Sick of Hollywood Heroism

So Batman is at it again, saving Gotham city for the nth time. Ugh. How tiresome. Have you seen that dreary dreadful city that is oh so stuck in the forties? I think sunshine and plant life are illegal in Gotham. But it’s the same story everywhere: Spiderman, Superman and the whole lot, one and all defenders of cities. Do you know, no great author, painter or musician has ever praised cities more than nature. So, the question is, why can’t superheroes defend an agricultural region or, say, the Amazon? Oh, right, Steven Seagal did that.

By constantly associating heroism with violence, with supernatural biceps, glutes, pecs, and a few other physical and technological powers that are the envy of every army, Hollywood prevents its viewers from ever considering other kinds of heroism.

This brings me to Batman’s enemy, the Joker. Why did Hollywood have to make a joker, a person normally associated with laughter and good health, the ultimate expression of criminal insanity? Whatever the reason may be, the fact that it did goes to show that Hollywood’s vision of the world is both perverse and completely backwards. Compared to the information industry, the joking industry, if one could even call it that, is relatively worthless. But to turn joking into an evil. . . that goes too far and I won’t stand for it! Indeed, the poor actor Hollywood persuaded to slander the art of joking by equating it with the psychotic, even he has testified against himself with his recent fatal drug overdose.

Joking ought to be portrayed as the opposite of evil. In fact, Hollywood would have been more truthful if it chose some millionaire playboy (Batman), or some millionaire businessman (Ironman), or some cheap journalist (Spiderman), or even a blockheaded extraterrestrial (Superman) for its ultimate villain!

Published in:  on July 27, 2008 at 8:48 pm Leave a Comment
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In the Beginning

“Mamama.”

“Shshshshsh!” hushed John, thinking Will the kid ever grow up? Four moonths feel like countless eternities.

“MAMAMA!”

“Googoocoocoo,” John replied, eyes to the sky in f-f-f-frus-frus-frustra-a-ation!

“Fa. Fi malick ey ceam sol iddd ifeye coud ga si ffey!!!”

“Wha? Water?”

“Fi rrrrr de seye urrrr miwk!!!!”

John’s brain tried to process syllables, in vain.

“DUH MEE! DUH MEE!”

Oh, such strong lungs foretell a prodigious future, thought supernaturnal John.

“Peepoopapapeepoopapapeepoo.”

John smiled, his brain idling snail-like, amused by the passing sounds as by shiftyshipshaping clouds. Clods. A slow stain imparted itself spreading on the bedspread like ink on my page, ice on the lake. John thought too quickly through uncharted territory and dizzied.

“Ahhhh, peepoopapapeepoopapapahhh!” exclaimed the relieved delight mid delivery. Inspired, it added, “Orrrifissssexceetcodovum.”

John’s brain hurt trying to translate undivided baby babble while baby babbled on bib. He prodded the thick organic product with his wand, and roots sprouted buds and fulsome fruit bent the bough.

The world, once divided, he digested and made one, no two, for the kidney and liver work wonders in gooey rich browns and yellows and deep tooting bowels,

“Ffhfhfhfhffhfhprepreprepreprreprreprreput!”

And all the air became odoroxious methane or buttane.

John vigorously sniffed a plant having heard plants produce oxygen.

These urchins cannot grow up fast enough for me, he thought without moving his lips. Who knows how this boy happened to us?

“MWAMWA! PBABPAMA! Penissing es cod eeet fobiden meat demi errr mimemam mermimame meem! Utterussssss!”

John watched Rose remove the sopping moss diaper and compost to help the spiral of life along and noted his son beaming impartially.

“Hmmm. These mammaryan witchures have esoteric powers,” he concluded to excuse his wholesum ignorance.

Published in:  on July 11, 2008 at 6:38 pm Leave a Comment
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Nearly Preverbal

Dinnertime was at dinnertime. But this time, John was cooking. He was cooking something. No one knew what it was. He was grinding his teeth.

Grkgrkgrkgrkgrk

Cootie looked at the food.

“Do you want to kill us?” he asked.

Steam blew out of his father’s ears. His eyes turned purple. “GLUTEUS MAXIMUS OLEEE MAMMONAYAA!” he screamed in pain. He never said “Ouch!” like normal people, I mean English speakers.

“I’m very sorry, but I won’t eat it,” Cootie repeated.

His father pounded the cutting board with his fists and cried, “YOUUUUU! YOUUU NEVER EAT MYYYYY FOOD!”

“WELL, DON’T SCREAM AT ME!!” Cootie screamed back. Now he was angry, too.

“ARGGGGG!” growled his father, his face all red.

Cootie frowned and bit his lip.

John was angry. Really angry. He slapped himself with a rotten cucumber, and slapped himself again with a ripe banana, smashing and mashing it. Then he found another banana and –

“ST-T-TT-TOP IT!” Cootie blurted and spluttered, “THAT’S G-G-G-G-OOD F-F-F-FOOD!” Flecks of foam flew from the boy’s mouth. Saliva dribbled down his chin.

His father realized Cootie was right about the banana and he became even angrier. His lips got all twisted out of shape.

“ARGHGHABRUKRMOOOOHGARGORGOWEEEWONKRPNK!”

“OHHOKAUEEEAAAEOOOUNUUNUU?” Cootie asked.

“ARGHGHABRUKRMOOOOHGARGORGOWEEEWONKRPNK!” his father repeated with amazing accuracy.

“OHHOKAUEEEAAAEOOOUNUUNUU?” Cootie asked again.

Well, after that, things got worse. They said things I don’t dare repeat and hand gestures turned into a violent dance as they threw their bodies on the floor and rolled there, like utterly hapless newborns.

Meanwhile, Rose, the wife and mother, threw up her hands in disgust, walked away and made dinner.

Published in:  on at 1:56 am Leave a Comment
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