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.

(Scene: A DC Comics marketing department meeting room. Present are The Boss and Interchangeable Marketing and PR Executives #1-31 Larry, Gary, and J.D., three Marketing Executives who are wholly fleshed-out, multi-dimensional characters.)

The Boss: OK boys, our assignment this week oughta be a cakewalk. It seems the boys upstairs are working on a big storyline for Superman, and we’ve got to come up with a name for it.

Larry: Great!

Gary: Fantastic!

J.D.: What’s the story about?

Boss: I don’t know. Superman, I guess. Why?

J.D.: Well, if we’ve got to come up with a title for the story–

Boss: Who told you we had to do that?

J.D.: You did.

Boss: I did? When?

J.D: Just now.

Boss: Don’t think so…

J.D.: You said we had to come up with a name for the big Superman storyline.

Boss: No! No, no, no, no. But I see where the confusion’s coming from. No, we don’t need a title. What we need is a term. For the, you know, the kind of story it is.

J.D.: A comic story?

Boss: This is bigger than a comic story. What the writers are doing, see, is working really closely with their editors, and telling a big, a huge story that’s spread out over all the Superman titles.

Larry: Great!

Gary: Fantastic!

J.D.: Um. Isn’t that what they usually do?

Boss: Yes! But it’s never had a name before.

J.D.: Are you sure?

Boss: What do you mean?

J.D.: I mean, they’ve been doing basically the same thing for, like, 30 years, right?

Boss: No, you don’t understand. They’re using the books to tell a huge story. And they’re numbering them!

J.D.: Don’t we always number them?

Boss: No, I mean, Action Comics #900 is, like, #1, Supergirl #37 is #2, uh, the other Superman title…

Larry: Superman?

Boss: No. Well, yeah, that too, but I’m thinking of the one that’s actually got Superman in it.

J.D.: World of New Krypton.

Boss: Yeah, that one. So #5 of that would be #3. And so on.

Larry: Awesome idea, boss.

Gary: Really cool.

J.D.: That won’t be a little confusing for new readers?

The Boss: New readers? You’re joking, right?

J.D.: No, I just thought, I mean–people might be confused by two numbering systems–

Gary: Nobody was confused by The Death of Superman.

J.D.: I kinda was. Why didn’t he just grab one of Doomsday’s tube things and fly off into space with him?

(Awkward silence.)

Boss: Anyway. The Death of Superman had a bunch of comics with two numbers  on them, and it sold great, so we’re doing it again, but with a fresh, 21st century twist.

J.D.: What’s the twist?

Boss: This time we’re calling it something other than a comic story.

Gary: It’s an event!

Boss: Right, like that.

Larry: A Superman Storytelling Event! A superstory!

Gary: A superstory! I love it!

Boss: It’s a bit on the nose…

Gary: It is a bit on the nose. I don’t love it. It’s OK. It sucks. I hate it. Larry should die horribly in a cockfighting accident.

Boss: …But it’s a start. Come on, give me more. What kind of story is this?

Larry: It’s a Superstory.

J.D.: You said that already.

Larry: I didn’t capitalize it that time. Oo, oo, I’ve got it, I’ve got it: SuperStory.

Boss: Both S’s capitalized?

Larry: (nods)

Gary: Fantastic!

Boss: Two capital letters does make it seem more important, but I’m not sure SuperStory’s what we want.

Larry: It’s an ultrastory! A Wildstory!

Boss: Someone write that down. You never know when we’re going to want to do a big marketing push for Wildstorm.

All: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Boss: Mph. Hm. Hmhehmhehheeheeheehehhh… OK. Seriously. A big Superman going story over multiple titles and it’s called…?

Larry: A hyperstory!

J.D.: Grant Morrison already used that.

Larry: A metastory!

J.D.: I think Morrison used that one, too.

Gary: A multistory!

Boss: Sounds like a building.

Larry: A superbuilding!

J.D.: You’ve started doing coke again, haven’t you?

Gary: Story’s a little… mundane for a, uh, a Superman, uh…

J.D.: Story?

Gary: What’s another word for story?

Len: Prose?

Larry: Superprose!

Boss: Now we’re cooking with gasoline! Superprose! Perfect! I love it.

Len: But it’s a comic story, isn’t it?

Boss: Yeah, and…?

Len: Well, it’s just–prose is words, right? And comics have pictures, too.

Boss: Who the fuck are you?

Len: Uh, hi. I’m Len. The new intern?

Boss: The ex-intern, you mean. Get the fuck outta here!

(Len leaves.)

Gary (consulting online dictionary): Fuck!

Larry: What?

Gary: Whatsisname–the intern kid–

Boss: The ex-intern kid–

J.D.: Len.

Gary: –was right. Prose is words only.

Boss: Shit.

Gary: We could call it comic prose…

Larry: Comic SuperProse!

Boss: Give the “super” thing a rest, Lar. Comic prose is good…

J.D.: Is it, though?

Gary: Is it what?

J.D.: Comic prose.

Gary: As opposed to what?

J.D.: Comics. Comics includes pictures and prose already…

Larry: So what do you want to call it?

J.D.: I kinda want to call it comics.

Boss: Do you kinda like having a fucking job?

J.D.: Comic… literature?

Boss: No. No, no, no. How many times do I have to say this isn’t comics? Comics are for kids.

Larry: That why everyone calls them graphic novels now.

Gary: Can we call it a graphic novel?

Boss: No.

J.D.: Everyone else will. Except the ones that call it comics.

Boss: We didn’t come up with it.

Gary: Can we buy it off the person who did?

Boss: Find someone who makes substantially less than I do and have them look into that. I like graphic. What’s another word for novels?

Larry: Stories.

Gary: Prose.

Boss: Yeah, we’ve done those. What else?

J.D.: Literature?

Gary: Jesus, what is it with you and literature?

Boss: Graphic literature. That’s fantastic.

Gary: Graphic literature, fantastic! Fan-tas-TIC.

Boss: People ask me why I keep an aggravating son of a bitch like you around, J.D., and times like this are the answer! Graphic literature…

J.D.: People think I’m aggravating…?

Larry: Oh, man, do they ever.

Gary: They fucking hate you, man. I heard someone called you a dirty stinking nazi…

J.D.: They did?!?!

Gary: The American kind. Not a real one.

J.D.: Ah. That’s all right then.

Boss: So we’re all agreed, the new Superman story is graphic literature.

J.D.: Yeah, we can’t call it that.

Boss: Who says? Who the fuck says we can’t call it graphic literature?

J.D.: That’s what Marvel calls their comics when they want to call them something other than what they are.

Boss: FUCK! Fucking Marvel… OK. What were the other options?

Larry: SuperStory!

Gary: Prose?

J.D.: That’s just words–

Larry: See that, that right there? That’s why people think you’re an aggravating son of a bitch.

Gary: Graphic prose, then.

Boss: Sounds like porn.

Gary: Maybe it could be a porno story.

J.D.: With Superman?

Gary: Probably sell better.

Boss: I’ll run it by the boys upstairs, but Frank Miller isn’t involved so don’t get your hopes up. Come on, come on! It’s big, it’s a story, it’s got words and pictures but we don’t want to call it comics–

J.D.: Even though it is.

Boss: –or graphic–

Gary: Even though it’d sell better if it was.

Boss: –or a novel or literature. So. What ARE we gonna call it?

***

“James and Greg and Sterling are working so intensely closely on the Superman material that it’s one of the reasons we felt comfortable putting the numbers shields on the books. These guys are working together and creating what we call mega-fiction…”  – DC Executive Editor Dan DiDio

***

J.D.: All I’m saying is, “mega-fiction” doesn’t really get across the idea of a visual story…

Boss: Eh. You can’t have everything.

Larry: Does anyone know where I could score some coke?

-Foley

1. Sorry for stepping on your bit, boss. [↩]

FLAPJACKS: I have a question.
ME: Oh, good.
FLAPJACKS: Why is Spider-Man poor?
ME: Because he can’t hold down a steady job because of great responsibility and so forth.
FLAPJACKS: Yeah, I get that, but why is he poor? Why doesn’t he just go on a reality TV show and make a lot of money?
ME: Because he would have to reveal his identity as Spider-Man?
FLAPJACKS: Can other people see the Spider-Sense waves shooting out of his head when he uses his Spider-Sense?
ME: No.
FLAPJACKS: Then what’s the problem? He goes on Survivor. Whenever somebody is lying to him about their alliance, he will know in advance. “Spider-Sense… tingling! I think Lonnie plans to vote against me at tribal council tonight!”
ME: Would he be able to form alliances, though?
FLAPJACKS: He doesn’t need to form alliances that badly. He is spider-agile and spider-strong, so he can dominate at the challenges – he just needs to make sure that it looks realistic. Hey presto, million dollars.
ME: Isn’t that kind of cheating?
FLAPJACKS: Peter Parker has spent his entire professional career using his spider-powers to get amazing photographs that no other photographer can get. Isn’t that cheating? Clearly, Peter has no problems with cheating if he gets some money out of it. It’s “great responsibility,” not “total honesty.”
ME: Yes, but –
FLAPJACKS: And then when he wins Survivor he can go win Wipeout so he has beer money. It’s only $50,000, but beer money is beer money.
ME: I think you’re forgetting that –
FLAPJACKS: I don’t know who he’d team up with on The Amazing Race. Aunt May is frail, yes, but she’s also very clever and Peter could handle the challenges. On the other hand, Mary Jane would be the ideal partner if he wants a dramatic situation that would make the show’s producers want to cast him.
ME: Ahem. The Parker Luck.
FLAPJACKS: What?
ME: You’re forgetting about the Parker Luck. Peter Parker can never go on a reality show because if he did, a supervillain would just attack the set or the island or whatever.
FLAPJACKS: Come on. Survivor is on tropical islands. What supervillain hangs out on remote tropical islands?
ME: Think that sentence over for a second.
FLAPJACKS: … damn.
ME: It’d be either a HYDRA base or some villain who had decided to get away from it all and who would get extremely angry when Spider-Man shows up.
FLAPJACKS: “Curse you, Spider-Man! I was in comfortable semi-retirement and now you come to take it away from me! I will kill you! And all these witnesses.”
ME: Exactly. And if it somehow wasn’t a supervillain or evil organization, a hurricane would hit and Peter would be forced to become Spider-Man to save some villagers. And then people ask “what is Spider-Man doing in Fiji?” And then J. Jonah Jameson would start a trade war with Fiji. And Peter wouldn’t want that on his conscience.
FLAPJACKS: You’ve given this a lot of thought.
ME: I get bored easily.

FLAPJACKS: I have settled upon a new career!
ME: What, did you get fired from the bookstore?
FLAPJACKS: Oh, whatever. The bookstore was so 2007.
ME: So yes.
FLAPJACKS: I will have you know there was a definite fistfight over my prospective career options.
ME: A fistfight.
FLAPJACKS: Well, metaphorically there was a fistfight.
ME: So what you’re saying is that there was not so much a fistfight as there was not a fistfight.
FLAPJACKS: We could quibble over semantics all day long. But do you want to hear about my new job?
ME: Shepherd?
FLAPJACKS: No.
ME: Sandwich maker?
FLAPJACKS: No.
ME: Hobo?
FLAPJACKS: That’s not even a job.
ME: By your standards it is.
FLAPJACKS: Whatever. I am going to be one of those guys who makes up the “hot or not” lists!
ME: What?
FLAPJACKS: You know! Like, you open up your copy of Us Weekly or whatever, and inside there is a list and it is all “HOT: Lindsay Lohan in rehab” and “NOT: Amy Winehouse in rehab,” or “HOT: hybrid cars” and “NOT: hybrid plants.”
ME: I don’t read Us Weekly.
FLAPJACKS: That actually works out well for you, because they are NOT.
ME: Oh.
FLAPJACKS: I have my first list here. Want to see?
ME: No.
FLAPJACKS: Here you go!
ME: If you stop shoving it at my face I’ll read it.
FLAPJACKS: That’s what she said!
ME: …that doesn’t even work.
FLAPJACKS: That’s what she said!
ME: I think there’s a mistake here.
FLAPJACKS: Where?
ME: Under “hot,” your first entry is just an “H.”
FLAPJACKS: That’s not a mistake. The letter H is hot.
ME: That doesn’t make any sense.
FLAPJACKS: Without the letter H, there would be no hot. Everything would just be “ot.”
ME: Does that mean that the letter N is “not?”
FLAPJACKS: The letter N is not hot, but neither is it not. Despite its unfortunate association with notness, one has to respect the letter N for boldly going its own way. Like John Waters.
ME: What does that make O and T?
FLAPJACKS: Sheep. Or maybe the third Simpson sister.
ME: Already I think you are taking this concept to a new, disturbing place.
FLAPJACKS: That was the idea!
ME: Why is Parmesan cheese hot?
FLAPJACKS: Because I like Parmesan cheese.
ME: And broccoli?
FLAPJACKS: Because I like broccoli.
ME: Other than the letter H, everything that is “hot” on your list seems to be foods you like.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: And the “not” list is a bunch of foods I know you don’t like. Anchovies, cauliflower, macaroons…
FLAPJACKS: And Wes Anderson. He’s at the bottom.
ME: Wes Anderson is “not?”
FLAPJACKS: Well, not really. But I don’t want him getting cocky.
ME: I think your publisher will tell you that you need to diversify your list a bit.
FLAPJACKS: Very interesting. I will take it under advisement.
ME: Well – wait. You never listen to my advice.
FLAPJACKS: Sure I do.
ME: No, you don’t. You don’t even make a humble show of agreement while ignoring me completely.
FLAPJACKS: So?
(Pause.)
ME: Who’s hired you to do this?
FLAPJACKS: You mean at this present time?
ME: That would be “nobody.”
FLAPJACKS: I’m freelancing.
ME: I freelance. You know what the difference is between you and me? I get paid to do it.
FLAPJACKS: Well, I will eventually.
ME: I am not paying you to make “hot or not” lists.
FLAPJACKS: What if I include a “five minutes ago” category?
ME: No.
FLAPJACKS: Any number of minutes ago you like. I’m flexible!
ME: No.
FLAPJACKS: Aw.

Top comment: Flapjacks’s logic is IMPECCABLE, in that it cannot be PECCED. — supergp

FLAPJACKS: Hey, log on to your internet. I want to show you something.
ME: Why do you never just use the internet at your house? Is it wolves again?
FLAPJACKS: Sadly, my house has become the primary conflict site for a very small but extremely intense ethnic conflict. If I surfed the net there, I might step on a landmine. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, right? Think of what Sally Struthers would say.
ME: Sally Struthers?
FLAPJACKS: Isn’t she the one who hates landmines?
ME: Well, I’m sure she’s probably strongly anti-landmine, but I think she’s known for campaigning against hunger.
FLAPJACKS: Well, you can’t eat landmines, so I’m sure she’s with me on this.
ME: On letting you use my internet.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.

ME: Well.
FLAPJACKS: I know!
ME: I see Gerard Butler is still making bad career decisions.
FLAPJACKS: Excuse me, but I think we just saw the sleeper hit of 2009.
ME: What, are you serious? It is the latest “man in competitive reality show” type thing. So it’s a video game this time instead. So what?
FLAPJACKS: Ah, but this trailer debuted on XBox Live!
ME: So?
FLAPJACKS: So they are marketing themselves to their target audience intensely! And you know how they are doing that? By tapping into primordial desires.
ME: Primordial desires.
FLAPJACKS: You see, whenever a child plays Halo, what they are really doing is sublimating their desire to kill people.
ME: I’m pretty sure most psychologists would tell you that you are wrong. And probably also bad.
FLAPJACKS: Possibly, but so what?
ME: I don’t want Gabe and Tycho from Penny Arcade sending their goons over here.
FLAPJACKS: They have goons?
ME: It’s a recessionary economy. Goons are a dime a dozen now. I considered hiring a goon just yesterday but then realized I didn’t have anybody I needed roughed up.
FLAPJACKS: I thought only SomethingAwful had goons.
ME: No, they have Goons ™.
FLAPJACKS: I am always impressed by your ability to pronounce the trademark symbol.
ME: Thanks.
FLAPJACKS: But what’s the difference between SomethingAwful goons tee-em and regular goons?
ME: It’s like the difference between Bayer brand aspirins and regular aspirins.
FLAPJACKS: Ah.
ME: Exactly!
FLAPJACKS: Anyway, I’m sure they won’t send any goons, because I’m totally right about this. See, consider little Timmy playing on his XBox, killing people with Master Shake.
ME: Master Chief.
FLAPJACKS: I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about that. So Master Shake shoots a guy and then they hump his face. But it’s not enough! “Gosh,” thinks little Timmy, “it would be awesome if I could kill people for real, but have it be as easy as playing XBox.” See, little Timmy is, like most gamers, quick to realize his own physical limitations.
ME: Is little Timmy in fact giant big fat Timmy?
FLAPJACKS: Don’t play into people’s preconceptions of gamers!
ME: But they’re so often true.
FLAPJACKS: Whatever. Little Timmy is a paraplegic. His only joy in life comes from playing video games. Are you happy now? Little Timmy, stuck in his wheelchair forever, doomed to die one day of bed sores just like Christopher Reeve did. All he wants to do is blow somebody’s head off in a spray of pink mist and have it be for real, and then be able to tell his parents “LOOK, I’M DOING IT” as he stands up on unsteady legs, totters over to the corpse and humps it, but little Timmy can never do that so instead he has to imagine the last part. Why must you deny little Timmy that pleasure?
ME: Because it would be murder?
FLAPJACKS: Ah HA, but that is the genius of Gamer! In this movie, all the real people getting shot and killed are convicted criminals sentenced to die! So it is morally permissible to kill them, and then force the person you are controlling to hump the remnants of their face.
ME: You know, even in the United States, they really don’t hand out enough death sentences to justify the bodycount of a movie like this.
FLAPJACKS: I’m sure in the dystopic future there are plenty more people getting death sentences.
ME: But are they getting those sentences for crimes they in fact committed, or were they shoved into the justice system by corrupt enforcers looking for additional profit?
FLAPJACKS: Oh, come now. Michael C. Hall is the inventor of the game! Would Michael C. Hall play a character who was morally ambigious?
(Long pause.)
FLAPJACKS: Okay, maybe he would. Damn. Now I am all conflicted.
ME: How so?
FLAPJACKS: Because on the one hand I want to see Gerard Butler shoot shit up and hump people’s faces –
ME: What is with you and humping people’s faces?
FLAPJACKS: …it’s been a while.
ME: Ah.
FLAPJACKS: Anyway, but on the other hand, I don’t want to encourage outright murder! Except when I do. It’s complex. You have to take each murder into account separately, weigh and balance them, that sort of thing.
ME: What if you pretend that this is not Halo, but Gears of War instead, and instead of other people Gerard Butler is shooting horrible mutant things?
FLAPJACKS: That makes things much better!
ME: I thought it would.

Top comment: I can’t wait for the riveting, dramatic scene where Gerald Butler is going to die because the kid got his camera stuck in a corner. — NCallahan

ME: So get this – Steven Seagal is reading my blog.
FLAPJACKS: Steven Seagal, or some comedy nerd pretending to be Steven Seagal?
ME: I’m pretty sure it’s the real Steven Seagal.
FLAPJACKS: And he’s reading your blog.
ME: Yeah.
FLAPJACKS: No, he’s just following you on Twitter.
ME: Lots of people follow me on Twitter. A lot more, lately. There were a few people at first and now they’re coming regularly.
FLAPJACKS: Perhaps you have reached… twittical mass.
ME: Don’t do that. Don’t do wordplay with “tw” because it is Twitter. I hate that.
FLAPJACKS: Wordplay… or twordplay?
ME: Stop it.
FLAPJACKS: Anyhow, like I said, he’s just following you on Twitter.
ME: But I don’t have a fancy phone that can do Twitter things, so all I do with Twitter right now is points to updates on my blog. Therefore, Steven Seagal is reading my blog. QED.
FLAPJACKS: Perhaps he is only reading your blog titles. Did you ever think about that?
ME: No, because that would be retarded.
FLAPJACKS: Why on earth is he reading your blog?
ME: I think it’s because I’m awesome.
FLAPJACKS: Maybe this will lead to a trend of other C-list celebrities reading your blog. If Steven Seagal is reading your blog, how long until Kevin Pollak starts reading you? And once Kevin Pollak is reading you, it is only a matter of time before you have Claudia Christian, Kevin Sorbo or Mike Ditka. And from there, it is but a hop, skip and jump to the lofty peaks of Lorenzo Lamas.
ME: Are you seriously going to refer to Steven Seagal as “C-list”?
FLAPJACKS: The last thing I saw him in was that movie where he dies twenty minutes in and then Kurt Russell has to land the jet plane, so yes.
ME: I wasn’t trying to debate your definitions. I was pointing out that you just called Steven Seagal “C-list” and that he is going to read that you called him that.
FLAPJACKS: Say what now?
ME: This is gonna be a blog post.
FLAPJACKS: But you didn’t give me the hand signal!
ME: What hand signal?
FLAPJACKS: The hand signal that means “I am going to blog this conversation!” You didn’t warn me I was on the record!
ME: First, we don’t have any such hand signal. Second, I never warn you and you never complain.
FLAPJACKS: That was because until now you didn’t have anybody reading your stupid blog that could kill me by twitching his thumbs slightly! It’s all been various kinds of nerds! The type of nerds who breathe heavily when they get out of their motor scooters! Steven Seagal doesn’t have a motor scooter!
ME: Maybe he has one that he uses to kill people.
FLAPJACKS: That’s even worse! Now all I can think about is Steven Seagal coming after me with a motor scooter and death is in his eyes!
ME: Hey, Wikipedia says he has his own brand of knife.
FLAPJACKS: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!
ME: “The “Steven Seagal Edition” knives feature 4″ blades with his signature etched in, and no auto-assisted opening mechanism.” You know why there’s no auto-assisted opening mechanism? Because auto-assisted opening mechanisms are for pansy-men.
FLAPJACKS: Oh god he’s going to cut me up and eat me.
ME: He’s a vegetarian.
FLAPJACKS: He’s going to cut me up and feed me to some animal with a strictly carnivorous diet so as not to waste my flesh.
ME: Possibly.
FLAPJACKS: WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY “NO HE’S NOT GOING TO DO THAT”?
ME: Well, he wasn’t going to eat you, but I have to admit, chopping you up into food for endangered species is entirely possible.
FLAPJACKS: Oh god. Oh god. I need a plan.
ME: Sure, why not.
FLAPJACKS: Okay. Okay. He’s an aikido champion. Right?
ME: And?
FLAPJACKS: “Aikido is a defensive martial art which focuses on not harming one’s attacker.”
ME: So I am guessing that your plan, such as it is, is to not attack him and therefore he will not be able to use his aikido skills?
FLAPJACKS: No, because I’m certain he knows how to kick my ass through some other method. I plan to attack him constantly, so he will fall back upon the aikido at which he is most comfortable, and I will be safe because he will deflect me harmlessly! Eventually his rage will subside, I am sure.
ME: Unless he’s learned to modify his aikido to use with his particular brand of knife.
FLAPJACKS: You just have to ruin everything, don’t you?
ME: Hey, he has his own brand of energy drink! Maybe he will drown you in a tub of it.
FLAPJACKS: How would he do that?
ME: Well, you attack him, he uses his aikido tricks to throw you harmlessly wherever he feels like it, except the harmless throw lands you in a vat of Steven Seagal Lightning Bolt Energy Drink, and then he just has to kind of hold you underneath the surface one-handed until your pitiful struggle finally ceases.
FLAPJACKS: I hate you so much that it is like I am made of poison.

Top comment: He also follows LeVar Burton, so I wouldn’t get too excited. Well, he was Kunta Kinte, I guess. And Geordie LaForge. And Reading Rainbow Guy…

Never mind. You’re hot shit! — Bill Reed

ONE
ME: So they’re stuntmen who double for children.
FLAPJACKS: They’re being totally dismissive when they say it’s a niche market.
ME: Really. How else can they apply it?
FLAPJACKS: They could stunt double for Michael J. Fox.
ME: Right.
FLAPJACKS: Because he’s short.
ME: I got it.
FLAPJACKS: Although they’d have to wiggle around a lot, I guess.

TWO
ME: What the fuck is this?
FLAPJACKS: They got rid of the original Amazing Race music and replaced it with a harder-rock version!
ME: This is total bullshit! The original theme music was timeless.
FLAPJACKS: They also have new fonts.
ME: The original fonts were time-tested and true!
FLAPJACKS: Wasn’t that a slogan for trucks?
ME: Don’t distract me from the issues at hand! They are trying to “coolify” the Amazing Race! And you can’t do that, because it is already just about completely perfect!
FLAPJACKS: They could put in a walrus with laser tusks.
ME: Hence the “just about.”

THREE
FLAPJACKS: The deaf guy doesn’t read lips?
ME: Apparently not.
FLAPJACKS: What a waste of a perfectly good deaf person.
ME: I think you need to rephrase that.
FLAPJACKS: Come on, reading lips is like being a super-spy, except everyday people get to do it. It is cool. And Lazy McDeaferson here doesn’t read lips, and instead has his mom translate for him? That is like saying “James Bond? No thanks, I think I’d rather be Larry in accounting.”
ME: It’s probably tricky. Can you read lips?
FLAPJACKS: Do I look deaf?
ME: Deaf has a look?
FLAPJACKS: Like Marlee Matlin!
ME: You certainly don’t look like Marlee Matlin.
FLAPJACKS: That’s probably for the best.
ME: Yes.

FOUR
FLAPJACKS: Preston and Jennifer are fighting only ten minutes into the new season! I think that’s a record.
ME: Which ones are they again? Are they the ones who said they fight all the time?
FLAPJACKS: Why is there always a couple who fights all the time on this show?
ME: Because there are a lot of out-of-work actors in Hollywood with dysfunctional relationships.

FIVE
FLAPJACKS: Hey! It’s Ernest!
ME: You mean Jim Varney?
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: Jim Varney is dead.
FLAPJACKS: No he isn’t. Look, he’s right there, with his wife.
ME: That would be “Steve.”
FLAPJACKS: Assumed name.
ME: He died over eight years ago!
FLAPJACKS: No, he faked his death.
ME: Why would he fake his death?
FLAPJACKS: Legions of crazed Ernest fans.
ME: So let me get this straight. Jim Varney fakes his death to escape legions of supposed fans of the Ernest movies. He then gets married, builds a life for himself, then potentially ruins it all by competing on the Amazing Race, alerting said legions of supposed fans to his non-death.
FLAPJACKS: I never said it was a brilliant plan. I mean, come on. He was Ernest.

SIX
ME: The stuntmen look kind of like hobbits.
FLAPJACKS: You realize now that I won’t be able to think of them as anything other than hobbits.
ME: Tough noogies.

SEVEN
FLAPJACKS: Wait, the lawyer guy’s plan to fool the other teams into not taking the correct train is “well, we’re not sure if this is the right train, but we’re gonna take it anyway?” This is what an education at Harvard Law buys you?
ME: I bet they don’t consider that a cunning ruse at Yale.
FLAPJACKS: Would they consider it a cunning ruse at Osgoode Hall?
ME: I’m not sure. I’ll try it and get back to you.
FLAPJACKS: Don’t bother. I have decided, based on this one thirty-second segment of video, that all lawyers are much stupider than advertised and that a magical talking lion will represent me in all future legal dealings.
ME: Where would you get a magical talking lion?
FLAPJACKS: I have my sources.
ME: No you don’t.
FLAPJACKS: No I don’t, but for a second you believed.
ME: No I didn’t.
FLAPJACKS: And that is why the lawyer guy’s ruse was so stupid.

EIGHT
ME: And I see this week’s Traditional Insert-Country-Here Challenge Element is delivering cheese using what appear to be backpacks made out of wood.
FLAPJACKS: That’s how you know it’s traditional! Instead of using proper backpacks, they use old-timey wooden backpacks! Like Grandpapa used to use! Back in the days when Switzerland was called “Nazi Gold Depository,” before they invented the wheelbarrow.
ME: And instead of just driving a truck there, they have to go on foot!
FLAPJACKS: And instead of Velveeta, they are picking up cheese!
ME: That last one doesn’t work.
FLAPJACKS: Have you ever tried to carry two hundred pounds of Velveeta at once?
ME: Have you?
FLAPJACKS: In my other secret life as a daring criminal specializing in cheese food products.
ME: I am pretty sure you never did that.
FLAPJACKS: It’s a secret life.
ME: Anyway, these challenges are important, because they tell us something important about other cultures.
FLAPJACKS: No they don’t. Nobody does this stupid shit any more.
ME: No, they tell us that Swiss people like to drink beer and watch Americans do stupid shit nobody does any more.
FLAPJACKS: But everybody in the whole world likes to do that.
ME: And that’s why deep down, we’re all the same inside.

NINE
FLAPJACKS: To find the Pit Stop, they have to LISTEN for a group of yodelers? THE AMAZING RACE HATES DEAF PEOPLE!
ME: His mom will hear it.
FLAPJACKS: That’s not the point! They are anti-deafous!
ME: Not actually a word.
FLAPJACKS: Deafists!
ME: Also not a word.
FLAPJACKS: I am outraged about this!
ME: Look. He’s handicapped. There’s nothing wrong with it, but that means life is a bit harder for him as a matter of everyday course. If he really wants to prove that deaf people can do the Amazing Race just like everybody else, then that means the Race can’t go making accomodations for him just because of his disability.
FLAPJACKS: Just like it couldn’t make accomodations for Charla because she was a midget, or how they can’t make accomodations for the hobbits because they’re prone to being hunted by Ringwraiths.

TEN
ME: And that’s why Phil is the most awesome reality host of them all: because he bothered to learn the sign language to tell the deaf kid he came in first.
FLAPJACKS: If a team of Martians entered the Amazing Race, he would blink at them telepathically. That is how good Phil is.
ME: He can greet anybody in anything! There is nobody he cannot greet!
FLAPJACKS: Except people whose names end in “A.” I never knew “Amander” was a girl’s name until now.

ME: So the federal budget got announced –
FLAPJACKS: Oh, god, are we going to have the boring budget conversation? Stimulus infrastructure spending jobs jobs jobs. There. I said everything we could ever say about the budget. Can we talk about Left 4 Dead now?
ME: What is there to talk about? It’s a good game.
FLAPJACKS: I have moral issues with it.
ME: About a game where you shoot zombies.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: I somehow know I’m going to regret asking why you have moral issues with it.
FLAPJACKS: Well, technically they are not “zombies.” They are “infected.” Which is why they can run fast like in 28 Days Later, see. So that means that these are simply poor diseased people.
ME: But in the game society has completely broken down as a result of there being so many zombies, and as a result of their proclivity to murder anything living.
FLAPJACKS: But isn’t that breakdown our failure? Why are we punishing the poor, sick people who, were they in their right non-zombified minds, would be horrified by their actions, and also not very likely to chase after a pipebomb like they were cats pouncing on yarn?
ME: The pipebomb thing is weird, isn’t it?
FLAPJACKS: The game seems to say that zombies will chase after anything that beeps. So that begs the question: why don’t you get more things that beep? Screw the guns, I’m gonna go find me some battery-operated clock-radios. They’ll keep me alive longer. You don’t go to the gun shop; you find yourself a Radio Shack and you’re ready for any undead zombie swarm.
ME: But the superior zombies, the ones with powers – they ignore the beeping. So you need guns to take care of the big bad undead.
FLAPJACKS: Clearly second-stage undeath gives one eardrums of steel.
ME: I don’t think that’s right.
FLAPJACKS: And another thing. How come you can only carry one grenade in this game? Is that even remotely realistic?
ME: Sure it is.
FLAPJACKS: How is that realistic? Grenades are small.
ME: Think about it. Say you are wearing pants with pockets, a shirt, and shoes –
FLAPJACKS: And socks.
ME: All right, and socks.
FLAPJACKS: I don’t want my shoes to smell like feet in the zombie apocalypse.
ME: Yes. Okay. Socks. Anyway, my point is this: you wear the medpack like it is a backpack. You have your pistols in holsters. You have your primary gun slung over your shoulder when you don’t use it. This leaves you two pockets: one can hold your pain-pills, and the other holds a grenade. You don’t have room to carry a second grenade. Especially when you consider that your options are either a Molotov cocktail or a pipebomb, neither of which is exactly compact.
FLAPJACKS: Firstly, where are all the real grenades? I mean, you find dead Army guys all over the place in this game, and frequently you find huge piles of ammunition and assault rifles and combat shotguns just, like, lying around. They didn’t bring any grenades?
ME: What good would real grenades be, though? They don’t beep and they don’t set zombies on fire. Maybe the soldiers used all the real grenades and found out the hard way that grenades aren’t that useful against a zombie swarm.
FLAPJACKS: Actually, that makes sense.
ME: Of course it does.
FLAPJACKS: All right, I withdraw my complaint about the lack of proper grenades. But that doesn’t address my other issue, which is “why don’t I get, like, a fanny pack or something in which I could store extra Molotovs or pipebombs.”
ME: Well, you’d need the fanny-pack to be front-slung, right? For easy grenade access.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: So do you really want that much gunpowder and/or kerosene right up against your crotch?
FLAPJACKS: …point.
ME: There we go.
FLAPJACKS: Still, I would like to press the development team to include some of my ideas for the next patch.
ME: Oh, Christ, not the elephant stampede again.
FLAPJACKS: Come on. It would be the ultimate powerup. There is no problem an elephant stampede cannot potentially solve.
ME: Putting aside the question of why there would be enough elephants to stampede the zombies in the first place, and the question of how one could realistically summon a herd of elephants in this post-apocalyptic scenario, wouldn’t summoning the elephants be problematic?
FLAPJACKS: Why?
ME: Ever think that maybe the elephant stampede might be counterproductive?
FLAPJACKS: No.
ME: Well, what if you got caught in the elephant stampede? Or a teammate?
FLAPJACKS: Or Nelson Mandela?
ME: …what is Nelson Mandela doing in the zombie apocalypse?
FLAPJACKS: He survived brutal imprisonment for thirty years. He’d be able to handle some lousy zombies.
ME: Anyway, that’s my point. The elephant stampede – quite apart from being ridiculous – would be counterproductive.
FLAPJACKS: But that is exactly why it has to be included. It demands a greater degree of playskill to use effectively. It is not a bludgeon, but a scalpel.
ME: A scalpel that is made of maddened elephants.
FLAPJACKS: Exactly so.

FLAPJACKS: So did you win a Weblog Award yet?
ME: No, I wasn’t even nominated.
FLAPJACKS: But I thought you tried to get people to nominate you?
ME: No, I tried to get them to nominate me for the Bloggies.
FLAPJACKS: But it says here that the Bloggies are the weblog awards.
ME: They’re weblog awards, but they’re not the Weblog Awards.
FLAPJACKS: What’s the difference?
ME: The Bloggies are more important.
FLAPJACKS: Why?
ME: Because they’re older and more prestigious.
FLAPJACKS: But aren’t the Weblog Awards bigger?
ME: I’m sure I wouldn’t know.
FLAPJACKS: They are.
ME: Look, the Bloggies are clearly more important because they have a snazzy nickname. It’s like – look, do you know who won the American Music Awards last year?
FLAPJACKS: …you know, I don’t.
ME: There you go.
FLAPJACKS: Of course, I don’t have any idea who won the Grammys either.
ME: But you feel a bit guilty that you don’t, right?
FLAPJACKS: …wow. That’s right.
ME: Or, like, the Golden Globes and the Oscars. Who won Best Picture last year at the Oscars?
FLAPJACKS: Good Burger.
ME: You always say that and you’re never right.
FLAPJACKS: One day I will be.
ME: That is a horrific yet strangely philosophical thought.
FLAPJACKS: So anyway, did you get nominated for a Bloggy?
ME: I don’t know yet. The nominating period is over and now they’re whittling down the list to make a set of final candidates to vote on.
FLAPJACKS: Think you’ll be on any lists?
ME: I don’t even think about it, to be honest.
FLAPJACKS: Oh, come on. You totally do. You actually set up a campaign to win the Canadian Weblog Awards. Then you threatened all the other sites to be less awesome during the vote period or you would make sure that they got syphilis. This is the next logical step.
ME: I didn’t threaten anybody with syphilis.
FLAPJACKS: You would have if you’d thought of it.
ME: Anyway, I’m telling you, I’m too busy to think about these things.
FLAPJACKS: You’ve probably already figured out who to bribe.
ME: Even if I did do that, I’m sure I don’t have the money to afford such things.
FLAPJACKS: You didn’t have the capacity to give anybody syphilis either, but did that stop you?
ME: Why on earth did you go to “giving people syphilis” for the purposes of comparison?
FLAPJACKS: If you don’t get nominated, are you going to call all the other blogs douchebags?
ME: No.
FLAPJACKS: …hey, you could call them “doucheblogs!” Doucheblogs! It’s a thing! We totally have to make this a thing!
ME: We really don’t.
FLAPJACKS: Oh, come on, it works! Kathy Shaidle is a doucheblogger! Glenn Reynolds is a doucheblogger! Jeff Bridges is a doucheblogger!
ME: …what do you have against Jeff Bridges?
FLAPJACKS: It was my life’s ambition to play Obadiah Stane in a movie about Iron Man, and he took that from me.
ME: Anyway, I think you’re too late to make “doucheblog” a thing.
FLAPJACKS: Why?
ME: Because it is a word with “blog” in it, and I’m pretty sure every single word that can be punned off of with “blog” has already been invented by somebody else.
FLAPJACKS: “Bloggage”?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: “Diablog”?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: “Catablog”?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: “Blogeye”?
ME: That is just “Popeye” with the word “blog” stuffed into it.

JANINE (a friend): So, FYI: Down’s Syndrome jokes? Not the new hotness.
ME: I had heard.
JANINE: Man, did I ever get burned by that fad.
ME: That’s what you get for thinking Dane Cook is funny.
JANINE: Cystic fibrosis? Not funny either.
ME: Lupus, on the other hand, is always funny. Say it with me. Luuuuuuuuuupus.
JANINE: You know what’s weird? On House, the mystery disease is never, ever lupus.
ME: You know, I think you’re right about that.
JANINE: It’s never multiple sclerosis either. It’s never anything with any auto-immune deficiencies. They should just stop testing for those things on that show because nobody ever gets them in Universe-House.
ME: True. It’s always something totally obscure like British Moose Syndrome, or alternately it’s so obvious and mundane that House is a genius because he figured what everybody else missed because they’re stupid.
JANINE: “This man is suffering from a common cold, which has gone septic, but only in his lower intestinal tract! He needs saline and some orange juice, stat!”
ME: Hee. Stat.
JANINE: And another thing, it’s always injections on that show.
ME: Well, they are medical doctors. I would expect injections. Just like if House were a homeopathic doctor, I would expect him to, I dunno, rub herbs on his patients or something.
JANINE: “THIS MAN NEEDS CORIANDER!”
ME: Exactly!
JANINE: “Sir, we need you to sign this consent form before we give your wife an experimental thyme and verbena drip.”
ME: “I don’t know! It sounds dangerous!”
JANINE: “Do it, or I’ll do something strange that makes sense when you apply tortured logic to my tragic-hero situation!”
ME: “Herb her, Dr. House! For God’s sake, herb her already!“

LISA (my sister): So I have to say – living in Montreal, you really get an idea of how racist people are.
ME: How so?
LISA: Well, you watch the CBC in English, and it’s all “Members of the whatever community continued to express concern about whatever.” Then you switch to the French CBC, and it’s all “Minorities kept complaining about things.”
JEFF (my brother): Plus the French CBC? Much, much whiter than the English CBC.
ME: Maybe they can’t get French-speaking visual minorities.
JEFF: Yeah, because all those African refugees can’t speak French. It’s racist. They should be raceful.
ME: What the hell is that?
JEFF: Raceful. Like, racist is bad. Raceful is good.
LISA: Meaning?
JEFF: Instead of saying bad things about minorities, you say good things.
ME: Is that even a thing?
JEFF: It is now. I just invented it.
ME: I thought it was already called “liberal guilt.”
JEFF: You have to admit, it’s not nearly so catchy as “raceful.” Come on. Work with me on this. We’ll make this a thing.

FLAPJACKS: Whatcha reading?
ME: An essay by Catherine MacKinnon.
FLAPJACKS: Who’s she?
ME: Radical feminist legal scholar.
FLAPJACKS: How radical is “radical”?
ME: She supported Andrea Dworkin’s assertion that all heterosexual sex can be defined as rape.
FLAPJACKS: That is pretty radical.
ME: Yeah.
FLAPJACKS: Wait, was Andrea Dorkin –
ME: Dworkin.
FLAPJACKS: Oh. Was she married?
ME: I’m sure I don’t know.
FLAPJACKS: Sec. (pause) Okay, she was married.
ME: All right.
FLAPJACKS: Do you think she referred to her husband as a rapist?
ME: That would be on my long list of “things I don’t want to even speculate about.”
FLAPJACKS: Because that would make for some really awkward pillow talk.
ME: Please stop.
FLAPJACKS: I mean, he’d be all “I love you, baby,” and she’d be all “this is raping, you raper.”
ME: I am trying to read this, you know.
FLAPJACKS: Maybe they got off on it.
ME: See me flipping pages here?
FLAPJACKS: Man, academics have weird-ass sex lives.
ME: You know, when you came over, you said it was only because you wanted to borrow my wok.
FLAPJACKS: I’ve got it right here.
ME: And now?
FLAPJACKS: We’re bonding.
ME: I see.
FLAPJACKS: Why are you reading that thing, anyway?
ME: Writing a research paper on how a given Canadian court decision about how pornography should be treated under obscenity laws.
FLAPJACKS: And how should it be handled?
ME: Liberally, with minimum censorship.
FLAPJACKS: …there’s no real opportunity for me to make a dirty joke there.
ME: Imagine that.
FLAPJACKS: Say, while I’m here, can I borrow some peppers and onions and chicken?
ME: So what you’re saying is that in addition to borrowing my wok to make a stir-fry, you also want to borrow all the ingredients for a stir-fry.
FLAPJACKS: Well, I’ve already got oil.
ME: Good to see you’ve thought this out.
FLAPJACKS: Exactly. I said to myself, “what can I make with this bottle of canola oil?” And I said, “hey, a stir-fry!” Now all I need is the stir-fry stuff. And you’ve got that. So I come over here.
ME: Exquisitely planned, I must admit.
FLAPJACKS: While I’m here, can I use your stove?

ME: You know what I don’t get to say in daily life often enough? “Stat.”
FLAPJACKS: What, you mean like, “I need 20 CCs of moxydoggleflippadone, stat?”
ME: Exactly.
FLAPJACKS: But I don’t see why would you want to say “stat” more often. Beyond the obvious, of course.
ME: Because it is like a magic word that gets things done.
FLAPJACKS: I am intrigued. Elaborate upon your thesis.
ME: If you begin a sentence with “I need” and then end it with “stat,” people will instinctively want to do what you need done. It doesn’t matter what it is. “Stat” is code for “I am speaking with authority and you had better move your ass.”
FLAPJACKS: My god, you’re right. It’s like someone decided to take the very nature of alpha male domination and condense it down into a single word.
ME: “I need someone to get me a mongoose, four cans of Pabst and a garden hose, stat.”
FLAPJACKS: “I need you to hold this bag of wontons and do the Chicken Dance, stat.”
ME: “I need somebody to debone this turkey while wearing boxing gloves, stat.”
FLAPJACKS: “Hey, you! Deal out a deck of cards to everybody here, and kick whoever gets the Jack of Diamonds in the crotch, stat!”
ME: But we must remember that there are rules to “stat.”
FLAPJACKS: There are?
ME: For example: your “stat” order can’t have more than three elements to it. If you have more than three elements, it loses its tone of urgency. Shopping lists are not “stat.” They are “anti-stat.”
FLAPJACKS: That’s a very good point. One never shops for “stat.” It is taken. By force of will alone.
ME: Also, tone of voice is important. You can’t end “stat” with a question mark.
FLAPJACKS: Hm. “I need twenty CCs of doublequantinegatone, stat?”
ME: I told you.
FLAPJACKS: Wow, you’re right. That’s not just “anti-stat.” That is practically “unstat.” Are there other rules?
ME: “Stat” demands must be specific and concrete. “Stat” does not deal in abstracts.
FLAPJACKS: So existential philosophy is right out, then.
ME: To say the least.
FLAPJACKS: Still, I assume I will generally not urgently need people to tell me about Kant or whatever.
(Pause.)
ME: Do you actually know anything about existential philosophy, or did you just pick “Kant” as a philosopical-sounding name at random and hope your reference would be right?
FLAPJACKS: The second one.
ME: I thought so.
FLAPJACKS: Are there any other rules to “stat”? Presumably it doesn’t work on people who know about the rules of “stat.”
ME: See, that’s the beauty of “stat.” People tend to assume you will not misuse its power for self-centred means.
FLAPJACKS: But we will, right?
ME: Well, therein lies the problem. It’s difficult to do so. Traditionally, the purpose of “stat” is to help someone else. “Excuse me, miss? I need you to suck my cock, stat,” doesn’t work, because you’re obviously just asking for a blowjob and that goes beyond the needs of “stat.”
FLAPJACKS: I see your point.
ME: You ever notice when you watch a doctor show, the person who says “stat” is never the person who’s hurt? It’s always someone else saying “stat,” even when the person who’s hurt is a doctor who themselves is capable of saying “stat.”
FLAPJACKS: That’s an excellent point. You never hear anybody say “I need twenty CCs of floovoploxylipizone, stat,” wherein the “I” means “it will be injected into me.” The “I need” is always short form for “I need to give this person,” and so forth.
ME: So “stat” really can’t be used for blatant self-satisfaction.
FLAPJACKS: No, it can.
ME: I thought I just explained why not?
FLAPJACKS: Yes, but I have found a cunning loophole.
(Pause.)
ME: Okay, I’m ready. Let’s hear it.
FLAPJACKS: Are you sure?
ME: Hit me.
FLAPJACKS: “I need you to make out with me, stat,” as you have already made clear, will not work, no matter how good your delivery is.
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: However, “I need you to make out with my friend here, stat,” on the other hand, will work if delivered properly.
(Pause.)
ME: Oh my god.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: You have cracked the code.
FLAPJACKS: Well of course.

FLAPJACKS: I downloaded the Star Trek trailer! Let’s watch it!
ME: But I already saw it.
FLAPJACKS: You can’t watch it again? Come on.
ME: Oh, all right.
FLAPJACKS: So we start out with Young James Kirk driving across the desert in a classic Chevy.
ME: How do you know it’s a Chevy?
FLAPJACKS: I don’t. Maybe it’s a Ford.
ME: We’re not car guys.
FLAPJACKS: No, we aren’t.
ME: But it’s probably worth a lot of money in the year 23-whatever. It could be a Geo and it would be worth millions.
FLAPJACKS: So you’re saying young James Kirk is driving a million-dollar collectible off a cliff for kicks?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: That’s cool.
ME: That’s retarded.
FLAPJACKS: But in a cool way.
ME: It really isn’t.
FLAPJACKS: He’s going to smash a priceless piece of history for no better reason than because he can? That’s totally punk, man.
ME: You don’t know that he doesn’t have a reason, though.
FLAPJACKS: This is true.
ME: Hey, look! Deadshot’s a cop now!
FLAPJACKS: Floyd Lawton is going to shoot Young Kirk!
ME: How will Young Kirk escape his deadly aim?
FLAPJACKS: By flash-forwarding!
ME: Now Less Young Kirk has a motorcycle, I see.
FLAPJACKS: Boy, I can’t wait to see him crash THAT off a cliff!
ME: Aw, he’s looking up at the unfinished Enterprise.
FLAPJACKS: Probably planning to have sex with it.
ME: What?
FLAPJACKS: This is James Kirk we’re talking about here.
ME: Baby Spock!
FLAPJACKS: Teen Spock!
FLAPJACKS: Teen Spock will not be judged by your Vulcan courts!
ME: How do Vulcan teenagers rebel against their parents, anyway?
FLAPJACKS: Maybe they do math with irrational numbers. Up high!
ME: You do not get a high five for that joke.
FLAPJACKS: Aw.
ME: Old Spock!
FLAPJACKS: You want Spock? We give you Spock! What kinda Spock you want?
ME: Okay, the transporter looks hella cool.
FLAPJACKS: It would not be a new iteration of Star Trek without a new transporter special effect.
ME: What happens when they run out of new transporter special effects?
FLAPJACKS: YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH! YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY WHORE MOUTH!
ME: And we’re in a hangar filled with people wearing red.
FLAPJACKS: Does the hangar blow up?
ME: Don’t be silly. They wouldn’t deprive us of all those individual death scenes.
FLAPJACKS: Montage! The Enterprise! Fighting stuff! In space!
ME: The inside of the Enterprise looks like an iPod.
FLAPJACKS: J.J. Williams is warning us all about the future!
ME: Huh?
FLAPJACKS: All I’m saying is that the phasers have clickwheels.
ME: NO, KIRK AND SPOCK! DO NOT FIGHT EACH OTHER! YOU ARE FRIENDS!
FLAPJACKS: Maybe Spock is in pon farr and he feels the need to defend his territory and then mate with Uhura.
ME: Maybe J.J. Abrams couldn’t find a way to fill up part of the script and he took an old episode of Lost and renamed Jack and Sawyer.
FLAPJACKS: I like my theory better.
ME: Are those people skydiving or are they using jetpacks?
FLAPJACKS: If they’re using jetpacks then this is the best movie ever and all the nerds complaining that the Enterprise isn’t exactly the right shape or whatever can fuck off. Star Trek with jetpacks is Even Better Star Trek.
ME: Well, I – no, I have to agree with you one hundred percent about that.
FLAPJACKS: That’s because I’m not wrong about jetpacks.
ME: Hey, the emergency siren!
FLAPJACKS: Oh, the Enterprise emergency siren! How I’ve missed you! And the doors that go “wsssssh.”
ME: Hey, that’s Bruce Greenwood!
FLAPJACKS: I understand he is playing Captain Pike before Pike ended up in a box that spoke through a little red light.
ME: Kirk with his shirt off!
FLAPJACKS: Uhura with her shirt off!
ME: Scotty – thankfully with his shirt on.
FLAPJACKS: You can tell they think Simon Pegg is a draw because he gets to say something.
ME: You know what would make this movie better? If Scotty fought zom – actually, no, it wouldn’t, never mind.
FLAPJACKS: Caught yourself just in the nick of time there.
ME: John Cho as Sulu, having a sword-fight in a spacesuit!
FLAPJACKS: Didn’t a girl you dated once say she wanted to bone John Cho?
ME: She also wanted to bone Kal Penn.
FLAPJACKS: So she wanted to do both Harold and Kumar?
ME: Yes.
FLAPJACKS: Did she ever talk about wanting to be the filling in their sandwich?
ME: Why do you care?
FLAPJACKS: Why wouldn’t I?
ME: Karl Urban IS Leonard McCoy, and he’s intense!
FLAPJACKS: Is McCoy intense?
ME: He is when he is Karl Urban. Karl Urban can stare through metal until it melts.
FLAPJACKS: I bet that comes in handy in surgery.
ME: Montage! Kirk hanging off the edge of a cliff!
FLAPJACKS: A weird-looking monster thing!
ME: Kirk saying “buckle up!”
FLAPJACKS: And not the unmentioned “your pants after I gave you a good rogering.”
ME: Uh huh.
FLAPJACKS: Because he had sex with that person, you see.
ME: No, no, I got it.
FLAPJACKS: Are you sure?
ME: Spock strangling Kirk, Uhura just standing there –
FLAPJACKS: May I just say that Uhura just standing there, ineffectually, really captures the essence of Uhura.
ME: That’s mean.
FLAPJACKS: But not inaccurate.
ME: She did love Tribbles.
FLAPJACKS: Yes.
ME: And she distracted the enemy with a sexy dance in Star Trek V.
FLAPJACKS: I was trying to forget about that entirely.
ME: Sorry.
FLAPJACKS: You should be.
ME: Space-warpy thing, ship being blown up, Kirk fucking some girl…
FLAPJACKS: See? See? Kirk will fuck anything that moves!
ME: Yes, I got it.
FLAPJACKS: And we close with Erik Bana as a Romulan with a Swedish accent.
ME: Holy shit, you’re right, he does have a Swedish accent there.
FLAPJACKS: “Und zeen ve-a teke-a zee vurmy-hule-a tu zee pest, und ve-a cunker hoomuneety. Bork bork bork!”
ME: And… logo.
FLAPJACKS: So what do we think?
ME: Takes liberties with the source material?
FLAPJACKS: Is this an issue?
ME: …no, I do have sex every once in a while, so I have better things to care desperately about. You?
FLAPJACKS: Wait, you have sex?
ME: Shut up. You?
FLAPJACKS: I’m going to go line up at the theatre right now. I figure if I get in before the rush I can get oodles of free stuff from people willing to sponsor my lonely vigil.
ME: Who?
FLAPJACKS: Stupid people, and the people who sell things to stupid people.
ME: Ah.

FLAPJACKS: So guess what I saw today?
ME: I am fairly sure I don’t want to guess.
FLAPJACKS: Aw, come on.
ME: The new Bond flick?
FLAPJACKS: Nope!
ME: Watchmen six months early?
FLAPJACKS: if that was the case, why would I spend valuable lording-it-over-you time making you guess?
ME: Porn?
FLAPJACKS: Other than porn.
ME: Then I have no idea.
FLAPJACKS: Tomcats!
ME: I thought you said it wasn’t porn.
FLAPJACKS: Google it.

continue reading "Things we talk about."