So I tuned into WWE Monday Night Raw earlier this week expecting just another night of good ol’ fashion wrasslin’ (er – sports entertainment) just like I always get. I was expecting a little fun, a little John Cena being his usual boring self and refusing to freestyle, and even a little extra drama since one of their wrestlers (er – Superstars), CM Punk has really been keeping things interesting by mixing a little reality into his already-engaging promos.
What I wasn’t expecting was a good ol’ case of '80s nostalgia the likes of which Cobra Commander and Megatron combined (let’s call him Cobra CoMegatron) has never seen!!
CM Punk, threatening to walk out on the company if his new contract did not have the necessary provisions, went and listed among his many demands to Vince McMahon that Vince bring back the classic WWF Ice Cream Bars from the legendary Rock N’ Wrestling days!!—and, yes, I’m calling them “WWF” since, dammit... that’s what they are!!
Anyway, if ever there was a food truly fit for a fanboy, this was without a shadow of a doubt that food. For those living under a rock or just not alive yet in those days, this thing was pure orgasmic fanJOY. Vanilla ice cream as a soft creamy center. Rich dark chocolate in the back. And last, but certainly not least, a totally awesome, totally sweet (both literally and figuratively) crunchy/chewy cookie featuring an imprint of one of the WWF Superstars, during the time of its production, on top.
This ice cream bar was unreal. Every time I heard the Good Humor man driving by, I’d practically jump out of my undies, while simultaneously crapping my pants, worried I wouldn’t be able to chase down the truck in time to score myself one of these things. To this day, I’m not quite certain what kind of chemicals were used to make them as delicious and addictive as they were, nor am I aware of any long term repercussions ingesting them on a daily basis every summer may have had. All I know is that they tasted great. And that they got more cheers than Cena this past Monday. CM Punk may very well be competing in his final WWE match at this Sunday’s Money in the Bank Pay-Per-View, but the impression he made and the cheers he got out of referencing the coolest ice cream bar to ever be created will not be forgotten by this fanboy anytime soon. Bank on it.
WWF Ice Cream Bars!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Shockwave!
"Clarity of thought before rashness of action." -- Shockwave, 1985
“Hmmm…. Can I afford that? Ah, f*ck it! Ring that s#!t up!” -- James Jacobs, 2011
Transformers: Dark of the Moon opens this week, and yes, I am without a doubt going to see it. I mean, besides the fact that it’s a Transformers movie, people (even though the last one was more disappointing than a comic-on without fangirls sporting extra sexy “outfits” – see my last post!), it apparently will also feature one of the coolest characters to ever grace the entire more-than-meets-the-eye mythos: Shockwave, yo!
Shockwave is a bit of a conflicted character if you look at him across the various formats of the Transformers. On the one hand, the animated series portrayed him as nothing more than Megatron’s bitch. On the other hand, voice actor Corey Burton, in spite of those constraints, gave us a uniquely cerebral and calculating personality that was, quite frankly, one of the most memorable aspects of the show.
It’s just too bad that Shockwave barely got any screen time.
In those rare times in which he was featured, however, Shockwave had a way of always rambling on about what was logical versus what wasn’t. Think of it this way. If he were a man, he’d be like “I don’t get it. She says she wants a bad boy. So I gave her a Dutch oven. And now she’s mad! That bitch is just illogical!”
He was basically the Spock of the Transformers universe. Very even-tempered. Not much ambition, other than to make Megatron a happy little Decepticon.
In the comic books, however, Shockwave was a lot more aggressive, often even attempting to take control of the Decepticons from Megatron himself! And unlike Starscream, he actually succeeded a few times.
He was the not-so-little Decepticon that could… every so often.
So yeah… while I loved the vocal performance behind Shockwave’s cartoon appearances, what I really enjoyed was the power hungry sumbitch we got to enjoy in the comics every month. It probably goes without saying, of course, but I had the toy when I was a kid. It also goes without saying that I bought a few more in recent years. Just because… you know… who needs a house and mortgage of their own, anyway? But as fun as the new purchases have been, nothing compares to how it was back in the day. In fact, I still remember how I got him when I was a kid. You see, every so often, I accompanied my enabler, err, my dad on one of his trips to the mechanic for a grease-and-oil change. And sometimes, right after these trips, if the mood was *just* right, he would take me to Toys ‘R Us, which was a rare treat since I usually went to Child World for my molded plastic and die-cast metal needs. Anyway, on one of these trips, I was walking past the Transformers aisle, and lo’ and behold, there he was: Shockwave in all of his malevolent glory! He was way bigger than any other Decepticon in my collection at the time, and it wasn’t often that my dad would allow me to get a Transformer of this size, so I knew I had to be my charming best to pull this one off. I can still remember the conversation to this day. It went something like this...
“Dad, look! Shockwave!! Cool!!! Gimme, gimme, gimme!”
“I don’t know son, this one’s a little expensive…”
“But, DAD! It’s SHOCKwave! Are you fucking kidding me?? This is awesome. Can I have it? Can I??”
“Hmm… well…”
“COME ON!”
“…wouldn’t you rather I just buy you a nice brand new Playboy? It’s got boobies.”
“But Dad, nothing’s cooler than Shockwave. He’s so logical! Please! Look, he’s not even a car, but I think his headlights are on.”
“You can find headlights on in Playboy, too…”
“What was that?”
“Ohhh… nothing. Fine. You can have this. Just promise me you won’t still be buying this stuff when you’re 36.”
“I promise!”
“Alright, now get outta here.”
…And that’s how it happened. Got the toy. Went straight home. Popped in some batteries. Played with the thing in robot AND laser gun form. Creamed over the cool laser gun sounds. I fricken loved it.
And I fricken love it to this day. In face, last night I had a dream that me and ol’ Shocky were sharing an ice cream cone on a warm summer afternoon. Then we hugged it out, bitch… Ari Gold-style. And, by the way, if you find any of this “shocking,” then “wave” goodbye to your fanboy status, cuz I know all you TRUE Transformer fans feel me! Word.
“Hmmm…. Can I afford that? Ah, f*ck it! Ring that s#!t up!” -- James Jacobs, 2011
Transformers: Dark of the Moon opens this week, and yes, I am without a doubt going to see it. I mean, besides the fact that it’s a Transformers movie, people (even though the last one was more disappointing than a comic-on without fangirls sporting extra sexy “outfits” – see my last post!), it apparently will also feature one of the coolest characters to ever grace the entire more-than-meets-the-eye mythos: Shockwave, yo!
Shockwave is a bit of a conflicted character if you look at him across the various formats of the Transformers. On the one hand, the animated series portrayed him as nothing more than Megatron’s bitch. On the other hand, voice actor Corey Burton, in spite of those constraints, gave us a uniquely cerebral and calculating personality that was, quite frankly, one of the most memorable aspects of the show.
It’s just too bad that Shockwave barely got any screen time.
In those rare times in which he was featured, however, Shockwave had a way of always rambling on about what was logical versus what wasn’t. Think of it this way. If he were a man, he’d be like “I don’t get it. She says she wants a bad boy. So I gave her a Dutch oven. And now she’s mad! That bitch is just illogical!”
He was basically the Spock of the Transformers universe. Very even-tempered. Not much ambition, other than to make Megatron a happy little Decepticon.
In the comic books, however, Shockwave was a lot more aggressive, often even attempting to take control of the Decepticons from Megatron himself! And unlike Starscream, he actually succeeded a few times.
He was the not-so-little Decepticon that could… every so often.
So yeah… while I loved the vocal performance behind Shockwave’s cartoon appearances, what I really enjoyed was the power hungry sumbitch we got to enjoy in the comics every month. It probably goes without saying, of course, but I had the toy when I was a kid. It also goes without saying that I bought a few more in recent years. Just because… you know… who needs a house and mortgage of their own, anyway? But as fun as the new purchases have been, nothing compares to how it was back in the day. In fact, I still remember how I got him when I was a kid. You see, every so often, I accompanied my enabler, err, my dad on one of his trips to the mechanic for a grease-and-oil change. And sometimes, right after these trips, if the mood was *just* right, he would take me to Toys ‘R Us, which was a rare treat since I usually went to Child World for my molded plastic and die-cast metal needs. Anyway, on one of these trips, I was walking past the Transformers aisle, and lo’ and behold, there he was: Shockwave in all of his malevolent glory! He was way bigger than any other Decepticon in my collection at the time, and it wasn’t often that my dad would allow me to get a Transformer of this size, so I knew I had to be my charming best to pull this one off. I can still remember the conversation to this day. It went something like this...
“Dad, look! Shockwave!! Cool!!! Gimme, gimme, gimme!”
“I don’t know son, this one’s a little expensive…”
“But, DAD! It’s SHOCKwave! Are you fucking kidding me?? This is awesome. Can I have it? Can I??”
“Hmm… well…”
“COME ON!”
“…wouldn’t you rather I just buy you a nice brand new Playboy? It’s got boobies.”
“But Dad, nothing’s cooler than Shockwave. He’s so logical! Please! Look, he’s not even a car, but I think his headlights are on.”
“You can find headlights on in Playboy, too…”
“What was that?”
“Ohhh… nothing. Fine. You can have this. Just promise me you won’t still be buying this stuff when you’re 36.”
“I promise!”
“Alright, now get outta here.”
…And that’s how it happened. Got the toy. Went straight home. Popped in some batteries. Played with the thing in robot AND laser gun form. Creamed over the cool laser gun sounds. I fricken loved it.
And I fricken love it to this day. In face, last night I had a dream that me and ol’ Shocky were sharing an ice cream cone on a warm summer afternoon. Then we hugged it out, bitch… Ari Gold-style. And, by the way, if you find any of this “shocking,” then “wave” goodbye to your fanboy status, cuz I know all you TRUE Transformer fans feel me! Word.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Wizard World Philly!
This past weekend, the annual Wizard World Philadelphia convention was held at the PA Convention Center. I decided to dress for the occasion. And when I say dress… well… as you’ll soon see, that’s more of an ironic statement. Let’s just say I brought the sexiness to the city of brotherly love. And there’s only one thing that always (and the Rock means *always*) goes well with sexiness: copies of the totally awesome, hilariously brilliant, stunningly insightful True Confessions of a Fanboy!! Yep, I had a few of those with me, and I got some great feedback as usual. As expected, my brother Johnny wanted no part of this nerd fest, so he kept his distance. For those who don’t know why, the free excerpt at truefanboy.com pretty much says it all. Poor guy.
Anyway, for me, the highlight of this show in particular was chatting it up with my fellow fanboy brethren, posing for any and all photo requests, and pretty much making a complete spectacle of myself through the entire multi-day event. To say that my wardrobe received LOTS of attention is a huge understatement, thanks in part to a couple of… “interesting” new additions. I wore Handerpants (yes, underpants for your hands -- don’t ask) and flesh-colored dance tights, creating the look and feel of bare fanboy legs in all their glory. Looking back on it, I was kinda lucky I didn’t get thrown out of the place.
But what truly made my day was the reaction I received from the ladies. I really don’t know if I should be sharing this with some of you, for fear that you’ll resort to the same thing hoping to get similar enthusiastic female attention. So I’ll give a warning that the pendulum swings both ways. For as many positive reactions as I got, there were definitely a few negative, if not completely confused ones as well. On the one hand, you had an older lady who looked like she belonged in Sunday church scream, “Ohh LAWD, that ain’t right!” And on the other hand, you had a mother (with two children in tow, mind you) squealing, “Oh my God, you are the hottest thing here!” It didn’t stop there, mind you. There were also a few fellow spectacle-wearing hotties taking it even further with such priceless observations as: “I can see the tip!,” “One ball is hanging lower than the other!,” “Do you stuff?,” "nice love handles, sailor,” and my own personal favorite, “I love it!” Yup, it was obviously TMI, but who cares? In the end, this TRUE fanboy got all the attention he could crave for a weekend, along with some dirty looks from those girls’ boyfriends. But hey, all’s fair in love and indecent exposure, right?
What did I end up spending, you may be wondering? Shockingly, not very much. (Why hand over money when you can just throw away your dignity instead?) All kidding aside, I really didn’t have much time to shop, what with all the glad-handing I was doing with other attendees, so I only picked up a couple of items. It was a lot more fun interacting with the people, actually. (Don’t worry, I’ll be right back to my insane and senseless spending habits next time out.) And you know what? I think ‘dem sumbitches liked me, too!
Need proof? Click the link below, son!
Wizard Worls Philly Pics!
Anyway, for me, the highlight of this show in particular was chatting it up with my fellow fanboy brethren, posing for any and all photo requests, and pretty much making a complete spectacle of myself through the entire multi-day event. To say that my wardrobe received LOTS of attention is a huge understatement, thanks in part to a couple of… “interesting” new additions. I wore Handerpants (yes, underpants for your hands -- don’t ask) and flesh-colored dance tights, creating the look and feel of bare fanboy legs in all their glory. Looking back on it, I was kinda lucky I didn’t get thrown out of the place.
But what truly made my day was the reaction I received from the ladies. I really don’t know if I should be sharing this with some of you, for fear that you’ll resort to the same thing hoping to get similar enthusiastic female attention. So I’ll give a warning that the pendulum swings both ways. For as many positive reactions as I got, there were definitely a few negative, if not completely confused ones as well. On the one hand, you had an older lady who looked like she belonged in Sunday church scream, “Ohh LAWD, that ain’t right!” And on the other hand, you had a mother (with two children in tow, mind you) squealing, “Oh my God, you are the hottest thing here!” It didn’t stop there, mind you. There were also a few fellow spectacle-wearing hotties taking it even further with such priceless observations as: “I can see the tip!,” “One ball is hanging lower than the other!,” “Do you stuff?,” "nice love handles, sailor,” and my own personal favorite, “I love it!” Yup, it was obviously TMI, but who cares? In the end, this TRUE fanboy got all the attention he could crave for a weekend, along with some dirty looks from those girls’ boyfriends. But hey, all’s fair in love and indecent exposure, right?
What did I end up spending, you may be wondering? Shockingly, not very much. (Why hand over money when you can just throw away your dignity instead?) All kidding aside, I really didn’t have much time to shop, what with all the glad-handing I was doing with other attendees, so I only picked up a couple of items. It was a lot more fun interacting with the people, actually. (Don’t worry, I’ll be right back to my insane and senseless spending habits next time out.) And you know what? I think ‘dem sumbitches liked me, too!
Need proof? Click the link below, son!
Wizard Worls Philly Pics!
Monday, May 30, 2011
You Will Believe A Toy Can Fly...
Those true believers our there who have followed my work might recall that I have an excessively degenerative infatuation with those pricey 1/6th-scale action figures that have been impacting the market as of late. I’m on a romp with these damned things, and there’s no end in sight. Now don’t get me wrong here. This is nothing new. I’ve always found 12-inch figures to be lots of fun.
Anything bigger than a standard 3-3/4-inch toy has always had a special appeal ever since the 8-inch WWF LJN figures from the '80s. There simply was just something special about screaming “Oooohhh Yeeeaahhh” while having what then seemed to be a gigantic wad of super-cool 8-inch rubber (yeah, I know that sounds kind of icky, but stay with me) “Macho Man” Randy Savage fly through the air with reckless abandon and crash down on an even super-cooler 8-inch Rowdy Roddy Piper that just carried more weight (literally) than the smaller Hasbro WWF toys that would later grab the spotlight. It turns out women weren’t wrong all this time. Bigger really is better. So it should come as no surprise that 12-inch Star Wars, along with anything else released on a large scale, would feel just a wee bit (no pun intended) better than all those smaller toys that, quite frankly, have always been easier to fit in my room given their more modest space requirements. But I digress.
So yeah, I've always collected 12-inch figures, but never to the extent of spending $100-200 per toy. That was just madness. Macho Madness, if I need to put a term to it (oooohhhh yeeeaaah!!). Madness, that is… until recently. You see, now they’ve gone and done it, people. As if I didn't have enough cool toy releases coming out that are just impossible to resist, Hot Toys has just announced an unbelievably awesome figure based on Christopher Reeve from Superman: The Movie. Have a look, but put on a bib first. You will be a-droolin’:
Hot Toys Superman
This, fellow fanboys, is just insane! In all my years of collecting action figures (and trust me, homeboys and homegirls, we’re talking plenty of years here), through ALL the Sideshow releases and ALL the McFarlane Toys Sports Picks, and ALL the Jakks Pacific WWE real scans, I have *never* seen a likeness this accurate. Looking at this figure, and having a friend who is literally in love with Christopher Reeves as Superman, I’m pretty sure he’s going to buy 4 figures: One to keep mint-in-box. One to display. One to play with, screaming all the classics like “Too late, Luthor! TOO LATE!”, and one to take to bed with him every night. Hell, I’m close to doing the same thing myself. In fact, looking at this release, should Hot Toys up and make a Michael Keaton-as-Batman figure, not only will I do the same thing, but I think I might be so absolutely satisfied with the course of events (more so than I ever was with 8-inch rubbers as a kid – ha!), I dare say that I might even be able to finally retire from superhero figure collecting! No, really.
Okay, not really. I mean, hell, no matter how cool Michael Keaton’s fat Batman lips would be, there’s no getting out of this hobby now. It’s too late for that, Luthor …too late.
Anything bigger than a standard 3-3/4-inch toy has always had a special appeal ever since the 8-inch WWF LJN figures from the '80s. There simply was just something special about screaming “Oooohhh Yeeeaahhh” while having what then seemed to be a gigantic wad of super-cool 8-inch rubber (yeah, I know that sounds kind of icky, but stay with me) “Macho Man” Randy Savage fly through the air with reckless abandon and crash down on an even super-cooler 8-inch Rowdy Roddy Piper that just carried more weight (literally) than the smaller Hasbro WWF toys that would later grab the spotlight. It turns out women weren’t wrong all this time. Bigger really is better. So it should come as no surprise that 12-inch Star Wars, along with anything else released on a large scale, would feel just a wee bit (no pun intended) better than all those smaller toys that, quite frankly, have always been easier to fit in my room given their more modest space requirements. But I digress.
So yeah, I've always collected 12-inch figures, but never to the extent of spending $100-200 per toy. That was just madness. Macho Madness, if I need to put a term to it (oooohhhh yeeeaaah!!). Madness, that is… until recently. You see, now they’ve gone and done it, people. As if I didn't have enough cool toy releases coming out that are just impossible to resist, Hot Toys has just announced an unbelievably awesome figure based on Christopher Reeve from Superman: The Movie. Have a look, but put on a bib first. You will be a-droolin’:
Hot Toys Superman
This, fellow fanboys, is just insane! In all my years of collecting action figures (and trust me, homeboys and homegirls, we’re talking plenty of years here), through ALL the Sideshow releases and ALL the McFarlane Toys Sports Picks, and ALL the Jakks Pacific WWE real scans, I have *never* seen a likeness this accurate. Looking at this figure, and having a friend who is literally in love with Christopher Reeves as Superman, I’m pretty sure he’s going to buy 4 figures: One to keep mint-in-box. One to display. One to play with, screaming all the classics like “Too late, Luthor! TOO LATE!”, and one to take to bed with him every night. Hell, I’m close to doing the same thing myself. In fact, looking at this release, should Hot Toys up and make a Michael Keaton-as-Batman figure, not only will I do the same thing, but I think I might be so absolutely satisfied with the course of events (more so than I ever was with 8-inch rubbers as a kid – ha!), I dare say that I might even be able to finally retire from superhero figure collecting! No, really.
Okay, not really. I mean, hell, no matter how cool Michael Keaton’s fat Batman lips would be, there’s no getting out of this hobby now. It’s too late for that, Luthor …too late.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
R.I.P. Macho Man…
My brother and I may not see eye-to-eye when it comes to my collecting life, but there’s one thing we had in common when we were growing up: we loved watching WWF Wrestling. Since we grew up in the ‘80s, we were able to bear witness to the greatest collection of superstars that have ever graced the ring. I don’t care of anyone out there thinks that the “Attitude Era” of the ‘90s reigned supreme. Nothing beat the likes of Hulk Hogan, Rowdy Roddy Piper…and “Macho Man” Randy Savage.
Randy Savage died on Friday after suffering a heart attack while behind the wheel of his car. I was truly shaken when I heard the news from my brother. While most of the wrestlers from the ‘80s had catchphrases and mannerisms that will never be forgotten, Randy Savage was, perhaps, the most unique of them all. His grating voice, his outlandish costumes, and his manager (the absolute hottie, Elizabeth—may she also rest in peace) put him a step or two above everyone else. Savage was also extremely talented in the ring, as he was one of the first superstars to have a finishing move that involved jumping off the top rope. While Andre the Giant vs. Hulk Hogan dominated the attention of everyone at Wrestlemania III, it was Randy Savage vs. Ricky Steamboat that stole the show entirely.
Savage’s entrance theme (Pomp and Circumstance) has been my cell phone ring for a few months now. His soundboard also graces my phone. So, yes, I have remained a huge fan of his all these years. May the Macho Man rest in peace. His kind will never grace the ring again.
Randy Savage died on Friday after suffering a heart attack while behind the wheel of his car. I was truly shaken when I heard the news from my brother. While most of the wrestlers from the ‘80s had catchphrases and mannerisms that will never be forgotten, Randy Savage was, perhaps, the most unique of them all. His grating voice, his outlandish costumes, and his manager (the absolute hottie, Elizabeth—may she also rest in peace) put him a step or two above everyone else. Savage was also extremely talented in the ring, as he was one of the first superstars to have a finishing move that involved jumping off the top rope. While Andre the Giant vs. Hulk Hogan dominated the attention of everyone at Wrestlemania III, it was Randy Savage vs. Ricky Steamboat that stole the show entirely.
Savage’s entrance theme (Pomp and Circumstance) has been my cell phone ring for a few months now. His soundboard also graces my phone. So, yes, I have remained a huge fan of his all these years. May the Macho Man rest in peace. His kind will never grace the ring again.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Somebody Save ME…from Smallville
So regardless of whether or not you’re all about Superman, if you’re a TRUE fanboy, it’s a pretty safe bet you’re aware that Smallville is ending its ten-year run on Friday. Based on the mere notion that it was, in fact, based on some way, shape, or form on good ‘ol Supes, it must come as no surprise to learn that I used to watch this show religiously. But let’s be honest, homeboys and homegirls, this show was as close to being Superman as I want to be to Meredith Vieira’s crotch. I mean really. You can have all the ingredients in the world you want… you still have to bake the freaking cake. And ten years later, the dough has still yet to rise.
I had quite a case of denial about the whole thing, by the way. So much so that it took me literally eight entire seasons to finally throw in the towel and call it quits. Prompted by the anger and frustration that could only result from a show that called itself Smallville, all the while taking place in freakin’ METROPOLIS for a large chunk of the series, I had finally had enough. And really, if they were going to set Clark Kent up in Metropolis, and finally have him graduate out of the whole “fighting freaks-of-the-week on the Kent Farm” phase, it seemed only fair (and perfectly reasonable) that the dude would actually become Superman. I mean really. Here he was working for the Daily Planet. No cape. Here he was bumping uglies with Lois Lane. No flying. Here he was battling Doomsday for Peter Parker’s sake. No Man of Steel. The headlines were there, of course. But they didn’t read “Superman Saves the Day!” They didn’t read “Man of Steel Cops a Feel!” Oh no, we couldn’t have that now, could we. Instead, they read “Bum Saved by Mysterious Red-Blue Blur!” “The Blur to the Rescue Again.” “WHO IS The Red Blue Blur!?” Really, what nonsense.
All the Blur basically amounted to was Clark Kent rocking a black jacket and black shirt with the white-colored ‘S’ symbol, only to finally be upgraded this past season to a red leather jacket with the ‘S’ symbol embedded in the leather! At least when he was still on Ma and Pa Kent’s farm sporting a blue jacket-red shirt-blue jeans ensemble, he had an excuse. He was busy shucking corn all day. He couldn’t pull that off in a cape. But now that he’s been out on his own for, I don’t know… like, five seasons already, it seems perfectly sensible to me that this dude would get started on branding his image without any more senseless delay! And that's to say nothing of all the other countless plot holes and ridiculous story twists that we've been forced to deal with since 2001.
I could go on, but what’s the point? Bottom line, I am a fanboy who finds a Superman show BORING. And it’s just something I’m going to have to deal with for another two days or so. But even with all of that said, I will tune in for the finale. Why? Well, I can wax poetic about being curious if they finally show him flying or if they finally have him marrying Lois or if we finally get to see him full on in red/blue tights. But really, it’s because, dammit, this is my way of life. Somebody save me.
I had quite a case of denial about the whole thing, by the way. So much so that it took me literally eight entire seasons to finally throw in the towel and call it quits. Prompted by the anger and frustration that could only result from a show that called itself Smallville, all the while taking place in freakin’ METROPOLIS for a large chunk of the series, I had finally had enough. And really, if they were going to set Clark Kent up in Metropolis, and finally have him graduate out of the whole “fighting freaks-of-the-week on the Kent Farm” phase, it seemed only fair (and perfectly reasonable) that the dude would actually become Superman. I mean really. Here he was working for the Daily Planet. No cape. Here he was bumping uglies with Lois Lane. No flying. Here he was battling Doomsday for Peter Parker’s sake. No Man of Steel. The headlines were there, of course. But they didn’t read “Superman Saves the Day!” They didn’t read “Man of Steel Cops a Feel!” Oh no, we couldn’t have that now, could we. Instead, they read “Bum Saved by Mysterious Red-Blue Blur!” “The Blur to the Rescue Again.” “WHO IS The Red Blue Blur!?” Really, what nonsense.
All the Blur basically amounted to was Clark Kent rocking a black jacket and black shirt with the white-colored ‘S’ symbol, only to finally be upgraded this past season to a red leather jacket with the ‘S’ symbol embedded in the leather! At least when he was still on Ma and Pa Kent’s farm sporting a blue jacket-red shirt-blue jeans ensemble, he had an excuse. He was busy shucking corn all day. He couldn’t pull that off in a cape. But now that he’s been out on his own for, I don’t know… like, five seasons already, it seems perfectly sensible to me that this dude would get started on branding his image without any more senseless delay! And that's to say nothing of all the other countless plot holes and ridiculous story twists that we've been forced to deal with since 2001.
I could go on, but what’s the point? Bottom line, I am a fanboy who finds a Superman show BORING. And it’s just something I’m going to have to deal with for another two days or so. But even with all of that said, I will tune in for the finale. Why? Well, I can wax poetic about being curious if they finally show him flying or if they finally have him marrying Lois or if we finally get to see him full on in red/blue tights. But really, it’s because, dammit, this is my way of life. Somebody save me.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Howard Stern Wants to Drive Me Into the Lake
So a couple of weeks ago, I attended a toy and collectible show out in New Jersey. Big surprise, right? It was a pretty standard affair, which is to say I enjoyed finding many reasons to spend money, many nachos to consume, and many trips to the bathroom to soothe my aching bowels as a result of said nachos. But as a Hasbro exec once said of a sentient race of robots known the world over as Transformers, there was more to this specific show than had met the eye. Turns out that Howard Stern had sent one of his errand boys to survey the convention hall and interview some of their attendees. Problem was, those interviewed were not mere random selections. They were targeted. Targeted for a *very* specific sign of embarrassing nerdy behavior. I’m talking about something way more off-putting than your usual garden variety fanboy. I’m talking about a unique breed of nerd, one that doesn’t particularly enjoy (or wish to partake in) society’s current concept of reality. An uber-nerd the likes of which few have seen, and even fewer have understood. I’m talking about cosplayers, yo.
For the uninitiated, cosplayers are fanboys who take the lifestyle to the next level by dressing as their favorite heroes and villains, roleplaying according to said hero or villain’s personality traits, and refusing to break character, regardless of how ridiculous the situation ends up being. There people are like nothing even I have seen before. My tighty-whities don’t even come close to matching this level of commitment. Granted, my “costume” isn’t an act, so much as it’s a statement on my way of life. But even I wouldn’t stoop to the depths that some of these cosplayers go to.
Now, just to be clear—the cosplayers I’m referring to are those of the male variety. The girls who do this, on the other hand, well… they’re just plain hot. The semi-attractive ones, at least—not the 450-pound ones who sport wedgies that rival couch cushions in the lost change department and give new meaning to the term “muffin-top.” The thinner ones however—the ones that clock in at under 120 lbs—they’re the reason I go to these shows. Well, not really. Spending money, that’s the real reason. But these girls, they’re the reason I stay even after I’ve emptied my wallet out on the latest Vader swag. But do you think that Stern’s douche assistant wanted to focus on the hot females? Hell, no. There’s no fun for Stern in that. There’s no opportunity to manipulate facts, exploit innocent fanboys, and use the male cosplayers to make a complete mockery of our alternative lifestyle. Have a listen yourself to see what I mean:
(Right click the link below and save it as a file on your computer (like on your desktop) then use your mp3 software to play it back.)
Howard Stern Clip
Now I don’t know about any of you, but the last time I checked, some of us fanboys did indeed have real jobs. How the hell else are we supposed to earn the paychecks we end up blowing at these shows (which believe you me, is completely beside the point!)? Stern completely manipulated the course of events on this, and he totally got it wrong by generalizing what a fanboy really is (that’s MY job!). Anyway, whatever… this was still funny as hell. After all, if you can’t laugh at yourself a little… well, you might as well. Everyone else is laughing at you anyway. Ride into the lake indeed.
For the uninitiated, cosplayers are fanboys who take the lifestyle to the next level by dressing as their favorite heroes and villains, roleplaying according to said hero or villain’s personality traits, and refusing to break character, regardless of how ridiculous the situation ends up being. There people are like nothing even I have seen before. My tighty-whities don’t even come close to matching this level of commitment. Granted, my “costume” isn’t an act, so much as it’s a statement on my way of life. But even I wouldn’t stoop to the depths that some of these cosplayers go to.
Now, just to be clear—the cosplayers I’m referring to are those of the male variety. The girls who do this, on the other hand, well… they’re just plain hot. The semi-attractive ones, at least—not the 450-pound ones who sport wedgies that rival couch cushions in the lost change department and give new meaning to the term “muffin-top.” The thinner ones however—the ones that clock in at under 120 lbs—they’re the reason I go to these shows. Well, not really. Spending money, that’s the real reason. But these girls, they’re the reason I stay even after I’ve emptied my wallet out on the latest Vader swag. But do you think that Stern’s douche assistant wanted to focus on the hot females? Hell, no. There’s no fun for Stern in that. There’s no opportunity to manipulate facts, exploit innocent fanboys, and use the male cosplayers to make a complete mockery of our alternative lifestyle. Have a listen yourself to see what I mean:
(Right click the link below and save it as a file on your computer (like on your desktop) then use your mp3 software to play it back.)
Howard Stern Clip
Now I don’t know about any of you, but the last time I checked, some of us fanboys did indeed have real jobs. How the hell else are we supposed to earn the paychecks we end up blowing at these shows (which believe you me, is completely beside the point!)? Stern completely manipulated the course of events on this, and he totally got it wrong by generalizing what a fanboy really is (that’s MY job!). Anyway, whatever… this was still funny as hell. After all, if you can’t laugh at yourself a little… well, you might as well. Everyone else is laughing at you anyway. Ride into the lake indeed.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Let My Wallet Go!
In True Confessions of a Fanboy (www.truefanboy.com -- *ahem!* shameless plug), one of the many subjects that I touched on happens to qualify pretty high on the list of worst vices known to fanboys the world over: DVD/Blue-ray collector boxed sets. You know what I’m talking about. Those over-produced, over-hyped, re-packaged editions of video compilations that seem to deliver high on style and low on substance every time out.
Needless to say, I’m a sucker for these types of collector editions of movies/ television shows/etc., that in truth are nothing more than glorified versions of content that I’ve already seen literally dozens of times and wouldn’t even feel like sitting through ever again. In fact, many of these sets are ones in which I *already* own the movie or show in question from the first three or four times it was offered to a mass market audience (it’s just that the hologram cover on that last one I got looks sooooo cool standing next to my newest sterilyte shelf). Now I don’t know about any of you out there, but, for example, I personally have completely lost track of the number of different versions of Superman I’ve got hiding in the deepest corners of my room. I mean, just off the top of my head, there’s the regular DVD, the 8-disc complete Christopher Reeve collection, the Director’s Cut, the one with the Margot Kidder audition, the one with the extended scenes that ended up in the sequel, the one with the pig who got really mad and “squealed” before Zod, the one where Ursa kicks the astronaut in the nuts before taking his Nasa patch, and on and on and on from there. Suffice to say, it’s just out of hand.
But with all of that said, and all of the versions of different movies that I own, and all the editions of cartoon shows I’ve seen one hundred thousand times and can just watch online whenever I feel like it anyway, the *ONE* movie that to this day I still have never owned is The Ten Commandments starring Charlton Heston. You see, ever since I was a wee little lad, it has been a yearly family tradition to gather 'round the tube, eat enough gefilte fish to feed a small army, and watch the story of Moses as he takes on the Pharaoh of Egypt in the grudge match of the century, as big Mo’ with his white beard and red robe shows up his big ‘Pho (that’s my witty mix of ‘pharaoh’ and ‘foe’ for all y’all ignant folk) with a sea-parting display the likes of which nobody had ever seen (who could ever forget the timeless “God opens the sea with a blast of his nostrils!”). Now I don’t know what the reason was, be it the fact that I always saw it every year, the incessant need to watch it during an actual television broadcast, or (more likely) the sad truth that I had already spent all my money on something else, but I had actually never thought much of owning the movie on DVD/Blu-ray before. Never, that is, until NOW:
The Ten Commandments DVD/Blu-ray Combo Pack!
That’s right, fellow Hebros (witty combo #2 “Hebrews” and “bros” – booyah!)…feast your spaghetti-starved eyes (it is Passover, after all) on this bad boy. This one has got it all. We’re talking about a DVD/Blu-ray combo box set that literally parts like the Red Sea (!!), revealing two Ten Commandments tablets which house your multiple discs! And if that’s not cool enough, also included are treasures from the MGM vault, a special commemorative book, an original 1956 souvenir program, and more additional swag than you can shake a staff-turned-snake at. Oh, and it’s numbered, too (who cares if there are about 100,000 of these?!). Now if that type of package isn’t tailor-made for an impulse purchase, I don’t know what is… and I don’t wanna know!
Of course, I’m still guaranteed to be there in line when they eventually release yet another version of this movie, which I’m hoping will include a limited edition box of matzo. But until that day comes, I guess this latest version will just have to “tide” me over. (Get it?? “tide”??? like the ‘tide’ of a parting sea???? Haha! I slay me!!!)
Needless to say, I’m a sucker for these types of collector editions of movies/ television shows/etc., that in truth are nothing more than glorified versions of content that I’ve already seen literally dozens of times and wouldn’t even feel like sitting through ever again. In fact, many of these sets are ones in which I *already* own the movie or show in question from the first three or four times it was offered to a mass market audience (it’s just that the hologram cover on that last one I got looks sooooo cool standing next to my newest sterilyte shelf). Now I don’t know about any of you out there, but, for example, I personally have completely lost track of the number of different versions of Superman I’ve got hiding in the deepest corners of my room. I mean, just off the top of my head, there’s the regular DVD, the 8-disc complete Christopher Reeve collection, the Director’s Cut, the one with the Margot Kidder audition, the one with the extended scenes that ended up in the sequel, the one with the pig who got really mad and “squealed” before Zod, the one where Ursa kicks the astronaut in the nuts before taking his Nasa patch, and on and on and on from there. Suffice to say, it’s just out of hand.
But with all of that said, and all of the versions of different movies that I own, and all the editions of cartoon shows I’ve seen one hundred thousand times and can just watch online whenever I feel like it anyway, the *ONE* movie that to this day I still have never owned is The Ten Commandments starring Charlton Heston. You see, ever since I was a wee little lad, it has been a yearly family tradition to gather 'round the tube, eat enough gefilte fish to feed a small army, and watch the story of Moses as he takes on the Pharaoh of Egypt in the grudge match of the century, as big Mo’ with his white beard and red robe shows up his big ‘Pho (that’s my witty mix of ‘pharaoh’ and ‘foe’ for all y’all ignant folk) with a sea-parting display the likes of which nobody had ever seen (who could ever forget the timeless “God opens the sea with a blast of his nostrils!”). Now I don’t know what the reason was, be it the fact that I always saw it every year, the incessant need to watch it during an actual television broadcast, or (more likely) the sad truth that I had already spent all my money on something else, but I had actually never thought much of owning the movie on DVD/Blu-ray before. Never, that is, until NOW:
The Ten Commandments DVD/Blu-ray Combo Pack!
That’s right, fellow Hebros (witty combo #2 “Hebrews” and “bros” – booyah!)…feast your spaghetti-starved eyes (it is Passover, after all) on this bad boy. This one has got it all. We’re talking about a DVD/Blu-ray combo box set that literally parts like the Red Sea (!!), revealing two Ten Commandments tablets which house your multiple discs! And if that’s not cool enough, also included are treasures from the MGM vault, a special commemorative book, an original 1956 souvenir program, and more additional swag than you can shake a staff-turned-snake at. Oh, and it’s numbered, too (who cares if there are about 100,000 of these?!). Now if that type of package isn’t tailor-made for an impulse purchase, I don’t know what is… and I don’t wanna know!
Of course, I’m still guaranteed to be there in line when they eventually release yet another version of this movie, which I’m hoping will include a limited edition box of matzo. But until that day comes, I guess this latest version will just have to “tide” me over. (Get it?? “tide”??? like the ‘tide’ of a parting sea???? Haha! I slay me!!!)
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Turn Out That Light!
I’ve been spending the past couple of days physically (and more importantly, mentally) preparing for a major renovation of my room this weekend that has been in the works for quite awhile now. The point, as always, is to make things more manageable so I can continue this sick and twisted collecting lifestyle of mine. In case you were curious, I’m finally at a point where I have to do this once or twice every year now, with each specific renovation ‘project’ consisting of anywhere from one to three action items. This weekend, in particular, has two:
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #1: All windows must be boarded up for the summer.
I used to tell myself that “a *little* sunlight on my precious possessions here and there wasn’t so bad,” and actually believe it! Sadly, I can live this lie no longer. It’s simple physics, folks. We’re already in April. The days are getting longer. The birds are chirping louder. The seasons are changing ever more dramatically. And with the change of seasons comes summer. And with summer comes dreaded cursed HEAT. And as any TRUE fanboy knows, heat is the death of just about anything worth collecting. It ruins comics pages, spoils cardbacks, melts toy plastics/rubber/paintjobs/etc., and ruins the collectability of just about anything else I dare stuff in my room. Granted, I’ve got one of the best mini-fans money can buy, strategically placed with the precision of a laser surgeon to equally distribute air to each minute available spec of free space my room has to offer. And true, the fan needs to work less and less with every passing week, as said level of free space decreases with each new reckless convention purchase I make. So yeah, cool air gets where it needs to go when it needs to get there. But really, people, could that ever be enough? I think not! So call my collection "Team Edward." Call it "Team Jacob." Truly, it doesn’t matter what vampire metaphor the kids these days might go with. The bottom line is that after this weekend, not a single ray of sunlight shall reach any of my comics, toys, or other related chachkies during this long, hot summer.
Bringing us to our next order of business…
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #2: Mandatory reorganization of sterilyte shelving system, orchestrated with the specific goal of opening up at least 24 inches of available space, 20 inches of which will immediately be occupied by eight newly-purchased sterilytes, which have been measured to fit *perfectly* on top of one another so that they seamlessly reach from the floor to the ceiling with only two (!!!) millimeters of space being wasted at the very top!
This one is a little more complicated, my little Gaga monsters. You see… I… er…. Eh…. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding. There’s no way I’m going to be able to complete this second action item. I’ll just cross my fingers and pray that the whole window-boarding thing goes off without a hitch. And while I’m crossing my fingers, I might as well cross my legs as well. Because with the kind of drama this weekend's renovation is sure to bring, I think I may just shit my pants. Yo Joe.
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #1: All windows must be boarded up for the summer.
I used to tell myself that “a *little* sunlight on my precious possessions here and there wasn’t so bad,” and actually believe it! Sadly, I can live this lie no longer. It’s simple physics, folks. We’re already in April. The days are getting longer. The birds are chirping louder. The seasons are changing ever more dramatically. And with the change of seasons comes summer. And with summer comes dreaded cursed HEAT. And as any TRUE fanboy knows, heat is the death of just about anything worth collecting. It ruins comics pages, spoils cardbacks, melts toy plastics/rubber/paintjobs/etc., and ruins the collectability of just about anything else I dare stuff in my room. Granted, I’ve got one of the best mini-fans money can buy, strategically placed with the precision of a laser surgeon to equally distribute air to each minute available spec of free space my room has to offer. And true, the fan needs to work less and less with every passing week, as said level of free space decreases with each new reckless convention purchase I make. So yeah, cool air gets where it needs to go when it needs to get there. But really, people, could that ever be enough? I think not! So call my collection "Team Edward." Call it "Team Jacob." Truly, it doesn’t matter what vampire metaphor the kids these days might go with. The bottom line is that after this weekend, not a single ray of sunlight shall reach any of my comics, toys, or other related chachkies during this long, hot summer.
Bringing us to our next order of business…
True Fanboy Room Renovation Action Item #2: Mandatory reorganization of sterilyte shelving system, orchestrated with the specific goal of opening up at least 24 inches of available space, 20 inches of which will immediately be occupied by eight newly-purchased sterilytes, which have been measured to fit *perfectly* on top of one another so that they seamlessly reach from the floor to the ceiling with only two (!!!) millimeters of space being wasted at the very top!
This one is a little more complicated, my little Gaga monsters. You see… I… er…. Eh…. Ah, who the fuck am I kidding. There’s no way I’m going to be able to complete this second action item. I’ll just cross my fingers and pray that the whole window-boarding thing goes off without a hitch. And while I’m crossing my fingers, I might as well cross my legs as well. Because with the kind of drama this weekend's renovation is sure to bring, I think I may just shit my pants. Yo Joe.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Tag ‘Em and Bag ‘Em!
Trending today was Nicholas Cage’s stolen copy of Action Comics #1, which for those of you living under a rock your entire life, features the very first appearance of the Man of Steel himself, Superman! This little sumbitch of a comic dates all the way back to 1938, so it goes without saying that it can fetch itself quite a price on the open (or not-so-open) market. Anyway, it turns out that Cage’s copy was found in an abandoned storage unit in Los Angeles, of all places. By the way, this comic was stolen from Cage over a decade ago, way back when he could actually make rent; so to confirm, Cage himself was not the thief. Either way, however, there is no denying that this week’s little discovery is quite the ‘national treasure’ (ha!), if I do say so myself.
Now that five minutes have passed and you’re done laughing at my joke from the end of the last paragraph, the question I’m sure you must all be asking yourselves is “how in the blue hell is it even officially known that this is actually Cage’s missing copy??” A good question indeed. Well, true believer, apparently it turns out that each of the 100 copies of this rare and worship-worthy gem that are known to exist have literally been ‘tagged’ with unique ink markings (much like Angelina Jolie before she had her doctor laser-tag “Billy Bob” off her ass, or whereever she had it placed). So it really is possible to identify each documented existing copy.
Now I don’t know about all of you, but I would be pretty damn excited if I had a way of tagging all of my own obsessive possessions so that no other nerd could ever lay claim to anything of mine that dared wander from my sight. So appealing is this concept, that I’ve spent the last couple of hours running through possible scenarios in which I could accomplish this. So far, I’ve only managed to think of a way to ‘tag’ a significant other, but I won’t go into that because: 1. it washes off, even if the icky feelings don’t, and 2. I’ve got enough problems without all you people blaming me for your sexual assault charges. Figure it out. And while you’re at it, let me know if you figure out this whole ‘collectible tagging’ thing as well. Now that I know that a washout like Nic Cage can enjoy the benefits, I pretty much won’t rest until I’m living the dream as well.
Now that five minutes have passed and you’re done laughing at my joke from the end of the last paragraph, the question I’m sure you must all be asking yourselves is “how in the blue hell is it even officially known that this is actually Cage’s missing copy??” A good question indeed. Well, true believer, apparently it turns out that each of the 100 copies of this rare and worship-worthy gem that are known to exist have literally been ‘tagged’ with unique ink markings (much like Angelina Jolie before she had her doctor laser-tag “Billy Bob” off her ass, or whereever she had it placed). So it really is possible to identify each documented existing copy.
Now I don’t know about all of you, but I would be pretty damn excited if I had a way of tagging all of my own obsessive possessions so that no other nerd could ever lay claim to anything of mine that dared wander from my sight. So appealing is this concept, that I’ve spent the last couple of hours running through possible scenarios in which I could accomplish this. So far, I’ve only managed to think of a way to ‘tag’ a significant other, but I won’t go into that because: 1. it washes off, even if the icky feelings don’t, and 2. I’ve got enough problems without all you people blaming me for your sexual assault charges. Figure it out. And while you’re at it, let me know if you figure out this whole ‘collectible tagging’ thing as well. Now that I know that a washout like Nic Cage can enjoy the benefits, I pretty much won’t rest until I’m living the dream as well.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
JoeCon!
That’s right, bitches—JoeCon. And no, I don’t mean a gathering of fools named Joe. Nor am I referring to the conning of said fools. Rather, this is the annual pilgrimage to some randomly selected lucky city in which all things G.I. Joe converge for a weekend of complete and unadulterated awesomeness. This is the big one. And it’s got it all. We’re talking semi-attractive harlots who suddenly become totally attractive upon donning their leather-studded Baroness body suits. We’re talking not-so-attractive Hasbro hotshots who suddenly become -– er, stay not-so-attractive -– yet suddenly earn extra cool points in their pimping of totally sweet new Joe product. We’re talking “Yo Joe” chants at 5:00 in the morning from an adjacent hotel room. We’re talking those same harlots in the Baroness body suits recoiling in disgust from the bad breath those nachos just gave me. We’re talking multiple trips to the potty courtesy of the very same nachos. In short, we’re talking FUN.
This year’s FUN took place at Disney World in Orlando. Now honestly, how exactly anyone was expected to afford both the various limited edition (e.g. – expensive) convention exclusives AND the standard fee access to the Disney parks themselves is way beyond this true believer. I sure as hell wasn’t able to do it. I mean, look at the choices I was faced with: Buy delicious plastic men which will appreciate in value over the course of just a few hours, along with as many duplicate purchases as possible to sell on ebay (to all the pathetic bastards who just weren’t willing to take a second mortgage out on their homes and take the trip out) in hopes of breaking even… OR go meet Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Minnie (possibly in a Baroness leather body suit). Take a wild guess which door I went through on that one.
I won’t bore you with every last detail of my weekend in Orlando (I’m guessing you don’t have all week here), but suffice it to say, I didn’t do my room at home any favors in the available space department. In fact, one of the exclusives was so massive that I needed to ship it out via UPS since it had absolutely no hope of fitting on the return plane’s overhead compartment (and I sure as shit wasn’t going to check it and trust it in the hands of those clueless baggage handlers, lest my precious possessions end up crushed, bent beyond recognition, and shipped to Zimbabwe). So I ask you, what idiot spends $56 on shipping after already having pissed away what little money he had to begin with at JoeCon? THIS idiot right here. And if you don’t believe me, come check out the hotels at next year’s con. I’ll be the douchebag screaming “Yo Joe” at 5:00am.
This year’s FUN took place at Disney World in Orlando. Now honestly, how exactly anyone was expected to afford both the various limited edition (e.g. – expensive) convention exclusives AND the standard fee access to the Disney parks themselves is way beyond this true believer. I sure as hell wasn’t able to do it. I mean, look at the choices I was faced with: Buy delicious plastic men which will appreciate in value over the course of just a few hours, along with as many duplicate purchases as possible to sell on ebay (to all the pathetic bastards who just weren’t willing to take a second mortgage out on their homes and take the trip out) in hopes of breaking even… OR go meet Mickey, Donald, Goofy, and Minnie (possibly in a Baroness leather body suit). Take a wild guess which door I went through on that one.
I won’t bore you with every last detail of my weekend in Orlando (I’m guessing you don’t have all week here), but suffice it to say, I didn’t do my room at home any favors in the available space department. In fact, one of the exclusives was so massive that I needed to ship it out via UPS since it had absolutely no hope of fitting on the return plane’s overhead compartment (and I sure as shit wasn’t going to check it and trust it in the hands of those clueless baggage handlers, lest my precious possessions end up crushed, bent beyond recognition, and shipped to Zimbabwe). So I ask you, what idiot spends $56 on shipping after already having pissed away what little money he had to begin with at JoeCon? THIS idiot right here. And if you don’t believe me, come check out the hotels at next year’s con. I’ll be the douchebag screaming “Yo Joe” at 5:00am.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Hi, I’m James Jacobs…and I’m a Child-Man
With no end in sight to books examining the various sociological issues which pertain to men, women, and children, it’s become very clear to me that I’m one of the people some of those so-called “experts” are writing about. Hell, I myself am apparently an expert, having written my own look at the hopelessly obsessive collector…and it’s an autobiography! But I must say that I was especially interested in this article that I came across over the weekend:
Manning Up
So yes, people…there is indeed a child-man. And according to many, he’s wasting his 20s and 30s living in a fanboy’s paradise (and contributing nothing to the world as a whole). Now honestly, I call bullshit on this whole “rise of women resulting in a generation of men who act like overgrown kids” notion. Granted, as a TRUE fanboy my interaction with women ain’t exactly the most thorough of experiences, but dammit people, I did this to myself. Period. And so did you.
What really led to this fanboy lifestyle was a youth dominated by slick marketing, infusing colorful toy packaging, catchy and addicting commercials, a ‘you gotta have this!’ message drilled into me on a daily basis, and vibrant comic book stories the likes of which no nerd had every before seen! THAT’S why I am who I am. Not the fact that a woman knows how to brush her pretty teeth better than a man does.
So let’s just be honest—we fanboys have done made our own beds here. And I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty fine with laying in it now. I just need a little extra counseling and at least 50 single bills for every bachelor party I attend…
Manning Up
So yes, people…there is indeed a child-man. And according to many, he’s wasting his 20s and 30s living in a fanboy’s paradise (and contributing nothing to the world as a whole). Now honestly, I call bullshit on this whole “rise of women resulting in a generation of men who act like overgrown kids” notion. Granted, as a TRUE fanboy my interaction with women ain’t exactly the most thorough of experiences, but dammit people, I did this to myself. Period. And so did you.
What really led to this fanboy lifestyle was a youth dominated by slick marketing, infusing colorful toy packaging, catchy and addicting commercials, a ‘you gotta have this!’ message drilled into me on a daily basis, and vibrant comic book stories the likes of which no nerd had every before seen! THAT’S why I am who I am. Not the fact that a woman knows how to brush her pretty teeth better than a man does.
So let’s just be honest—we fanboys have done made our own beds here. And I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty fine with laying in it now. I just need a little extra counseling and at least 50 single bills for every bachelor party I attend…
Monday, March 14, 2011
I Like Flocked Butts, and I Cannot Lie…
Okay, so for those of you out there who have been lucky enough to read my book, True Confessions of a Fanboy, you’re probably already aware of my curious obsession with flocked toys. And for those cheapos who couldn’t even plunk down a few measly bucks for it because you’re busy saving up for Hitch on BlueRay, thinking that you might actually learn something about girls (you won’t), allow me to illuminate all you suckas.
Put simply, flocking is a process by which life-like hair or fur is applied to a figure, offering a more realistic play value unparalleled by most industry standards. It’s kind of like what The Jersey Shore is to all those dumb teenagers these days. They don’t know exactly why they think it’s cool; they just do. Only, unlike the whole “Gym Tanning Laundry” lifestyle all of those crazy kids are talking about, flocked toys actually ARE cool! Take those classic G.I. Joe Adventure Team toys, for example. My obsession with flocked figures actually stems from the fact that those figures have such wickedly awesome life-like hair and beards—making them a hell of a lot more manly than I could ever hope to be. And, to me, anything more manly than I am is usually the perfect recipe for awesomeness.
Now since spending money is always better than actually having it, I’ve recently taken to collecting those high-priced 12-inchers from Sideshow Collectibles. But the thing of it is, I’ve always been able to rationalize these huge purchases by constraining myself to their G.I. Joe offerings only. And, as any of you TRUE fanboys out there know full well, it’s our ability as fanboys to rationalize (or ‘rational lies’) our expenses that keeps us in the game so long, delightfully buried in our own denial.
So with all of my rational lies on the line, what, pray tell, do you think was finally able to drive me to the dark side? Ladies and losers, I present to you… Sideshow’s Gamorrean Guard:
Order the Gamorrean Guard!
No, you’re not seeing things—that’s a fully-flocked belly/ass combination, yo. Did you just hear what I said?? A flocked belly AND ass, people! One hundred percent, unadulterated, Grade-A quality, scruffy-luscious, bitch-you-better-wax-that-thang, furfest extravaganza… and all on places where it just shouldn’t be. Forbidden flock, if you will. And that, my friend, is cooler than Wonder Woman’s bush on a breezy February morning. Speaking of Wonder Woman, and women in general… you know how a real man would have just the best time rubbing his face in a nice pair of extra perky boobies? Well, not me. Not this day. Me, I’ll take a nice fat face-full of that furry belly/ass flocking any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
So go out and get yourself this awesome piece for your 12” collection. And get me some help while you’re at it.
Put simply, flocking is a process by which life-like hair or fur is applied to a figure, offering a more realistic play value unparalleled by most industry standards. It’s kind of like what The Jersey Shore is to all those dumb teenagers these days. They don’t know exactly why they think it’s cool; they just do. Only, unlike the whole “Gym Tanning Laundry” lifestyle all of those crazy kids are talking about, flocked toys actually ARE cool! Take those classic G.I. Joe Adventure Team toys, for example. My obsession with flocked figures actually stems from the fact that those figures have such wickedly awesome life-like hair and beards—making them a hell of a lot more manly than I could ever hope to be. And, to me, anything more manly than I am is usually the perfect recipe for awesomeness.
Now since spending money is always better than actually having it, I’ve recently taken to collecting those high-priced 12-inchers from Sideshow Collectibles. But the thing of it is, I’ve always been able to rationalize these huge purchases by constraining myself to their G.I. Joe offerings only. And, as any of you TRUE fanboys out there know full well, it’s our ability as fanboys to rationalize (or ‘rational lies’) our expenses that keeps us in the game so long, delightfully buried in our own denial.
So with all of my rational lies on the line, what, pray tell, do you think was finally able to drive me to the dark side? Ladies and losers, I present to you… Sideshow’s Gamorrean Guard:
Order the Gamorrean Guard!
No, you’re not seeing things—that’s a fully-flocked belly/ass combination, yo. Did you just hear what I said?? A flocked belly AND ass, people! One hundred percent, unadulterated, Grade-A quality, scruffy-luscious, bitch-you-better-wax-that-thang, furfest extravaganza… and all on places where it just shouldn’t be. Forbidden flock, if you will. And that, my friend, is cooler than Wonder Woman’s bush on a breezy February morning. Speaking of Wonder Woman, and women in general… you know how a real man would have just the best time rubbing his face in a nice pair of extra perky boobies? Well, not me. Not this day. Me, I’ll take a nice fat face-full of that furry belly/ass flocking any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
So go out and get yourself this awesome piece for your 12” collection. And get me some help while you’re at it.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
An Ultimate Work of Art
You know…I can actually remember a time when the only thing that mattered about my toys was whether or not I actually enjoyed playing with them. Those were the days indeed…the days when it wasn’t about the cool paint job. Or the unique sculpt. Or the variant version that put a left hand where the right one should be. Or any of that nonsense. I can actually remember that time in my life! Then again, I can also recall the days when my appearance in front of the opposite sex was actually a huge concern of mine. Man, those were good times.
But while I don’t care all that much about how I look these days (roaming the halls of most comic book conventions in nothing but tighty-whities tends to easily communicate that, I’m sure), I unfortunately can’t say the same thing about the toys I collect. There’s no way around it – it’s different now.
So nobody should be surprised to hear me say that it can be a really stressful thing when you’re walking the aisles of Toys “R” Us, desperately looking for a reason to fork over some more cash to the big giraffe, and half the stock on the shelves just doesn’t meet the refined standards of a collector of my caliber. It’s not about the kung-fu grip anymore. Or the swivel waist action. Or the way Zartan turns green-blue in sunlight (okay, that’s still pretty awesome, but I digress). I mean, with the kind of history I have in the hobby, what else would you expect? You’re talking about someone who’s purchased so many G.I. Joe flocked hair throwbacks that I half expect my next Wonder Woman action figure to have a flocked va-jayjay. And I’m left to wonder…will nothing come out this week to give me my long overdue nerdgasm?
Enter the Defining Moments Ultimate Warrior action figure from Mattel.
Yeah, you heard me right. The Ultimate Warrior. That incoherent whackjob who spent the better part of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s running to wrestling rings in face-paint, arm streamers, and multi-colored title belts. The guy whose first move when reaching said ring was to wig out completely, snarling loudly at opponents and shaking defenseless ring ropes. The lunatic who just up and dominated the entire WWF (now the WWE – stupid World Wide Fund) and even took out the big cheese himself, Hulk Hogan, in a dramatic title-for-title match at Wrestlemania VI.
The guy was just out of his mind, and quite honestly, had no place in normal society (yeah, this is ME saying that!). Most of his promos consisted of things like “Load the spaceship with the rocket fuel!” and “When the moon is blood red and the planets from the grimlock system converge…battling in the sheets of the wind…then I will…prevailllll!!”
But even with all of that silliness up against them, Mattel managed to rise to the occasion and make something truly awesome with the Warrior’s name attached to it. Here, take a look:
Ultimate Warrior review
I mean, look at this thing! Those tights. Those knee pads. That fine coat! Yeah, I realize that reading that last sentence, it would probably be more appropriate had I been describing some hot thang I saw across the bar this past weekend. But with everything I just described, to say nothing of the things I haven’t even gone into (like the paint job and printed graphics – and NO, I’m not talking about NASCAR now!), why would I even go out on a weekend??
Ultimate Warrior review
I mean, look at this thing! Those tights. Those knee pads. That fine coat! Yeah, I realize that reading that last sentence, it would probably be more appropriate had I been describing some hot thang I saw across the bar this past weekend. But with everything I just described, to say nothing of the things I haven’t even gone into (like the paint job and printed graphics – and NO, I’m not talking about NASCAR now!), why would I even go out on a weekend??
So even if you still do date, take my advice on this one. Buy it. Display it. Invite people over for a viewing. And make sure you’re wearing a smoking jacket-with-pipe-Hugh Hefner ensemble while you’re doing it. Because fine art like this doesn’t come along all that often. Load the spaceship with the rocket fuel!!!
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Omnibus: Book or Bulletproof Vest?
So there I was in my local comic shop this afternoon when I heard some guy go “Ahm knee bus? What’s an Ahm knee bus??” And I just about shat my pants in disgust. And, no, it wasn’t because of the milkshake-cheeseburger combo I had just scarfed down at Wendy’s an hour earlier. You see, it instantly occurred to me that this guy’s silly question meant one of two things.
Either:
a) that fool was just straight up ignant, yo.
OR
b) there are some people out there who actually don’t know what an Omnibus is!
Now, personally, I’m thinking that choice ‘a’ was the more probable answer, but dammit…I just couldn’t sleep at night if I risked it and *didn’t* tell all my fellow peeps what this whole Omnibus craze is really all about lately.
So here’s the deal, people. Us fanboys – us TRUE fanboys – we like to own collected editions of our favorite comic book storylines (and, if you’re anything like me, the not-so-favorite ones as well). And this need is satisfied through massive encyclopedia-sized reprints published for the purposes of milking the loyal customer out of his very last penny – er, I mean…for the purposes of giving fans a fresh new look at a now-classic storyline in the mythos of one or more of our favorite heroes.
And that’s basically what Omnibuses are. On the one hand, they’re just another dent in the already far-too-depleted bank account of the fanboy. On the other hand, they’re totally AWESOME, man! These things are just HUGE. If you happen to live on the wrong side of the tracks and you can manage to fit one of these bad boys inside your jacket, you’ll never have to worry about random gunfire or stray bullets again. The sheer thickness of these things alone offers more protection than S.W.A.T. riot gear! Not bad for something that only sets you back about $100. And that’s nothing to say of the ‘bonus creator commentary,’ alternate covers gallery, and who knows what else in each printed masterpiece.
Now, before you go and have a hissy fit after finding Omnibuses in stores for a c-note, remember your fanboy training, young one! If you’ve got the sight, and you’re like me, your nerd-sense will automatically start tingling whenever you’re in the vicinity of a good deal online. And, really, even if you can’t find yourself a decent discount, keep in mind that these things clock in at around 1000 pages. Now I don’t know about you, but where I come from, that kind of page count is more orgasm-inducing than a drunken Jessica Alba, completely void of discriminating preferences after having downed three bottles of Grey Goose.
I mean, come one, with over thirty issues stuffed between the covers (you know, the way I’d stuff Jessica between the covers after all that Vodka), how can you possibly go wrong? Only one way: by walking into any respectable comic shop and asking “Gee whiz, what’s an Ahm knee bus??”
Now one thing I should warn you about is that if you try to lift too many of these at once, or you have to awkwardly put one in the farthest corners of your bedroom without disturbing any of the other stuff you’ve got lying around, you may injure your groin a bit. It’s nothing to lose sleep over; just be careful is all. Really careful. Or you’ll pull your balls. Just trust me on that, and please don’t ask me any further questions on the matter. Oh, and buy yourself an Omnibus featuring one of your favorite comic book heroes RIGHT NOW! You’ll thank me later. Even if you do end up pulling your balls.
James Jacobs is the co-author of True Confessions of a Fanboy. If the above report made you think any less of him, you ain’t even seen half the truth. Check out www.truefanboy.com right now for a free excerpt of what I’m talking about.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Even “Special Friends” can make it out of the Friend Zone!
Okay, let me just get this out of the way and admit it right now. I watched She-Ra back when I was a wee lad. We’re talking the days when you actually had to be a girl to buy girl toys. When Teddy Ruxpin didn’t seem all that creepy. When there was an actual difference between buying “My Buddy” and buying “Kid Sister.” I know, ancient history, right? But that’s how it was back then.
And I know all those in the “My Buddy” crowd never would have been caught dead watching a girlie show like She-Ra, but dammit son… I did. And I had a reason! I was in it for the ‘man.’ The He-Man, to be precise. See, even back then, I was a fanatical little sumbitch, so seeing as how She-Ra was a direct spin-off of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, the prospect of a He-Man cameo every now and then was just too good to pass up. And I must say that the payoff did indeed come on many an occasion. The only problem was that “many an occasion” doesn’t exactly qualify as “always.” And on those days when Mr. “I wear pink pants whenever I’m not riding a big green cat” didn’t show up, there was quite a shameful display that I had endure in his stead. All y’all “Kid Sister” folks know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Bow, aka (according to the marketing geniuses at Mattel) the “Special Friend Who Helps She-Ra.”
Now we all know what “Special Friend” really means here. It’s just that Mattel couldn’t get away with putting “She-Ra’s bitch” on the cover of their toy boxes. Sadly, we’ve all been Bow at one time or another in our lives. Bow was defined by one specific quality: According to legend, he had a secret crush on She-Ra (which she undoubtedly could smell like a used tampon a mile away). And if the whole “Special Friend” bit didn’t clue the kids in enough at the time, Bow even had a little heart worn at the center of his chest that would beat rapidly if She-Ra was in danger. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, try and recall that time you were in math class scoping out that hot chick and having to watch helplessly as she cheated off your test paper at 3:00 pm and went behind the bleachers with some jock douche at 5:00 the same day.
Anyway, you get my point here. Bow was just another average frustrated lame-o with no hope of tapping that Grayskull poon he so desperately sought after on a daily basis. So you can imagine my utter surprise when the latest Masters of the Universe figure turned up last week featuring a new and improved updated Bow figure! And, boy, is this dude jacked! Like a wolverine in heat, the guy’s just a beast! Here, have a look-see:
Bow review
I mean, damn son, look at what they did to him! The accessories! The articulation! The whole “She-Ra will be bowing – er, I mean blowing me in no time” facial expression. This guy is no joke! So yeah, it took 25 years, but I’ve finally gained a modicum of respect for She-Ra’s whipping boy, er – “Special Friend.” And if you don’t mind me saying so, he could be my special friend anytime he wants! Wait, disregard that last sentence. Even Teddy Ruxpin couldn’t pull that one off. Still, though, he’s pretty cool now, so thank you, Mattel, for giving us fanboys a little molded-plastic payback for all those high school whores who only wanted our “special” calculus skills for the pop quiz. Bitches!
What are you waiting for? Go get my book at http://www.truefanboy.com/
And I know all those in the “My Buddy” crowd never would have been caught dead watching a girlie show like She-Ra, but dammit son… I did. And I had a reason! I was in it for the ‘man.’ The He-Man, to be precise. See, even back then, I was a fanatical little sumbitch, so seeing as how She-Ra was a direct spin-off of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, the prospect of a He-Man cameo every now and then was just too good to pass up. And I must say that the payoff did indeed come on many an occasion. The only problem was that “many an occasion” doesn’t exactly qualify as “always.” And on those days when Mr. “I wear pink pants whenever I’m not riding a big green cat” didn’t show up, there was quite a shameful display that I had endure in his stead. All y’all “Kid Sister” folks know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Bow, aka (according to the marketing geniuses at Mattel) the “Special Friend Who Helps She-Ra.”
Now we all know what “Special Friend” really means here. It’s just that Mattel couldn’t get away with putting “She-Ra’s bitch” on the cover of their toy boxes. Sadly, we’ve all been Bow at one time or another in our lives. Bow was defined by one specific quality: According to legend, he had a secret crush on She-Ra (which she undoubtedly could smell like a used tampon a mile away). And if the whole “Special Friend” bit didn’t clue the kids in enough at the time, Bow even had a little heart worn at the center of his chest that would beat rapidly if She-Ra was in danger. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, try and recall that time you were in math class scoping out that hot chick and having to watch helplessly as she cheated off your test paper at 3:00 pm and went behind the bleachers with some jock douche at 5:00 the same day.
Anyway, you get my point here. Bow was just another average frustrated lame-o with no hope of tapping that Grayskull poon he so desperately sought after on a daily basis. So you can imagine my utter surprise when the latest Masters of the Universe figure turned up last week featuring a new and improved updated Bow figure! And, boy, is this dude jacked! Like a wolverine in heat, the guy’s just a beast! Here, have a look-see:
Bow review
I mean, damn son, look at what they did to him! The accessories! The articulation! The whole “She-Ra will be bowing – er, I mean blowing me in no time” facial expression. This guy is no joke! So yeah, it took 25 years, but I’ve finally gained a modicum of respect for She-Ra’s whipping boy, er – “Special Friend.” And if you don’t mind me saying so, he could be my special friend anytime he wants! Wait, disregard that last sentence. Even Teddy Ruxpin couldn’t pull that one off. Still, though, he’s pretty cool now, so thank you, Mattel, for giving us fanboys a little molded-plastic payback for all those high school whores who only wanted our “special” calculus skills for the pop quiz. Bitches!
What are you waiting for? Go get my book at http://www.truefanboy.com/
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Has me by the balls, the Force does...
I can remember it like I was nine years old. Come to think of it… I was nine years old! And I was salivating in palpitating anticipation over the new Star Wars movie. The hype machine that Kenner (now Hasbro) Toys is still known for to this day was in full force, fresh with awkward kiddie commercials and mini-catalogs fiendishly inserted into their 1982 Star Wars toys. On display for all the world to see: the long-awaited title for the final installment of our beloved trilogy. It was gonna be called REVENGE of the Jedi and it was gonna be the nerdgasm of all our lifetimes combined! How freakin' cool to have a movie with the word "Revenge" in the title! For a simple New York kid, years from even being rejected by some hot thang sitting in the corner of calculus class, it would be a true rite of passage to witness this movie in all its glory. I mean, shit son, the rebels had just gotten their asses handed to them in Empire, and I don’t know about any of you, but I was straight up desperate for some wicked awesome REVENGE.
And then it happened. George happened. In the first of what would be COUNTLESS “creative” blunders, George Lucas decided that “seeks revenge not, the Jedi does.” Er, I mean “Jedi do not seek revenge.” It’s simply not “in their nature.” That sumbitch had to go all soft on us and change what could have truly been the greatest movie title of all time! And he changed it to, of all things, RETURN of the Jedi??!!
Is THAT what Jedi do? They “return” to stuff?? Oh wait, now I get it. Luke is the first Jedi in a looooong ass time. So he's returning, and with him, the entire Jedi way of life. Ha. Ah-ha-ha. Umm… yeah.
Fanboys and Fangirls the world over, I present to you: the neutering of a movie title! I was crushed. I felt so small… like a mere nine year old. Yeah, I know… I was one, but what I WANTED was to feel like a cool badass adult who wouldn’t need to be accompanied by my mommy and daddy to see a film about REVENGE. And this horrible disappointment didn’t even include the pain I would end up enduring through all the Ewoks, Boba Fetts falling down hungry vaginas, and Vaders being unmasked to reveal a hapless crusty old fart. Oh, and that god awful dance at the end. But I digress.
So it I lived with it. I lived with the pain. I lived with the anguish. I lived with the confusion, frustration, and befuddlement. I lived with it all!
But then… last week… the coolest show to ever be held prior to a San Diego Comic-Con. Toy Fair, baby. No, not that crappy magazine published by the now-defunct Wizard. Toy FAIR. Where nerds of all shapes and sizes convene to learn what is coming out this year from Hasbro, Mattel, and every other force in the plaything industry… including, of course, some of the reveals of those Con exclusives we all clamor for. Those impossible-to-obtain treasures that can only be owned by mortgaging the first-born that you probably won’t have anyway.
And the biggest reveal of them all this year: Hasbro has gone and undone George’s biggest “don’t” he ever did done. Their purchase of Kenner long completed, they announced the mother of all Star Wars exclusives. Now, after all of these years, hope springs anew: Here, have a look:
Revenge of the Jedi set!
There you have it, people. REVENGE of the Jedi. Emblazoned across a big freakin’ Death Star package, including multiple Revenge cardbacks inside. Just the way it always should have been. Just the way it oughtta be! And by Palpatine’s balls, it will be mine at any cost. So bye bye, tax refund. Sayonara, Christmas bonus I’m ten months from even seeing. Thanks for stopping by, hot lady who will let me drop $200 on an expensive lobster dinner with no chance of a happy ending later on.
Let it be known forever more… when it comes to this latest Lucas ploy, one that is actually cool for a change… I will *finally* have my REVENGE!
What are you waiting for? Go get my book at http://www.truefanboy.com/
And then it happened. George happened. In the first of what would be COUNTLESS “creative” blunders, George Lucas decided that “seeks revenge not, the Jedi does.” Er, I mean “Jedi do not seek revenge.” It’s simply not “in their nature.” That sumbitch had to go all soft on us and change what could have truly been the greatest movie title of all time! And he changed it to, of all things, RETURN of the Jedi??!!
Is THAT what Jedi do? They “return” to stuff?? Oh wait, now I get it. Luke is the first Jedi in a looooong ass time. So he's returning, and with him, the entire Jedi way of life. Ha. Ah-ha-ha. Umm… yeah.
Fanboys and Fangirls the world over, I present to you: the neutering of a movie title! I was crushed. I felt so small… like a mere nine year old. Yeah, I know… I was one, but what I WANTED was to feel like a cool badass adult who wouldn’t need to be accompanied by my mommy and daddy to see a film about REVENGE. And this horrible disappointment didn’t even include the pain I would end up enduring through all the Ewoks, Boba Fetts falling down hungry vaginas, and Vaders being unmasked to reveal a hapless crusty old fart. Oh, and that god awful dance at the end. But I digress.
So it I lived with it. I lived with the pain. I lived with the anguish. I lived with the confusion, frustration, and befuddlement. I lived with it all!
But then… last week… the coolest show to ever be held prior to a San Diego Comic-Con. Toy Fair, baby. No, not that crappy magazine published by the now-defunct Wizard. Toy FAIR. Where nerds of all shapes and sizes convene to learn what is coming out this year from Hasbro, Mattel, and every other force in the plaything industry… including, of course, some of the reveals of those Con exclusives we all clamor for. Those impossible-to-obtain treasures that can only be owned by mortgaging the first-born that you probably won’t have anyway.
And the biggest reveal of them all this year: Hasbro has gone and undone George’s biggest “don’t” he ever did done. Their purchase of Kenner long completed, they announced the mother of all Star Wars exclusives. Now, after all of these years, hope springs anew: Here, have a look:
Revenge of the Jedi set!
There you have it, people. REVENGE of the Jedi. Emblazoned across a big freakin’ Death Star package, including multiple Revenge cardbacks inside. Just the way it always should have been. Just the way it oughtta be! And by Palpatine’s balls, it will be mine at any cost. So bye bye, tax refund. Sayonara, Christmas bonus I’m ten months from even seeing. Thanks for stopping by, hot lady who will let me drop $200 on an expensive lobster dinner with no chance of a happy ending later on.
Let it be known forever more… when it comes to this latest Lucas ploy, one that is actually cool for a change… I will *finally* have my REVENGE!
What are you waiting for? Go get my book at http://www.truefanboy.com/
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