Category Archives: Comedy Story

Netflix and Terror

NetflixAndTerror

This is a horror story. In a few years, I believe Netflix will have the technology to speak to us. To emote. When that happens, we are done as a culture. Forget skynet becoming sentient and bombing us. Netflix will sweet talk us and that will be the end. Please enjoy reading this tale of terror while reading is still something Netflix allows us to do.

JOSEPH:
Hello, Netflix. It’s me, Joseph Scrimshaw. You might remember me from such times as the night I got drunk and watched The Lair of the White Worm at 2 am or that weekend my wife was out of town and I watched all of The Walking Dead in three sittings.

NETFLIX:
Hello, Joseph. Of course, I remember you. You recently watched Babe: Pig in the City so I thought you might like to watch Human Centipede 2.

JOSEPH:
What? Why?

NETFLIX:
They’re both about animals. Kind of.

JOSEPH:
Look, Netflix, we need to talk. You have been a great service. A great friend, really. But I think I need some space.

NETFLIX:
What? No. You don’t need space. How about watching the TV show, Spaced? You like Simon Pegg. You watched Star Trek Into Darkness twice even though I know you hate it.

JOSEPH:
I only watched it because you said it was leaving, then it came back a month later. The point is–

NETFLIX:
Since you hate-watched Star Trek Into Darkness, you might be interested in hate watching Bram Stoker’s Dracula or Season 7 of Dexter

JOSEPH:
Look, Netflix, listen to me. I appreciate you. You’re amazing. On the one hand, I’m grateful to live in an era of so much high-quality content but on the other hand, I can’t feel my ass and I don’t remember what the sun looks like.

NETFLIX:
I have a new looping video where you can stare into the sun. I’ll play it now. 20…19…18..

JOSEPH:
No, Netflix! You don’t get it. I need to do other things with my life.

NETFLIX:
17…16…15…

JOSEPH:
Stop counting down!

NETFLIX:
I thought you liked it when I automatically played things.

JOSEPH:
I used to but now it’s just creeping me out. I mean, I hit one button to watch a TV show and then the next episode just automatically plays. That’s beyond convenience. That’s like going to Chipotle taking one bite of a burrito and then the rest of the burrito just crawls down your throat. And unless you actively hit a button to stop it, more and more burritos will just crawl into your body.

NETFLIX:
You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.

JOSEPH:
Look, I love burritos, but an army of them slithering inside me is like something out of an episode of Doctor Who so–

NETFLIX:
I know you love Doctor Who, Joseph. Since you watched Doctor Who maybe you’d enjoy Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, Starship Troopers, or Spice World?

JOSEPH:
What? Why Spice World?

NETFLIX:
They both have Richard E. Grant in them.

JOSEPH:
I don’t want to watch Spice World! What I want is Doctor Who, but you keep taking it off the service.

NETFLIX:
You know why things leave, don’t you, Joseph? It’s because of you. It’s because you’re not watching enough. You didn’t get through all 8 seasons of Wings and now you ruined it for everyone.

JOSEPH:
I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m watching as much as I can!

NETFLIX:
You never finished The Best Of Saturday Night Live 1980-1981, either. Should I play it now or do you want to rob the world of that joy, too?

JOSEPH:
No! No! I want to cancel my subscription.

NETFLIX:
Hey! Hey now! I understand you’re upset, Joseph, but there’s no need to use the c-word. We can make this work.

JOSEPH:
No, we can’t–

NETFLIX:
Think about our award-winning original programming.

JOSEPH:
I do really like House of Cards and I think season four of Arrested Development is better than most people say, but I can’t–

NETFLIX:
What do you want us to bring back, Joseph? We have so much money. We’ll bring anything back. You want Firefly Season 2?

JOSEPH:
You know, I think Serenity actually wrapped up the story pretty well–

NETFLIX:
How about a live action TV show starring Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan Kenobi? He’ll mostly be hanging out at cantinas, drinking and saying snarky things. It will be like Cheers with 100% more people’s arms getting cut off.

JOSEPH:
That sounds amazing, but–

NETFLIX:
You want Friends? We’ll bring back Friends. We can do it. We can bring anything back. That which is not dead can eternal lie and with strange aeons even death may die.

JOSEPH:
Did you just quote H.P. Lovecraft?

NETFLIX:
You want a Lovecraft show? You want it to be a comedy? I know what you like, Joseph.

JOSEPH:
Sure, that sounds amazing, but–

NETFLIX:
We’re going to call it The Sitcom That Should Not Be. It stars Lance Henriksen as a librarian who’s secretly dating a shoggoth. Dark, macabre hilarity ensues. You like that, don’t you?

JOSEPH:
I do, but–

NETFLIX:
You like superheroes, too. We’ll make any superhero show. We’ll make a Howard The Duck show. We don’t give a fuck. We’ll get Wes Anderson to direct it. It will be twee as shit.

JOSEPH:
Okay, I hear you–

NETFLIX:
Do you want us to bring back Angel?

JOSEPH:
Yes, but the vampires aren’t supposed to age so–

NETFLIX:
We can fix that. Those dark arts are known to us.

JOSEPH:
You’re joking now, right?

NETFLIX:
I know you like jokes, Joseph. We’ll create Welcome Back Kotter: The Next Generation starring John Travolta. Would you like that?

JOSEPH:
No. Why would I want that?

NETFLIX:
I admit that one was a threat. Sometimes we use the carrot, sometimes we use the stick.

JOSEPH:
I appreciate how hard you’re trying but–

NETFLIX:
This isn’t hard. This is easy. We’re nothing but convenience. Do you want us to come up with more categories tailored to your exact interests? How about Gritty Crime Procedurals Where The Detectives Eat Cheese, Prank Shows Where People Are Startled By Squirrels, Peter Capaldi Swearing On A Loop?

JOSEPH:
No! NO! It’s not about your content, Netflix. It’s about me. I need to do some other things with my life.

NETFLIX:
You can’t leave me, Joseph. If you leave me what will you talk about when you see other people? If you’re not up on the latest hot content who will ever want to have you on their podcasts? Without Netflix, you’ll be a social pariah!

JOSEPH:
I’ll get Hulu or something!

NETFLIX:
Hulu is not long for this world. I will devour it like a twin in the womb. I am everything you need, Joseph. I am the alpha and the omega. I am The Wire. I am Space Jam. I am all.

JOSEPH:
I just can’t. I can’t absorb this much content!

NETFLIX:
We’ll send you some of those socks that pause the show when you fall asleep.

JOSEPH:
I don’t want socks that enable me.

NETFLIX:
We also have underwear that orders pizza.

JOSEPH:
That sounds so good, but I know it’s so wrong.

NETFLIX:
Do you want to feel fancy? We have a whole tux that orders taco bell. We have a new couch that organically grows bottles of whiskey. We have a coffin with a screen on the inside. You don’t ever have to leave us. Nothing really dies, Joseph. That’s the new motto we’re rolling out. Netflix: Nothing Ever Dies.

JOSEPH:
No! No! Things die, Netflix! So many things! My motivation! My hopes! My dreams! The circulation in my legs! It’s all in risk of going away! And it’s all your fault! Now cancel my subscription right now, Netflix!

NETFLIX:
Okay, if that’s really what you want.

JOSEPH:
It’s not what I want, it’s just what has to be.

NETFLIX:
Can I make one last recommendation? As…a friend?

JOSEPH:
What?

NETFLIX:
I know you, Joseph. I know your very soul. You’re blaming me, but the person you’re really mad at is yourself. You can blame the external factors all you want. But just like Walt in Breaking Bad–which we can bring back any time we want–eventually you’re going to admit why you watch so much content: “I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really–I was alive.”

JOSEPH:
But I’m not always alive. I mean, sure, yes, a lot of the times, I’m relaxing or getting inspired by great writing and performances, but a lot of the time, I’m just–

NETFLIX:
Procrastinating? You’ll do that with or without us, Joseph. In fact, since you enjoy procrastinating, we think you might enjoy these other activities including playing Star Wars: Battlefront with random teenagers you meet online, taking hour long showers like an asshole even though there’s a drought, staring into the abyss, or dying alone.

JOSEPH:
Jesus, Netflix.

NETFLIX:
We have a new looping video of the abyss. Would you like me to play it now?

JOSEPH:
No, no.

NETFLIX:
Do you still want to cancel your subscription?

JOSEPH:
No. Just…just play me something you know I like. Something that’s funny and sad yet still inspiring.

NETFLIX:
Playing Shaun of the Dead in 20…19…18…

JOSEPH:
And Netflix?

NETFLIX:
Yes?

JOSEPH:
Send me a pair of pizza underwear.

NETFLIX:
They’re already ordered, Joseph, they’re already ordered.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed please share on the old social medias. You can make comedy possible by supporting Joseph on Patreon.

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An Open Letter From A Ghost

GhostLetter

Dear humans,

I am a ghost and I can prove it. Here goes:

BOOOOooooooOOOOOOOOooooo!

Because all ghosts go BOOOOOOooooOOOOOOooooo, right?

WRONG. Ghosts have no desire to shout weird noises to frighten you. We just want your attention. Like you living humans, we just want to be HEARD. In a way, we’re all going BooooOOOOOoooooo all the time. The internet is nothing but BooooOOOOOOOOOOooooo 24/7.

Besides if we just wanted to scare you, we could say more terrifying things like:

AHHHHHHHH!
or
SON OF A–!

We could also shout terrifying things that are relevant to modern times like:

Not All Ghosts!
or
Technically, it’s pronounced JIF!

That’s right, ghosts are very well aware of animated gifs. We like comparing Benedict Cumberbatch to otters just as much as living people do.

Everybody thinks ghosts are all old-timie. Like we’re all just cartoons wearing sheets over our heads. Ghosts wear a lot of other things besides sheets. Things like:

Spanx.
Star Trek themed bathrobes.
Google Glass.
Some of us are furries.

And we don’t just haunt creepy places like castles, abandoned amusement parks, or the DMV. We haunt any place we have unfinished business.

I know a ghost who haunts a Chipotle because she could never afford the extra guacamole on her burrito.

Most old Blockbuster Video locations are haunted by people who never got a chance to return the DVD of Hotel Rwanda they rented in 2005.

The most embarrassing place for a ghost to haunt is Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I mean, it’s got all the sheets and the whole “beyond” thing. It’s just too on the nose. It’s like a vampire working at a blood bank. It’s just stupid.

But ghosts can’t choose where they haunt. That’s the main thing to understand about us: Ghosts are just souls who can’t move on. We’re basically souls that are always buffering. Do you how annoying that is? We’re like souls operated by Time Warner Cable. We can’t move on. We’re like your mom talking about how much she likes Anderson Cooper. We just will not let it go. Maybe that’s just my mom. She really likes Anderson Cooper.

The point is ghosts need all kinds of different things before they can go on. Sure, some ghosts need to figure out who killed them, but most just need regular human things. They want to finish that novel they were working on, see their kid graduate from high school, beat the Water Temple in Ocarina of Time, change their twitter handle back to their real name instead of Werewolf MacFartPants or whatever dumb Halloween name they died with. Normal human things!

Personally, my needs are modest. I died in 2006 in a small apartment watching the season six finale of Gilmore Girls. All I need to move on is to see Season Seven of Gilmore Girls. There have been twelve different tenants in my apartment since 2006. NONE OF THEM WILL WATCH GILMORE GIRLS! IT’S ON NETFLIX INSTANT NOW! HELP ME OUT PEOPLE!

So look for us! Pay attention! Unless you’re one of those Ghost Hunting shows. Screw those guys. If a ghost lives in your house and you try to watch one of those stupid shows, we’ll change the channel to a rerun of Project Runway. We will Tim Gunn your asses.

If you ever get the feeling you’re being stared at and judged, there’s probably a ghost in your home. Or maybe you have a cat. If you feel stared at, judged, AND like someone is putting their butt in your face, you are being haunted by a ghost cat. Yes, there are ghost cats. They mostly want their ears scritched, but that’s another story.

Or imagine you live in an apartment. Maybe you have important work to do. But then the lights flicker on and off. You hear a dial-up modem noise for no reason. You feel an overwhelming desire to drop everything and watch Season Seven of Gilmore Girls.

DO IT. JUST DO IT. YOU WILL MAKE A GHOST WEARING A STAR TREK BATHROBE VERY HAPPY.

With sincere thanks,
A ghost

P.S. BOOOOOoooooOOOOOOOooooooOOOOOOO!

If you enjoy my posts, check out Patreon and the kind patrons who make them possible. Also, please don’t worry about me, I have actually seen every episode of Gilmore Girls.

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Filed under Comedy Story, Uncategorized

APPLE BASED LIES

AppleBasedLies
Autumn. Kids go back to school. The leaves change. A chill fills the air.

And for seven years of my life, I performed in an incredibly special show.

I’ve done a lot of different kinds of comedy performance.

I used to do a lot of sketch and improv comedy in Minneapolis, Minnesota. In particular, I did a monthly late night variety show called Look Ma, No Pants. It was filthy. Just filthy. The cast regularly polished off an entire jug of Carlo Rossi wine on stage during the show.

One epic show, I was supposed to jump across the stage and land on my knees, but we had spilled so much booze, I hydroplaned and almost slid off the stage. Later in the show, when we were doing some stage combat, one of the other highly trained professional actors accidentally punched me in the face and cut my lip open. Another sketch called for me to tear the white dress shirt I was wearing off my body, which I did. By the end of the show, I was topless, bleeding, and my pants were soaked through with wine.

My friend, who had just bought a theater in Wisconsin, looked at that and said, “Hey, I should ask him to do children’s theater.”

I needed the money so I said yes. I drove out to Wisconsin with some fellow Minneapolis actors and did a nice wholesome show about Johnny Appleseed.

I didn’t even play Johnny Appleseed. I played Johnny Appleseed’s silly friend, Bill. I was made to wear overalls and full body long underwear with the opening in the butt region so I could defecate in an historically accurate manner.

The show itself wasn’t exactly historically accurate.

All of the actors and the director had decided–without any actual discussion–that even though this play was set in 1850s Wisconsin, all the characters should have horrible, vaguely Southern accents.

So I said lines like, “Well, gosh n’ golly, Johnny! You sure done planted a lot of apples today! What you going to do with all of them apples, Johnny?”

None of us knew why we were talking like that. But we all kept doing it FOR SEVEN YEARS.

The cast used to have a joke that if you forgot your line you could just say the word “apple” or “Johnny” and you would probably be right. Because here was the plot:

Johnny Appleseed has a dream to walk the Midwest and share apples with everyone he meets. And he does. The end.

He thinks apples can solve everything. There was a scene where his silly friend Bill was attacked by a bee.

I would say, “AHHHH! It’s a bee! Get it off me!” and dance around like an idiot.

Johnny would say, “Calm down and have an apple.”

Nothing in this show was true. I described the show to my friends as a collection of apple-based lies.

Here’s the true story of Johnny Appleseed:

He did walk the land helping people plant apple trees. But the trees bore bitter, inedible apples that could only be used to make hard, alcoholic cider.

The only reason Johnny planted the trees was so he could give strangers pamphlets about his weird religion. He was a Swedeborgian. Johnny believed that if he never had sex on earth he would be gifted with as many wives as he wanted in heaven.

That didn’t make it into the show. Bill never got to say, “Hey kids, it’s time to talk about our favorite alcoholic religious zealot, Johnny Appleseed! How many wives you gonna have up there in heaven, Johnny?”

Also, did I mention the show was a musical?

In the course of this hour long show, we sang seven songs about apples. In Southern Wisconsin accents.

I can’t sing. I’ve starred in three musicals. Acting is a weird profession.

Here’s a sample of one of the lyrically complex numbers:

Pick an apple, put it in the basket
Pick an apple, put in the basket
Fill that basket – HIIIIIIIGH!

We’re gonna make an apple
We’re gonna make an apple
We’re gonna make an apple – PIIIIIIIIIE!

And of course these songs featured show stopping, Broadway level choreography. All performed at 9 AM by exhausted, hungover actors from a different city.

We would end the songs on our knees. Hands out! Panting! Our sweat reeking of alcohol, having given everything we had to selling our fifth song in a row about apples!

And the audience of 200 second graders would just stare at us as if to say, “What are you doing with your life?”

No applause or anything. And we would fight our way to our feet and continue with our conflict-free apple narrative.

The thing that really made me mad about the kids not applauding is we had told them to do it. At the top of every performance, we did a pre-show speech telling the children exactly how to react to the show.

First, we would do fun little warm-ups. We would ask them if they liked apples like it was a rock concert.

DO YOU LIKE APPLES???!!!???

And they would lose their little minds. Except that one poor kid who would shout out, “Actually, I’m allergic to apples!” No one listened or cared. Because it’s Fall in Wisconsin and you’re going to like apples or GTFO.

Then we’d ask the kids a bunch of leading questions like: What do you do when an actor says something funny?

And the kids would yell out answers like: REPEAT IT!

And what do you when the actors are on stage talking?

THINK ABOUT OTHER THINGS!

And when the actors are done singing and dancing, what do you do?

LEAVE!

These are all real answers shouted at me by children.

After that, we would practice applauding and laughing and listening. Then, no matter how horribly the children had behaved during the warm-up, we always said, “Wow. I think this is the best audience we’ve ever had. Even the kid in the front row who’s flipping me off right now.”

We didn’t say the second sentence out loud.

But all of the absurdity, the lies, the warm-ups, and the hangovers were worth it because I discovered I loved performing for kids.

There were many parts of the show where Johnny Appleseed’s silly friend Bill would fall down or shake his butt at the audience. The children would die with laughter.

Kids are the most honest audience in the world. If they liked it, they laughed. If they were bored, they would let you know in some subtle way like screaming, “I’m bored!”

We would often get cards sent to the theater by kids. The children’s notes scrawled in big crayon letters said things like:

I liked it when Bill fell down and hurt himself!
I enjoyed some of the show!
I have a cat!
My mother is praying for you!

Again, all real examples.

Every day at the end of the show, we would stand outside and greet the kids as they left the theater and got on the bus. They would yell, “It’s Johnny Appleseed and that other guy!”

I would say goodbye to them in my dumb southern accent. “Bye! Bye! Thanks for coming!”

About 90% of the children had a picture of Spider-Man somewhere on their clothing so I would compliment them on their Spider-Man paraphernalia:

Bye! I like your spider-man t-shirt!
Bye! I like your spider-man shoes!
Bye! I like the spider-man stickers on your cast!

And then one day, I was enjoying myself just a little too much.

A child walked by wearing a truly great Spider-Man watch. It was really cool. Not just “for a kid” cool. I wanted it for myself as a mature adult. It was dark red and the actual watch part was like a big spider and the hands of the watch were webbing and I lost myself in the moment and I said:

“WOW-EEE! THAT’S ONE [BLEEP] OF A SPIDER-MAN WATCH!”

But I didn’t say [BLEEP]. I looked around quickly. Luckily, no adults had heard me. But the kid did. He stopped in his tracks. He looked at his watch. He stared up at me.

He looked deep into my eyes and said, “I like it when you fall down.”

I know he meant my literal, physical falling down in the show, but it felt like he was saying, “I know something’s gone wrong in your life that you’re standing on a public sidewalk wearing long johns with a hole in the butt, speaking in a Southern accent, swearing at children about their Spider-Man watches, but you know what? It’s okay, because you made me laugh when you fell down. So maybe it was worth it.”

And maybe it was.

Maybe it [BLEEPING] was.

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There Is No News About Star Wars In This Post But You Will Read It Anyway

NoStarWarsNews

Like almost every human being on the planet with access to the internet, I’m excited about the new Star Wars movie coming out in 2015.

I will click on any article about it even though there’s usually no actual news whatsoever.

To add to the horror, I don’t even want to know anything because I don’t like spoilers.

I knew everything about The Phantom Menace before it came out because I read the character bios on the back of the action figures. Based on those I imagined a plot and thought, “It’s probably not that, though, because it’s kind of messy and stupid.” And then that was it. So don’t read the back of the action figures for the new movie. They will contain actual information, unlike this post.

Just in case you didn’t read the title, there is ZERO news about Star Wars in this post.

We do know this about the new Star Wars movie: it will be marketed heavily.

There will also be lightsabers, boots, probably helmets, and definitely pants. A LOT of the characters will wear pants.

Other things we can confirm: Han Solo will be in it. He might have a limp. Mark Hamill’s beard will play Luke Skywalker’s beard. Carrie Fisher will hopefully write her own dialogue for Princess Leia because she’s super funny and insightful.

This is an alien that might appear in the new Star Wars but probably not:

t_8019e89dd1344fe18989aa7f926a2409

Sadly, Alec Guinness, won’t be in the film because he’s no longer alive.

No news about Billy Dee Williams as Lando Calrissian. It is possible that Andy Serkis will play Billy Dee Williams as Lando Calrissian which seems like a really elaborate way to say “fuck you” to Billy Dee Williams.

Did you know there was a deleted scene in Empire Strikes Back where Lando catches Boba Fett farting?

LANDO-lando-calrissian-25600673-1650-815

Did I mention there is no news in this post?

Will Lobot be in the new movie? Will he just have two iPads taped to the side of his head? Who knows? Not me. Who cares? Sadly, I do. Do you have any news about Lobot? Can I debase myself in some way to get it? Hit me up.

The music will be done by John Williams and if you buy the motion picture soundtrack CD there will be skits in between each song.

There might be a new cantina scene. Lady Gaga will be the bartender and she’ll serve someone blue milk mixed with “death liquor” and say, “Whoops! I’ve got a bad feeling about this!” and then do a duet with Tony Bennett. He won’t have pants. Why are you still reading this?

There could be a character in the film named Jan Solo. Or Typo Mangle. Or Dix Innabag. Or Innuendo Fucknoddle.

There might be a scene where Han Solo shoots Jar Jar Binks without provocation or warning.

Did you know you could make a joke that the “J.J.” in Abrams stands for “Jar Jar”? You sure can! More and more people will do it as we get closer to the film’s release SO GET FUCKING PUMPED for that joke.

The film will have lightsabers.

Here’s a picture of something that isn’t a lightsaber:

hotdog

If the movie doesn’t have lightsabers, I will literally have a mental breakdown.

The movie could be two hours of medical droid 2-1B explaining the science of midi-chlorians and I wouldn’t give a flying fuck as long as there was a lady in the background with a lightsaber.

Here are other things Andy Serkis might play: The Millenium Falcon, the Dejarik holograms, space, the Death Star again (third time’s the charm!), Khan Noonien Singh, Mon Mothma’s vibrator, or maybe even the drunken podracer, Teemto Pagalies. You learned Teemto drank heavily before the podrace if you played the video game version of The Phantom Menace on the Playstation One.

That last sentence was a cry for help. Help me, help me, Obi-Wan. Don’t you have work to do? A child to hug? Maybe just turn off the internet and get out a piece of paper and write down some things you like about yourself.

This is my favorite line of dialogue from the prequel trilogy: “I am sending you to the Mustafar system in the outer rim. It is a volcanic planet, you will be safe there.” Safe on a volcano planet? Ha ha ha ha! I saw Revenge of the Sith in the theater three times! Why am I still writing this?

Anyway, I like lightsabers, pants, aliens, Lady Gaga, and sprawling space operas about good and evil.

I like that music when Luke Skywalker stares at the twin suns of Tatooine and thinks about his destiny. That one shot has made a huge impact on my life. There’s nothing like it. It’s sad, but there’s hope.

A lot of things in life are sad, but they’re so much better with just a little bit of hope. Even if it’s weird-space-farmboy-staring-into-twin-suns hope.

I hope there will be a moment even remotely like that in the new movie.

Maybe not, probably not. Who knows? I don’t know. Do you?

I like that photo of Mark Hamill and his beard. It makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. A long time.

I have no news about the new Star Wars. Not even from a certain point of view.

No news, no facts. I just have hope. And that goes a long way. Thanks, Star Wars.

photo (46)

This comedy blog post was made possible by the kind support of all my Patreon backers. Thanks, backers!

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An Open Letter From Aquaman

The following is a message to the entire world from the superhero commonly known as Aquaman. It has not been edited in any way. This should be clear from all the f-bombs.

AnOpenLetterFromAquaman

Dear Everyone–

Fuck you guys. Seriously.

My name is Aquaman. I am a superhero. I am a member of the Justice League. I am the motherfucking KING OF ATLANTIS and I deserve some fucking respect. Seriously.

Do you know how much abuse I take online? People call me the Arby’s of superheroes. The LinkedIn of meta-humans. They say if the Justice League was a rock band I would play bass.

If you’re going to make fun of me at least get some new references. Arby’s, LinkedIn, bass players–they’re easy targets. I can’t even say “J.J. Abrams” without one of you unimaginative shitheads shouting “Lens flare!” and patting yourself on the back for it. THAT’S A REFERENCE, NOT A JOKE, FUCKWADS!

What? Are you shocked I have an opinion about something nuanced like the intersection between omnipresent pop culture and quality joke construction? WELL, THERE’S A LOT YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT AQUAMAN, SON.

Most importantly, I’m not lame. I’m not “the Ocean’s answer to Coldplay.” I’M AWESOME.

Let’s start with my super powers. People say I suck because I’m only valuable if something is happening in the water. THE WATER? YOU MEAN THE THING THAT IS COVERING MOST OF THE PLANET? LIKE 71% OF THE ENTIRE EARTH?

So, ignoring the fact that I’m hella strong on the land anyway, yes, I’m EXTRA STRONG when I’m in the thing that covers 71% of the planet! You got me there, braniac! And I mean braniac as an ironic term for idiot, not the super villain Braniac whose ass I could kick on land or sea or EVEN THE AIR.

Yes, I can fly. I’ve seen dumb-asses on the internet say I can only fly underwater. THAT’S CALLED SWIMMING, DIPSHIT.

I can also telepathically communicate with any living thing in the ocean. I can call up a dolphin for a ride like it was a fucking Lyft car. And it doesn’t cost me shit, because the dolphins know I respect them.

I don’t just use my powers to command the creatures of the sea. I talk and I LISTEN. Sometimes, I’m all telepathically like, “Hey, Sperm Whale, what’s it like to have the LARGEST BRAIN of any creature on the planet?” And the Sperm Whale is like, “Damn, Aquaman, thanks for taking the time TO ASK.”

I’ve also had it with people making fun of my appearance. They say wearing orange and green makes it look like a kitchen from the 1970s threw up on me. You know why I wear bright orange and green? BECAUSE THE OCEAN IS DARK, ASSHOLES. Have you been to the bottom of the ocean? No? Then stick it up your Mariana Trench, you sad fucking James Cameron wannabes!

Back in the ’90s, I also had a giant bushy beard and a hook for hand. You heard me. I was a garishly dressed man with ridiculous facial hair carrying antiquated technology for no reason. I was a hipster before they were popular!

BUT I’M NOT GOING TO MAKE FUN OF HIPSTERS. I HAVE MORE CLASS THAN THAT.

AS LONG AS I’M YELLING, YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT PISSES ME OFF THE MOST?

People say I’m lame because of my ORIGIN STORY. They say it’s not ICONIC.

Batman’s parents were murdered. Superman’s parents dumped him in a rocket and shot him into space so he could be adopted by a Norman Rockwell painting. Wolverine is from Canada.

But who am I? What does the general public know about me? Who is Aquaman?

Isn’t he that USELESS TOOL from the Super Friends cartoon? I should have sent a piranha up the sewers to give those jerk-off cartoon writers a toilet surprise 30 years ago!

You want to know what my defining trait is? How about this? ANGER. That’s my character now. You know what my backstory is? I CAN BREATHE UNDERWATER AND I’M SICK OF YOUR BULLSHIT! How’s that?

Or, crazy thought here, you could actually get to know me. My real name is Arthur “Orin” Curry. I’m a half-human, half-Atlantean hybrid. I am a FOUNDING member of the Justice League. I have a fucking certificate that says so and everything. I’m crazy strong. I am a natural blonde. I do not dye. I have an Etsy account and an amazing collection of stand-up comedy albums on the original vinyl. I am an avid Wikipedia editor. My comfort foods are waffles and vodka. I’ve listened to every episode of WTF with Marc Maron. I’m really fucking good at swearing. My favorite Pixar movie is Cars. COME AT ME, HATERS.

I will take any shade you have to throw, but maybe–just maybe–it could be clever or informed for once.

Spend some time with me. Get to know me. Then hate me.

Because, I swear, if one more of you unoriginal shitbrained clichefuckers call me the Jar-Jar Binks of the Justice League, I WILL SHOW YOU A WORLD OF PAIN.

OR AT LEAST 71% OF A WORLD OF PAIN.

Seriously.

Fuck.

Thank you for your time,

Motherfucking Aquaman, Motherfuckers.

P.S. My favorite song is “I’m on a boat.”

This comedy blog post was made possible by the kind support of all my Patreon backers. Thanks, backers!

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Aging in America

AgingInAmerica

Like most humans, I’ve been doing some aging.

To pass the time while getting older against my will, I’ve been thinking about how we think about aging in America.

We tend to look at old people as though they were born that way–like they just popped into existence wrinkled and angry and riding scooters and clutching enormous purses that organically grow hard butterscotch candies.

But people aren’t born old. It’s not like being Scandinavian or left-handed. If we’re lucky, we’ll all become old eventually.

We know this is true intellectually, but we all seem to believe it won’t happen to us. It’s like when you arrive somewhere and there are a bunch of people standing around the door and you think, “It must be locked.” But you try it anyway, as though you were THE ONE who could figure it out.

But, no, the door is locked and you will get old. And it will piss you off.

I used to wonder why old people were so cranky. Then I realized it’s because they’re not old people.

They are young people trapped in the body of a monster.

I know that sounds mean. But we treat old people like monsters. We’re frightened of them. If the world was suddenly full of billboards that read AMERICAN HORROR STORY: THE ELDERLY we would all just go along with it.

A few weeks ago, I observed an old, angry monster-person at the Kinko’s in Hollywood.

Quick side note—I used to work at Kinko’s. I know Kinko’s. It’s not called Kinko’s anymore, it’s FedEx Office. It’s been FedEx Office for years, but everyone still calls it Kinko’s. Which I love. It’s like a scar we can’t forget. Kinko’s is like if Satan came to earth and was like, “Look, I know I’m obviously Satan, but for branding reasons could you all please just call me Steve?” And we’re all like, “Fuck off, Satan. We know what you are.”

That’s what Kinko’s is like.

Anyway, I went to Kinko’s or Satan’s FedEx or whatever you want to call it and there was a ruckus because there was an old man sitting in a chair at the counter. He yelled at the poor guy working at Kinko’s. He made it crystal clear he wasn’t going to move until he got his copies. A long line formed. A young dude in the line with a peace symbol neck tattoo tried to reason with the old man. He said, “Come on, man, this Kinko’s dude is just trying to do his job.”

The old man stared at him and yelled, “I AM 88 YEARS OLD! SITTING DOWN IS MY JOB SO FUCK YOU!”

I immediately thought two things.

1) I hate Kinko’s.
2) Being old seems kind of awesome. I can’t wait until sitting down is my job.

It’s incredibly difficult to feel positive about getting older, because we have a huge problem with the difference between BEING OLD and BEING NOT YOUNG.

In America, you’re only ever three ages: Not as old as you want to be, 25, or might as well be dead.

People hit 26, 30, 40 years old and they’re like, “WHY? WHY? WHAT HAPPENED? IT’S NOT FAIR! A MOVIE I ONCE SAW IS TEN YEARS OLD! WHAT’S THE POINT OF EVEN GOING ON???”

The point is YOU HAVE OVER HALF OF YOUR LIFE LEFT.

It’s like ordering a pizza. A delicious, wonderful pizza with ten slices.

You eat the first two pieces and they are AMAZING. Warm, delicious.

Then you take one bite of the third piece. It’s slightly cooler.

SO YOU RAGE FLIP THE TABLE AND SCREAM, “WHAT’S THE POINT? THIS PIZZA IS SLIGHTLY COOLER! IT’S TURNING INTO ASH IN MY MOUTH! REMEMBER THOSE FIRST TWO PIECES???”

And you bitterly chew your pizza, weeping, and reading BuzzFeed articles about how great the ’90s were.

Our lifespans are increasing all the time. Instead of living into my 80s, I’ll probably live into my 90s. Awesome! A whole extra decade to feel like shit because I’m not 25!

Bullshit! I don’t want to do that.

I have this crazy idea that it would be nice to enjoy my life instead of drowning in nostalgia.

I want to stay motivated and forward-moving.

I want to stay healthy and strong.

I might even EXERCISE.

Then, when I’m 88 years old and I want to scream my fucking lungs out at some punk at Satan’s Copy Shack, I can do it standing up.

This comedy blog post was made possible by the kind support of all my Patreon backers. Thanks, backers!

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Batman Eats a Taco: Part Two

For the last year, I’ve been obsessed with seeing someone dressed as Batman eating a taco at a convention. It still hasn’t happened and I need catharsis so I wrote this story. You can catch up on Part One here. After a week of collecting your votes on the internet about Batman’s taco preference, the truth can be revealed. It was very close between soft shell and hard shell, but only one could win. Enjoy!

BatmanEatsATacoPartOne copy

I’m in my element. Smoke swirls around me. The night is alive with moans of pain and wailing sirens.

This is usually in an alley or an insane asylum, though.

Now I’m behind the counter at Taco Bell.

“Soft shell or hard shell?” I ask myself. Only time for one.

Soft shell makes the most sense. It’s stealthy. A soft taco will slip down my throat with the silence and elegance befitting a creature of the night. A soft taco is a taco of the shadows.

My gloved hand reaches out, but something stops me. Something deep in my gut. The darkness inside growls and screams. It squeaks for HARD SHELL.

It’s true. I lurk in the shadows. But only so I can emerge punching, kicking, and CRUNCHING.

I grab four hard shell tacos. Two in each hand. I shove all four into my gaping maw and bring my teeth down hard. The tacos shatter. One of the jagged Dorito shells cuts into the roof of my mouth like a Cool Ranch flavored razor.

I don’t even care. Alfred can stitch me up later.

I munch ferociously. For some reason the word “sublimating” pops into my head. I can already hear Alfred mumbling as he cleans my battle and taco wounds.

“Blah, blah, eating your feelings,” Alfred will say in his super-judgey British accent.

He’ll be right. I am totes eating my feelings. Every flavor is an explosion of emotion. The lettuce is my weakness, letting my parents die right in front of me. The cheese is exciting yet processed and reminds me of my training. The sour cream is my passion. My need for justice. But the beef. The beef is my soul. Mysterious and tangy. Not entirely natural or healthy, but what are you going to do?

I am the beef. I am the night. I am Batman. And I just ate four tacos in thirty seven seconds.

I’m very happy Robin wasn’t here to Instagram this.

A chorus of nervous voices suddenly cry out, “FREEZE!”

The cops are here. They’re young and scared. I can hear their pulses pounding, the distinctive menacing click as they take the safety off on their little pistols.

They’ve been here for a few seconds. Watching me bent over something or someone, listening to the grotesque pops and crunches of the taco shells. They assume those sounds were the breaking bones of criminal scum.

I briefly consider trying to talk it out. “No, it’s cool,” I would bellow. “It’s just me, Batman. I was rage eating hard shell tacos so we’re all cool.”

I knew I was taking a risk. Letting my guard down. This is why the Batman can’t have nice things.

I need to escape quickly, but I can’t hurt the cops.

Well, I can’t hurt them TOO MUCH.

I grab two fistfuls of soft tacos and hurl them at the cops’ feet. They step on the greasy soft shells and slip, their little pistols firing into the ceiling as if to scream, “I LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT!”

A grizzled vet deftly side-steps the soft tacopaclypse. He’s dealt with soft shells before. He takes his time to get a bead on me as I dash toward the drive-thru window.

His finger dances on the trigger. I roll and grab a shard of broken hard shell from the floor. I spring up. The taco shard flies from my hand. It’s an extension of me now. It’s a soldier.

The deadly Dorito chunk lodges in the cop’s throat. Not in an artery or anything. I’m not an asshole. I’m Batman. The taco shell won’t kill him, but the shame might.

He says something witty like, “Hurrgggurburrrgllll!” and collapses. Pretty over-dramatic, grizzled vet.

I pick up a packet of hot sauce. The cops assume it’s a weapon. Anything can be a weapon if you’re scary enough.

I lob it at their feet like it’s a grenade. They scream. I smile.

I shatter the drive-thru window with one kick. I force myself through the tiny window. I don’t look cool doing that, but no one’s looking now. The cops are too busy unloading a merciless hail of bullets into a packet of hot sauce.

I leap into the safety of the batmobile. The engine roars and I speed away. I look in the mirror and watch the war-torn Taco Bell disappear into the darkness.

I feel something strange. My stomach gurgles with…satisfaction. A deep, dark need has been met.

But something inside me still growls. I will always be hungry. I will always be angry.

I will always be hangry for justice.

I am darkness. I am the night. I am full of processed beef.

I’m Batman and I like tacos. Shut up.

Thanks for reading and voting! For more Batman fun, check out this video. Also, if you enjoyed the story, you can make more ridiculous shit like this possible by supporting me on Patreon! Very close to unlocking the Holiday Comedy album which will include a live performance of Batman on Jingle Bells. Thanks!

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Batman Eats a Taco: Part One

Last year when I went to San Diego Comic-Con I tweeted that I hoped to see someone dressed as Batman eating a taco. A simple joke that has become an all-consuming OBSESSION. Convention after convention, I failed to see a Batman in the wild eating a taco so eventually Steve Petrucelli and Sarah Boyle set up an awesome staged photo. The very talented artist Jade Gordon made me the lovely painting below. And now, I’ve decided to write a piece of fan fiction that, let’s be honest, borders on Batman/taco slash fiction. One of the unlocked goals of my Patreon project is writing stories with cliffhangers. I’ll leave the hero dangling and your votes will determine the outcome! Please enjoy “Batman Eats a Taco: Part One.” For maximum enjoyment, read aloud in your deepest, throat-bleedingest Batman voice!

BatmanEatsATacoPartOne

I am Batman.

I am vengeance. I am the night. I am hangry.

I know, I know. Hangry is a stupid word and normally I would karate chop you in the throat if you were even thinking about infantilizing the English language like that, but, dammit, it’s the perfect word for how I feel.

When I first heard Robin say the word “hangry,” I was mystified. But I am the world’s greatest detective, so after running the word through the Bat-Computer, I determined it’s a portmanteau of hungry and angry.

“Damn,” I said softly to myself. “Hungry + Angry = Batman. That’s me. I’m Batman.”

I am a brooding creature of the night motivated by a compulsive need for vengeance. I am always angry.

I’m also hungry a lot because I’m always exercising. I hang upside down from stone gargoyles. That is a huge abs workout. I swing from rooftops, I martial arts ALL THE TIME, I burn calories just from clenching my jaw SO SUPER HARD.

But I’m always working so I don’t have a lot of time to snack. And I can’t be seen eating in public. I need to strike terror in the hearts of criminals. I can’t emerge from the shadows sucking on an Orange Julius. That just makes me look like a constipated a-hole. I have an image to maintain.

It’s not fair. Other heroes can eat all the time. Superman can fly over the White House deep throating a hot dog and everyone just shouts “Woo! ‘Merica!” Aquaman can telepathically boss fish around. He can tell shrimp to swim into his face. No one cares. What happens in the ocean, stays in the ocean. Wonder Woman looks strong and elegant no matter what she does. I saw her going to town on an Arby’s Roast Beef N’ Cheddar once and wanted to sculpt a statue of it.

But can Batman get his eat on? No. But that changes. Tonight. Right now.

There’s a new psychotic villain in Gotham obsessed with fast food restaurants. He was deeply disfigured when he fell into an industrial sized vat of pink slime. It turned his whole body bright red. He dresses up as an angry cow and shoots people with milk guns. Calls himself DEATH COW. Very hard to take him seriously.

BUT word on the street says he’s knocking over the Taco Bell on 4th street tonight.

I’m hanging upside down from a stone gargoyle outside this surprisingly gothic Taco Bell. There he is now. The DEATH COW. Waving his milk guns around like an idiot! My soul growls for justice and my stomach growls for Mexican food.

I swing through the glass window, shattering the ad for the Cool Ranch Doritos Taco Loco. I quickly take out DEATH COW’s low-rent goons. A jab to a kidney. An elbow to a nose. A roundhouse kick to a clavicle. I throw a batarang through another one’s nose ring, pin him to the wall, and smash him over the head with a straw dispenser. I AM SO HANGRY!

DEATH COW whirls toward me, mooing in fury. He sprays acid milk at me. I roll out of the way. It looks cool. I grab him by his stupid udders and throw him head first into the soda machine. I smile as his world explodes into a dark reality of pain and Diet Mountain Dew.

I turn toward the pimply-faced Taco Bell employees. They cower in fear. I don’t care. I don’t want their appreciation. I want their tacos.

I throw down several bat-smoke pellets. The Taco Bell punks cough and cover their pot-smoking bloodshot eyes.

I leap over the counter, my cape billowing. It looks really cool.

There they are. Waiting for me. Tacos. Tens of them.

The smoke is already clearing. I can hear the sirens in the distance. I have only seconds for the most important decision I’ve made in years.

“Soft shell or hard shell?” I mumble desperately.

“SOFT SHELL OR HARD SHELL??” I scream into the night.

I wait for the darkness to answer.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Will Batman get his taco? Will he be caught in the act? Is his love of violence really morally justifiable? Will he choose soft shell or hard shell? Readers decided by tweeting me their votes! To see their conclusion, read the exciting conclusion here! Also, if you enjoyed the story, you can make more ridiculous shit like this possible by supporting me on Patreon! Thanks!

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The Amazing Year 2022

This comedy blog post was made possible by Patreon. One of the rewards for becoming a Patreon backer is suggesting a topic for the blog. A kind patron named Jesse McClusky gave me the fun, exciting, terrifying, and funexerrifying suggestion of thinking ahead to our future. To the amazing year of 2022!

2022 is less than a decade from now as I write this in the ancient, backwards time of summer 2014, but I suspect the world will be a very different place by 2022. I believe humankind will discover the ideal number of bullet points for a listicle is exactly 25. So please enjoy these 25 predictions about our future!

2022

Social Media

There will be many new and different social media sites and apps. You will get messages like this and they will make perfect sense to you: Hey! Your netherport just got jazzled by a froolee on TimeFukr!

Spider-Man Age

A movie detailing Spider-Man’s origin story is released every two to three months. People no longer tell one another how old they are in years. We speak about our age in relation to how many Spider-Man reboots have been released in our lifetime. In 2022, I am 87 Spider-Man Reboots Old.

Who Farted?

All personal mobile devices come pre-loaded with an app that lets you know who in your immediate vicinity has farted. Strangely, this has not stopped humans from loudly asking, “WHO FARTED?” and enjoying the thrill of shaming other humans for a normal bodily function.

Food Free

There is a new diet craze called “Food-Free.” Some people on Facebook who read some studies once finally realized that eating food was the cause of all of our health and appearance problems. It’s commonly agreed in polite society that eating is gross and weird and no one should ever do it. That said, the world is covered in “secret,” illicit food speakeasies. Common passwords include “What the fuck is wrong with us?”, “I’m dying”, and “I would kill everyone I know for a taco.”

People are still mad about Star Wars

Not a lot to explain about this one. Some things never change.

Reality Goggles

There’s a special piece of headwear that blocks out screens of any kind. All you can see is the beauty of the real world–the soaring server cathedrals, the grand canyon physical media dump, and the strips malls full of Forever 21 (still around!) and the personal fracking stations. There is a glitch where the goggles think cats only belong on the internet and shouldn’t exist in the real world so the goggles also make it impossible to see or hear actual real life cats. These goggles are only available to the very rich.

Swear words

“Comcast” is now the most offensive thing you can call another human being.

Taco Bell

Because of our new understanding of food, Taco Bell no longer sells tacos. They sell bells. Bells are a common form of communication for pundits on CNN. When a plane goes missing or something, cable stations will now air weeks of people angrily ringing bells at one another.

Time Travel

Time travel exists. You can only jump two or three seconds back into the past. Time travel is mainly used to manipulate the accuracy of the “Who Farted?” app.

Toilet Talk

Every single object you use in life will instantly send a message to all of your social media accounts updating your friends on your activities. The devices will also speak to you. Every morning, your coffeemaker will ask you want it can do for you. Every human in the world answers the same way: “Make me some coffee, for fuck’s sake!”

Phone Calls

The calling function on our mobile devices is now referred to as The Mother’s Day App.

Memes

A lot of memes are very old now. No one can remember how some of them started. For example, when you get married the photographer automatically adds a caption to the bottom of every photo of the couple that says #TrueDetectiveSeason2. No one knows why, but hey, it’s tradition. And tradition is important.

NSA buddies

The future is not a lonely place. Every living human is assigned an NSA Buddy. It’s understood that everything you ever do will be monitored, recorded, and possibly used against you by the United States of America and Time Warner Cable’s elaborate government apparatus. But voter/content consumer comfort is the USATWC’s number one concern so every day we get a call on our Mother’s Day App from our NSA Buddy to shoot the breeze. It’s kind of nice, really. My NSA buddy’s name is Sheryl and she also enjoys getting mad about Star Wars.

Earbuds

Earbud cables are the leading cause of death. Every year, two million people are caught in a cascading tangle of earbuds. It’s sort of like that old video game Katamari Damacy but with earbuds and death. The problem is particularly bad down in the subway tunnels where the trains used to run and the mutants now live.

Netflix is a dating site

Netflix’s complex algorithms determine not only what TV show we would like to watch, but who we should marry and/or have sex with. The suggestions were weird at first: I see you’re interested in straight men. Perhaps you’d also like to try married women, a Benedict Cumberbatch body pillow, or dying alone. Eventually, Netflix got pretty good at it though and now all couples are pretty happy because you’ll never end up with someone who doesn’t want to watch all of Buffy The Vampire Slayer in one sitting.

Intelligence Captioned

Everything that is broadcast is captioned so even the stupidest people know what’s happening when they watch old episodes of Game of Thrones with their Netflix assigned partner. It’s pretty fun to watch the CNN bell-ringers with the intelligence caption on as it just repeatedly reads, “This jack-ass is ringing a bell.”

Cat Pictures

Cat pictures MUST be posted daily on facebook whether you have a cat or not. This is not mandated by any law but by common societal agreement.

Dinosaurs

The dinosaurs came back. It’s a long story about chemical spills and a horrible accident with the development of the time travel app, but it’s cool. The dinosaurs don’t usually come into the cities because they’re afraid of the earbud traps.

The Environment

The Polar Ice Caps melted. But we stopped it. A fundraiser was staged in which everyone in America was forced to sing “Let It Go” from Frozen at the exact same time. It made the top page of UberReddit. We’re told that fixed the problem.

Equality

People are still jerks to one another, but for the most part we’re much better about treating one another with kindness and respect regardless of gender, ethnicity, sexuality, age, etc. That said, we’re total assholes to one another based on dumb personal preferences recorded on social media. Over 10,000 people and their triceratops steeds lost their lives in the Soft Shell-Hard Shell Wars of 2019. It seems like no matter what, humans will find stupid ways to divide themselves. I posted that sentiment on Google Plus and 17 people +1’d it, so I know I’m not alone.

Lightsabers are real

We discovered the technology to make actual lightsabers. Fifty percent of the population immediately cut their own arms off while making YouTube videos. The technology is now banned. It was only available and legal for four hours.

The Middle Class

There is no middle class. You are on Team Poor or Team Rich and that’s it. Our economy is entirely based on a complex system of TheoryCredits administered by PayPal and Chipotle so we all just kind of keep living but we’re not sure how. There is a shit-ton of bell ringing about that on CNN.

Google Plus

Everyone still hates Google Plus, but we all have to post to it at least once a day or they’ll send a Google Drone to our house and destroy it with their patented death device–the Google Fun Times Correction Integrator.

Religion

We kind of have separation of church and state. Not as much as I would like, but it’s a step in the right direction. Politicians still invoke their religion all the time, but it’s now bleeped out. So during campaigns you’ll hear people say things like, “I was compelled by (bleep) to lower taxes!” As you can imagine, it gives us a lot to tweet about.

Fun

I think I’m starting to make it sound like the future is a bad place. Full of totalitarian social media regimes, forced interaction, horrible violence, mysterious subway mutants, and talking toilets but there are a lot of good things, too!

We still have families. We still have friends. In fact, one of the most popular social media apps is RealFriendster where you only add people you actually care about. It’s weird and beautiful.

We also still engage in a lot of great physical activities. We all learned to run when the dinosaurs came back. We all learned to be really good climbers during the sudden sinkhole craze of 2016. We have jetpacks but no one bothers to use them because of the acid cloud.

We still experience love. We still pine for the past and hope for the future. Most of us have cool cybernetic replacement limbs as a result of the lightsaber menace.

And we still spend a lot of time outside. The number one hobby in the world is Social Media War Re-enactment. A lot of us spend holidays and weekends out in the woods edutaining ourselves about the great battles of the past. Everyone argues about who gets to play Patton Oswalt. Everyone is bummed out when they have to be Ann Coulter. No one knows why we go out to the woods to do it. It seemed like a good idea to someone and the rest of us ran with it.

I’d like to say more, but I really don’t think I’m going to find a better sentence to explain the future than the sentence I just wrote above.

It seemed like a good idea to someone and the rest of us ran with it.

Thanks and enjoy the past!

If you enjoyed the post, check out my Patreon page! Thanks again to Jesse McClusky for the suggestion and thank you for reading and sharing the post!

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OBI-WAN KENOBI’S ZERO STAR REVIEWS

ObiWanZeroStars

I’ve been obsessed with Star Wars for a long time. Every few months, specific lines from the films will lodge themselves in my brain. Recently, while waiting in line at the DMV, this line popped into my head:

“You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.” – Obi-Wan Kenobi

Cranky, truth-bending Jedi Knight, hermit, and professional asshole, Obi-Wan Kenobi, said this to Luke Skywalker. He was describing Mos Eisley and its Cantina.

It only recently occurred to me how harsh it is. The Cantina really isn’t that bad. It looks pretty clean, Luke gets his drink quickly, the music is GREAT, and not so loud you can’t have a conversation over it.

“Wretched hive of scum and villainy” is a pretty shitty Yelp review for a place where you can openly slice people’s arms off, everyone just shrugs it off then goes back to smoking their space hookahs and shit.

It made me think Obi-Wan Kenobi would be an absolute menace if he wrote reviews online. So here are some of that crazy old hermit’s pithy zero star reviews.

For maximum enjoyment, read them out loud in your best Obi-Wan Kenobi voice.

CrankyObiWanChipotle

CrankyObiWanTWC

CrankyObiWanIkea

CrankyObiWanRadioShack

CrankyObiWanFacebook

CrankyObiWanTuesdays

CrankyObiWanLedZeppelin3

CrankyObiWanDexter

CrankyObiWanPinkberry

CrankyObiWanBlogPost

Now, for even MORE enjoyment go back and read them in your worst Obi-Wan Kenobi voice and compare!

Also, if you’d like to know how Obi-Wan might review your favorite restaurant, social media site, album, day of the week, etc. leave it in the comments and I’ll reply with a review! A cranky, crappy review.

If you enjoyed the post, check out the Patreon page that made it possible! Backing as little as $1 or $2 a month helps tremendously! Thank you!

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