Posts Tagged ‘Star Wars’

After briefly indulging our more base instincts – entirely away from each other, mind you – Astley and I continued our venture onwards towards the Fifth Circle. Though I asked of Astley numerous times what we would be seeing, he ignored me, content to walk in silence. Annoyed, I glanced around me. A long, gray expanse greeted my vision, studded occasionally with broken, desecrated monuments. I opened my mouth to ask what they were but Astley interrupted me before I could begin.

“Look, traveler. We hasten towards our next encounter. Stay steadfast.”

My stomach twisted and turned, a snake inside me, as we walked towards the long and winding river in front of us. Lightning seared the sky above us as blackness surrounded all that existed. I looked ahead and was afraid. There, standing on the shore, was another boatman, grasping his oar – curiously similar in appearance to a golf ball retriever – and looking sullen and bored.

“Poet, what do I gaze upon?”

“Have peace, Kaos. The vast stretch of water that you see is the mighty River REO Speedwagon. That is, my friend, in fact the Fifth Circle as you soon shall see. And the boatman who shall take us across, Ghyslain Raza, is…we shall call him competent at best.”

“He looks quite familiar. Ho there, boat man?”


“I have seen you on the Internet, have I not? Your portly exterior seems to trigger a memory from long ago. Perhaps from the year of our Lord two-thousand and two?”

“Oui. I am, how you say, ze Star Wars Kid.”

“My gracious! You are! I laughed for ages at your awkward, stumbling acrobatics.”

“I see. Well, I do not wish to ferry you across the river now. My feelings are so gravely hurt.”

Astley gave me a withering glare and I shrank back, a bit ashamed. He pushed me roughly out of the way and began to speak quietly to our ferryman. Feeling unwanted, I peered into the river, curious at what I would see. To my horror, souls thrashed deep beneath the surface of the river. What flowed to and fro as far as I could see was not water. To the best of my knowledge, it appeared to be a mixture of printer’s ink and pen ink. Worried, I attempted to speak to my guide.

“Astley! What is…”

“Kaos! Mind your tongue, friend. I am attempting to curry this young man’s favor so that we may cross this damned place. Stay out of it for now, please.”

He turned back and I stared back into the water. From time to time, sheets of paper would float to the surface. The next time one appeared, I swiftly grabbed it from the flow of the river and began to read. What I saw – thankfully only a sentence fragment or two – was terrifying beyond belief.

n den da Denver Bronces pinned Harryy Potter 2 da floor and began 2 slowly remov his cloths. ‘No no’ Hary cried, but dey woudn’t lissen. Frm they’re shorts they pulld out there pen wan DIKS and startd 2 rub dem on him

Horrified, I threw the paper back into the ink, my hands soiled with wet blackness and unimaginable talentless shame. Astley called to me and motioned me over.

“He has agreed to take us ‘cross the REO Speedwagon, albeit reluctantly. Come, let us depart before he changes his mind or you let loose your tongue once more.”

Slightly offended and cowed, I stepped onto the boat – watching my feet this time – and sat down. Astley and our ferryman soon followed, the boatman pushing off from the shore with his oar. Our boat slid quietly through the blackness below us. Troubled, I watched the figures below the surface gurgle and fight.

“My friend, what troubles you so?”

“I do not know what the sins of these souls are, but I have seen what they produce and it weighs heavy on my heart.”

“Ah yes. I have not explained to you as of yet what those in the Fifth Circle have done. Kaos, those that wallow beneath the swirling ink are what were known in life as fanfic writers.”

“Fan fic?”

“Fan fiction. These writers – for lack of a term less verbose than ‘rapists of canon and the English language’ – have transmitted all their darkest fantasies onto countless reams of paper and gigabytes of Word and Notepad documents. They see all media as their personal literary playground. No character is safe from the terrible penstroke of the fanficker.”

“What do you mean?”

“An example, if I may. You are in life a self-proclaimed geek, correct?”

“Yes. I am not ashamed.”

“As you should not be. You, though, as a geek, would never have pictured in your most violently unpleasant dreams a scenario where, say, Chewbacca has forcible intercourse with Han Solo’s cavities as Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker fornicate on the burned and bloody corpse of Darth Vader, yes?”

“That is a vile idea to even conceptualize!”

“It exists in the minds of fanfickers. They not only can imagine such a horrid situation, they not only write down such awfulness, they in fact use these mental images as fodder for their most secret and deplorable sessions of inserting their overweight, grubby fingers into unmentionable personal regions.”

“Lord Almighty, give me strength.”

“The Lord does not exist in the lives of these miserable creatures. They wallow only in their pursuit of the almighty Mary Sue.”

“Mary Sue?”

“Self-insertion, not of the physical kind such as with produce and overly expensive clear purple phalli, but in a literary sense of the writer into the canon of a series. Star Trek, Star Wars, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter, Twilight, The Crow, WWE, True Blood, any superheroes you can think of. The list runs as long as you would dare to imagine. If it exists in the world, it has been Mary-Sued by someone.”

“And their fate?”

“They are damned to suffer beneath the surface of all the collective ink that has been shed due to their indiscretions. Though you cannot see from above them, all they see is the object of their greatest desire – oftentimes Captain Kirk – sitting just outside their grasp, just sitting and waiting for them to be touched. They never shall be.”

“I cannot feel bad, I am afraid.”

“As can nobody that has a sense of moral judgement, friend. You are not alone.”

The rest of the boat ride was met with quiet contemplation. What sins had I committed? Were they worse than these? Lost in thought, I did not notice we had reached the other shore until Astley shook me out of my thoughts.

“Kaos, we have arrived at the City of Diss. Come. We must depart.”

In front of our eyes was a tremendous wall, reaching upwards into the sky, tearing a hole in the atmosphere. The gates of the city stood before us, massive stone and iron-wrought, the faces of thousands of demons carved intricately into the surface of the material. Surrounding the city were thick, watery marshes, unmentionable stench emanated from them.

Quietly, Astley whispered in my ear.

“The Stablyn Marshes. Do not set foot in them. They will consume you. Come, friend.”

My groin clenched in terror but Astley led me forward, a kindly hand on my back. In front of the gates stood dozens of figures, all fallen from favor on the Internet. We approached and their spears moved quickly to attention. Astley attempted to speak.

“Fallen soldiers, let us enter so that we may…”

“No!” the multitude echoed in unison, “None may enter the City of Diss who live on Earth! In here dwell those sins that require active thought! Begone poet! Begone Kaos! Leave this place for you are unwelcome!”



The roar from the crowd was deafening. I stumbled back, my balance teetering. Approaching me, threatening me, were horrid spectres. Angry random YouTubers – Furies – and Tila Tequila, her hair now naught but a mass of snakes, moved towards me, hissing and spitting, their foulness menacing my very being. Then, from on high, a figure clad all in white floated down, a flaming sword in her gnarled hand. She landed between us, white light pouring from her. When she spoke, the very ground rumbled, though the voice itself was quieter and craggy.

“I am Betty White, darling of the Internet and one of God’s angels! You creatures! You beasts! Move aside and allow these travellers to pass through the gates of the city! You have no right – no power – to prevent such a holy journey! Stand down!”

Reluctantly, the crowd parted and the angel – sword in hand – reached the door, touching it with the sword which greatly resembled a TV remote. The gates swung open, the angel looked at me and smiled, and in a burst of light, she disappeared. Quietly and quickly, Astley and I moved through the grumbling crowd and through the gates of the city.

I was now in the City of Diss.

Since our last informational session dealing with penis names was so incredibly successful, we decided to do a sequel. Because as everyone knows, sequels to things are always amazing and never a bad idea. I mean, with such luminous titles as Charlie’s Angels 2: Full Throttle, The Matrix Reloaded, Batman Forever and Batman and Robin, and Ponytail Virgins 2, who could ever claim that a sequel is the equivalent of going back to an old girlfriend who was wonderful (maybe) the first time but now has grown fat and has kids and a mild to moderate case of genital warts but you fuck her anyways because what the hell, she’s there and willing.

(Come on, KT. Keep this rolling. – ed.)

Anyways, getting back on track, as we’ve said, this is a probably ill-advised attempt to capitalize on the surprising popularity of the Presidential Penis Names article. We have to say that this is a bit of a surprise. We weren’t expecting nearly the amount of love we got for that one, but we suppose that any with the word penis in it sets off the sensors of all you pervs out there. Eh. We’ll capitulate this time. Although we’ll help you pervnerds out there even more this time because while we are fairly sure there are no conventions dedicated to memorabilia and autographs and cosplaying Presidents, we KNOW that Star Wars does have that. In gross amounts, operative word being gross. Do…can we not go forward with this article? I’m getting the willies.

(Let’s just do this before we change our minds. God help us if we actually give ideas with this. – ed.)

*sigh* Damn it. Also note that if you don’t know Star Wars fairly well, most of these are going over your head. Price you pay for having a geek write this shit.

(Best of luck. I’m going to go do…something…else. – ed.)
If you’re from Arizona or some other place that looks like only death, name it Luke Skywalker. Also if you’re hitting puberty and just getting in touch with “The Force” (read: hormones and a sex drive). Oh and accidentally incestuous but we don’t want to know about that.

If you’re arrogant, good-looking, a criminal and a premature ejaculator, name it Han Solo. Get it? You “shoot first”? Huh? Huh? Oh fuck you. You can also replace this with Indiana Jones, Jack Ryan or any grizzled old man wanting to get his family back/do his job.

If you are James Earl Jones, name it Darth Vader. ONLY if you are James Earl Jones. And I suppose if you like some light BDSM too.

If you like loose women or anal, name it The Emperor. You can also do this if you ejaculate lightning but that’s not a normal thing.

If you have one that’s big, hairy and brutal, name it Chewbacca. If you don’t do the growl while having sex, you do not deserve this name. At all.

If you tan until you are nice and golden, name it C-3PO. This also applies if you’re an insufferable pretentious douche and/or like getting head.

If you have a chode, name it R2-D2. It works a lot better if you paint it blue and white and make beeping noises while a-fuckin’.

If you live as a hermit, name it Obi-Wan Kenobi. You also probably take ugly chicks’ virginities. You’re their only hope, after all.

If you have verbal dyslexia, name it Yoda. You might not want to mention it being tiny, wrinkled and green. It sure can be powerful though.

If you…okay, this one is pretty self-explanatory, name it Jabba the Hutt. You now have an obligation to go “OH HO HO!” when you cum. Fact.

If you are fucking awesome, name it Boba Fett. Actually no. None of you can use this as a name. This is my backup name. It’s mine. Fuck you.

If you are a minor but still important character in your group of friends, name it Wedge Antilles. You also probably like tit-sex and you-ing it in there.

If you have one about double the length of everyone else’s, name it Darth Maul. Also if it’s red and you’re always horny.

If you have everyone in the world hating you, name it Jar-Jar Binks. Seriously. You should probably just kill yourself anyways.

So you don’t want a character name? Fine. Be an asshole. We can help you out anyways.

If you like “swordfighting” with other dudes, name it Lightsaber. Also, knock that shit right the hell off. That’s gross.

If you have one that is massive and intimidating, name it The Death Star . This also assumes that your emissions are powerful enough to maybe not destroy a planet but sure as hell knock down some living room furniture.

If you go very fast and sometimes make tactical mistakes which cause problems to erupt, name it Podracer. Ignore the fact that a little kid drove one.

If you just really like any kind of sex, name it X-Wing. Or, rather, Triple X-Wing.

If you have had a vasectomy, name it Tie Fighter. On second thought, don’t. That could get depressing.

Don’t you ladies fret, however! We couldn’t do you last time because, let’s face it, no woman has been a President. But we can help you out too this time!

If you are a normal girl…well, as normal as you can be naming your vag, name it Princess Leia Organa . Because, really, this is as set-up for you as you can possibly get. Being a princess, being a main character AND having the word “organ” in it. You can’t lose.

If you are a redhead, name it Mara Jade. You are also probably hot as shit. Oh and you like giving tugjobs. Extra points if you actually get that joke.

If you destroy men, eat away at their souls and are generally something that they don’t want to put their dick in, name it The Sarlaac. *shiver*
And with that last horrific image, we conclude this informational session. Let’s check in with Ed before we go.

(…and another thing! A throat isn’t like an asshole! You can’t just go charging in – two fingers at the ready – like some British cavalry unit! You have to be gentle, you heathens! – ed.)

On second thought, he’s busy. Deuces wild, everyone.

Hello everyone.  I decided to take a break from my usual Rupert the Drunk Adventures and instead focus on shamelessly ripping off my colleague, kaostheory.  At first I wanted to do a story on interpreting text messages, but someone beat me too it.  Instead, I decided to examine five popular levels of “fan boy.”  People become fans for many reasons.  They see a film a hear a piece of music that perfectly illustrates their feelings about the world.  Or maybe it’s just an excuse to stay in the basement that much longer.  So, here are the so-called “reasons” to become a fan boy and what they actually mean. Oh, and please note, I fall under some of these categories, (except Twilight obviously)  so don’t spam my email.

The Star Wars Fan
What they say: George Lucas has created a universe that could not be contained into the mere realm of film but had to expand elsewhere.  Anyone can participate in this realm.  Also, the force is the true guiding light of the universe.

What it Means: I have absolutely no creativity but desperately want to become a writer.  Also,  I am suffering a severe crisis of theology.

There is perhaps more fan fiction based around the Star Wars Universe than any other.  These people cannot admit that they are just to lazy to come up with their own ideas.  What is even sadder is when some of this fiction is even better than the prequels (like KOTOR).  So, not only are those people more talented than George Lucas, they are in such denial that to admit it would be a smite in the face to their god.  Also, I don’t care how hard you squint, there is no magical thing in the universe that will make your pencil move across your desk.

The Star Trek Fan
What they say: Forget that pansy Luke Skywalker.  Captain Picard’s where it’s at.  Also, William Shatner is the sexiest man in history, and phasers will soon become the weapon of the future.

What it means: The space above my basement is a very scary and mystical world.  Also, I am so easily amused that I worship a show that could have been shot in my garage and am willing to believe that William Shatner is a good actor.

Yea, I would say that the Star Trek fan is an even sadder thing than the Star Wars fan.  First and foremost, they argue about the talent of the actors involved when, in reality, they are forever stuck to the B-list and depend on Sci-Fi Convention appearances for income.  Seriously, can someone name another thing William Shatner has done?  No?  Didn’t think so.  Oh, and has anyone actually watched the original show?  I have seen shows put on by the kindergarten class that have more subtelty and a much  better wardrobe department.

The Anime Fan
What they say: I am so sick of that rigid western animation.  It all looks like garbage and depends too much on celebrity.

What it Means: Facial expressions on characters mean nothing to me.  Neither do plots.  In fact, the characters don’t have to move at all.

OK, OK, there is some anime that is actually well animated.  But that tends to be the exception rather than the norm.  Most of them tend stand creepily still and never blink, as though they are stuck in the world’s longest staring contest.  Also, has anyone actually looked at the plots?  I have heard of one in which problems were solved to due a roller skating contest.  Seriously.  Please, for the love of god, go read a book. Speaking of which…..

The Twilight Fan
What they say: This is the most beautiful romance story ever written.  The characters sacrifice everything for love!  I love Edward!

What it means: The high school football captain really loves me! He just never wanted to admit it.  I am emotionally dead inside.  Also, Hot Topic still has good clothes

The Twilight fan base is quickly becoming one of the most annoying fan bases in existence.  Like the Star Trek fans, they pride themselves on finding meaning where there is none.  It’s Mormon propaganda about how abstinence is a good thing!  Seriously, that’s it.  Oh, and vampires are not supposed to sparkle and play baseball.  They are supposed to drink blood and have sex with things that no one is supposed to have sex with.  Of course, there is still a problem when vampires do what they are supposed to do….

The Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fan
What they say: Joss Whedon is nothing short of Apollo leading us to the promised land!  His writings are the best ever done for TV.  James Marsters is the sexiest man alive.

What it means:  My literary capacity is so underdeveloped that even comic books are too complex.

Seriously, this is the best comic book ever on TV.  And I don’t take that as a comic book.  Although Alan Moore may have you thinking differently, comic books are seriously dumb ways to pass the time.  There is so much going on with so little explained that it’s all for nothing.   And subtelty has been so far removed that every sentence must end in an exclamation point.  This show is no different.  And ladies, I am sorry, but James Marsters is old enough to be your father.  This is getting into the sort of Oedipian complex that I am not touching with a ten foot pole.

So that’s it.  I will probably deconstruct more fan bases in the future.  I’m coming for you, Family Guy Fans!