aid!”

5.) ME: And Phil says this will be the most difficult Race ever!
FLAPJACKS: Oh no! They have to take public transportation to the airport! That’s worse than the annual India leg of the Race!
ME: I wonder if anybody will break down crying because they can’t figure out how to use transfers.
FLAPJACKS: And they’re all so shocked. “Who takes the bus in L.A.?”
ME: And the team of black ladies answers that for us by saying out loud “look, a black person” and asking them.

6.) FLAPJACKS: I note that the cowboys have incorrectly changed their money to Brazilian funds when they are in fact going to Chile.
ME: Maybe they just missed every other team talking about how excited they were to go to Chile. Or, in Team Big Brother’s case, China.
FLAPJACKS: Well, in the cowboys’ defense, those are all not Wyoming or whatever the fuck they are from.
ME: “Aw shucks our town is so small we don’t got no atlases like you city folk do.”
FLAPJACKS: “Our town library is so small it only has two books and Walter won’t let you take ‘em out on account of what happened in 1957. We don’t talk about that much.”
ME: “Got a McDonald’s, though! So we’re definitely comin’ along in the world. Nobody can say the future is leavin’ Buttlick, Whereverthefuck behind, no sirree bob.”
FLAPJACKS: Oh, I love how they decide to sheepishly admit it. “Yeah, see, the closest thing the airport in LA had to Chilean money was Brazilian money.”
ME: I believe that’s the Weasel school of admitting error. “See, it wasn’t our fault we fucked up. It was the airport’s fault.”

7.) FLAPJACKS: “Heidi does have some fear of heights, so I took on that challenge. Because she is a chicken. And I am a condescending asshole.”
ME: Maybe we should wait a little longer to start hating him?
FLAPJACKS: No. If there is one thing about this show that is predictable, it is that the Designated Asshole always makes himself obvious early on.

8.) FLAPJACKS: Wait, the city of Valparaiso pays for houses to be painted so they can be pretty? Why can’t we get that here?
ME: You live in a large North American city. Half of the painting budget would go to unions and the other half would go to a PR fund to mollify people who pointlessly scream about unions.
FLAPJACKS: Which leaves no money for the paint.
ME: No, you take care of that with a special bond issue.
FLAPJACKS: So then the houses get painted?
ME: They would, except that in the next municipal election the anti-paint candidate gets elected, and he says “we should spend that money on police officers” and the money pays for one additional police officer over the next five years. He is shot and killed in the line of duty in his third year.
FLAPJACKS: That’s sad.
ME: And drab.

9.) FLAPJACKS: Wait, the prize trip for the first round is Vancouver? Wow. That’s underwhelming.
ME: Well, they do get to go whale-watching and bobsledding and – no, never mind. You’re right. That’s a sucky prize.
FLAPJACKS: How much lamer can the trip prizes get than that?
ME: “You’ve won a trip for two to beautiful Columbus, Ohio!”
FLAPJACKS: “You’ve won a trip for two to Detroit, Michigan!”
ME: That would at least be exciting. Albeit probably not in the good way.

10.) FLAPJACKS: I knew it! I knew this day would come! People doing a challenge on the Amazing Race are just interfering with people’s everyday lives and because they don’t speak the local language nobody can make them understand that they need to fuck off.
ME: Yes, this is pretty much the best day ever. And it wasn’t the Big Brother team or the Teen South Carolina team or anybody you’d expect to screw up. It was just the father/daughter team, who are like the vanilla ice cream of Amazing Racers.
FLAPJACKS: And they just keep going and going, painting the inside of this totally unrelated house. At some point, you’d think the people staring at you incredulously would start to kick in. But no.

11.) ME: And it turns out that arguably the least fit team on the Race gets eliminated. Which is not a shock.
FLAPJACKS: In fairness, non-athletic teams have gone quite a long way before on the Race.
ME: Not many of them, though. Being in at least reasonable shape seems like it might be an advantage in something which is technically supposed to be a “race.”
FLAPJACKS: When they let Canadians compete I will totally make you exercise.
ME: Ahem. I have run a starter triathlon and I swim every day. You play Halo.
FLAPJACKS: That means that I have elite teabagging skills that will make me very successful in the Race.

FLAPJACKS: Is it cold outside?
ME: Well, yes. It is January.
FLAPJACKS: You should dress warmer.
ME: “More warmly.”
FLAPJACKS: That too.
ME: It’s not that cold. It’s just, you know, winter.
FLAPJACKS: Then why is your skin blue? Look at it. You look like you have frostbite or something.
ME: If I had frostbite my skin would be either white or black.
FLAPJACKS: That’s racist. Asians can get frostbitten too!
ME: You know that’s not what I meant.
FLAPJACKS: Who can truly know the mind of a racist?
ME: Shut up.
FLAPJACKS: Anyway, why is your skin blue if it’s not frostbitten?
ME: You know, for someone concerned about racists, you seem awfully interested in my skin colour.
FLAPJACKS: Human beings aren’t normally blue so it doesn’t count.
ME: I got new sheets.
FLAPJACKS: I don’t follow.
ME: I got new sheets, so I washed them to get out the extra dye and soften them up before I put them on the bed. The sheets are blue. One wash was apparently not enough to get out all the extra dye.
FLAPJACKS: Why didn’t you take a shower or have a bath or something?
ME: I did.
FLAPJACKS: And you’re still bluey after that?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: Well, this is just delicious.
ME: Stop that.

Just a quick comparison for those of you who may have Christmas and New Years Eve parties to go to in the days to come, during which a conversation about popular music may come up:

IF YOU NAME-DROP ELVIS COSTELLO…

…you will get the respect of the average person, because most people have heard of Elvis Costello, but aren’t familiar with more than a handful of songs. Since Costello is almost universally praised by critics, though, you will earn instant cred.

However, should you encounter another Elvis Costello fan, you will likely make a bitter enemy, as the rest of the evening will be spent trying to top each other about who has listened to the most obscure, non-mainstream EC recording (theoretically, the guy who has a copy of the opera that he wrote in 2004 wins, but I am not sure that anyone has ever actually bought that CD).

BUT IF YOU NAME DROP XTC…

…you will get no cred at all from the average person, because unlike Costello, most people are too unfamiliar with XTC for the reference to mean anything. No one knows any of their songs, although they may have read that a bunch of bands that came out with CDs in the past decade are supposed to have been influenced by them.

However, should you encounter another XTC fan, you two will become new best friends, because XTC fans are always so psyched to meet someone else who’s even heard of them. A person can go from zero to awesome instantaneously with the revelation of XTC fandom, and if two XTC fans of the opposite sex meet at a party, they are obligated at some point in the evening to make out with each other. At least.

SO WEIGH YOUR OPTIONS AND CHOOSE WISELY.

Aries (20 March – 19 April). Beware of the following things: cats painted blue, books with “vol. 41″ on the spine, speakerphones, Maalox, those little styrofoam packing peanuts, tinned salmon, the Seven of Clubs, toy lightsabers, flavoured gin, the country of Malawi, covered wagons (like the pioneers used), Katie Couric, vitamin water, the cinematic works of Joseph Fiennes, plaster of Paris and euphoric happiness. All of these things are death omens until such time as you see an old woman dancing in sheer joy, Aries. You would be well advised to attend a seniors’ polka night. Sorry about this, incidentally. I mean, we both know there are signs a little more deserving of a death omen than you. But that’s how it goes.

Taurus (19 April – 20 May). Unfortunately for you, the stars have made it clear that every Taurus on the planet Earth will come to an unpleasant end six days from now. So, you know, maybe you could, like, not stand too close to other people, or something. Is that too much to ask, Taurus? All the rest of us would like is not to be dragged down with you. Oh, god, get off your knees. Stop begging. What kind of wuss are you? Show a little dignity for once in your fucking life. Jesus Christ. Is it too much to ask that you not involve us in your shit? Go work on your bucket list.

Gemini (20 May – 21 June). People you supposedly love and respect may find that your lack of commitment towards their lives is troubling, Gemini. Maybe you need to consider someone besides yourself for a moment. Think about other people’s needs and desires for once. See, Linda, oh wait I mean Gemini, the reason I do this for a living is because I have a passion for the mysteries of the future. That’s why I don’t want to be a stockbroker. Do you get that, Gemini? You knew what you were getting into when you met me, and I was clear up front that it was my life’s calling. Besides, who the hell respects stockbrokers these days anyways? Why would I want that, huh, Gemini? Tell me that, you dualistic snobs.

Cancer (21 June – 22 July). You always get a bit of a bad rap because your sign shares a name with horrific disease. This is unfair. Did you know that in modern times “Capricorn” meant “oozing sore located on the genitals”? Think on this. It may help you out in a tough situation. Alternately, consider that you aren’t a goddamn lying Gemini whore. That should make you feel better.

Leo (22 July – 23 August). Go to the 7-11 on Fourth. Wait ten minutes. A black van will arrive, and the passenger’s side door will open. On the seat there will be a package. Do not look at the driver. I cannot emphasize this enough: looking at the driver will be a mistake. Take the package. Carry it down Fourth until you come to a bright yellow door. Knock on the door: three times, then two, then three again, then wait a second, then once more. Enter the door. There will be a blindfold hanging on a peg. Take it and put it on, then walk forward six paces while still holding the package. Carefully place the package on the floor. Do not make any sudden movements. Turn around. Walk slowly back to the door. Do not remove the blindfold before exiting out the door.

Virgo (23 August – 22 September). I bet you’d like to know, wouldn’t you. You Virgos, every last one of you, you’re two-faced wretches who fuck their best friends’ Gemini girlfriends behind their backs. I guess she taught you a thing or two about lying, huh, Virgo? Well, guess what: I know how it ends up, and one of you is gonna get crabs. And I’m not telling you which one of you it’ll be. But before it’s over, one of you will cheat on the other, and get a horrible parasite, and then you’ll pass that parasite on to the other person, the one you teamed up with to betray my dumb soothsaying ass. I hope that shit keeps you up nights. I’d tell you to stop telling all our mutual friends that you feel bad but you had to follow your heart, but there’s no point, because sooner rather than later you’ll stop saying it. And you’ll be scratching your genitals while you do.

Libra (22 September – 23 October). If I told you your future this week, you’d end up becoming your own grandparent, and I’m sure none of us want that. So I’m just going to make something up. Um… if an ugly stranger comes up to you and asks you for help, help them. There. Is that vague enough for all the bored housewives out there?

Scorpio (23 October – 22 November). True story: back when lotto was still illegal and called “the numbers game,” legendary black mobster Bumpy Johnson one week found himself having to pay out winning number prizes to over seven hundred people, on account of the winning numbers having been all related to an industrial accident that made the news that week. Some suggested that Bumpy just redraw the numbers so that nobody would know, but Bumpy – a man of integrity in his way – refused, and paid out. Because he wasn’t some goddamn Virgo louse who would tell you things like “no, man, we were just hot tubbing together.” In related news: 7, 15, 16, 26, 32, 41, and bonus number 22.

Sagittarius (22 November – 21 December). That achy feeling you can’t quite describe is a tumor. Go to the doctor. Sooner would be better than later. I tell you this because I care about you, Sagittarius, and because it’s important to me to use this ability I have to do some good in the world. You know what the fucked-up thing is, though? I knew in advance that Linda was going to cheat on me. Now, granted, I didn’t get a very specific flash, so I didn’t know when or where. But I definitely didn’t think she would fuck my best friend on my goddamn bed. That I bought with my horoscope money. That’s right, Sagittarius, she cuckolded me on your goodwill. I bet that makes you feel used. See, I thought she was just gonna have a bachelorette party fling, and we’d laugh about it later because, come on, last fling, you have to forgive that.

Capricorn (21 December – 20 January). Ignore that stuff we said about oozing sores. That was just to make Cancer feel better. I mean, hell, they’ve got to be associated with the deadliest disease in human history, sometimes you gotta spin ‘em a little bull to make them feel less pathetic. You get that, right? Of course you get it. I should’ve listened to you, Capricorn. I should’ve agreed to go out with your sister, even if that did seem a little weird for you to be setting me and her up. What was up with that, anyway? I’d ask if she’s still into me, but I already know she’s gonna end up marrying this guy she meets on the bus next week, so it seems kind of pointless. God, I hate being able to see the future. You’d think you’d get accurate stock tips, but no, it’s all useless soap opera bullshit like this. All it does is make people miserable. I wonder if it made her miserable? I mean, I tried to not bother her with it. You know how it is.

Aquarius (20 January – 18 February). Yeah, yeah, I know the Aquarius entries have to be all lah-dee-dah because you’re the most creative and imaginative, but fuck you, Aquarius, I’m not writing this entry in rhyming couplets just so you can feel complete. You want your future? Here’s your future: you’ll go nowhere while some fucking Virgo who actually knows how to fucking network worth a damn gets the job you’ve always dreamed of, and you end up a waiter in your mid-forties talking about that screenplay you’ll never actually finish which, go figure, is about a misunderstood waiter who’s really a tragically brilliant artist. That’s it. That’s what you get. Now get used to people asking you for a Cobb salad. PS. You will go bald. No, I’m not joking.

Pisces (18 February – 20 March). Statistically you are the rarest of all astrological signs, Pisces. But that doesn’t make you special. It just means there are less of you. So don’t stand too close to Tauruses this week. Your numbers are already in the danger zone, and I’ve always liked you, Pisces. I just get the feeling you’re trustworthy. Hey, maybe we should go out for a beer next week? Just friends. And when I say “just friends,” you know I already know how it ends up, so there’s no point in me lying and pretending it’s a “just friends” date if I want something more. Yeah, I know, it does kind of suck. But at least I’m not a stockbroker, with a lot of money and my own house and everything. Who would want that, right? Ha.

Why did Dr. Manhattan cross the road?

It is May 18, 1979. I am crossing a road.

(courtesy Danny Sichel)

(fuck you, I think it’s funny)

(SCENE: My parents’ basement. My brother JEFF and I are watching rugby.)

ME: The Aussies are getting their asses kicked here.
JEFF: Serves them right for getting distracted by soccer and cricket.
ME: Didn’t they lose the Ashes this year?
JEFF: Serves them right for getting distracted by soccer.
ME: What are you going to say if they don’t win the World Cup?
JEFF: Serves them right for getting distracted by rugby.
ME: Well, you’re consistent.
(Enter DAD.)
DAD: Are you watching the rugby?
JEFF: It’s either that or some really weird football.
ME: We’re watching the rugby.
JEFF: You might want to leave so it doesn’t get ruined for you.
DAD: I already saw it.
ME: Then why are you recording it?
DAD: I’m recording it?
JEFF: That’s what the little blinking light on the PVR says.
DAD: Well, I got up early and watched it live.
ME: So you already watched the English bashing in the Australians?
DAD: (mysteriously) Wait a while.
JEFF: Well, there’s no point in watching this now. Switch it to football.
DAD: What do you mean?
JEFF: You just said “wait a while” in this supposed-to-be-mysterious voice. Thanks for telling us as obviously as possible that Australia wins.
DAD: I didn’t say they won. I said to keep watching.
JEFF: Chris, back me up on this. What do you think the odds are that Australia wins, given Dad’s mystery-voice?
ME: I would say they’re very good, Jeff.
JEFF: Of course you would. That’s because we’re not stupid.
DAD: Well, you never know. Oh, look at Ashley-Cooper. The English just can’t stop him.
JEFF: You are possibly the least convincing liar ever.
ME: It’s impressive to consider the English losing after they’ve spent the first half basically mauling Australia. I mean, look at the English players. They don’t look like professional athletes. They look like really angry plumbers.
JEFF: I think all rugby players look like really angry plumbers. This is the only sport where professional athletes can have beer guts.
ME: Maybe the English lose because somebody tells them that the magic feathers they were given aren’t in fact magic, and it was them all along, and they lose faith in themselves.
JEFF: “Yes, Tom, we’re getting word that the English players have discovered that these are in fact just plain old pigeon feathers, and not feathers from the magical flying dress of Queen Elizabeth. Look at that fullback there, crying as he clutches his useless, non-magical feather.”
ME: “As I recall, Sid, something like this happened at Wallybelly in 1967, when the All Blacks beat Wales eleventy billion to three. Do you remember if that was something like this?”
JEFF: “Well, Tom, that was a bit different. That was a case where the players thought their jerseys had been personally blessed by Jesus Christ, but it turned out to just be a sarcastic hippie.”
DAD: (having ignored all of this as he watches the rugby) You know, the Springboks beat England a little while back and set a record, they beat them so bad? That’s the magic of the fall international tour, you know. The southern hemisphere comes up north and kicks the asses of everyone up here, and people pay to see it happen.
ME: You’re going to New Zealand in 2011, right?
DAD: Planning to.
ME: Yeah, but if Canada qualifies, who do you cheer for?
DAD: I’d cheer for both South Africa and Canada, obviously.
ME: But what if they’re in the same pool?
JEFF: You really don’t have to ask that.
(shared look that says “South Africa, duh”)

ME: What now?
FLAPJACKS: Did you see this? Some crazy guy put together a replica of a vintage first class airplane cabin in his garage.
ME: Because he’s crazy?
FLAPJACKS: You just spent actual money on old board games from the 1960s like, last week.
ME: You can play those.
FLAPJACKS: And he can play with his fake plane. I bet he roleplays out scenes from Mad Men. Like, he pretends he’s the steward who gets Don Draper an Old Fashioned while Don Draper picks up the woman in the seat next to him, and then he waves goodbye as they leave the plane to go have sex in a hotel.
ME: He doesn’t want to be Don Draper?
FLAPJACKS: I think you overestimate the ambition of this guy. He didn’t recreate a mini Playboy Mansion. He recreated an airplane cabin.
ME: What would you have recreated?
FLAPJACKS: You know that bit in the James Bond movie where the villain tries to shoot a laser at James Bond’s crotch? That.
ME: Would you play pretend that you are James Bond or Goldfinger?
FLAPJACKS: It wasn’t Goldfinger. It was Jaws.
ME: It wasn’t Jaws. Jaws fought Roger Moore. Sean Connery was the Bond who nearly got crotch-lasered.
FLAPJACKS: Look, I know it was Jaws. I distinctly remembering him speaking in his English accent that he expected Mr. Bond to die.
ME: Jaws wasn’t English! He was a guy with a mouth full of metal! He wouldn’t have spoken in crisp English tones. He would have mumbled something vaguely metallic.
FLAPJACKS: I bet if you check Wikipedia, you will see that I have already loaded up the page on your computer and it will say that it was Jaws.
(pause)
ME: This is a Post-It, with “Jaws” written on it in your handwriting, stuck on my computer monitor and covering up the picture of Goldfinger menacing James Bond.
FLAPJACKS: I couldn’t figure out how to edit Wikipedia properly.
ME: So will you concede that Jaws did not menace James Bond with the laser?
FLAPJACKS: No.
ME: I actually own Goldfinger on DVD.
FLAPJACKS: You could have counterfeited that.
ME: With the young Sean Connery ten years before I was born.
FLAPJACKS: Or a very good imitator!
ME: …anyway, so that’s what you want to be? The guy torturing James Bond, be it Jaws – who it wasn’t – or someone else?
FLAPJACKS: Heck no.
ME: So you want to be James Bond. That’s pretty common.
FLAPJACKS: That’s far too common for the likes of me.
ME: …who have you inserted into this scenario who was not there previously? And before you start, don’t say “myself as a secret agent.”
FLAPJACKS: Of course not. That would be lame.
ME: So who is it?
FLAPJACKS: Funny you should say that.
ME: What do you – oh god, you want to set up this scenario so you can play Doctor Who rescuing James Bond.
FLAPJACKS: Yes! And then they go off on adventures together.
ME: That’s awful.
FLAPJACKS: I take it that you don’t want to play James Bond in this.
ME: Excuse me. If I was going to take part in this horrible exercise – which of course I never would – you had better damn believe that I would be Doctor Who. He has a time-traveling police box. All James Bond has is a watch with spy doohickeys, all of which can be disabled by Doctor Who’s sonic screwdriver.
FLAPJACKS: But I found this tuxedo in your size and everything.
ME: No.
FLAPJACKS: What if I told you that this offer also comes with a 1961 Aston Martin?
ME: Does it?
FLAPJACKS: Not really?
ME: Still a no, then.

I am pretty comfortable with whatever people might think of me in most circumstances, but I am still compelled to make this perfectly bloody clear: I did not purchase a copy of Glamour with my own money. My wife and I have moved into a new apartment, and whoever lived here before us apparently did not forward his or her (I do not make assumptions) subscription. At one point we were basically camping at our new place, and there was a period of time where that Glamour was the only reading material in the house apart from the ingredients on the Special K. So I read it, and I will fight to the death any man, woman, or child who derides me for doing so.

Now, you may have never read a copy of Glamour, so you might think of me as a sort of explorer; the guy who went into the uncharted Amazon so you didn’t have to and reported back what he found (answer: small, delicious frogs).

I am here to tell you that Glamour Magazine is weird.

First off, the cover copy says “Finally! Answers to All Your Questions About Sex and Love.” For realsies, Glamour? It took 70 years of continuous, monthly publication, but as of the November 2009 issue, they have finally answered those last, nagging questions on the subject; with nothing more to be said, I am sure this final issue will become a collector’s item.

No, look, whoever decides what the big, bold, main cover copy will say for Glamour decided to simply mention that they will be answering questions about sex and dating. I would be quite fascinated to see what else is in that copywriter’s portfolio. The June 2005 issue of Playboy: “Photos of Naked Women Inside!” Consumer Reports, August ’07: “Reviews and Comparisons of Various Products Available for Purchase!” The award-winning February 2004 Newsweek: No images, just bold white text on a black field stating “CURRENT EVENTS.”

Anyway.  Moving on. So, Scarlett Johansson is on the cover, right? And there’s a little “About the Cover” blurb near the front of the magazine as you’d expect, but they do not tell you who this person is and why you should read about her. No, they just assume you already know. Instead, they tell you what kind of makeup she’s wearing, how much it cost, and who did it for her. It’s like twenty lines of small type! And in the back there is an entire page dedicated to approximate prices of the clothes everybody is wearing. But I’m not sure that the young single mum who buys Glamour in the supermarket can afford a $75 T-shirt (no matter how many fuzzy pompoms it’s covered in), and wouldn’t rich people have a more exclusive source? Isn’t there, like, a special, platinum-level internet for the wealthy and famous? (Fun fact: Platinum Internet actually is a system of tubes.)

And then there’s the celebrity fragrances. Man, I don’t understand this either. Reese Witherspoon has a fragrance. All of a sudden that price page at the back seems almost sane to me.  Because I guess you could see something Reese Witherspoon is wearing and want to buy it too, or think her makeup and hair are really done well and look up who did them. Maybe you could even find out where she learned how to act and do that too, if you really admired her or something. But here’s the thing – I have no idea what Reese Witherspoon smells like, and you probably do not either. None of the media through which you experience Reese Witherspoon includes aroma capabilities. What about watching Election makes you think, “Gosh, I bet she is a fantastic perfumer”?

But the most odious thing about this magazine was the feature on plus-size models, featuring a nude (but strategically covered) photo spread. Let’s leave aside the condescending-sounding copy accompanying the photos (“Oh. Wow. These Bodies Are Beautiful” is actually how the title of article is punctuated. Jeez guys, try not to sound too excited or anything). Let’s even leave out that none of these women are really even all that plus-sized. No, what I want to call Glamour out on is the self-congratulatory tone they seem to feel entitled to for daring to showcase *gasp* size 12 models. They devoted six pages or so to women of a so-called “average” body type … with the other two hundred and forty devoted to the same kind of superthin models as usual, and acted as though they just tore down the Berlin Wall. This does not impress me, Glamour. This is the fashion and body equivalent of “Um, actually, I’ve got a co-worker who’s black and I’m very friendly with him…”

And the real kicker about this whole thing? And the reason why the guy who usually writes about mainstream superhero comics is bringing it up?

This magazine costs $3.99.

Do you see? I have spent this blog post tearing down this magazine that is totally not even marketed to me, but even chock full of 246 pages of crap and ads that I cannot distinguish from the articles, it is probably still a better value than 22 plus ads pages of Dark Avengers of Cry for Justice at the same price. I understand Glamour going for $3.99; like I said, they have an itemized list on how much all the dresses and makeup cost.

I just hope they’ve got Brian Michael Bendis decked out in Louis Vuitton for all that.

Recently Conservapedia has begun re-paraphrasing the Bible to make it more conservative. Now, they’re awfully busy and they’re mostly working on the New Testament right now, because that’s the bit with all the Jesus. So I thought I would pitch in on a famous part of the Old Testament: specifically, Daniel 6, the famous “Daniel in the Lion’s Den” story.

Because this is Conservapedia, I will only charge them $500 for the use of this retranslation. I am sure they would not respect my work otherwise.

—

1 It pleased Darius to appoint 120 satraps to rule throughout the kingdom,

2 with three administrators over them, one of whom was Daniel. The liberal satraps, who were all unionized, were made accountable to them so that cheats and frauds might not profit off the government and the backs of hard-working people.

3 Daniel understood so well that the welfare state would bring all to ruin that his guidance was invaluable, and the king planned to set him over the whole kingdom.

4 At this, the liberals, who were jealous of Daniel’s skill, tried to find grounds for charges against Daniel in his conduct of government affairs, but they were unable to do so. They could find no corruption in him, because he paid all taxes due of him by law, although of course he did not pay more than was necessary and made sure to use all exceptions due him so that the government would not unduly profit.

5 Finally these men said, “We will never find any basis for charges against Daniel, unless we use the power of the state to crush his Christian faith.”

6 So the administrators and the satraps went as a group to the king and said: “O King Darius, you’re awesome!”

7 “We all want to pray to you, and to carved idols of you. So we think you should make it a law that nobody should pray to anybody but you or a carved idol of you. And if they do, throw them in the lion’s den.”

8 “And put it in writing. That makes it all legal.”

9 So King Darius put the decree in writing, and made it all legal.

10 But when Daniel heard of this law, he quietly said to himself “this is an enroachment of the State upon my civil liberties, which cannot be borne.” So he prayed to God anyway.

11 Then the liberals went as a group and found Daniel praying.

12 So they went to the king and said “hey, remember how you passed that law saying that anybody praying to anybody other than you would get thrown to the lions?” And the king said “yeah.”

13 Then the liberals said to the king, “Daniel, who is one of the exiles from Judah, pays no attention to you, O king, or to the decree you put in writing. He still prays three times a day. To God. Not to you.”

14 When the king heard this, he was greatly distressed, because Daniel was the most effective counsellor he had, and Daniel’s policies had greatly stimulated his economy. He asked, “well, maybe he’s praying to me AND to God? That would work out all right, yes?”

15 And the liberals replied, “You put it in writing, remember?”

16 So the king gave the order, and they brought Daniel and threw him into the lions’ den. The king said to Daniel, “I don’t know how you’re going to get out of this one.” And Daniel said “God and the free market will rescue me.”

17 Daniel was sealed into the den with the lions, with the aid of teamsters, who had contacts with the liberal elite and would always benefit so long as they were in power.

18 Then the king returned to his palace and spent the night without eating and without any entertainment being brought to him. And he could not sleep.

19 At the first light of dawn, the king got up and drove to the lions’ den, putting his foot down against the gas pedal to go as fast as possible.

20 When he came near the den, he called to Daniel, “Daniel, has your God – or the free market – been able to rescue you from the lions?”

21 Daniel answered, “I’m fine, O king!”

22 “God sent forth an angel, and the angel gave the lions the power of economic responsibility. I convinced the lions that eating me would represent a progressive tax, since they would be redistributing my body amongst themselves, and I am much richer than they. I also pointed out that being thrown into this pit was a form of repressive regulation, and in the spirit of laissez-faire economics, thus did they refuse to eat me.”

23 The king was overjoyed and gave orders to lift Daniel out of the den. And when Daniel was lifted from the den, no wound was found on him, because he had trusted in his God and in the free market.

24 At the king’s command, the liberal union members who had falsely accused Daniel were brought in and thrown into the lions’ den, along with their wives and children and friends and Whoopi Goldberg and all the other liberals.

25 And before they reached the floor of the den, the lions overpowered them and crushed all their bones, for the lions realized that these individuals were parasites, draining the market of vital resources.

26 Then the king said, “I shall make it law that all men shall worship God!” And Daniel agreed and embraced the king, for the nation had in fact always been a Christian one from its very inception.

A LIST OF PHONETICALLY SUITABLE SUBSTITUTIONS FOR THE N-WORD FOR WHITE PEOPLE WHO UNDERSTANDABLY DO NOT WISH TO USE THE N-WORD BUT HAVE TO INCLUDE AN OBVIOUS REPLACEMENT FOR IT TO MORE ACCURATELY DESCRIBE A CONVERSATION / SET OF RAP LYRICS / CHRIS ROCK COMEDY ROUTINE

noogie
noggin
no-go
Nurgle
mega
Mogo
ogle
Eggo
igloo
boggle
Baggins

ONE

ME: And we have teams!
FLAPJACKS: Harlem Globetrotters!
ME: Christian country singers!
FLAPJACKS: Christian gay brothers!
ME: Christians dating since they were little kids!
FLAPJACKS: Did they say they were Christians?
ME: They met during a game of tetherball. Jesus played tetherball.
FLAPJACKS: I don’t think that’s quite right.
ME: I was raised Catholic. Don’t question me on these matters.
FLAPJACKS: There’s a team where one guy has Asperger’s!
ME: Lovable movie Asperger’s or real-life Asperger’s?
FLAPJACKS: Maybe he is like Bones on Bones.
ME: Bodybuilders!
FLAPJACKS: Who are also lawyers. Trial lawyers. Man, you need to bulk up if that is the standard for trial lawyers now. He could rip you in half.

TWO

ME: Whoa! One team doesn’t even get to do the Race if they can’t find a license plate?
FLAPJACKS: That is a DICK MOVE.
ME: That is a total dick move. But in keeping with the spirit of the Race,
FLAPJACKS: Explain.
ME: The Race has no pity for a bad taxi, no sympathy for a missed flight. The Race only cares about speed and ability. You cannot talk yourself out of elimination. The Race is Darwinism as applied to reality television.
FLAPJACKS: That doesn’t explain all the Christians.
ME: Whoa, we’re down to the hulked-out lawyers and the hippie yoga teachers!
FLAPJACKS: Sadly, the result seems rather predictable.

THREE

ME: And we’re off to Japan.
FLAPJACKS: I love that the Harlem Globetrotters aren’t “Dan and Steve,” but rather “Flight Time and Big Easy.” If I ever go on the Amazing Race I will totally demand that my chryon say “Flapjacks.”
ME: Who would your partner be?
FLAPJACKS: What, you wouldn’t be willing?
ME: I think I’d rather race with a woman.
FLAPJACKS: I could wear a dress.
ME: A woman much hotter than me, who is also female.
FLAPJACKS: That seems unrealistic.
ME: Yeah, well, so is me getting my American citizenship.
FLAPJACKS: Touche.

FOUR

FLAPJACKS: Team Gay Brothers has a secret plan. They will let female teams flirt with them and think that it is helpful, but in reality it will not be. This is the stupidest plan ever.
ME: Every plan involving inter-team manipulation on the Amazing Race is the stupidest plan ever. It has never worked ever in the history of time, but twenty thousand years from now when teams are lining up for jet-pack trips, they will still all be “Kylie-9 and I will use our pheromone generator matrix to make Bobby-7 and Bobby-8 think we are hot for them so they will help us.”
FLAPJACKS: Shame that Bobby-7 and Bobby-8 are eliminated in the third leg when PH1L, the omnicomputer host, destroys their spacecraft with a gamma laser.

FIVE

ME: Stereotypical Japanese game show.
FLAPJACKS: Because as Westerners we know that the Japanese do nothing but go to offices and watch fucking weird game shows. That is their entire culture.
ME: You forgot about “writing rape manga.”
FLAPJACKS: They do that while they’re at the offices. They have to do something.
ME: Aaaaand the Race has determined that the other thing Japanese people do is eat sushi and wasabi.
FLAPJACKS: HEY EVERYBODY IT’S CULTURAL!

SIX

ME: I wonder how long it will take me to get tired of hearing “Sweet Georgia Brown” this season.
FLAPJACKS: I would imagine long, long after I get tired of hearing Asperger Guy’s squeaky voice. He is nothing like Bones!
ME: Or Hulk Lawyer go YEAAAAAH!
FLAPJACKS: Or GO GO GO GO!
ME: So we’ve pretty much decided that we hate Hulk Lawyer already, right?
FLAPJACKS: Oh yes. Based on less than five minutes of television exposure, I am already positive that he is the Devil.
ME: He’s too lame to be the devil. Maybe he is the Spawn of Hasslehoff.

SEVEN

ME: So Team Gay Brothers is lying to Team Poker Players about not being gay, and Team Poker Players have convinced Team Gay Brothers that they are actually passionate charity workers.
FLAPJACKS: I wish they would realize that their elaborate plan involves helping one another under false pretenses, which is exactly the same as helping each other and being open and honest.
ME: It’s not their fault that they didn’t get to be on Survivor.

EIGHT

FLAPJACKS: And now, having finished with Japan because they have done everything possible while in Japan, they go to Vietnam. Presumably they will get involved in the child sex trade,
ME: That’s Thailand.
FLAPJACKS: I’m positive that Vietnam has its own child hookers. They just don’t advertise it like Thailand does. If Thailand is the Wal-Mart of child hookers, then Vietnam is, like, the Costco or something.
ME: I’m absolutely sure that that was a horrible thing to say.
FLAPJACKS: I’m just wondering what country is the Target of child hookers.

NINE

ME: The Harlem Globetrotters are pissed that the poker players lied about being poker players.
FLAPJACKS: Well, DUH. They’re poker players. They play a game that is all about lying and memorizing a series of odds, and the memorizing thing isn’t going to help much unless there’s a really specific challenge. Are the poker players going to get angry when the Harlem Globetrotters are successful because they’re very tall?
ME: You would.
FLAPJACKS: Well, fuck them for being tall.
ME: You’re six three!
FLAPJACKS: But they’re taller and so I hate them forever.
ME: I’m five eleven and I don’t hate them for being tall.
FLAPJACKS: No, you hate them for being trim and fit.

TEN

ME: You know, if I had a hot girlfriend and I was considering marrying her, the first word I would use when describing her good qualities would not be “loyal.” That’s something you use to describe your dog, not a potential wife-to-be.
FLAPJACKS: It would be “patient.” Or maybe “understanding.”
ME: Had to go there, didn’t you?
FLAPJACKS: Oh! Oh! “Blind!”

According to the BBC, we can expect more spiders than usual this autumn.

“It is this time of year that people become more aware of them – it is the silly season for spiders. The garden spiders are getting fatter for laying eggs and bundles of tiny spiders start hatching.”  – John Partridge, secretary of the British Arachnological Society

In other words, remember that bit in Charlotte’sWeb where Charlotte dies and you weep inconsolably as the inexorable floodwaters of mortality burst the dam of your fragile psyche?  Yeah, that.  That’s now.

So one of our eight-legged friends just got up close and personal with the Pope:

Associated Press video

Obviously this was a spider with an agenda.  But what? Let us consider the possibilities:

• 1)  Spider wanted to be Benedict’s friend.  (Story continues in saccharinely cute “Pope and Spider” webcomic.)
• 2)  Spider felt that this TV spot was insufficiently goth.  (Story continues in saccharinely disturbing “Pope and Spider” manga.)
• 3)  Spider is an avatar of African deity Anansi, exercising his Trickster abilities to rob Pope of dignity.  Will not desist until canonised.  (Story continues in indie comic “Anansiomancy”)
• 4)  Spider is Benedict’s familiar, only visible because Pope failed his saving throw.  Soon he will summon his holy arachnid legions to smite the unfaithful.  (Story continues in RPG-themed webcomic, “Fortitude Save”)
• 5)  Spider is radioactive.  (While I was typing this, Marvel bought it, making their entire legal team weep like children who’ve just seen Charlotte die.  Story continues in “One Day Less,” which culminates with spider-empowered Pope summoning Mephisto… but to what end, true believers?)

(context)

Now maybe you go to a big convention and you see someone in an unfamiliar costume and you are all “gosh I wish I knew who that was, but I can’t say that out loud or I will lose valuable nerd cred, and nerd cred is the only cred I have since I came to this convention and all.” So you sit there in silence, drinking your Mello Yello because the convention only has Mello Yello to drink because they ran out of all the other soft drinks three hours ago, even the Fresca, but what is worse than the silence and the vaguely citrusy pop is that you sit there in anguish because you don’t know what those nerds are dressed up like!

Well, never fear. I am here to help you nerds. I know everything that there ever was to know about anime. I know so much about anime I actually know what it will be called next, just like how I knew it was going to start being called “anime” back when everybody else was still calling it “Japanimation.” (I can’t tell you what the new name is, because that is top secret, but I can give you a hint: it will rhyme with a large animal commonly found in zoos.)

ANIME: Honor Of Panda
BRIEF SUMMARY: Kenji Watanabe is a 17th-century ronin with a very unruly student: Popo the panda! Kenji and Popo ride through the countryside, righting wrongs, helping villagers against bandits, defending the honor of beautiful maidens (who inevitably are allergic to pandas) and reading from The Book of Five Rings. Humourously, Popo never quite understands the way of war – he always wants to eat bamboo instead! Silly Popo!
WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS ANIME, COSTUME PLAYERS? “I like dressing as Kenji because he’s tough and cool, but with a good heart. Steve has been looking forward to dress up as Popo ever since he first saw the series. I’m not sure why.”

ANIME: Mercenary Princess Toyoka
BRIEF SUMMARY: Toyoka is a medieval Japanese princess who one day, while picking chrysanthemum blossoms to place in an artistic arrangement to present at court, falls through a time vortex right into the middle of a crazy gunfight: evil yakuza versus Isamu and Seiko, the famous mercenary duo known as the Running Bomb Angels! In their company, Toyoka quickly discovers skills she never realized she had as the Running Bomb Angels get a third member, who is deadly with her delicate fans and sense of right place.
WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS ANIME, COSTUME PLAYERS? “I’ve always wanted to commit horrible acts of violence, but I don’t like guns. Then I started watching Mercenary Princess Toyoka and realized the horrible things you could do with a fan.”

ANIME: Byzantine Fashion
BRIEF SUMMARY: Aglurk, a soldier for the Ottoman Empire, secretly wishes he was a fashion designer. Although bound by his warrior’s code to defend the Empire, this does not stop him from accessorizing in this wacky comedy for anybody who has ever loved shiny things.
WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS ANIME, COSTUME PLAYER? “The sparkles!”

ANIME: Oops! Jun Loves The Dead Girl!
BRIEF SUMMARY: Poor Jun – he finally gets up the courage to ask out Yukie, the girl he has loved all through high school, but on that very day she dies in a freak snorkeling accident. Will Jun ever realize that Aoi, his best friend, loves him very much and wishes to be his wife? Or will he spend all his time pining for dead Yukie and wishing she was alive so he could have sex with her? Find out in the 327 episodes of this fun sexy comedy!
WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS ANIME, COSTUME PLAYERS? “Alan likes it, and it means I don’t have to move around too much.”

ANIME: Zucchini Warrior Z
BRIEF SUMMARY: Z is a mutated zucchini, a cross between vegetable and man. In the future wars of 1993, Z leads the war against Petroglox, a massive corporation bent on control of all the world’s agriculture. Over the series’ six-season run, Z horrifically murders 1,924 corporate goons, each in a completely unique way. Anime Compendium says this series should have been called “Fist of the North Star 2: The Search For More Violence.”
WHY DO YOU LIKE THIS ANIME, COSTUME PLAYER? “I originally just started watching it out of boredom when I couldn’t get copies of Ranma 1/2, but somewhere around the three hundredth death I started wondering if they could keep up the original kill streak. It gets really compelling watching them come up with new ways to rend and tear flesh.”

-EC reprints are hellaciously expensive. The Amazon discount takes the edge off it quite a bit, but I still feel it’s pretty steep. Part of the magic of EC Comics (and this extends to a great deal more classic comics material) is that they were delivered in cheap, disposal packaging, but the content itself transcended those limitations and expectations. Magazines that got rolled up and stuffed in childrens’ back pockets are still fondly remembered 50 years after the fact. Maybe I’m being starry-eyed, but a $50 hardcover doesn’t seem in keeping. C’mon, Gemstone, I will make a deal with you: Put that material in $20 softcovers and I buy the whole run of Haunt of Fear JUST FOR STARTERS.

-No Miracleman reprints. This is an obvious one, but this may or may not be in the process of being rectified. I AM KEEPING MY EYE ON IT.

-No Flex Mentallo trade. Another obvious one, but it still stings whenever someone mentions it. Look, DC Comics: Do not be afraid of the Charles Atlas people. THEY ARE NOT REALLY GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE ON THE BEACH.

-The live-action Spider-Man TV show from the late seventies is not available on DVD. This one needs some justification. When I was a child, growing up in the early nineties, we didn’t have Tobey Maguire and millions of dollars of special effects. If you wanted to see a flesh-and-blood Spider-Man, you went down to the video store and rented episodes of this on VHS. Sometimes they played it on the Sci-Fi Channel as well. Look, I know this is not actually very good, but it is interesting. There’s a surreal brilliance to it because for the most part, it looks and sounds like any other cheesy hourlong crime/action drama from the seventies. You could walk in on the middle of the civilian bits having no idea that what you’re watching is any different from every other show from that time period until Spider-Man shows up out of the blue with his awkward-looking webshooters and belt. It would blow your little mind. Okay, maybe my interest in this is mostly nostalgic. But c’mon: DON’T TELL ME THE MARKET CAN SUPPORT DOZENS AND DOZENS OF JAPANESE CATGIRL STATUES AND NOT THIS.

-Also: Real-life injustices and atrocities at home and abroad, even the least of which dwarfs my complaints about pricey reprints and bad television lost to time. Still: FIFTY BUCKS?

FLAPJACKS: Man, I never knew there was so much shit I didn’t want.
ME: Really.
FLAPJACKS: I assume I wanted most shit. But I don’t want any of this shit. I came here to spend hard-earned money and look at this crap. Who the fuck wants GI Joe Minimates?
ME: People who like GI Joe, but wish it were blockier.
FLAPJACKS: Who the hell are those people?
ME: Cubists?
FLAPJACKS: These are collectibles of collectibles. Look at these things. The giant super-deformed doll things with the enormous round heads.
ME: The Mighty Muggs.
FLAPJACKS: Whatever. You can get the entire cast of Star Wars, Indiana Jones and the whole Marvel universe too. In super-deformed doll form. Who came up with this? Was someone sitting around saying “boy we sure could see more Red Skull toys if only he was shaped kind of like a fatter version of a Troll doll but with no hair?”
ME: Probably, yes. There’s a market for it.
FLAPJACKS: But who?

—

ME: What is that cosplayer’s costume?
FLAPJACKS: Which one?
ME: The girl in the three-piece suit with the fangs, the weird lock of hair shaped like an upright candy cane, and the ginormous rifle.
FLAPJACKS: She is dressed up as Twistlock, the lead character in Vampire Formalwear Gunfighter.
ME: You know, for a second there, I actually thought you were serious.
FLAPJACKS: Yeah, I’m kidding.
ME: Well, of course.
FLAPJACKS: It’s actually called Vampire Pantyhose Formalwear Gunfighter.

—

FLAPJACKS: Oh, dude. Is that guy dressed up as Bloodshot?
ME: You mean Valiant comics Bloodshot? Yeah, looks like.
GUY DRESSED UP AS BLOODSHOT: BLOOOOODSHOOOOT! YEEEEEAAAAAH!
ME: So I take it you like Bloodshot.
GUY DRESSED UP AS BLOODSHOT: Valiant comics were the best comics! They were better than DC! Kicked Marvel’s ass! Vertigo was nothing compared to Valiant!
FLAPJACKS: Fuck YOU, Drawn and Quarterly! Did you come up with Dr. Mirage’s second life? I think not!
ME: How about when Valiant got sold to Acclaim?
GUY DRESSED UP AS BLOODSHOT: Fuck Acclaim! They ruined everything! You know what I’m talking about!
(GUY DRESSED UP AS BLOODSHOT exits.)
ME: Well, at least he paused in his hyperbole to recognize how Valiant got fucked over. That’s a real fan.
FLAPJACKS: The sort of real fan who is willing to paint himself all over in white bodypaint except for a big red dot on his chest, and then explain to everybody that he is cosplaying a briefly popular superhero from fifteen years ago.
ME: The sort of real fan who can say with a straight face “yeah, okay, Sandman revolutionized comics storytelling, but did it have a guy with two guns in it shooting mobsters? I think not.”
FLAPJACKS: The sort of real fan who is willing to spend all day explaining that he is not, in fact, dressed up as an alternate-universe Captain Atom.

—

FLAPJACKS: Do you wanna go to the DC panel?
ME: No, I wanna play boardgames.
FLAPJACKS: But you’re a comics guy.
ME: I like comics. I don’t know that I qualify as a “comics guy.”
FLAPJACKS: Whatever, Mr. I’m Too Good For The DC Comics Panel.
ME: I don’t want to go to the panel. I have better things to do than listen to Dan Didio bullshit for an hour.
FLAPJACKS: The Marvel panel?
ME: …or listen to Joe Quesada bullshit for an hour either. There are two types of people who go to panels like that: the bored and the fanatic. I’m not bored, and I’m not a blind follower.
FLAPJACKS: So you’re saying nerds are blind followers?
ME: What’s the most common costume you’ve seen at this convention?
FLAPJACKS: Imperial Stormtrooper, why?
ME: Exactly. The Imperial Stormtrooper. The rank-and-file bad guy in the Star Wars movies. There’s one guy I’ve seen dressed up as Vader, a couple Jedi, and there’s like a hundred Stormtroopers.
FLAPJACKS: That’s not really a fair comparison. I mean, there are that many Stormtroopers here because there’s a Stormtrooper play-group who are guests.
ME: That doesn’t make it better. Given a chance to assume a role in their favorite movie, all of these people chose, of their own free will and volition, to be the boot stomping on a human face forever.
FLAPJACKS: And possibly missing, because they are Stormtroopers.
ME: That’s disturbing. That’s actually more disturbing than Civil War re-enactors who portray Confederates. At least they’re trying to honor their ancestors or something. The Stormtroopers are honoring what exactly? George Lucas’ taste in flannel shirts?

—

FLAPJACKS: Oh, man, will you look at that knife?
ME: Wow. It has multiple blades sticking out of the hilt.
FLAPJACKS: Exactly. Someone considered the knife and said, “nice, but I think we can make it even more knifey.”
ME: And then they cut themselves when they tried to hold it.

—

FLAPJACKS: The Soup Nazi is here!
ME: That just rubs me the wrong way. That guy has made a career out of being the Soup Nazi. He shows up at conventions because he was the Soup Nazi. He does other commercials as the Soup Nazi. He makes appearances on TV shows as “the guy who was the Soup Nazi.” He was in one frigging episode of Seinfeld. He didn’t come up with the catchphrase or the idea. And people want his autograph. That makes no fucking sense at all. At least the other people here signing things have actually done more than, say, five minutes of screentime to make themselves famous.
FLAPJACKS: Hey, he gives away autographed ladles!
ME: Arrgrgrgggggggh.

—

FLAPJACKS: So you only came to this convention to play board games?
ME: Pretty much. I’ll do some shopping, but I came to play games.
FLAPJACKS: That’s really stupid.
ME: Why? I like board games. And there’s a prize if I win the tournament.
FLAPJACKS: Are you going to win the tournament?
ME: Probably not.
FLAPJACKS: How much is the prize?
ME: Fifty dollars in store credit at the sponsor’s store.
FLAPJACKS: How much did you pay to get in here?
ME: Fifty dollars.
FLAPJACKS: So even if you won, you would be breaking even.
ME: But I get to have fun playing board games.
FLAPJACKS: Don’t you own most of these board games?
ME: …not all of them.
FLAPJACKS: So you could have stayed home and played board games with friends, for nothing, but instead you paid to come here. That’s quality thinking. I think you need to go apologize to the Stormtroopers.