Azn Badger's Blog

What About the Lysine Contingency…?

Apricots: The Forgotten Inflamer Of Rectums

How appropriate that it looks like a butt.

Not long ago, I put together a short list of foods that are known to upset my stomach.

Well, actually I believe I referred to the food list as being composed of items that “totally wreck your shit;” but that’s besides the point.

The point is, that list was only a small sampling of the many food products out there (mainly dried fruits and dairy products) that, while delicious; have severely debilitating repercussions for those that choose to consume them.

That being said, as I went over that list in my head today, I came to realize that I accidentally left out one particular food item that no bowel-wrecking food list should be without.

Said food item, is the apricot.

Unassuming and mild in appearance and taste, the apricot is, like the corn snake of the animal kingdom, one of nature’s cruel jokes.

Like the highly venomous corn snake, which bears a resemblance to the non-venomous king snake, (Zoobooks, God love ’em) the apricot has an appearance akin to several varieties of peaches.

Nevermind that apricots taste like squirrel anus in comparison to peaches…

Despite this, the brightly colored, supple fuzzy skinned apricot was seemingly engineered in such a way as to lure foolish creatures into eating it.

In that sense, it’s truly an evil fruit.

I ask you, how else could you describe a fruit that looks like the fuckin’ juiciest peach you’ve ever seen, tastes like grapefruit smeared with dirt and sea monkeys, and then yanks your colon out your ass an hour later?

That’s the thing that really gets me about apricots, how fucking calculated it’s attack on your anus seems to be.

I mentioned that apricots taste mild.

On my list from awhile back, I put mango and papaya on there, as I have a great deal of experience in battling those beasts on the porcelain throne.

Seriously, me and those 2, we fight it out all the fuckin’ time, ‘cept now that I’ve seen all their best moves, they ain’t got nothin’ on me.

The point, mango and papaya are extremely flavorful, and borderline syrupy fruits.

Their rich to the point in which you tell yourself at some point while eating them:

“Well, I’ve been eating mango now for 20 minutes straight.  I should probably pack it in, otherwise I’ll get the shits.”

That thought never enters your mind when you’re eating apricots on account of them tasting so fuckin’ plain.

It’s one of those fruits that no one really goes out of their way to get a hold of.

You just kind of eat ’cause, well; it’s there and you have nothing better to do.

In case you haven’t realized this already, a word to the wise:

DON’T EAT TOO MANY APRICOTS.

You know what happens when you eat too many fuckin’ apricots?

Your anus goes supernova, that’s what.

You think you’ve had explosive diarrhea?

No, I’m afraid you have not sir and/or madam.

You think you’ve had horrible fuckin’ gas that feels like your passing a banana slug every time your ass unclenches to let out a fart?

No, I’m afraid you have not sir and/or madam, not until you’ve OD’ed on apricots.

While it’s far from one of the worst aspects of apricot induced anal napalming, (we’ll get to that) it should be mentioned that there is a truly devious time-delay to the intestinal effects of the malevolent fruit of the Turks.

For a good solid hour or so, you’re fine.

You go about you day, thinking everything’s fine, and then out of nowhere, you feel a tremor in the force.

It starts small, like the water glass ripples in Jurassic Park.

You feel a slight tingle in your belly, like tiny feathers are tickling your insides.

Your eye twitches involuntarily.

And then it happens.

Your stomach gurgles and let’s out bestial roar that would send the mightiest of beasts running for the hills.

“UUUUWWWWWAAAAAOOOHHHHH!!!!!!”

With that, the race to find a porcelain venue to extricate and extinguish the raging fury of the mighty bowel beast is on.

At this point there is precious little time, possibly less than 5 minutes before either your entire body tears itself in half in a desperate bid to pass an ungodly mass of shit in one go, or you start puking up orange feces.

In other words:

You have 5 minutes to find a toilet, or risk a messy and horribly violent death at the hands of Turkish fruit.

In public no less.

Assuming you find your way to a toilet/honey bucket/spot in the bushes, congratulations; you now get the pleasure of enduring one of the most savage tests of rectal fortitude known to man.

The moment you get your pants down, pray to God you’re wearing a helmet, ’cause the explosive force of your anus expelling untold volumes of apricot juice is going to put you in orbit, or failing that; head first into whatever roof lie above you

Seriously, you better make sure to be holding on tight to the toilet too, ’cause in about 1 second flat, you’re gonna’ be floating 20 feet above it spewing a hateful waterfall of orange fecal matter onto the floor, the walls, all over yourself and most of the nearby countryside.

I cannot stress enough, just how utterly morbid the process of apricot induced anal evacuation can be.

The immense pressure generated by the expulsion process is enough to cripple a man for life.

I’ve cracked my back ass-vomiting apricots.

I’ve popped my ears anally aborting a gelatinous apricot baby once or twice.

I’ve been told that, in particularly severe instances; men have felt as if their eyes, tongue and teeth were going to be sucked from inside their skulls and coughed up into the shiny white bowl along with the gallons of apricot jizz and the rest of their internal organs.

That being said, this post should be considered less an addition to my intentionally humorous list of foods that will wreck your shit, and more like that of a PSA.

Seriously, don’t fuck with apricots.

They will fuck with you right back, and trust me; you don’t want that…

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“Poopie Girl? She Wants Me To Play Poopie Girl?”

Yesterday, a friend of mine asked me to register for some sort of web browser based game.

For various reasons, said friend shall be henceforth referred to as Bob Saget.

Beneath that snarky quick-witted exterior, lies an intensely profane, snarky, and quick-witted man...

Their idea, not mine.

Anyway, being as I was tied up eating manly things like steak and crab, while writing about savagely manly things like boxing; I didn’t have a chance to get around to registering for the game.

While I was in fact busy scarfing down crab meat a manly minute or 2 ago, I managed to find time in my manly schedule to dig through my e-mail and register for Bob Saget’s game.

Upon clicking the registration link, I was greeted by a flowery and decidedly Japanese website with a cartoonish doll looking woman with a forehead that could rival J-Gar’s saying to me:

“Tell us your name and where you live.”

Well, actually an exact quote would require the period of that sentence to be replaced by a musical note, denoting the sing-song intonation of the phrase, but you probably knew that already.

For the unitiated:

Frilly Japanese website + fashion victim female mascot character = high-pitched and “cute” voice, even in text form.

Short of “who is your daddy and what does he do?” I can think of few introductory phrases that put me on my heels as much as that did.

Despite the forward nature of the greeting page, (and I thought those silly Japanese were supposed to be polite!) I trust my friend Bob Saget, lecherous old pedophile that he may be.

That being said, I went ahead and registered, giving myself some retarded name I’ve already forgotten, and naming my hometown as Kumamoto, the city my grandpa’s family was from.

Anyway, as it turns out, this “game” I was registering for, was some kind of online, digital paper doll game wherein the players create a female avatar for themselves, (wasp waisted and “cute” regardless of how you choose to alter their appearance) and proceed to dress them up and shop for them.

The name of this game, was Poopie Girl.

Yes, I did in fact Google "Poopie Girl," despite the inherent risks. Of the results, I found this one to be the most fun/random.

My first thoughts upon noticing the title of the game were:

“Poopie Girl? What the fuck kinda’ perverted Japanese shit is this!?”

Okay fine, the game isn’t actually called “Poopie Girl,” it’s actually Poupee Girl.

I’m guessing Poupee* is a French word (Japanese love Parisian fashion, and therefore France) for “cute” or some shit, but regardless; don’t expect me to keep typing out the word “Poupee” for the remainder of this article.

It’s fancy words like “Poupee” that make me think the French think they’re better than me.

Dirty bastards…

*Ahem!* Moving on, Bob Saget told me that in order for them to get the perks for my registration, I would be required to dress up my Poopie Girl at least once.

Being as I already took the time to lie to the Poopie Girl server and pretend I was a female Japanese citizen named “Treebar Heart,” I decided I would go ahead and finish the job.

I started out by making my Poopie Girl, essentially by giving her a face and hair style.

Apparently there’s only one body type in Poopie Land.

Go figure.

After that, I was given the task of dressing up my Poopie Girl.

Being as I’m kind of a slow learner, I ended up completely bypassing most of my character creation options, and instead ended up making my Poopie Girl out only the newest and Poopiest items available.

I decided to go with a very simple look that I’m sure goes against the grain of every fashion law in existence.

Believe me when I say this, fashion is not something I have any sense for, least of all in regards to lady bid’ness.

If it’s any indication, in my world Axel from Streets of Rage is the best dressed man in all of existence.

Blue jeans and white t-shirts: America at it's best.

In example of my fashion fail-ness, here’s an image of one of the Poopier Poopie Girls I ran across on the Poopie Girl site:

Um, a little gaudy don'cha' think?

Anyway, near as I can tell, the game is very much like most browser based games, (time spent playing = forward progression) however with the ingenious inclusion of a deep community system.

Poopie Girl players are apparently expected to rate each other’s Poopies on how Poopie their dress up arrangements are, which in turn rewards players based on their community evaluated Poopie levels.

At least that’s what I assume, anyway.

Near as I can tell, the dress up interface is pretty robust, making for a great number of possibilities.

Being a fan of character customization in my games, I can honestly say that Poopie Girl kind of reminds me of the Smackdown! Vs. RAW series of games.

I bought and played a great number of those games, almost entirely for the purpose of creating absurd and unique characters.

In that sense, if I was into fashion, or browser games for that matter; I could see Poopie Girl being a lot of fun.

Or at the very least, something to do on a boring Sunday evening.

*Poupee actually means “doll.”  Fuckin’ French, think they’re better’n me…

 

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Juan Manuel Marquez vs. Michael Katsidis Analysis

Word to the wise:

Never stay up past midnight to watch boxing when you’ve gotta’ be up for work at 5:30 in the morning.

Unfortunately for me, that’s just what I did last night; in fact I was so committed to seeing the action that I ended up watching the Spanish version of the telecast.

Oh well, at least the fight was good; commentary was fun too, even if I didn’t understand it.

Getting to the point, Juan Manuel Marquez vs. Michael Katsidis was an intriguing, if not somewhat predictable matchup.

Marquez, despite his fairly recent climb in weight, has built up an incredible reputation for being a supremely talented boxer-puncher, with quite possibly the greatest capacity for making mid-fight adjustments of any fighter on the planet.

Despite an almost guaranteed tendency to get dropped at some point in most of his fights against A-level opposition, the man has a solid chin and has recently begun to favor mixing it up rather than stepping out of range as he used to in his youth.

Katsidis, coming off a brutal steamrolling of British prospect Kevin Mitchell, is the prototypical brawling infighter, complete with the requisite lack of head movement and elusiveness.

He telegraphs his shots like fuckin’ Samuel Morse, but just ’cause you can see the punches coming, doesn’t necessarily mean you can always avoid them.

Possessed of a solid punch, he has the power and physicality to overwhelm lesser fighters in the earlier rounds with his sometimes overly aggressive/energetic style, regardless of the significant drain on his stamina in the later rounds.

Though he’s been humbled by fighters with superior boxing skills in the past, his tenacity and rough fighting style are usually enough to give his opponents fits, particularly if their footwork isn’t sharp enough to keep him at distance.

You put all those factors I just listed for both fighters together, and the result of the fight is as elementary as 2+2 = 4.

That’s right.

I went to school.

I know numbers n’shit…

Anyway, as you may have guessed by now, the fight went a little something like this:

Katsidis came out swinging in the early rounds.

Marquez got dropped pretty solidly in the 3rd, moreso than probably either of the Pacquiao fights, only to battle back and survive the round.

Katsidis bullied Marquez for several rounds thereafter, controlling the flow of the fight, but absorbing a lot of shots for his troubles.

Eventually Katsidis began to slow sometime after the 6th round, putting the momentum of the fight firmly in Marquez’s hands.

In the 9th round, (the same round that Marquez previously stopped Juan Diaz in their first encounter) Marquez opened up with some savage combinations, staggering Katsidis and rendering his legs into wet fettuccine.

After a full minute of awkwardly stumbling about the ring, not throwing punches, nor really taking any, referee Kenny Bayless called an awkward end to the contest, citing Katsidis’ inability to continue as his reasoning for doing so.

Just about every point I listed above could’ve been determined about this matchup without ever having seen the fight.

Well, everything except the goofy ending.

Honestly, I found myself feeling that Katsidis, upon first being hobbled, was ready to go.

He was out on his feet for a minute or so, and the stoppage was indeed warranted given his inherent helplessness, however the timing of the stoppage was just plain awkward.

I like Kenny Bayless.

I’ve always joked that he’s the most passionate ref on the planet, screaming the count and seemingly brought to tears every time a fighter goes down in his ring; but in this case he waited far too long to call the fight.

A minute is a long time to be on queer street, but it’s also a long time for a professional brawler like Katsidis to recover.

In fact, if memory serves, I seem to recall Katsidis being in the process of throwing his first punch in over a minute at the time of the stoppage.

Like I said, perfectly legitimate stoppage, but horribly timed nonetheless.

*Ahem!* Anyway, let’s discuss some the technical elements of the fight, shall we?

Katsidis, while one-dimensional in many regards, demonstrated some truly effective infighting skills in this fight.

That’s saying a lot when faced with one of the craftier and more intelligent ring technicians of our generation.

His short hooks were fine tuned and razor sharp, perfectly befitting of his phonebooth fighting style.

Hell, if he hadn’t gone all in with his bullying tactics, and ate twice as many punches as he gave, I felt he could’ve eked out a slim decision from the judges.

Despite this, the Australian remains too predictable and open to counters to prove a significant threat to any of the elite fighters at Lightweight.

Like Arturo Gatti before him, he’s an entertaining TV fighter that will never be starved for opponents on HBO given his balls-out approach to fighting, however he’s barely a step above gatekeeper in terms of overall ability.

He’ll probably, quite literally, be bled dry by the sport and it’s unscrupulous promoters inside of 5 years.

Moving on to Marquez, the Mexican technician still remains at the top of his game despite being 37 years of age.

While Marquez put on a terrific performance in this outing, like the previous Pacquiao fight, he did so while absorbing a great deal of punishment, however intelligently.

While I wouldn’t call the nasty down that Marquez took in the 3rd to be a sign of a chink in his armor, I did find it alarming how shaken he was by it.

My roommate used to say:

“It’s a Marquez fight.  He isn’t even awake until he gets knocked down once or twice.”

While I find that to be true in most cases, (and hilarious) usually when the mighty Mexican gets floored, he comes back and trades with his opponent like he’s trying to make score a 9-10 for the round.

This time though, despite what others may say; I think Marquez got rocked pretty good.

The shot he took was a counter left hook on the point of the chin, and despite whatever degree of machismo he may have flowing through his veins, his legs couldn’t hide how frazzled he really was.

In either case, at 37 he’s still not looking old, even if he kisses canvas in most of his fights.

Enough about the down, let’s get back to the technical stuff:

As is always the case with Marquez, the finest elements of his game were his most subtle.

For instance, while fighters with better footwork most likely would’ve circled to avoid Katsidis’ infighting, Marquez stood toe to toe with him and traded, albeit in an intelligent manner.

Bowing at the waist, and placing his head out in front of himself, Marquez effectively crowded Katsidis’ punches, forcing him to reach around Marquez and taking a little something off of the impact.

Though Marquez would eat solid shots on his temples all night, his courage and toughness allowed him to remain focus amid the whirlwind of blows coming at him.

Another neat little element of Marquez’s performance, was his constant use of the jab.

In the early rounds, the jab was largely ineffectual; something that most of us could’ve predicted given Katsidis’ inherent toughness and propensity for rushing out the gate.

As the fight wore on though, Marquez’s jab started landing more often, and with more authority.

Much like what I said of Katsidis earlier, just because something is predictable, doesn’t mean the other guy is going to be able to avoid it every time.

More importantly though, the jab was serving the dual purpose of causing Katsidis to “reset,” and even stand him up when it landed particularly cleanly.

What I mean by “reset,” is that Katsidis displayed a habit of mechanically switching from offense to defense whenever Marquez would circle or step out of range.

Boxing is a combative sport wherein the main objective is to hit without getting hit.

The finest of boxers are the one’s that display a capacity to do both at the same time, seamlessly.

Katsidis is a fighter that shifts gears from offense to defense in a very visible manner, such that intelligent fighters like Marquez are able to capitalize on the transition period with well timed offensive flurries.

Needless to say, during the instances when Katsidis was clearly not in “fighting mode,” Marquez’s constant, and seemingly half-hearted jab, would suddenly spring to life and turn into a piston-like combination starter.

Anyway, I’m writing all of this from cloudy memories of last night, so I think I’ve just about run out of stuff to say.

For those that didn’t catch this one, I’d suggest finding a way to sit down and watch it, ’cause it really was a competitive and exciting bout, despite whatever I may have said about it.

In any case, see yah’ tomorrow!

 

 

 

 

 

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Technical Difficulties

Remember that one post I did about the malware that wouldn’t die?

Well, as you may have guessed, it’s still not dead.

About a week ago, something hijacked my primary e-mail account and used it’s address book to send out some truly retarded, and wholly obvious spam messages.

I sincerely apologize if any of you reading this happen to have been affected by this unfortunate incident.

I’ve had that e-mail account since I was 13, and it felt truly fuckin’ creepy to have someone or something violate it in such a way.

I’m hoping it was the latter, as I most likely have sensitive materials in that account that could fuck my life up pretty good if they were tampered with.

I swear man, I’ve always felt that the internet was an evil and terrifying place full of the sort of assholes that would pour sugar in your gas tank just for the thrill of it, but this is really the first time I’ve ever felt directly attacked by one of “those” people.

Pictured: One of "those" people. Wearing power armor no less.

Stupid internet peoples… Fuckin’ with my shit…

Anyway, back to the malware!

It’s as it’s powers grow and adapt in direct response to my rage levels.

When I’m peeved, it’s kind of a bother.

When I’m fuming, “gonna’ ram my fist through the monitor” angry, it takes total control of my computer.

It should be noted, that this particular post is being manufactured on a different computer, as I found myself growing impatient in wrestling with my laptop to type every word.

Despite this, I had a minor breakthrough this evening, in the form of my discovery of some oddly titled and highly suspect hardware devices in my device manager.

I guess the big ass yellow exclamation points hovering over them should’ve tipped me off sooner, but oh well.

Give me a break, I’m not exactly the most technical of badgers.

Anyway, my hope is that my discovery will serve as the breadcrumbs to lead to this sleazy bitch’s doorstep.

Just like Ripley in Aliens, (well, except for the whole girl-on-horribly-grotesque-girl aspect of it…) I intend to storm that bitch’s hive and burn every last trace of her progeny.

Then I’ll watch my android buddy get torn in half, and later throw the bitch herself out the airlock and into stop-motion animated space.

Now if only I use a power loader to fight malware...

Fuck Newt though, she was a waste of my motherfuckin’ time…

Anyway, off I go to do battle with malware once again.

Wish me luck.

Filed under: Movies, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Luthor Review

What the fuck kinda' 'roids is Superman on in is picture?...

Let me just start this review off by making it clear that I’m not all that familiar with Brian Azzarello’s writing.

My brother has told me (on numerous occasions) that I’d probably enjoy 100 Bullets, but to date I have yet to crack open an issue.

My only firsthand experience I have in reading Azzarello’s work, was his and artist Lee Bermejo’s more recent graphic novel, Joker.

I was deeply impressed with Joker.

From a visual standpoint, Bermejo’s painting and pencils served to give the story a striking, cohesive, and altogether unique look that in many ways make it one of the handsomest comics on the stands.

More importantly though, the writing was strong throughout.

The dialogue was sharp, with all the various character’s “voices” and diction coming across in the text boxes as if they were being read aloud by the cast members themselves.

The one aspect of the storytelling that really made it all work though, was the decision to cast an associate of the Joker’s, Johnny Frost; as both the narrator and main character.

Writing from the Joker’s perspective is one of those things that requires an insanely talented writer, either that or it’s just plain impossible.

The character is simply too impulsive, crazy, and altogether unpredictable, to the point in which reading his thoughts would probably as difficult a struggle as the process of writing them.

By using Johnny Frost as our ambassador into the Joker’s world however, Azzarello effectively gave us a ground level look at the seedier denizens of Gotham city; all while avoiding any of the confusion that may have resulted from trying to get inside their heads.

For Luthor however, Azzarello; once again teamed with Bermejo, chose to cast Lex Luthor as both the narrator and central character.

In case you haven’t figured it out already, this didn’t settle with me.

Lex Luthor is not really one of my favorite characters in the DC universe.

Most of the Superman stories I’ve enjoyed over the years barely included Luthor, and for the most part I think of him as a character that is doomed to be portrayed in the same fashion over and over and over again.

The Joker lends writers a degree of flexibility that makes him an intriguing figure to explore.

Sometimes he’s batshit crazy, sometimes he’s surprisingly lucid, sometimes he kills people with fish.

He’s a playground of insanity that writers are free to play around in and add to on a whim.

Lex Luthor however, is kind of one note.

He hates Superman, he’s rich as fuck, he has an ego, and occasionally he has goofy homoerotic moments with Supes that most of us would probably prefer to forget.

Outside of a brief stint as a red-head with an Australian accent, the only real difference between Luthors that I’ve read, is that sometimes he wears power armor, and sometimes he wears a power tie.

The version we get in Azzarello’s Luthor, is of course of the power tie variety.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

On the contrary, I prefer power tie Luthor.

What I don’t particularly like about the Luthor featured in, uh, Luthor; is the fact that despite the whole story being presented through his thoughts, he never really develops a clear voice.

Luthor’s voice in Luthor is written using vocabulary and pacing that is meant to appeal to the reader as being provocative and “deep.”

Sadly, as I made it through the first few chapters of Luthor, I became disenchanted with Luthor’s supposedly “heady” ruminations.

While I won’t post any spoilers here, the basic plot of Luthor involves Lex Luthor enacting a plot to eclipse the fame of, and potentially deface the heroism of the alien being known as Superman.

Using a variety of seedy connections, and equally seedy methods, Luthor establishes his own brand new defender of Metropolis, a super-woman named Hope, making a media darling of her in the process.

Long story short, Hope stands as a living metaphor for Lex Luthor’s aspirations, Superman fights Batman (briefly), and Lex Luthor whines and schemes for 90% of the book.

Luthor isn’t a bad story, nor is the writing anything less than average; my main issue with the whole thing is the fact that the center of the plot, our vehicle by which we explore the entire universe Azzarello has created for his story, is just not all that interesting to read.

Far be it from me to demand outstandingly cerebral writing and plotlines from my comic books, but I found Luthor’s voice to be more tedious than “deep.”

Tedious, and redundant, most likely due to the story’s original publication as a series of issues as opposed to a graphic novel format.

It’s funny though, most of the dialogue and storytelling outside of the stuff coming directly from Luthor’s brain and mouth is pretty solid.

In particular, Azzarello’s playboy-to-the-extreme version of Bruce Wayne is fun to read, and wholly believable given the way he is presented to us.

Much like Batman in Azzarello’s more recent Joker graphic novel, Superman and Clark Kent have almost no physical presence in the story.

In both stories, the characters are spoken of, hinted at, but rarely seen; giving them a sense omniscience and menace uncommon to both characters.

While the story is told from Luthor’s perspective, and it indeed makes sense to do so, I found myself smirking at the sight of Lee Bermejo’s flame-eyed and uber-pissed Superman.

Go ahead and call it blasphemy, but I’m one of those guys that still thinks of Christopher Reeve whenever he pictures Superman.

Seeing Superman portrayed as a total beast of superhero is both a striking visual, and a unique perspective on the character, but personally; I just couldn’t take it as seriously as I did in the case of Batman in Joker.

You look up badass in the dictionary, and I’m sure you’ll find an image of Lee Bermejo’s rendering of Batman from Joker.

Speaking of Lee Bermejo, his art is just as fantastic, if not moreso than was the case in Joker.

Bearing a borderline photorealistic style, Bermejo’s greatest panels are the ones that are painted.

In the case of both books, Bermejo painted a large number of the panels, however the ratio seems to be somewhat higher in Luthor, most likely a result of it’s gradual release schedule as opposed to the “all-at-once” format of Joker.

While I favor the creativity in the design, and the darker color palette of Joker, Bermejo’s renderings of the towering skyscrapers of Metropolis, and it’s delightfully fashionable citizens are still some of the best comic art around.

Additional kudos to colorist Dave Stewart, as some of the weather phenomena and night scenes really stand out thanks to his work.

While his angles and panel layouts may not be the most intricate or unique, Bermejo’s character art is his strength, and Azzarello wisely keeps his story grounded so as to allow his artist to shine.

Anyway, I really don’t know where I’m going with this review anymore.

Like I said, Luthor is a pretty enjoyable story, particularly if you happen to like Lex Luthor as a character; (I don’t…) but bear in mind there are some pretty heavy-handed (and redundant) metaphors, as well as some instances of “big words for the sake of big words” that you’ll have to get past to find said enjoyment.

Thanks for reading, hopefully you’ll try before you buy unlike I did!

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Happy Thanksgiving From The Azn Badger!

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Way To Keep Sane At Work #47: Squeezing Random Squeezeables

Today was a really slow day at work.

When things get slow at Amazon, I find that I have more than a few options in terms of how I can prevent the onset of tedium induced insanity.

First on the list, is to talk to myself; sometimes using goofy voices just for the hell of it.

Though that’s usually my go-to method of keeping myself sane at work, the possibilities for potentially embarrassing encounters with co-workers is honestly just a little bit too high to be practical.

Seriously, no one wants to get caught playing out a conversation between Hulk Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior all by their lonesome, that’s just plain embarrassing.

Trust me, the last time it happened to me, I got some truly fucked up sideways glances for it…

*Ahem!* Anyway, my second favorite method of keeping sane at work, is to sing to myself.

Let it be known, the Azn Badger is not someone known for his singing ability.

My choice of songs?

Well, though I’ve been partial to the Tiger Mask and Kikaida theme songs, lately I’ve been singing I’ll Make A Man Out Of You and Gaston from Mulan and Beauty and the Beast respectively.

How the fuck I’ve managed to remember the lyrics to those songs after all these years is beyond me.

Maybe it has something to do with Gaston being the pimpest and most manly song in all of existence…

Anyway, though those are my 2 most commonly practiced methods of retaining my sanity at work, as the title of this article indicates; there is another method I’d like to bring up.

Said method would be squeezing the various squeezable products in the warehouse.

Pretty fuckin’ random, right?

You see, all my life I’ve had this problem with always having to grip things in my hands.

I pick something up, or something is given to me, and for whatever reason; I have difficulty putting it down.

Needless to say, I’m one of those guys that routinely carries too much shit at once, only to end up dropping it all.

It’s a weird quirk, almost Bob Dole-like in it’s grip related tenacity.

We all remember HIM, right?

Although ‘ole Bob did have the advantage of being able to wave his behavior off as a result of war injuries.

Unlike me.  I’m just weird is all.

*Ahem!* Getting to the point, when you’re really fuckin’ bored, you’ll find that doing truly retarded shit like squeezing wedges of brie can make all the difference in relieving your boredom.

Don’t ask me why, but the inherent squishiness of brie makes it just perfect for drive-by squeezings…

Now if only I could eat this without getting the shits for a week...

While squeezing the brie is easily my favorite squeeze related activity at work, there’s a few other items in the warehouse that deserve special mention.

Chief among these is a truly bizarre, and downright creepy looking plush toy called a Sing-A-Ma-Jig.

KILL IT WITH FIRE.

I don’t know if it was the designers intention, but I feel it’s worth mentioning that the Sing-A-Ma-Jig’s mouth honestly looks like the orifice of a sea anemone.

Either that or it looks like an anus.

Check that, it definitely looks like an anus.

And this is considered kid friendly in this day and age?

Anyway, the real fun of squeezing this goofy looking toy, comes from the fact that doing so causes it’s anus mouth to simulate a singing motion, while a single musical note plays through a device inside it for the entire duration of said squeeze.

Repeated squeezing of the Sing-A-Ma-Jig results in a new sound of a different tonality, resulting in much hilarity when the Sing-A-Ma-Jig is squeezed rapidly.

Yes, I am in fact annoying as fuck to work with.

The other squeezeable I’d like to mention, is the Alligator Squeak Mat.

Not recommended for parents with a low tolerance for noise related annoyances...

This guy got me through some rough days, no foolin’.

Here’s an indication of how much squeeze related fun one can have at work with an Alligator Squeak Mat:

Imagine the joy of your basic squeak toy and the amount of annoying ass squeaking that can be accomplished with said toy.

Now take those 2 factors, and multiply them by 20.

Oh yeah, and factor in the fact that said squeak toy just happens to be an alligator AKA an amazingly awesome animal.

20 SQUEAKERS.

Seriously man, some may think that’s a few squeakers too many for a child’s squeak toy, but me; personally I think it’s genius.

That’s 20 different squeaky noises that one can generate, if you’re like me and like to be an ass, you squeeze ’em all at once to make one massive uber squeak.

Did I mention I can be annoying when I’m bored at work?

Anyway, I honestly had nothing to write about tonight, so I decided I would do just that.

For 800 words or so…

Filed under: Movies, Tokusatsu, Uncategorized, Wrestling, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Demon’s Souls: Conquered

*Ahem!* I win...

*WARNING! SPOILER ALERT PERTAINING TO END GAME EVENTS.  NO SPECIFICS, BUT IF YOU REALLY WANT THE END-GAME TO BE A SURPRISE, TURN BACK NOW!*

Last night was easily one of the worst of my life.

Don’t expect this to happen on this blog all too often, but I’m sorry to say that my experience of being stuck in a snowy traffic jam in the Seattle area for 6 hours straight was horrible to the point in which I don’t think I want to share the details.

Seriously, it was that bad.

Anyway, as a result of getting home from work at around 11:30 PM, as well has having my body be a complete wreck as a result of the harsh cold and tight confines of my car, I decided that I simply could not allow myself to go to work today.

Despite this, Amazon saw fit to penalize me for doing so; even going so far as to call me in the morning to chastise me for my actions.

Though I love buying products the company, working for Amazon gives me an insight into the inner workings of their ground-level management that really leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Oh well, it’s a job, and that’s more than a lot of people have at the moment, so I’m thankful.

Moving on, as any self-respecting survivor of a 6 hour traffic jam would do, I decided to use my self-enforced day off from work to play Demon’s Souls.

No way was I gonna’ go outside today, even to pick up a copy of The Expendables.

I’ll do that tomorrow…

*Ahem!* Anyway, in short; I managed to beat Demon’s Souls today.

Much like the rest of the game’s limited story sequences, the end of the game was quite flat, and very much anti-climactic.

Truth be told, it had been so long since I had started the game (just over 20 hours of game time) that I honestly didn’t even remember who the last boss was, or why I was fighting him for that matter.

In either case, the last boss was pathetic.

Like, “he couldn’t hit me if he tried,” pathetic.

On one level, this was quite disappointing, as many of the earlier boss fights in the game were quite epic, and fairly inspired in how the actual battles were carried out.

At the same time though, as I recall bits and pieces of the supposed “story” of Demon’s Souls, (seriously, there’s not much to be found) I’m starting to understand that the final boss of the game was supposed to be a pitiful creature, to the point where it’s ironic that it serves as the game’s final challenge.

Demon’s Souls was an excellent game.

While it indeed has flaws, as pretty much any game does; it benefits from an indefinable element in it’s gameplay and presentation, a “hook” that serves to draw in a certain demographic of gamers.

As it turns out, I fit pretty well into that particular category of gamer, as I enjoyed my time with Demon’s Souls.

In regards to it’s vaunted, and supposedly impenetrable difficulty level, I have this to say:

The game is indeed quite difficult, but only if you’re bull-headed and refuse to adhere to the “rules” of the game.

The gameplay of Demon’s Souls is methodical and rigid, meaning the game is difficult; but everything has a rhythm and a weakness, so it’s up to you the player to determine these factors before charging headlong into things.

Hell, I game in practically reverse order, resulting in most of the enemies being far too powerful for me to handle most of the time, and yet in the end, I managed to get past them all through careful planning and observation.

As you play Demon’s Souls, just remind yourself:

The game is challenging, not unfair.

If you get pissed and break your controller when you die in a game, then I’m sorry, Demon’s Souls is probably not for you.

Seriously, controllers are what, $50?

You’d be bankrupt in a week.

If however, you take every death in the game as a sign of your own failings, an indication that you could’ve played better or smarter, then chances are you’ll have a lot of fun with Demon’s Souls.

Now that I’m done with my little advertisement for the game, I feel I should take a moment to talk about some of the random things that stuck out to me in my first playthrough of Demon’s Souls:

I was a little upset at the very limited selection of armors I ran across in the game.

While it’s probably my fault moreso than the game’s, I found that as a Knight, I only ended up changing my armor maybe twice throughout the entirety of the game.

Maybe it’s just because I selected a Knight, who just happens to start out with some the better starting equipment, but I felt myself getting bored of constantly finding new weapons and equipment, but never finding an armor that was good enough to switch over to.

Seriously man, I ended up beating the game wearing Mirdan armor, something the Temple Knight starts the game out with if I recall.

To me, that’s the equivalent of watching a version of the Iron Man movie where Tony Stark remains in the original Iron Man suit throughout the entire movie.

That’s that just plain sad.

Another quick thing, from a gameplay standpoint, those fuckin’ dragons were truly fucking pathetic.

Seriously man, they’re not enemies, or bosses for that matter, they’re fuckin’ scenery.

Destructible scenery that can, and will; wreck your shit 20 times before you figure out how to get past them.

I found one of those dragons on a list of 2009’s worst boss fights, and I can honestly say, whoever wrote that list is certainly justified in doing so.

Don’t ask me how I found the patience to actually kill those motherfuckers, but I did; and that’s largely the reason why I’m writing this “I beat Demon’s Souls, quick everyone, suck my golden cock!” article today instead of a week ago.

Seriously man, that traffic jam last night might’ve taken 6 hours of my life, but I’ll be damned if those dragons didn’t take at least an hour between the 2 of them.

Other than that, I think that’s about all I’ve got to say about Demon’s Souls for now.

Now that I’m done with the game, I think I’m gonna’ move on to something radically different.

With Metal Gear Solid 4 as my first PS3 game, followed by Demon’s Souls, I think it’s time I played something besides a 3rd person action game.

My gut is telling me to try Valkyria Chronicles, but I’m also leaning towards something a little more mindless like UFC: Undisputed 2010 (*Gasp!* but Azn Badger, I thought you hated the UFC!?).

At the same time though, who knows; maybe I’ll surprise even myself and hop back on the Final Fantasy wagon, of which I’ve been off ever since VIII.

There’s a lot of great games out there for the PS3, old and new; so feel free to let me know what I should look into.

Anyway, happy snow day to me; hopefully everyone drove safe this evening!

Filed under: Comics, Games, Movies, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I Used To Like Snow…

I WAS IN TRAFFIC FOR 6 HOURS THIS EVENING.

How ‘Bout You?

And I thought me an’ snow was cool…

Filed under: Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Azn Badger’s Friend Mencius Started A Blog!

"Monkey sips master's wine!" "Drunken maid flirting with the master!" "Down the hatch!" "Waterfall!" ~ Actual Chinese proverbs.

So, you remember my buddy Mencius?

The guy that made that awesome Minecraft parody comic that I…  Honestly didn’t “get?”

Well, as fate would have it; he recently went ahead and started a blog of his own called Another Sunny Morning.

For those that don’t trust in-paragraph hyperlinks, (I understand.  I’ve lost loved ones to hyperlink-ing too…) please note that there is also a link to the blog listed on the “Links” column on the right.

For the truly dense and/or retarded, this is my not so subtle way of saying CLICK THE FUCKING LINK, EX-LAX.

Moving on, despite the title I assure you it’s not some coffee house, namby pampy, hipster-doofus-y poetry corner blog.

Pictured: Hopefully not the kind of imagery that posts at Another Sunny Morning will evoke.

At least I hope it isn’t.

If it is imma’ have to break ‘ole Mencius’ thumbs or some shit…

*Ahem!* Anyway, as thanks for all the publicity and promotion he gave to me by allowing me to post his comic, which he shamelessly whored out to the masses across the internets via Reddit; I feel it’s only right that I do what I can to send a little bit of traffic his way via my some shameless promotion of my own!

That being said, his blog is very young at the moment, and given what I know of him; he probably couldn’t give 2 shits as to how many people actually visit it, but do us both a favor and check it out anyway.

He’s honestly a terrific, insightful, and fun-loving writer, such that many people I’ve known over the years have seen fit to have him edit their work.

That’s more than I can say for myself, as my grammar, use of tenses, and sense of sentence structure are just about on par with a wombat.

An illiterate wombat, that smells of basil and turpentine…

That's the one...

Anyway, that’s me vouching for/promoting my buddy’s blog.

Sorry for the shitty post, work kind of fucked my writer’s brain for the day.

Either that or I got home earlier than normal and am itching to play some Demon’s Souls

Let’s just pretend it’s the former rather than the latter.

This post has been brought to you by the formidable combination of laziness and writer’s block.

ANOTHER SUNNY MORNING

Filed under: Games, Kung Fu, Movies, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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