Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Frosty the Dead Moose



I have heard rumor that some people, when they go to bed at night, actually fall asleep in a few minutes and then awake refreshed in the morning. I am not one of those people. It takes, on average, about thirty-minutes for me to fall asleep and I wake up a lot. However, one flip-side to insomnia is that I get a lot of thinking done.

Weird thinking.

Last night, as I lay awake in the darkness, the song Frosty the Snowman started running through my head. I have no idea why. As the song kept going, I then began to wonder: how does it work, exactly?
Frosty, if you don’t remember the song or the animated short, is a snowman. A girl places a magic silk top hat on him and he comes to life, then goes on a rampage, destroying civilizat-.

Whoops, wrong version.

Frosty comes to life and has adventures with the girl and her friends and eventually goes to live with Santa Claus at the North Pole, promising to come back next winter.

Which begs the question: what if the girl had placed the hat on something else? It’s a magic hat, so unless it has weirdly specific ‘snowman only’ properties, shouldn’t it work on . . . well . . . anything?
We could have had Frosty the Camaro or Frosty the Mannequin or even Frosty the Dead Moose. 

Think about it, you’re running around the woods and find a dead moose. You’ve got a hat and the moose isn’t going anywhere, so, why not put two-and-two together, so to speak?

If a magic silk top hat can make a snowman come to life and dance and play, then a moose is even better. For example, it could talk and impart ancient moose wisdom. Second, you could ride him like a horse. Third, it’s a friggin’ moose. Doors, small cars, people, trailer homes, the post office, it’s gonna go through all of those like a hot moose through a large building made of butter. In fact, since it’s a magical undead moose, I don’t think anything short of an Abrams is going to even tickle it.

Plus, if it’s dead enough, you could crawl inside him and take a nap. Or keep a sandwich in there, just in case you get hungry.

Oooh, you could get some undead squirrels and fill him with those. Then when he attacked, he would smash through whatever was in front of him and then the squirrels would leap out and start biting. He’d be an undead Armored Fighting Vehicle.

You’d need a lot of magic hats for that, though.

And people think insomnia is a bad thing . . .

Cheers,
-Jason

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

A Curse Upon Our Toes



Many years ago, when I was just a boy, I noticed that my father had one bad toenail, on the big toe of his right foot, and I asked him why. He then told me a dark and terrible thing.

Many generations ago, his father’s father’s father lived in a small town in Poland, herding llamas and crafting artisanal beer mugs that said ‘I Heart Poland’ which he sold to tourists. It came to pass that one day, a sorcerer came to the village, frightening the villagers with displays of magic and a poorly tuned accordion. Now, my father’s father’s father’s father, a man grown hard from years of llama tending and hewing artisanal mugs from the very earth, would have none of it. When grandfather x4 heard of the sorcerer, he strode into town, a llama on his back and an artisanal mug in each hand, and confronted the evil-doer, threatening him with a sound llaming if the sorcerer did not leave.

The sorcerer just laughed and shot a bolt of lightning at grandfather x4, which struck the llama, frying it into a delicious smelling crisp and fusing grandfather x4s hands to the mugs. Furious, grandfather x4 kicked the sorcerer in the butt, forcing him to drop the accordion, the source of his power. The rest of the village, seeing the sorcerer disarmed, jumped him and beat him with potatoes, before taking his money and throwing him out of town. They then threw his accordion after him, after first stuffing it with bad sausages.

The sorcerer, however, before he ran off, made a terrible pronouncement in Polish, which I don’t speak, but went something like: ‘I will leave this day, but upon the power of my accordion, let the limb of he who struck my backside forever wither and decay! And let this curse pass down from father to son, forever, until the chosen one, who you will know by his writing of weird blogs about Godzilla and novels called ‘Art the Wanderer’ which is available as an e-book on Amazon, can lift the curse.’

I may be paraphrasing some of that.

And so my father’s father’s father’s father’s right big toenail did develop a terrible darkness and grew thick and itchy. And as foretold by the sorcerer, his sons and his sons after him would partake of this affliction, until the coming of the chosen one, who would find the descendent of the sorcerer and wrest his accordion from him.

Long story short, I have a bad toenail on the big toe of my right foot, just like my dad and brothers. I’ve tried to have it cured, but it laughs in the face of science and pills and lasers. Thus my only option is that which was foretold by the sorcerer: I must find his descendent and defeat him before my toe can be cured.

I believe this to be absolutely true, as my father never told me anything false. This is how I know I was found at the gorilla pen at the zoo, why holding in farts will make your eyeballs shoot out, and that gnomes will eat my feet if I get out of bed in the middle of the night.

So, yeah. I guess I need to find the descendent of a sorcerer who has a magic accordion. Anybody seen one?

Cheers,
-Jason

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

At Least 51% Godzilla



I watched a show called Godzilla on Netflix last weekend and much to my not surprise and somewhat annoyance, the first forty-five minutes had little to no actual Godzilla. It’s like the movie (also called Godzilla, I think) that came out two or three years ago. Two-hour movie, one (admittedly cool-as-hell) actual Godzilla fight at the end.

This is my mini-rant: if you make a movie called Godzilla, it should contain at least fifty-one percent Godzilla. Not ninety-minutes of humans running around doing human things and then five-minutes of Godzilla beating up some idiot kaiju who thought it would be a good life-choice to pick a fight with the King of the Monsters.

NOTE: If you’re a kaiju and you’re reading this, maybe think twice about fighting something referred to as the King of the Monsters. Start lower, like a Jester of the Monsters or Serving Wench of the Monsters. Work your way up.

I’m now convinced that at some point, I’m going to watch (yet another) movie called Godzilla only to figure out it’s a rom-com about two humans who fall in love and have wacky hijinks, possibly involving a ferret and six pumpkins. The two humans will wind up at the pier, making out on a bench, as the credits roll, only to have Godzilla rise up and incinerate them with his atomic breath.

Okay, yes. I would probably watch that.

My point, and I do have one, is that if you’re going to make movies about humans, call it ‘Humans’ or something. In fact, I would be willing to bet that the vast majority of movies are about humans anyway doing human things, like roller-skating or fly-fishing or astro-physics. 

Humans movies should be about humans, Godzilla movies should be about Godzilla. Much like Bambi movies are about Bambi. Or Hamlet movies are about Ham.

No other movies, to my admittedly limited knowledge, can get away with this. It would be like having a movie called ‘Steve’ that contained no Steves. 

Just give me a movie of Godzilla fighting a succession of kaiju. There can be humans in it, but only to occasionally shout ‘Look! Godzilla!’ and then get crushed by a building.

Yes, I am a simple man.

Cheers,
-Jason