Category Archives: Culture

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what if velociraptor fought terminator?

There’s very little I wouldn’t give up to see this vicious bout. What purpose would it serve? I don’t care. Why should you? It’d be senseless and fun. That’s good enough for me. I assure you, you’ll pay money to see it. Plus, for one thing it’d make a movie ten times better than the mess that’s about to appear on screen.

For I have seen into the future. My Guests facilitated my journey into the outer reaches of the cosmos where I had the opportunity to see through time, grab a beer, solve the unified field theory, speak with Hitler, and watch both Jurassic Actual Park and Terminator Misspelled Word.

In order to increase the hi-larity, Hitler insisted that we use the powers of the sixth dimension to summon the corporeal form of Richard Attenborough. We also used these powers to procure enough alcohol to overcome even the level of suffering that Steven Spielberg and James Cameron are likely to endure once they realize what these people did with two of their finest creations.

Of course, this is to assume Spielberg and Cameron actually bother to watch these movies. Which of course they won’t. Instead, we’ll get the glory of two hack directors who’ve never made a decent movie but do their best to prove just how much they’re exactly like Michael Bay. Because that’s where the money is.

About halfway through World, Richard started to chug uncontrollably from a bottle of gin and then blacked out mumbling, “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it.” A third of the way through Genesis (sic) Hitler remarked that the only thing worse than this film experience was when he watched Downfall and realized what a total asshole he actually was.

And now having seen both of these movies, I have thus proven my original two conclusions correct:

1) Both these movies are horrible

2) Each of these movies will make $1B minimum

Kindly observe the awfulness on display before you’ve even watched five minutes of these putrid creations known as their trailers:

Terminator Minor Sins:

a) Arnold fighting his younger self; one liner to young Arnold: “Don’t run for office you dirty fuck! Don’t do it! I know your fate!”

b) A flying yellow school bus action scene that puts the Los Angeles river motorcycle chase scene from Terminator 2 on par with the chariot race from Ben Hur (by the way, replace the word Terminator or Jurassic with Ben Hur; and you’ll also receive a perfectly accurate film review of the forthcoming Ben Hur remake)

c) Arnold flying through a functioning death saw known as an airborne helicopter; a situation that would completely destroy the character from Terminator 2 known as The Terminator

Terminator Heinous Sins of One’s Soul:

A) Turning John Connor’s character into a half-man / half-machine psycho

Jurassic Minor Sins:

a) genetically engineered super dinosaur that will make all humanity wonder why this movie isn’t called Godzilla 19

b) a body count higher in the trailer alone than all three previous movies combined thus proving the intent to make slasher porn rather than an actual movie

c) implication of a cinematic tone so devoid of adventure and excitement as to make one wonder if the desire was to make the audience depart the theater exhausted and convinced life is just a big meat grinder

Jurassic Heinous Sins of One’s Soul:

A) brain control of the velociraptors to the point they become either mind slaves or allies of Chris Pratt

Jurassic Park is in my top five of great movies. Terminator 2 is likely in my top ten. If you think I’m a lunatic for these assessments, then you’ve read too much of this blog post to begin with. But even if you disagree with my rankings, you cannot dispute that these two movies were at least, movies.

I’m not sure what Terminator 5 and Jurassic 4 are? But they’re not movies in the sense that I understand the term. At best they’re like loud theme park rides. Which I think is the new concept for the summer blockbuster.

Take a name the populace will recognize, make it a Bay style action movie, and shove it down everybody’s throats whether they like it or not. And when you make $1B? Nobody will care.

Well I care dammit! I care a great deal. Because I have no life, and my Guests won’t leave me alone. So I’m always out to distract myself. Such as with the advertising and marketing campaign for my new sixth dimension creation where the velociraptor and terminator will participate in a Dual of the Fates at Madison Square Garden on July 25th at 8pm. Live. Pay Per View! $100.

You will pay. I assure you. I bought Chris Pratt for one afternoon to use his sexy mind control powers on millions. I can’t lose. I’ll make $1B for sure!

dual of the fates

Clever Girl over Cyberdyne in seven rounds

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requiring the permission of strangers to turn on a ceiling fan; and other ways our homes are no longer ours

For the uninitiated, in America a Homeowner’s Association (HOA) or similar construct is an evil organization bent upon world domination through regulation of the style and manner in which your bushes are trimmed. In that sense, they have similar priorities to the always delightful, Sturmabteilung or Nazi Brownshirts.

For the uninitiated, who haven’t learned history because it’s not taught anymore, the Brownshirts were another evil organization bent upon world domination through regulation of the style and manner of clown nose coloring, tap water purity, the rules of chess, mass genocide, and the process by which one acquired permission to don footwear.

brownshirts

Bringing peace and enlightenment to the people; one broken window at a time.

Anyways, way back when after a HOA embarked upon a six month ordeal to force my parents to change the color of their shed, I’ve been of the strong opinion that HOAs are nothing more than an excuse for parasites to add luster to their otherwise pathetic lives by holding power over their fellow human beings, aka their own neighbors.

The guy in my next door cubicle at day job is a HOA president. So I get the joy of hearing his frequent used car salesmen back door scheming on daily HOA management. I wouldn’t trust this dude to hold my coffee for six seconds. And yet, please pardon the vulgarity, I think his voice sounds so weird after one of his HOA phone calls that he likely has an erection inside the cubicle.

So when I bought my current shoebox home, I tried my best to stay away from HOAs. But bizarrely, in modern America if you want a neighborhood without an active HOA you need to be willing to pay more. I couldn’t afford it. And so, $50 of my money each month goes to fund an organization whose sole purpose is to destroy me.

Ostensibly, the HOA’s purpose is grounds management, keeping the neighborhood looking nice, and otherwise maintaining order. This way that one annoying neighbor can’t leave an RV camper on their lawn for months at a time. However, in practice HOAs fuel a racket of lawyers, corporations, and white collared goons who are in it to make money.

The corporate behemoth running the day-to-day actions of my HOA does business in two dozens states as a full blown LLC. Because nothing says local democratic government and quaint neighborhoods like paying the Giant Octopus to cut the twelve square yards of public grass that border you property.

The former overlord running our HOA used to lead, to put it mildly, with a rather disengaged hand. Folks would literally leave garbage on their lawns. Eh, I kind of live in a rough neighborhood.

Just last night somebody emptied all six rounds from a likely large frame revolver into the woods out back. I hear gunfire all the time and so I don’t call the cops anymore. Why go to the gun range when the woods at 11pm work just fine? Sure enough, this morning there wasn’t a body out there. I think.

And so, if I have to dodge garbage while walking my dog(s)? Oh well. I bitch about it, but it’s not a big deal. Particularly given that I know what an active / engaged HOA is capable of.

And sure enough, we got a new HOA president. And she was active / engaged. I caught her roaming the neighborhood in her clown car with a note pad. She’d drive a few feet, stop, open her car door, stare at her neighbors’ homes, and take notes. While I walked by her with my dog(s) she wouldn’t even make eye contact with me. She knew what she was doing.

And sure enough, then the entire neighborhood got flooded with “violation” notices. The garbage still litters the lawns. But apparently my bushes needed trimming (true). And, my entire freaking driveway needed replacement. Yeah, the entire driveway.

Why? Because she said so. The violation notice simply instructed me to replace my driveway within 60 days or face fines. No explanation as to why. Good luck with that, lady. I’ll sue first.

And when I replied in formal letter requesting clarification? Eh, no reply. So we’ll see if I hear from them after the 60 day clock runs out. Maybe she’s just overwhelmed with responses to all the paperwork she generated.

And then I’m walking my dog(s) yesterday and I see her latest idea. Behold the power of waste and general sadness! See if you can figure out what’s wrong here:

insanity

1) Now our cool little tree and flower circle has been surrounded by a trio of no parking signs

2) For a garden circle that is geometrically impossible to park around

3) On a dead end street that houses no consistent traffic

4) For a circle that I’ve never seen anybody park around for two years

5) When our neat flowers and cute little tree are now surrounded by steel, signs, order, and sadness

 

They say absolute power corrupts absolutely. But it’s rather hard to execute absolute power when you’re a darn moron who has as much common sense as a Brownshirt goon on meth.

I fear this is the future of the American home. The needless signs surrounding the tree. Home isn’t your home. The HOA owns you. The bank owns your mortgage. Via property taxes, you effectively only rent your home from the government. Even your local utility wants to hook up smart meters which empower them to turn off certain appliances at their decision, not yours.

dog

Happy non-contrarian canine wonders why beloved Daddy bothers to think and write about stuff that might not matter.

And so the future of the free American’s home will require the permission of strangers to turn on a ceiling fan.

Maybe it’s just a continuation of history’s reality. Through most of the human race’s great adventure, folks have never really been free or owned their homes, their land, their lives. So who are we to think differently?

We live in a modern society so controlling that entire arms of our culture are committed to telling you what you can / cannot say, think, eat, drink, smoke, vote, believe, and so on. So why not all of these things, and then some, even when you’re inside your own home?

It’s very troubling to me. It makes me fear what kind of home my kids, God willing, will live. Will they look back on my tale of their grandparents shed color debacle and be like, “Oh, that’s so minor compared to what it’s like today.”

Will freedom, the home, the joy of choosing your own path just slowly erode away? And those who come after us won’t even know what it was like. What it was like to live free before the age when a total stranger could order you around in your home? Just because they felt like it?

Or maybe my dog(s) is right. And I’m off my senses. And one day I’ll be wearing a tin foil hat mumbling to strangers about the Brownshirts. Eh, we’ll see.

stormy

The Arcturus Project’s Weekly (Not Weekly) Stormy Cloud Award goes to Her Eminence HOA President #457.2b. I won’t give in lady; there’s nothing wrong with my driveway; I’ll see you in court if necessary.

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I’m thinking of becoming a professional troll; just to amuse myself

The possibilities are endless.  Folks get offended online over anything.  I could waste more hours of humanity’s time in one post than all the department of motor vehicles combined.  All these people would take it so seriously, whereas I’d care about nothing.  Just think of the joy of so much outrage, generated by falsity.  It’d be just like the real media, but unlike them, I wouldn’t make any money.  But the daily humor would be unspeakable.

 

– I take one of my dog(s) stuffed toys and dress it up like a dodo bird.  Then I pose in front of it smiling with a rifle like it’s a hunting kill in the bush.  Only I’m just in my own backyard with the grass grown long because I’m too lazy to cut it.  And my caption is, “Just havin’ fun cleanin’ out nature’s mess.  CITES says this bird is endangered, but I found one real quick and shot it.  So I don’t think it’s endangered.  #naturegenocide”

 

– I buy an American flag and an Iranian flag.  I drape myself in both flags while wearing a Jason mask and holding a half empty wine bottle to accentuate the randomness.  And then I e-mail the picture to various Iranian Council of Guardians support groups alongside various Liberty University support groups.  Then I crack a beer(s) and await the death threats.

 

– I make a social media post with a painting of Queen Victoria accusing it of vicious sexism because it depicts a strong female ruler wearing a dress instead of a pants-suit.  In fact, I accuse Victoria’s ghost of being entirely at fault for actively participating in such horrid stereotypes.  I make sure to point out how cool it is to dive back into history and impose my own social, political, and cultural viewpoints upon those who’ve been dead for centuries.

 

– I shoot video of me wearing a faded Yugoslavian track suit as I run from business to business where I open the door and shout inside at the top of my lungs:  “I hate you pigs!  I’ll never buy anything from you!  Burn ya bastards!”  My track suit adventure entails stops at the following locations:

1) A gun shop

2) An LBGT%#? bar

3) A Christian book shop

4) A mosque gift shop

5) Hobby Lobby

6) Hilary Clinton campaign depot

Then I post the video.  Then I crack a beer(s) and await the death threats.

 

– I buy a bloody Halloween head and pose in front of it with my biggest kitchen knife covered in tomato sauce.  My caption is, “I just saw Taken 3 and I couldn’t help myself.”  I’m pretty sure this is illegal because the cops would show up.  But the purpose would be to see how many folks I could hook and get them to post anti-Hollywood violence messages just off my one photograph alone.

 

– I go on a dating site and find a lunatic female willing to assist.  She dons a Dallas Cowboys jersey; I don a Philadelphia Eagles jersey.  (PS both these teams suck)  Then I dot our eyes to imply physical injury.  Then I post the picture with the caption, “Domestic violence is okay in sports.  We both participated during the last game; just to release our internal anger.  We think it’s fun.  We think this behavior is an integral part of the NFL.  You should too.  #sportsmorals”  And then we sit back, crack a beer(s), and count the hours until Roger Goodell resigns.  It’d be a match made in heaven.

 

– I post textual evidence of my writing an offensive, deranged blog that serves no purpose and generally contributes nothing to the course of human events while hiding behind the narcissistic tag line of Exercise in Freedom of Speech.  Upon realization of actual events; I meekly contemplate my future as a bleached skeleton and wonder when I’m going to get a life.  #life

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airlines apparently need iPads to fly, iPhones to instruct location of on-switch

Apparently, American Airlines needs a working iPad to fly an aircraft.  Otherwise the pilots don’t have charts.  And I discovered today that it’s not just American, but multiple airlines who use tablets as their air charts.  So if the tablets break, the aircraft has no charts.

That’s just about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.

So if the tablet breaks while in flight, do they have to emergency land the aircraft?  If the answer’s yes, then we’re all placing our lives in the hands of some of the most breakable, fragile technology since somebody tried to use crystal glass as a medieval battlefield melee weapon.  Or, if the answer’s no, and the pilots just fly on with a broken iPad, then why can’t they just take off with it broken too?

So like, I suck at math.  So I use a calculator.  I can’t even do effective long division by hand no more.  But I’m not a mathematician.  So who cares.  But if I was an airline pilot, and I need an iPad?  Otherwise I can’t fly?  Then I’m pretty sure the pilot is too dependent upon technology and/or sucks as a pilot.

And don’t give me that nonsense that a paper chart is equivalent, that the iPad is just more efficient and is otherwise the same thing.  A paper air chart only breaks when the aircraft is in flames.  Circa 2019, some twelve-year-old-coked-out-virgin-boy from Cincinnati is going to find a way to hack the airline flight chart iPad.

We’re too dependent on technology.  We can’t do nothing without it no more.  Soon, we’ll need the smartphone to instruct us to do the following exquisite tasks:

– a new type of food arrives at your restaurant table; you’ve never eaten it before; whip out phone for directions on how to consume this new exotic treat; don’t bother trying to figure it out on your own, like it’s some kind of adventure; don’t live life, instead, do exactly as you’re told to do by others

– you no longer remember how to read a road map; road maps are you obey the verbal directions of a machine; in the event of the apocalypse, you’ll misinterpret an existing road map and drive towards the zombies’ lair instead of away from them; thus dooming your family to a lifetime banquet of brains; way to go

– you’ve forgotten how to talk to somebody face-to-face; the last time you actually saw your friends in non-text-social-media form was 2004; in fact, you just walked past them on the street and didn’t know it, you don’t even exist, nor do they

– in order to determine the time of day, you must consult your phone; one day, just for the hell of it you tried to look up at the sky to see if you could tell what time it was by the position of the sun; but you just burned your retinas as you hadn’t been outside beyond commuting to work in five weeks

– one morning, you awoke and found your phone had died; you thus no longer possessed the means to acquire news; given this, you thus naturally assumed the universe was ending, and that the dawn of a new age was at hand; and so you looted your neighbors’ homes for their worldly possessions, and declared yourself overlord of your general residential area; until you were viciously overthrown by the local authorities; but not having your smartphone handy, you were unable to determine which mental institution they were taking you, nor provide directions to the loon-van driver; for his phone had died too, and he didn’t know how to get back to work from your house