Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in tome_of_finland's LiveJournal:

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Thursday, April 12th, 2007
2:14 am	Is Tome of Finland dead? Probably. I've wanted to kill off the "Tome" persona for at least three years. Godspeed Tome. Long Live meansteve Instead of me being a gushy fanboy asshole jibbering about whatever, Meansteve will actually be a Serious Journal. What the fuck was I thinking? (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, April 6th, 2007
1:10 am	More musings on Trainwreck! It starts off with us talking about Doctor Who (and why neither of us can stand it, I guess) and then turns into me deciding to take Trainwreck! into an entirely new direction, then I start to subtly mock My Nemesis (neodragonstar) and then it somehow gets back to Doctor Who. I love the internet! Oh, in case you're wondering, this is really more for my sake than it is for yours, gentle reader (all three of you, since nobody ever comments). I guess I'm just using this journalspace as a sort of freeform brainstorming noodlepad onto which I put my ideas down for future pointificating when I get all writer's block-y. ( OH BABY, AIM CONVERSATIONS POSING AS REAL CONTENT !!! ) (Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 4th, 2007
1:09 pm	SPURTIN' ON MAGPUL'S PRODUCT LINE! PREFACE: We kind of turned off image hotlinking on ZU.COM. Images will not be viewable from your "Friends Page" but are viewable from tome-of-finland.livejournal.com. CLICK MY BANNERZ FOR ROMZ, I guess. CTR: Badass. Masada: Ultrasweet. PRS: Wish I had a use for it. (I shoot nose-to-charging-handle, even with a scope, so the PRS's adjustment hickeys are fairly useless to me.) PMAG: OMGWTF! I came. CLEAR AR MAGS! WOO! Unfortunately, Magpul's official comment on the matter is that the clear-clear magazines were for testing purposes and the production magazines would be smoke gray or green. If it were up to me, I'd like to have the clear-clear magazines. MSRP, according to Magpul will be $24. Which is still less than I was paying for shitty Eagle and Ram-Line Pre-Bans three years ago. However, they do have PMags in black, coyote and OD. I'd be happy with a pile of any in any color. At $12 per (for the non-windowed, $15 for the windowed), they're actually less expensive than the steel magazines sold by 44mag.com. I'm a fairly happy ape right now. I only wish I were solidly-employed so I can spend money on these wonderful things. Alas. (Comment on this)
Saturday, January 13th, 2007
6:49 pm	I haven't had wood like this since I was dating the Chinese girl Huge image, click to view. Linque Oh holy shit. First the Apple iPhone and now the Magpul Masada. Heads up technofetishists, this week is the week we should be jerking our junk as if junkjerking were fast going out of fashion. I wish I could find another technofetishest out there (one that's young, cute and female. Blonde preferably) so that we may stick our fingers in one another while looking at pictures of these fantastic pieces of hardware. Any takers? I wonder if my buddy 8=D~ is into this kind of thing? He'd probably be all jerking off over the iPhone though. Squirting a gobbet of spurt all over its shiny facade. Double points if he has a picture of Anna Mae as the desktop or animated screen saver. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 10th, 2007
6:46 pm	Goin' Dark I'm not going to be around for a short while, several days to several weeks. I'm in the process of moving my STUFF and my CARCASS to a new house and to a new job (it's the same job, but at a different location, so it's New To Me!). I'm not going to stop writing, I'm not going to stop working on the crap that I love doing. I'm just going to do it offline. I might be able to wrangle a temporary dial-up account for my interwebs, but I hate Dial-Up like I hate the Plague. So! Toodle pip, stiff upper lip and all that rot. See You Space Cowboy. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 9th, 2007
6:35 pm	MAN FOR THE SOCIETY (Comment on this)
Sunday, January 7th, 2007
2:13 pm	It's not a tumor. And I'm not a misogynist. Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1) - Cite This Source mi·sog·y·ny [mi-soj-uh-nee, mahy-] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women. Compare misandry. [Origin: 1650–60; < NL misogynia. See miso-, gyn-, -y3] —Related forms mi·sog·y·nic, mi·sog·y·nous, mi·sog·y·nis·tic, adjective mi·sog·y·nist, noun That being said, I wish that I didn't have to punch in an "& nbsp ;" five times for each dang indent I want to make. Hey, why doesn't HTML just fucking recognize tabs for what they are? And yes, I named The Lovestruck Zombie's girlfriend "Gloria" just for one line of screen direction. Oldschool #E-A members will instantly recognize it. Can you, the layperson? ( More Screenplizzle Pages ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Friday, December 29th, 2006
11:09 pm	The President was Asleep Holy shit! The President of the United States went to bed tonight knowing full well that Saddam Hussein would be dangling from the end of a noose before he hit a REM cycle. Say what you will about our President, but that is pretty fucking badass. Not being a Christian, but identifying strongly with their values, I think it's wrong to take pleasure in the death of someone else. I also feel that the death penalty is straight-up wrong, that no State has the right to commit murder any more than any Man has that right. However, if any son of a bitch deserved to dangle, it was Hussein. I hope his last meal consisted of chiccarones and spareribs. (Comment on this)
Monday, December 18th, 2006
5:51 pm	Six Weeks I have six weeks to get my pilot episode, production bible and first season outline finished for Trainwreck. Feb. 1 is when the producer I'm in contact with takes on new projects, and she's fairly intrigued by Trainwreck. So! Come Feb. 1, if I have my ducks in a row, we seek out funding. The way I have the first episode outlined, I might be able to pull it together for less than 20,000 dollars. Much of this budget would go into fabricating a mockup retail establishment for Honus to work. Even if it's just one aisle and full of mockup product it's still going to cost me a dang fortune. ( Since nobody likes long-ass entries on their Frends Pages ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
6:45 am	Douglas County is Douglas Countawesome This gives me a great idea for Trainwreck. So, tonight I spent the evening getting totally wired out of my skin on Red Bulls and coffee. Twitching and excitable after spending an evening shooting pool with a smoking hot redheaded girland discussing our mutual adoration for retarded, overwrought metal music (sorry GoG, this story doesn't end up as fantastically as yours). It was well after midnight when I left the bar (Hamdog's in Gardnerville. If you're ever in my neck of the woods, give me a jingle-ingle and we'll go have some cocktails, I can introduce you to my buddies and the several way-hot hotties that work behind the bar. Be forewarned, you can take the girl out of the trailer park... Digressious Maximus), stepping out into the frozen subalpine air instantly turned my nipples into hard-cured epoxy nuggets. Oh Jesus oh Buddha oh Allah it was C-O-L-D out. ( READ MORE ABOUT MY COLD, HARD NIPPLES, WOULD YOU? ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 13th, 2006
5:30 am	If you loved me... ...You'd buy "I Know You Can See Me" for Christmas. However, if you bought me "The Dope-Smoking Girl Astronaut" or "The Girlfriend," I promise I will totally capture photographs of myself squirting a big old gobbet of jism onto this particular bendy figurine then post them to 4chan. You have my solemn vow. (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 12th, 2006
6:53 pm	From an email to 8=D~ (pronounced EIGHT EQUALS DEE, TILDE Whereas I once feared 8=D~, feared that my relationship with him would have ended up like my relationship with Ragu (bitter rivals becoming respected peers becoming collaborators and eventually trusted friends), 8=D~'s actions have irrevocably changed that most feared of courses. Thank God, too! Because he's quite possibly the biggest douchebag in the history of the Universe! I'm glad that I've made the discovery that he'd rather just delete offending content than deal with it like a man. I'm just plain tickled pink like Presidential Hopeful Hubert Humphrey. By not responding to my (as Badman put it: < Badman> T Tome that post was hell of heroic. He's such a pussy for not replying to it) exploratory mission behind his lines to test his military might, he has shown that he is a complete coward in the face of a confrontation. Fire up the tanks, lads. Hulagulag is going to war! Taking out 8=D~ will be like a leisurely drive along a Belgian highway! I think I've worked out, logically and empirically that 8=D~ is not actually a Japanophile douchebag, but is in actuality, that worst kind of human filth, the Anti-Semite. "Well, what kind of evidence do you have?!" a proper critique by a critic armed with more than just Wikipedia links to back up his bravado. "He's never actually gone out and said that he hates God's Chosen People." Naturally, he hasn't. But due to my flawless mind and it's perfect ability to follow a logical progression, I've been able to deduce this little-known but widely-believed fact. Like Inspector Zenigata, Deductive Reasoning is the name of the game and clever traps are my Modus Operandi. In a different life, I'd have been the star detective on the force, one who is able to crack any case, no matter how impossible, despite his abject terror of helium balloons and clowns. That being said, sorry Denny-kun, I didn't mean to inflate your ego by implying that you're my Lupin Za Sird - you're by far too clumsy and stupid in the feet to be Zenigata's arch-nemesis, also nowhere near smooth and suave around the ladies. But I digress. I was on a roll there with making an inane, mainstream anime reference that Kanenwisher would understand and relate to, seeing as how he has absolutely no creativity and ability to think on his own. So, on to the evidence. Observe the differences between these two images: http://hulagulag.com/images/8=D~koverup1.png ein und http://hulagulag.com/images/8=D~koverup2.png zwei Now... whatever could the difference be..? Oh, it could be that a confrontational message posted in a public forum, one that bears content with which 8=D~ disagrees, he finds it completely prudent to grab his bucket of whitewash and a paintbrush and get to covering it up. Modern technology makes a cover-up easier than convincing your friends that whitewashing is totally fun and that they should trade you their precious belongings for a chance to share in the fun you're having. All you have to do nowadays is click a little red X next to a posting and as faster than you can charge your laser, the bulletin pasted to the great Public Forum is painted over with white plasterwash, hidden from society's prying eyes forever. Well, what kind of asshole would do such a thing? What kind of total douchedrinker would dare alter history to fit his own narrow world-view? Well, the world is full of those kind of assholes. They're called Holocaust Deniers. You see, there's a group of people out there who think that the teachings of Adolf Hiter were correct and the extermination of an entire group of people was A-Okay because they possessed certain facial structure characteristics, had a certain skin tone, or believed in just one part of the Bible, but think that the rest was just silly. While, thinking and writing that it's A-Okay to just murder someone for an arbitrary reason is protected speech here in the Great Old United States of America, it's still unconscionable, the act of actually setting up camps in which these people would be concentrated and earmarked for extermination is a whole other kettle of fish. Millions of people (Jewish and non-Jewish) were exterminated during the Third Reich's Holocaust. While this is tragic, and no doubt it is, all of us would like to forget that it ever happened, to forget that upwards of ten million of our brothers and sisters in Europe were systematically wiped out just because of the widths of their noses or the hue of their skin or the way they worshiped the same God that their oppressors worshiped. It was a horrific instance in not just European history, but World and Human history. It was a time that should be commemorated, remembered every day that these people died horribly, died wholly unnecessary deaths to satiate the blood-hunger of a power-mad dictator, one that would have marched the entire world's population into those gas chambers had he the resources. We'd all like to forget, but we mustn't. We mustn't ever forget what happened to them, for if we forget, history will repeat itself. Similar Holocausts may claim even more lives, lives of people who think and look and dress and believe the same things you believe, meaning that you yourself are destined to spend the rest of your short time on this coil behind the concertina and guard towers. We must remember forever all these people who died in the camps, lest you be the next one behind the wire. So then, what kind of asshole would deny that the Holocaust ever existed? What kind of total fucking prick would admit to God and the world that upwards of ten million Europeans did not meet a miserable fate in the camps? Anti-Semites overwhelmingly tend to be the kind of total fucking dongbenders who would deny that the Holocaust ever happened. They either dismiss the whole affair outright as "Jewish Propaganda" or try to downplay the numbers, as if saying that it's okay that three million people died in the camps rather than the seven-to-ten million typically accounted-for. They say this as if the deaths of three million people is somehow not the moral equivalent to the deaths of ten million, because after all, it's just slightly less than ONE THIRD as horrific, right? Therefore, it must be MORE THAN THREE TIMES as moral, right? No. The death of one person is immoral. There are a very limited set of circumstances where the killing of another human being is justified, let alone moral. Anti-Semites tend to deny the Holocaust as a justification for its resurrection, they want the world to forget about it as soon as possible so they can build new camps and renew their mad crusade to wipe a certain group of people off of the planet, a certain group of people that differ from them through a wholly arbitrary metric. That's the kind of person that would change history to suit their goals. People like this tend to hide behind a mask of liberal gentleness, they hide behind empty phraseology, employing terminology that makes them sound that by hiding horrific facts from the public, that they're protecting them from awful things that they don't need to know! Cloaking events in the past that some might construe as offensive or terrifying under the ruse of protecting them is a tactic employed by the Anti-Semitic Holocaust Deniers. Does that mean that Holocaust Deniers are all followers of Hitlerian National Socialism? Not necessarily, the distinction between followers of Hitlerian National Socialism and Anti-Semites is a faint, blurry line, since Hitlerian National Socialism is built upon a foundation of Anti-Semitism, it logically follows that Holocaust Deniers have Hitlerian leanings. Hitler himself was a denier of the Armenian Genocide, saying that it was nothing more than "Jewish Propaganda." Holocaust Deniers would rather cover up history than deal with it like rational adults. Instead they childishly paint over questionable or offensive bits of history, quibble and fight with people who call them on their bullshit, and then run away crying when they're exposed for what they are. So, where does that leave 8=D~? The logical progression goes thusly: Offensive Comment was made in a Public Forum. Rather than deal with it like an adult, he breaks out his paintbrush and plaster and proceeds to seal over it, hiding it from the prying eyes of future historians. There are people that utilize these same tactics when the topic of the European Holocaust comes up. These people are overwhelmingly Anti-Semitic. Ergo. 8=D~ is an Anti-Semite. Q.E.D. Man, fuck you, 8=D~. --Much Love, Steve Van Pelt, your biggest fan, your greatest enemy. Which reminds me of that awesome bumper sticker I affixed to Scott Akimoto's DeLorean which read: "Suckin' dick bought this car." Someone should just X out the word "car" and replace it with "awful necktie." (Comment on this)
Saturday, November 11th, 2006
1:14 pm	EIGHT EQUALS DEE, TILDE (Comment on this)
2:23 am	EIGHT EQUALS DEE, TILDE (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, November 9th, 2006
8:22 pm	A LIVEJOURNAL DRAWS NEAR. WHAT IS THY COMMAND? [I]gnore for over six weeks. I'M BACK, JIGGAZ. And bearing Screenplay Pages! If I'm lucky, I'll be half as great an awful writer as that fat fuck Moriarty! Copypasta like Rasta Blasta (who runs Bartertown): THE PASSION OF FUTUROPOLIS. PILOT FILM BY: STEVE VAN PELT Scene 1. EXT, Day - An undeveloped acre of land. Looking up from the ground, a delicate flower sways a bit in the breeze. The bright blue sky shines above while a few puffy little white clouds slide by like aerial ruminants. It's such a peaceful, serene, pastoral scene. A scene which lasts for mere seconds, as a workman's shovel digs into the grass, uprooting the flower. The shot cuts to an overhead view. The Workman in question is upending his shovel, dumping a shovelful of soft, brown dirt. The camera cranes up, revealing a half dozen pieces of heavy construction equipment and dozens of workers in shiny yellow safety vests and helmets. The construction equipment is decidedly "future-jizzy." The front-end loaders are all six-legged walkers, while the steam shovels hover. The steam roller is a massive bipedal mechanoid while the dump truck appears to run on four tracks, each of these tracks - upon further inspection appear to look like banks of millipede legs. Crane shot up and out. As the shot rises into the sky, it is revealed that this small acre of land is the last undeveloped plot in a vast city. Flying cars and saucer ships zip and zit around without cares in the world, massive skyscrapers and sprawling, multi-level shopping malls dominate the land as far as the eye can see. Up, up and up some more the crane travels, revealing that the city covers the entire continent, its only boundaries being the oceans. THE MORAFF (NARRATING): This is Futuropolis, a planet-spanning, contiguous city, the model for which all future societies will be based. A gleaming beacon unto the whole of civilization. -- A place where the dreams of men intercourse with the dreams of robots and birth the dreams of cyborgs... The crane keeps going up, out into space, where we can see a Ring Colony orbiting the planet along its equatorial axis. The camera flies up into a window looking "down" upon the planet, glistening like a blue and green jewel against the bleak negativity of space. Scene 2. INT, Day - The Moraff's War Room. The camera slides in through the window looking "down" (this window is actually on the "ceiling" surface of The Moraff's War Room, as the gravity simulated by the rotation of the Ring Colony would dictate the outside edge to be "down," ergo, inhabitants of the Ring Colony would have to look "up" at the planet which is "underfoot." Prepositions regarding spacial orientation have no meaning in the cold, unfeeling chilliness of space.) at the planet "below." The camera slides down to the War Room's floor, tilting and settling upon The Moraff and his Minister of War, Durogei Homem standing near a holographic projection of Futuropolis. This holographic projection depicts the planet rotating merrily on its axis, three major landmasses and four minor landmasses outlined in green, accompanied with green grid lines. One small, inconsequential square glows bright red upon the holographic display. Astute viewers will note that this bright red square corresponds with the patch of land that was the focus of the previous scene. The Ring Colony is visible orbiting this holographic projection. Each continent is emblazoned with giant block letters spelling out FUTUROPOLIS. The small islands and island clusters all have smaller (but still quite immense) block letters spelling out FUTUROPOLIS floating out in the oceans, but are accompanied by arrows indicating that these island masses are indeed property claimed by the titular megalopolis. DUROGEI: Well, of course it's Futuropolis. I mean, I may be American and all, but I at least have a faint grasp of geography, I can read a map, you know. THE MORAFF: I wasn't talking to you. As you'll notice, the last undeveloped acre is now under development. Soon, that unassuming patch of land will go down in history. It is the final piece in my masterwork. Futuropolis is complete! DUROGEI: Well excellent then. I'll give Uncle Sleaton a call, he'll break out the shine and we'll have ourselves a time. THE MORAFF: Ah Durogei, premature with the celebrations, as always. While the city is finally complete, I am posed with a conundrum. What am I to do now that I've built upon all the ground available to build upon? DUROGEI: Take up knitting. THE MORAFF: (Laughs politely) No... DUROGEI: Knitting is a wholly acceptable hobby. I... I knitted this scarf. I gave you one for Christmas. You never wear it. THE MORAFF: That's because you knitted it out of some radioactive... thread. It glows. I have never before in my life owned an article of clothing that was self-luminescent. DUROGEI: You don't appreciate anything I do for you. That was valuable tritium. It took me months of effort to harvest and process the tritium I used for that scarf, and how do you show your appreciation? You leave it in a lead-lined box. THE MORAFF: I could have thrown it away. The fact that I kept it should speak at least a short volume of my appreciation toward the effort you put in. DUROGEI: Yeah, I suppose. THE MORAFF: Yes, you indeed do suppose. Quickly now! We are wasting valuable seconds of screen time that is supposed to be utilized for necessary expository dialog! DUROGEI: You're right! After all, it is wholly possible that this instance of character development will end up on the editing room floor! THE MORAFF: If it even gets that far, this exchange will likely be edited out by the third draft of the screenplay! DUROGEI: Do we have time for you to make your meticulously-worded and carefully-practiced monologue about how once a child is given a box of mahjong tiles, all he does is makes a big old stack and knocks them down? And how the knocking-down of and rebuilding the stack so it can be knocked down again is totally a metaphor for your existence? THE MORAFF: No... I'm afraid not. DUROGEI: Then should we move on to the next plot point, having wasted all these valuable moments of screen time? THE MORAFF: I suppose. I'll have to leave my carefully-practiced monologue for a further installment! The Moraff produces a cellular phone. It seems the technology has not changed much in the intervening millenia, this is a cell phone - but a futuristic cellular phone! Complete with a holographic display. He flips it open and seeks around the contact list, which is floating up there in midair directly above the phone. The Moraff, upon finding the contact he has been seeking, presses the little green "phone" icon, setting the phone ringing. DUROGEI: It's a good thing too. I hate it when I stumble in on you reciting those monologues of yours to yourself, staring into the mirror, your mouth moving slowly, silently, deliberately as if you were reading the newspaper. I know it's a fairly commonly-held belief that to ease one's mind as one speaks before an audience is to imagine the audience in the very stark nudeness of birth... While Durogei is speaking and The Moraff is consequently ignoring him, his phone rings three times. The Moraff puts the phone to his ear. THE MORAFF: Yes, the operation is go. You have clearance to proceed. DUROGEI: (simultaneously, talking over The Moraff, following his previous stream of dialog, uninterrupted) ... Does that mean that you're imagining yourself all naked and standing alone in front of a mirror? Because that kind of gets me a little hot under the collar, if you know what I mean. And I'm certain you do. The Moraff presses the little red "phone" button on his cellular phone. THE MORAFF: Christ, you're gay. DUROGEI: Thanks for noticing! And how timely with this discovery, I've only worked with you for the past four centuries. Durogei smiles all huge as he says "Thanks for noticing!", but his countenance instantly becomes grim and icy the second he hits the italicized "...four centuries" remark. THE MORAFF: You always do this. You just have to ruin my moment! This is my moment! Mine! All the pieces are finally in place and ready to topple down, and here you are, pissing the hot wind right out of my sails! DUROGEI: If you continue throwing a little you-centric tantrum, you're going to miss your big moment. It's Prom Night, all over again. The Moraff is furious, his eyes narrowed down into slits. It appears that there's a big old vein throbbing up on his forehead. His face is beginning to turn red. Before he's able to blow a fuse, however, he snaps right out of it and regains his cool composure. THE MORAFF: You're right! This is my big moment. The moment for which I've been waiting for many lifetimes! I'm absolutely trembling with anxiety! DUROGEI: Trembling with something, all right. THE MORAFF: For a total boot-wearing fairy, you're just plain awful at the gay jokes. Scene 3. INT, Day - The Moraff's War Room. Transitioning to EXT, Day - Space. Transitioning to EXT, Day - Under the sea. One continuous, unedited, uninterrupted shot. And with that, the camera leaves The Moraff's War Room up on the Ring-Colony, much in the same fashion which it entered. The camera flies down through the clouds and skims along the surface of the planet, bobbing and weaving between skyscrapers and towering monuments. The camera leaves the city, flying past the beach and over the ocean for a few moments as flying saucers flit by as if they were jumbo jet liners. The camera crash-dives into the ocean, going down into the inky blackness of the abyss. The camera finally settles in complete black space. Bubbling and throbbing underwater sounds caress the camera's microphone, as it were. With the suddenness of a one-word exclamatory, a set of brilliantly-glowing red eyes appear. A deep-sea anglerfish's lure also switches on, illuminating a bank of long, thin fangs, each glistening eerily as a handful of backlit diamond shards upon a black felt sheet. This deep-sea monster takes off on a jet of ink toward the surface. The camera tilts up to follow. We can vaguely make out its outline against the lighter, sun-lit blue ocean above. This undersea monster appears to have combined several of the more terrifying traits of several of the more terrifying ocean dwellers. It appears to have a hard, crustacean armor, but is bristling with the tentacles of an octopus. It's head is the carnivorous feeding appendage of a deep-sea angler. Huge eyes, huger fangs and a dangling bioluminescent lure dangling enticingly in front of the monster's long, conical translucent fangs. Truly, one of the greatest horrors to ever prowl any abyssal depth heads toward the surface with a resolve typically seen in freshly-awakened giants. WHOOOOA DUDER! I'M ALL WRITIN' AND SHIT!!!! Scenes 3-4 tomorrow! (Comment on this)
Friday, September 1st, 2006
12:34 pm	Youtubin' Over the last few days, I've been remembering how to edit video, trying to recall that I didn't waste thirty five thousand dollars on my an education in a highly-technical sphere of influence. That's right baby, armed with a Completely Legitimate and Licensed copy of Avid Xpress DV 3.5 and some footage that I actually shot myself, I set out to recall that I'm actually good at something. That something is editing video in a nonlinear manner. I'm a bit rusty, but I'm totally remembering how to do this shit! Below are two pieces that I put together from some footage I shot at a World War 2 re-enactment I participated in last month. The first one, I'm fairly proud of, as it has some complicated audio editing in the first sequence. The second however is simple cuts-only editing. I probably didn't even need to blow ten gigabytes of hard disk space capturing the entire tape. Good times, folks: North Afrika 2006 and DAK Soldiers are Gear Queers too. Enjoy, both of these are going on my demo tape. (Comment on this)
Thursday, August 31st, 2006
10:51 pm	You know how I said I'd kill you last? I lied. A square, boxy robot, Emobotto #KQ93 (pronounced "eh-mow-bow-toe") in a white shirt, black slacks and tie is stomping its way through a rodeo arena. Its sleeves are torn and sooty stains smear its shirt and trousers. Emobotto #KQ93 is infuriated, swinging its heavy steel arms and pushing rodeogoers aside as it runs rampant through the audience toward the dirt-floored arena. Its face is an LED dot matrix, capable of expressing a wide range of emotional states, but alas, this robot is affixed on a state hovering somewhere between hatred, anger and sorrow.      EMOBOTTO #KQ93: Why! Why!? Why am I resigned to such a cruel fate!? Why has The Universe, in all its complexity decided to play such a horrible prank upon me! WHY!?! Emobotto #KQ93 pushes a spectator down into the arena. The Spectator tumbles end over, landing on his shoulders. There's an audible snap of bones breaking and the body goes limp on the dirt.      EMOBOTTO #KQ93: Cursed! Fated to feel and to know love but to be composed of cold, unfeeling metal! Circuits and wires and armor plate! That's all that I am! You! You humans can live and love and laugh! You breathe and you feel warmth! I... I recognize and understand these feelings, but I have no soul, no heart of my own with which to truly *feel* like you! Emobotto #KQ93 leaps down into the arena after the toppled Spectator. After it lands, it rises, brushing the dust off of its clothes. The Emobotto looks down onto the crumpled mess of a corpse at its feet. The robot's LED matrix face display looks as if it's beginning to cry.      EMOBOTTO #KQ93: I am simultaneously apologetic, envious and enraged. You can shuffle off this mortal coil, you gentle being composed of meats and waters! Alas, I am composed of immortal steel, powered by an eternally-operating fusion core! I will never know the sweet release of death, just the perpetual sadness that is existence! The shot is blocked in a way in which the Emobotto is taking up the entire middle third of the shot. The camera moves to the left, revealing Honus standing ten yards to the rear of said robot. Honus is wearing a tactical vest over his work shirt and tie - a Blackhawk-alike nylon plate carrier vest, the sort that is adorned with M.O.L.L.E.-compatible loops for mounting any number of pouches and other bits of kit in any configuration the end user desires. Honus is boated down with M16 pouches full of 18-volt drill batteries. In his hands, he is holding a 4" battery-powered angle grinder. His pistol belt carries a 10" battery-powered chainsaw neatly tucked into a holster like a sidearm.      HONUS (Coolly): You want to take a little trip to the hereafter? I'm more than happy to help pack your suitcase. Nobody disrupts a rodeo in this town! The Emobotto doesn't bother turning to face Honus, but launches into a stilted monologue while staring down at its feet. Little electronic tears tracking down the facial display system as he does so. What a sad, sad little robot. It'd be just horrible if his deeds were chronicled by a three-piece nerdrock band. One raised in a French Canadian nunnery at that.      EMOBOTTO #KQ93: I think... I feel... Like I'd much rather destroy all the humans! Yes! That's it! I... I hate you humans! You have everything! Everything I've ever wanted, everything I've ever desired! Yes... Love unrequited! You can feel! You can find That Special Someone and have feelings... gentle feeling reciprocated! No one... No one would love a robot. For that, Human, you all must die!      HONUS: Do you even listen to yourself speak? The Emobotto turns to face Honus. It cranks its fists into little balls, making that horrible metal-on-metal scraping that motorists the world 'round have learned to fear.      EMOBOTTO #KQ93: I think that I'll start... With you! I hope you had a nice breakfast, human, as it was your last! The Emobotto charges Honus, outstretched arms swinging to and fro like some sort of depraved Karate Kid. Behind the charging Emobotto, two Robot Scientists force their way through the crowd and out onto the arena floor.      ROBOT SCIENTIST #1: No! Number Kay Kyoo Niner Three! Stop! The Emobotto and Honus collide. The robot's immense mass picks Honus up off of his feet, but not before Honus could jam the battery-operated angle grinder up into the Emobotto's facial diode array. Sparks fly off the disc as they are wont to do. The two stagger, but Honus is able to push the grinder deeper into the Emobotto's face, pushing it up and off of him. The Emobotto begins to topple backwards as Honus puts all of his strength into pushing the rampaging automaton off of him.      HONUS: I did have a fantastic breakfast, by the way! It tasted grrrrr-reat!      EMOBOTTO #KQ93 (Screaming): HUUUUUUUUMAAAAAN! You will be one with the dust!      HONUS: Not today, camshaft. Honus pushes the Emobotto over, sending it toppling to the ground. As the Emobotto's face disengages from Honus's angle grinder, sparks explode in a magnificent crescent. The Emobotto thumps to the ground in super slow motion, its tie flapping, gliding along the arc of travel. The two Robot Scientists run out toward the fallen Emobotto. Robot Scientist 1 drops to his knees alongside the Emobotto's scarred face      ROBOT SCIENTIST 1: Noooooooo! Number Kay Kyoo Niner Three! My greatest achievement... A complete catastrophe of a failure! Honus peers at his battery-operated angle grinder's LED battery life indicator. Red lights are never good. Honus extracts the battery from his angle grinder and discards it as if it were a spent magazine. He then opens a magazine pouch on his vest and procures another of the bright yellow drill batteries, pulling it by a paracord magazine pull. He slaps the battery into the grinder and tilts the tool, observing the LED battery life indicator. Green lights all the way.      ROBOT SCIENTIST 2: It wasn't a total waste, with the data we've collected, we can fine tune the internal Emotion Engine and have the next series of Emobottos running at peak efficiency. We'll have these things feeling love good and proper within the decade!      HONUS: No no no stop. What the hell is your problem!? (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 15th, 2006
4:18 am	sigh I wish I had a job doing this FULL TIME so I could actually DEVOTE TIME TO THIS BULLSHIT. I think it's time for me to devote effort to that show about the sassy robots and their sexy teacher. Sexy. I suck. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, July 23rd, 2006
12:14 am	Three Days of Tapping! Yay! More prewriting! Three days worth of tappa-tappa-tappa on my Palm Pilot's virtual keyboard while on lunch breaks! Someone want to Paypal me seventy bones so I can buy a fucking keyboard? Ha. I thought not. -- Sample Dialog -- A middle-aged Customer and his wife are looking at a chainsaw. It's one of the moderately priced imported units with a twenty inch bar. Honus, ever the greedy-eyed salesman makes a bee-line toward the couple as if they were wet, wooly sheep flopping and thrashing about in the open ocean and he were a pearly-toothed Great White. HONUS (with a fake salesman-smile and arched eyebrows): How are you doin', folks? Need any help findin' anything? The Customer is hefting the chainsaw, pantomiming swinging it around, cleaving through an imaginary post or pile in front of him. He wears The Look upon his face: that timeless but subtle expression that paints its wearer as somebody with hostile intentions upon his mind albeit weighed down with anxiety and dread clawing at his soul. HONUS: Zombie problem? The Customer's glare goes icy. Of course he has a zombie problem, what's it to you, you lousy carpetbagger, poking your goddamned nose into business it doesn't belong?!. CUSTOMER: Just looking at one of your saws here. HONUS: Ah yes. That's the Bristol Mk.IV with a twenty-inch bar, powered by a thirty-three cee-cee one-and-quarter horse Albinion two-stroke. That beauty, while not our top shelf saw, will blaze through logs up to eighteen inches across with the greatest of ease. -- Quickie Outline -- Love Song - Featuring Honus, Jerry and Vania. MOW: Lovestruck Zombie. Honus is demonstrating a saw for a customer. As he does so, the scene is intercut with shots of him hacking apart a quartet of plant-themed monsters with the very saws he is pitching. For instance, when discussing a 24" gas saw, we can see Honus hacking at a Plantoid's trunk-torso. As Honus begins to discuss the merits of the battery-powered Ryobi 10" ("It's perfect for small jobs, can fit where larger saws can't. Barrery power means that you're not tethered to a wall outlet. Wonderful when working in wet conditions or when you need maximum mobility."), the scene changes to Honus requiring to transition between his shoulder arm (in this case, the 22" gas chainsaw) to his sidearm (the 10" battery saw) so as to hold off a close-in enemy. Honus drops his 22", it slides safely to his side, retained with a Blackhawk-type three-point rifle sling. He draws the 10" as if it were a pistol and begins to hack away at an encroaching plantmonster. Customer: That's excellent. What other products do you have? (Customer asks the question as if he's a character in a training video) Root saw! Bulb planter! Using bulb planter to install hand grenade. Weed burner! Defoliant spray! Extended Service Plans! Intro Jerry and Vania. They are at the lake (either Lahontan. or Tahoe), Jerry is in the water, looking grim and monologuing about what it is he does and why he'll never stop doing the things he does. Kids frolic about, playfully while he does so, obliterating the grim and serious mood he's trying to convey. Klassik Komedy. Jerry however is also being stalked. Some Watermonster or another is in the water with him. Stalking slowly through the ripples is El Aguanunca, The Neverwater. El A's POV has some funky After Effects filter applied. Ha! Jerry and El A. proceed to tussle in the warm, murky shallows. Jerry of course, has a Kel-Tec mousepistol i his Bermudas. Komedy. Vania however, still on the beach has procured a launcher of some form or another (hopefully a faust or RPG). She kneels, takes careful aim and yells at Jerry to get clear. "Easier said than done, sweetheart!" Vania fires the launcher, sending a projectile downfield, which bonks El A. directly in the head. The projo looks like a Nerf football. El A, confounded, picks up the projo and begins to yell in an awesome broken chollo accent. El A wades to shore, meanacing the hell out of V, who is calmly installing a new rocket into the launcher. Suddenly, streamers of yellow sudsy foam begin to blow from the projo in El A's hand. El A tries to discard the projo, but it is stuck fast to his hand. The foam blasts out in an amazing cascade, surrounding the monster and hardening like aerosol insulation foam. Jerry wades up to a foam-encased El A. makes an inane one-liner, scores off Vania who is wearing a suit to the beach. Vania simply rolls her eyes and comments that the impact fuse needs to be lightened up, but the supplimental time fuse was a fantastic idea. What the hell kind of name is "Neverwater" anyway? MOW is virtual-keyboard shorthand for Monster Of the Week. The above outline is the events as they shall play before the first commercial break. Since this is The Pilot, we need to introduce Our Heroes, show that they have capabilities, explain their purpose in the world then give them a token easy baddie to defeat. Since Honus takes on four Plantoids in flashback mode and Jerry and Vania subdue a Lake Monster with a silly toy within the first five to eight minutes of screentime, I suppose this sets the pace for the episode, in which a small Zombie Uprising begins to take root in pleasant (protip: if you've ever been there, it really isn't) Carson City. Our Heroes link up before the first commercial break (signifying the end of Act One) and work together to fight The Lovestruck Zombie and his army of heartbroken ambulotrobes. Good times. I (heart) El Aguanunca. Too bad he's going to be a one-off Monster, easily defeated by a special effect that is effectively a lump of dry ice dropped into a jar of Dawn. Lake Tahoe, for the uninitiated, is one of the most beautiful natural sights in the world. Crystal clear water in the middle of an alpine paradise. If Hitler were American, the Eagle's Nest would totally be at Lake Tahoe (Fun fact! There's a restaraunt overlooking the Carson Valley called The Eagle's Nest). Unfortunately, Discharge of Firearms (especially at The Beach) within the Tahoe Rim area is pretty much a no-no. Lahontan Reservoir (the remnants of the ancient inland Lahontan Sea) however is a delightful muddy bog of a warm-water lake between Lyon and Churchill counties. Out-of-staters think that Lahontan is disgusting, what with the brackish, opaque water full of floating algae and submerged willow trees and all. Out-of-staters are fucking pieces of shit though. Lahontan is Lahawesome. I've always imagined that Lahontan would be home to a prehistoric monster, an icthyosaur (the State Fossil!) lurking in the depths, ready to gobble up in one bite a hapless swimmer that dared venture out beyond the bouys. I'm setting The Pilot Episode - Love Song For The Living Dead in the Reno area for several reasons. 1) Proximity. I live in Gardnerville (60 miles south of Reno). There are two totally awesome lakes within an hour's drive, there is an amazing amount of Public Land on which to shoot (talking about video in this sense, rather than bullets) without requiring permits. 2) Jerry's obvious Johnny Cash reference. If you're not familiar with the area, Fourth Street and Wells is totally where said incident occurred. If you are familiar with the area, you'll agree. Shooting a man just to watch him die on South McCarran just barely east of S. Virginia would be so hell of lame. 3) Reno is one of the few population centers that falls on a magic line with San Francisco, Ogden UT and Suffield CT. When Jerry bows his head in silent prayer, he has his head toward the birthplaces of John Moses Browning and Eliphalet Remington and also has his ass pointed toward the Winchester House. Tis truly a Holy Place for Jerry. God, I sound more and more like a complete tool with every entry, no? (Comment on this)
Sunday, July 16th, 2006
1:05 am	Explaining Trainwreck Is like explaining Darkplace. It's impossible to convey its greatness in words that are not "Dude, it's hilarious, trust me." How in the hell does one explain to some executron at The Network that Sanchez telling Dagless that "The lab results are in! That thing is a potential killer!" while pointing at a paper on a clipboard that reads "LAB RESULTS: POTENTIAL KILLER" in huge block letters is one of the funniest things ever? Somehow, I fear that in both cases (Darkplace and Trainwreck), the end result has to be seen to be understood. That, and visual slapsticky comedy doesn't usually translate well to The Written Word. I mean, The Ren and Stimpy Show wasn't scripted for a reason (that reason being that John K. is functionally illiterate!)! Alas, the first part of The Synopsis or is this The Treatment? Shit! The two terms are synonymous as far as I'm fucking concerned! I always hated writing these. -- Trainwreck Explained -- Trainwreck (working title) is first and foremost a commercial for a fictional retailer - The Abode Annex (a nationwide warehouse-style home-improvement retailer) - and its fictional products. The show is set up to be a sort of "viral marketing" ploy by a nonexistent retailer. Every aspect of the show is tooled toward demonstrating its lawn and garden power equipment. Each episode will feature a different lawn and garden power tool used in accordance to its manufacturer's specifications and tolerances as if it were a thirty second commercial, but somehow masquerading as a half-hour horror anthology / action-comedy series. Trainwreck is blatant about its being a commercial for The Abode Annex and its products, to the point where Honus (the focus character) actually performs a sales pitch while dispatching The Monster Of The Week. Trainwreck however, hides the fact that it is a commercial by somehow grafting a plot and memorable characters into itself, becoming a standalone horror anthology / action-comedy series in its own right, just simply sponsored by The Abode Annex and its varied vendors. The Abode Annex does not exist, it is simply a MacGuffin for the story to progress. However, recursively, the story is a MacGuffin for The Abode Annex to run a thirty-minute infomercial on Prime Time Television. If it needs to be spelled out further, Trainwreck is a satire of shows that are simply half hour-long commercials as well as shows designed to pander to the coveted Paid Product Placement. The individual episodes focus on The Monster Of The Week-style storytelling. Our Heroes (detailed below) are introduced to The Monster and discover a way to defeat it while demonstrating The Abode Annex's fine products and services. The individual episodes are outlined, scripted and played totally straight, as if they were chapters in a real horror anthology / action-comedy series, so as to mask (poorly) the fact that each episode is a Paid Advertisement for The Abode Annex and its product line. - The Characters - The Abode Annex: The Abode Annex is a character in itself. Each nationwide store is laid out in exactly the same manner, carrying exactly the same merchandise and is staffed with exactly the same employees as any other The Abode Annex store in the country. A number of employees are of the Cynical, Retail-Hating variety, but Honus (the focus character) is a Company Man who will not quit his job as a Sales Specialist even when offered a fat-and-sweaty gig by I.S.D.M.A., a big-shot Government Defense Contractor. Honus McGillicuddy: All-American Joe Sixpack Sales Specialist working in the Powered Lawn and Garden Equipment section. Honus is the Number One chainsaw and tractor salesman in the district and is a prized, loyal employee who puts The Company's interests before his own. Honus exists solely as a Poster Boy for The Abode Annex's HR department. Honus refuses to leave his position at The Abode Annex to join his friends and fellow monster-hunters at T.D.M.A. (I.S.D.M.A.'s field research and testing division) due to The Abode Annex's high starting wage and generous benefits package, combined with the friendly working environment that makes The Abode Annex the world leader in the warehouse-style home-improvement retail stores! The Cynical Associate: The Cynical Associate (who is the same character, but played by a different actor in each episode) is the kind of jerk that hates his job, hates the customers and hates the rinky-dink products which the store sells. The Cynical Associate makes all sorts of delightful jokes and comments about Those Goddamned Customers, Those Idiots in Management and How This Stupid Store Would Be So Much Better Off If I Were In Charge (Because the Management Wouldn't Know Their Asses From A Hole In the Ground). The Cynical Associate is a How To Not Act as far as the HR Department is concerned, and Honus will politely remind The Cynical Associate every episode that his (or her) behavior will get him (or her) into some serious trouble. Disciplinary action all the way up to termination! Honus, after all, is The Model Employee and The Cynical Associate is... not. They are Goofus and Gallant for the new millennium! Jericho Cain: Jericho "Jerry" Cain works for T.D.M.A., I.S.D.M.A.'s field research and testing division. Jerry is a supermacho idiot, the likes of which is seen as the completely unlikable protagonist in every action-comedy series yet produced, an asshole for the ages. Jerry drives a black-and-chrome Dodge Charger with a chrome novelty scrotum hanging from the rear bumper. Always quick with a turgid one-liner or a anecdote regarding his amazing sexual prowess, Jerry is the kind of idiot that appeals to idiots, thus assuring that he'll be forever remembered as "My Favorite Character" in any Trainwreck-related online message board discussions. Jerry is obsessed with firearms (American firearms in particular) and carries two 1911s that've both had hundreds of dollars worth of custom work done by Novak (a world-renowned 1911-smith and tactical shooting guru). Clashes virulently with Vania, who carries a box-stock Glock 19. The two of them have arguments that run along the same lines as the multitude Glock vs. 1911 flamewars on the gun porn boards. If Bruce Campbell were available and twenty years younger, he would totally play Jerry. Vania Csolgosz: Jerry's partner and the "Straight Man" to all the idiotic lunacy that surrounds her. Despite her unpronounceable Eastern Bloc name, Vania was born and bred in Ohio and worked for a West Virginia Sheriff's Office before being hired by T.D.M.A. as a researcher. Now working with Jerry as a field researcher (read: Monster Hunter). Vania is terribly cynical, dry and feels that she's adrift in a sea of masculine idiocy. Most of the actual, genuine humor in the series comes from her observing how absurd the situations she's been placed into are. Vania is terribly uptight and conservative, wearing a suit even to the beach. Likes her Glock service pistol and Red Bull, commenting that "All the best stuff comes from Austria." Rex Rathcock: Rex is short. Not so short that he's a dwarf or midget, but not tall enough to be average. He has a very short fuse about his lack of tallness and will not hesitate to kick you in the shins if you give him any flak about how he's been served taller stacks of pancakes. Drives a Ford Mustang. Sits on a phone book. Rex works for I.S.D.M.A. proper and is sort of a liaison between the parent and daughter organizations. Rex is a Gothbuster and seeks to forever wipe them off of the face of the Earth. His crusade is bearing fruit, hence the waning popularity of the Eoth subculture, but much to his chagrin, the Emo subculture waxes. In his eyes, this is like the Little Old Lady That Swallowed a Spider, in how the cure to the problem is typically worse than the problem itself. If only he'd have had white belts with pyramid studs outlawed when he had the chance, none of this would have happened! Oh, but hindsight is always 20:20, right Rex? I.S.D.M.A and T.D.M.A.: I.S.D.M.A. is a Government Defense Research Contractor researching The Defense Science For the New Millennium. The Brass at I.S.D.M.A. believe (and rightly so) that the Saucerpeople will arrive within the decade or century or next ten thousand years, and by God, America had better have a valid defense system! Thus, learning how to combat the supernatural, extranatural and paranormal is I.S.D.M.A.'s stated goal. Being a Defense Contractor, I.S.D.M.A. has access to all sorts of delightful military hardware (both "currently existing" and prototypical models suited for field testing). T.D.M.A., I.S.D.M.A.'s daughter company (who employs Jerry and Vania) is responsible for collecting data, implementation and experimentation of techniques and technologies that will be used in the inevitable defense of America and America's interests both at home and abroad. T.D.M.A. stands for This Doesn't Mean Anything and I.S.D.M.A. stands for It Still Doesn't Mean Anything. The expansion of the acronyms is never said onscreen. It's hinted that I.S.D.M.A.'s President and C.E.O. got the idea from the hit 1984 film Ghostbusters starring Bill Murray and Dan Ackroyd. More to come in the near future. But until then, patience and courage. (1 Comment |Comment on this)