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You know, the REAL violence here is just in how BAD that girl I drew looks.

You WILL Howl in Fear and Delight

Saw a trailer the other day for the next big Robert Downey, Jr. vehicle: “Sherlock Holmes Dies Hard.” Yeah, yeah, I know that’s not what it’s called… but it might as WELL be! In three minutes, I got more than an eyeful of gratuitous fistfights, explosions, and (WORST of all) kissing. So yet again they’re taking and revamping some old property to make it new and sexy for the rising generation. And I don’t know why. I mean, isn’t watching Holmes play the violin after a relaxing afternoon in an opium den sexy enough?

You know what? I’m not going to fight this anymore. In fact, I want in on this. I’m gonna take some crazy old story and spice the HECK out of it until it becomes the best gee-dee thing you’ve ever seen. Here, I’ll describe the trailer for you, and then you just TELL me that you wouldn’t want to curl up with a tub of popcorn-flavored butter and watch the CRAP out of it:

Fade in to a luxurious green countryside dotted with sheep. We hear Hugh Jackman’s voice: “All I ever wanted was a life of peace.” Cut to a shot of Hugh Jackman. He leans on an axe handle and wipes his brow as the sun sets behind him.

Abrupt cut to black. Another Hugh Jackman voiceover: “Then the boy came… and everything… changed.”

Close up of a young boy’s face – specifically, his mouth. In a whisper just barely audible, he speaks but a single word: “Wolf.”

Heavy drumbeats. Fast and frantic music. We now see the face of a bearded Jeremy Irons, solemn in the light of a council fire. “We’ve heard tales of attacks in the forest,” he says in a voice filled with both authority and fear. “Animals gone missing,” he says, as the camera shows the shadowy outlines of bestial figures darting between forest trees at night. “Grown men frightened by noises in the night” – and here we cut to a series of shots of men sharpening swords, fashioning arrows, and donning thick leather armor.

“And now,” Jeremy Irons’s voice continues, as we move to a shot of armed men, obviously afraid, standing in a line at the edge of the town – willing, but afraid, to die in her defense, “the boy says they’ve come again.”

Cut to another nighttime scene. Hugh Jackman screams frantically, “Don’t listen to him!” as men swarm around him, past him, yelling into the darkness. “He’s a liar!”

Cut to Helena Bonham Carter, clutching the small boy to her. “He’s my son!” she sobs, as tears leave trails in the dirt on her face. Torchlight closes in around them, and we see the boy’s face: wide-eyed, probably terrified, but still with a hint of innocence.

The music grows in volume and intensity as we are bombarded with a flurry of shots: thatched roofs burning; Hugh Jackman clutching a bleeding body and screaming; blurry shapes attacking sheep in broad daylight; women and children fleeing in terror; Hugh Jackman and Jeremy Irons locking swords; heavily-armed soldiers marching in formation; Hugh Jackman sharing a passionate, desperate kiss with Helena Bonham Carter; and then…

Silence, except for a lingering, baleful howl. And here a shot of devilish yellow eyes.

Cut to armed men, marching through a foggy forest. We hear a voice say, “I don’t understand. Where is the wolf?”

Cut to Hugh Jackman, the leader of the patrol. He turns around, and we see in his face that he has come to a horrific confusion. His eyes widen, his face pales, and he says, “There is no wolf.”

And now we see the boy from earlier, sitting in darkness, with only a candle to light his face. His face, at first blank and expressionless, soon lifts in a haunting, sinister, EVIL smile.

The screen goes black one last time. Fog rolls across the screen as the title of the movie fades into view, in letters red with the blood of countless innocents:

The Boy Who Cried
WOLF

Who’s Afraid…?
Coming May 2010

Frickin' Babies

Once again, a couple of people have pointed out to me recently exactly how negative I always am about everything. I’d argue with all these people, except I’m pretty sure they have a point. I counted one day, and I found I actually used the word “hate” more than the word “the,” so I guess you could say that I have a problem.

Well, I’ll try to remedy that by talking about something positive and unquestionably happy, like… I dunno, how about babies? Yeah, I can talk about babies. Babies are all happy and stuff, like a big, happy ball of… turkey. No, not like turkey meat. I mean a whole turkey, like you’d pick up in the freezer section at the supermarket, take home, and then forget to put in the freezer, so they get all soft and squishy and leave a great big puddle on the counter.

You know, just like a real baby.

Okay, no happy thoughts about babies here. I’ve got very little positive to say about them. Babies are just a collection of orifices, each one ready to launch a sadistic variety of smelly fluids and fluid-like substances in every direction. They’re the suicide bombers of the human race, second in their skill only to actual suicide bombers.

I might get a lot of flak for saying this, but I don’t even think babies are all that cute. Well, most babies. Some babies are absolutely adorable. I am, of course, referring to your babies, and ONLY your babies, provided you’re a mother and you’re reading this.

Seriously, though, the average baby – especially newborn – looks like a monkey with a sunburn that just ate that powdery junk that collects at the bottom of a bag of Sour Patch Kids. I don’t get why people say seeing a newborn brings them so much Joy and Happiness™. To me, the kids look like they’re pretty pissed off to even be here.

“I used to spend all my time laying around, listening to the radio, and ordering pickles and peanut butter from the room service, and now you expect me to learn to CRAWL? Well, screw you!”

Oh, yeah, those babies have attitude like you wouldn’t believe. And they’re all out to get you. Take, for example, my niece, Clarice (and if I hear a peep out of anyone about how I’m a poet and didn’t know it, I will tie one of her soiled diapers to the end of a rope and beat them with it).

Now, Clarice is pretty adorable – as far as babies go. Besides, she’s family, so I’m a bit more forgiving towards her than other babies. At least, I WAS. Then this happened:

So I’m at my parents’ house one day for a party of some sort. I don’t remember the exact occasion. I’m tired, so I just lie down on the floor. My brother shows up with his kid under his arm, who, of course, crawls right on over to the guy lying on the floor. Now, I’m not COMPLETELY heartless (they found some heart fragments floating around down by my big toe), so I pick the kid up and start throwing her up in the air. You know, the type of thing uncles are supposed to do to endear themselves to their nieces and nephews and to scare the crap out of their mothers. I’m pretty sure we do it to convince the kids to supports US in our old age instead of their parents.

Anyway, while I’m doing this, little Clare decides to go all Luke Skywalker in the Death Star Trench on me. A blob of spit falls, right out of her mouth, and, guided by supernatural forces beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, lands right in mine. I immediately threw the baby on the floor (it’s cool – contrary to popular belief, babies bounce) and ran into the bathroom, where I spat my whole tongue out into the sink.

At this point you’re probably thinking that I’m just squeamish and overreacting. But you don’t understand. I know that baby’s out to get me. Don’t believe me? Well, right afterwards, my mom comes up to me and says, “You know, you probably ought to gargle with some salt water or something, because Clarice has got a mouth infection.”

You see? You see?! That baby’s trying to poison me!

And it gets WORSE! We have not yet plumbed the depths of this knavery.* Afterwards, just as I’m getting ready to leave, Mom comes up to me with the baby in her arms. Now, I’m no fool, so I just out and called the baby on her scheme. And what does she do? She looks at me with her big eyes all wet with evilness… and she reaches out for me to hold her. Then, THEN, she nuzzles her head right up against my cheek. Like I don’t know what she’s up to!

Well, that’s about all the happy I can muster this week. Tune in next week when I write about other things that make me happy, like dating or Katy Perry. Or dating Katy Perry.



*It took all the willpower I could muster not to write “That’s what she said” after this line.